#the second page is probably my favourite page of the whole sketchbook :)

[linaxart]

Finished sketchbook [march 2022-april 2023] 3/3

[kuerie]

rocky and his water motif

ive seen a few people analyze rocky and his symbolism with water, and i thought id jump on the train and contribute what ive found. i looked through every piece of art in the gallery and messed around with the dead drop to find everything here! with that being said…

obvious spoiler warnings! and warning for a lot of speculation and over analyzing! a lot of things i mention are really big stretches but i added them anyways incase anyone else wants to look into it more

starting where the pilot starts and near the start of the comic (the page “lackadaisy dithyramb”), right off the bat we have an entire poem from rocky dedicated to the mississippi river. this iconic poem is literally just about the river, and he recites it in both scenes from on the bridge over the river.

note that in both cases there is also a crescent moon featuring in the background

more poetry! this one is from the comic on the page “lackadaisy doggerel”. this is actually one of my favourite pages in the comic, its very cool! we have this poem that, again, is entirely about water. it talks about water in a metaphorical way, comparing it to memory and the passage of time. maybe ill try to analyze this poem sometime but idk im not very good at that stuff. seems to talk about rockys past but im not sure

i didnt want to just put this entire page here but i will note that the page has a raging storm, an ocean, a water mill, another storm cloud and a waterfall all picured above rocky, who, in this case is ahem under water, in a way.

last bit of poetry im talking about is probably the most relevant. rockys feauture in the “lacrimosa” poem/halloween artwork shows him seemingly drowning outside a window.

the significance of it being outside a window is somewhat unclear to me, as every other character appears in something reminiscent of a picture frame. my only idea is that its meant to show him outside of what could be a home, in reference to him getting the “unceremonious boot”. the text emphasizes this idea, saying hes away from home

this next one is more obscure and much more of a stretch! after digging around in sketchbook pages, i found this tiny little sketch on a page simply labeled “lackadaisy preview 0018”. the sketch page features sketches that were used for the page “lackadaisy palaver” in the comic, and a few bonus doodles. this was one of the bonus doodles, and i cant seem to find a comic pannel that matches it anywhere.

this sketch could be a lot of things, its a bit hard to tell. most likely, its an unsused pannel of rocky that was going to be used on the comic page. maybe him on whe windshield, or something like that. that being said, the first thing i thought of was the lacrimosa art. its a stretch but i thought id add it, just in case! who knows really

next up is rockys character artwork, which features him standing on a barrel floating in a river.

be careful rocky, you might fall! one little detail about this art that i like is that hes quite literally hiding his sadness behind his back. and again, the crescent moon motif features in the background. the cattails in this image also remind me of this scene in the pilot

…but i mean cattails do grow near water so i dont think that means anything

speaking of the pilot, this scene has rocky accidentally blowing up a water tower and flooding the area, and getting a whole bunch of water dumped on him

be careful rocky, you might get hurt! ...i dont think he cares

one last note from the pilot (for now) is a line from mitzi after rocky comes back with alcohol for them. it could mean nothing, could be foreshadowing, who knows

note in the second image: “rest” as in the rest of the alcohol they were meant to bring back

the music video for liquid gold ends with rocky dropping a bottle and the golden liquid flooding the room

i wasnt even looking for water symbolism when i found this, i was just rewatching the music video for fun! i just about had a heart attack when it ended like that D: rocky please dont drown

back to the comics! sorry this is a bit all over the place. forgive me for just uploading an entire comic page, but the page “lackadaisy thunderhead” features rocky standing over a river. at the bottom of the pannel on the right there are daisys, a symbol that features in a lot of rockys artwork and is generally associated with the lackadaisy speakeasy. the daisys could just be for aesthetics or to frame the pannel better, but its also notable that they appear where the water is.

the name “thunderhead” is interesting given some other pannels

not sure what it means though

the very first scene in the comic aside from the introduction shows rocky at the river.

in the page “lackadaisy trouble boys” from the early concept art mitzi makes a comment about rockys aim, and makes an… interesting metaphor

side note: im gonna cry is that actually how rocky gets the little hole in his ear lmao

the mini comic “wilderness” has rocky climbing out of a small muddy pool of water claiming “the waters great”, despite looking absolutely horrible. isnt shown here, but he says he cant feel his legs and calls for freckle to come back.

knock knock! its time for the playing cards! rockys card depicts him as the 8 of spades, although hes also been shown as the ace of clubs multiple times.

first up, 8 of spades! i really like this art but i have a lot of questions. for one, why is rocky holding a shovel and whats with the lantern? theres nothing wrong with it, just caught my attention since i think freckle is drawn with shovels a lot more than rocky (might be wrong on that though) second, this is the only picture i can find where you can CLEARLY see rockys head injury healed. cool! third, the outfit hes wearing is… atypical for rocky, you could say. for obvious reasons. he always wears blue, why suddenly the change to black? and obviously, the choice of making him the 8 of spades. some quick google searches and this is what i found: from various websites (the first things that popped on on google), apparently spades symbolizes the winter season and the water element. it seems to represent old age, change, wisdom and acceptance. the number 8 supposedly represents victory, prosperity and overcoming. i was going to put images, but i could only have 30 and i ran out of space lmao im so sorry this is SO LONG djfjsjnrfj

make of it what you will. as for the ace of clubs:

my google searches were much less interesting so ill just put my own thoughts. the clubs is likely just for the association with the lackadaisy speakeasy, as in both of these cases he is shown alongside other characters from the lackadaisy and everyone has clubs. as for him being the ace, the main notable thing about the ace is that its generally the highest card.

the main idea i personally took from these cards is the idea rocky will possibly not be a part of the lackadaisy in the furure. we see him in his classic outfit, no head injury as the ace of clubs, with clubs being associated with the lackadaisy. but we also see him with a healed head injury (so clearly in the future) with a new outfit and no more clubs suit.

not sure if this is even notable but this entire (very iconic) scene in the comic takes place in the rain

be careful rocky, you might get shot!

and now, even more crescent moon motifs

so why have i been pointing this out? well its undeniable that rocky also has motif with this crescent moon. i have no idea what it means but heres my very quick five minute thoughts on it: one: the moon controls the tide. obviously a river doesnt really have a tide, but still! theres some association with water there, so its notablea. two: this might be a stretch but in the pilot theres this very memorable frame where it shows the reflection of the moon (which initially looks like a cat) ahem in the water. obviously water reflects stuff so its not abnormal for the moon to reflect in the water but i just thought it was cool!

aaaand last but not least

this analysis was brought to you while listening to hatsune miku, i probably made a lot of typos so yell at me and ill fix them but not my grammar its terrible and im not fixing that, lmk your thought and if i missed anything, thank you for reading have a nice day sorry it was so long <3

[slaasherslut]

Stay Still

Summary: Vincent thinks you look beautiful with his cock down your throat. He wants to memorialize it forever.

Warning: smut, oral (male receiving), throat fucking

1.2k Words

You looked up at Vincent through hooded eyes as you sat on the wax covered floor of his workshop, in front him in his favourite chair. You were nestled between his thighs as he undid his belt and his pants. He shoved them down just enough so he could pull his fat cock out of his jeans. You parted your lips for him and he pushed the head of his dick past the barrier. A low groan escaped his lips and was swallowed up again after reverberating off of his mask. You welcome his cock with your tongue, swirling it around the head before slowly sliding your mouth further down. You bob your head up and down on his length before sliding him out of your mouth and using your tongue on him. You start at his swollen balls, massaging them between your fingers as you gently run your tongue over them before sliding up his shaft. You pressed your tongue the slightest bit harder once you reached his base and slowly used the flat of your tongue to run up the underside of his length. You felt the prominent vein underneath as your tongue ran along him. He lets out a loud moan once you reach the head. Your tongue slowly swirls around the tip of his cock, you make sure to lap up the pre cum that gathered there. He tasted amazing on your lips and you wanted more. You let the head of his dick slip past your lips once again and take him deeper. You bottom out with him down your throat and your nose pressed right above the tuft of hair on his pelvis. He let out another loud groan as you swallowed around his length. A garbled sound escaped him, if he could speak it probably would have been a long string of curses that indicated that he felt fucking amazing down your throat. You pulled all the way back to the tip, giving it a harsh suck before bobbing your head faster on him. He was squirming in his seat. Hands gripped the seat of his chair and made his knuckles turn white. You sucked his large cock, while using your hands to jerk him at the base where you couldn't fit him in your mouth

The bobbing of your mouth is stopped by Vincent, grabbing a hold of your hair and holding you in place. You can barely breathe. His cock is halfway down your throat and you can feel yourself gagging on it. He wants you to stop but he won't let you pull your mouth off of him. You think he is about to cum but he doesn't. He just throws his head back against the chair and furrows his brow, trying to slow down his breathing. After a few seconds he looks back down at you between his legs. Hooded eyes look deep into yours.

"You look so beautiful, sweet girl." He signs. "Don't move."

You listen to his instructions and keep your mouth in place, still trying to steady your own breathing. Vincent turns his head towards his desk and with his closest hand grabs one of his favourite pencils and his sketchbook.

"You just look so pretty like this. Don't wanna forget it."

He flips open his sketchbook to a new page and immediately his pencil is going to work. You start to move your mouth once again but Vincent grabs you by the hair with his free hand. His other hand drops his pencil for a moment to communicate.

"Stay still. You wouldn't wanna ruin my sketch, would you sweetie?"

You do your best to shake your head on his cock.

"Good girl, now stay still and let me work." 

Vincent picks up his pencil once again and starts going back to work.

You stay as still as you can on him. Trying your best to breathe through your nose and keep yourself steady. You can feel your jaw starting to cramp and the feeling of him unmoving halfway down your throat feels strange. You stare up at him with glossy eyes, tears threatening to break free. The ache starts becoming unbearable, it hurts. You make an attempt to soothe your jaw by flexing your whole mouth, your tongue starts twitching. The twitch causes you to lick him and he involuntarily bucks his hips with a groan. You can't help but gag on him because of it. He lets out a sharp whine and he looks down at you before testing the waters again. He gives your throat another shallow thrust and you gag even harder. He aggressively signs his signature at the bottom of the page before dropping his pencil.  

"Are you okay, love?" He signs. He wants to make sure you're okay before what he does next.

You try your best to nod with him so deep before he signs again. 

"Good, because you feel amazing when you gag on my cock. Let me fuck your throat."

He gathers your hair tightly in his hands to hold your head in place as he slides his dick all the way in before quickly pulling out. You can't help the gagging and the heavy breathing as you try to regain your sanity. Just as quick he pulled out he was thrusting himself back in. His movements were faster and harder, you couldn't help the gagging and the moaning coming from deep inside you. You didn't realize the dam behind your eyes had broken until Vincent was wiping away tears and makeup stains from your cheeks.

"Good girl, good girl. My muse looks so pretty like this."

His praise causes your core to heat up inside you, letting out a loud moan. It was just enough to send Vincent over the edge.

"Pretty girl, I'm cumming." He signed shakily. White hot cum was thrown straight down your aching throat as he shoved himself all the way inside you.

"Sweet girl." He signed, he could barely lift his hands at this point. "Oh sweet girl, you make me feel so good."

You slowly eased yourself off of his dick and sucked in a huge breath of delicious air. You collapsed onto one of his thighs as you made an attempt to fill your lungs and soothe the pain in your aching jaw. Once Vincent's hands stopped shaking, he leaned them down to gently grab your face, cradling it in his large rough hands. You leaned your chin on his thigh with eyes closed, taking in the feeling of him on your skin. When his hands pulled away you mentally sighed from the loss of contact. You opened your eyes to look up at him and met his glossy orbs through the mask. His hands were removed from you to sign; 

"You took me so well, baby. Thank you for letting me draw you. You just looked so pretty, I like drawing pretty things." One of his hands returned to your face and went back to caressing your cheek as you blushed a hot red, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on his. He tucked himself back into his pants and bent over to help you to your feet. Your legs were numb from being on the floor and your feet were cramping. He noticed how wobbly you were and picked you up before striding across the room and laying you down on the couch. 

"You were amazing, my love. Now just lay here while I grab you some water." He gave your leg a short yet soothing rub before trekking up the stairs to the kitchen.

☾ notes: i got this idea from rottent33th (so thank her for this). I have another request for more Vincent smut so that should be out within the next few days. I just couldn't get this scenario out of my head I needed to write it. You Vincent lovers are gonna eat this week.

☾ tag list: @rottent33th @cries-in-latino @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better

message me if you want to be added to my tag list!

[tinkerd]

The Kid Christmas Sketchbook Part 2

A second peek behind the scenes of my latest book 'Kid Christmas: Of The Claus Brothers Toy Shop'

A few days ago I shared the scruffy, sketchy beginnings of what would become my sixth author/illustrator book ‘Kid Christmas: Of The Claus Brothers Toy Shop (Out NOW)

Today we are going to look at the next stage in creating the book: The Terrifying Rough First Draft stage.

First Draft

It’s not really that terrifying to be honest, but there is always a bit of trepidation when I send this off to my editor. It’s the first real look at how the book is going to turn out. Its when I see if the excitement and enthusiasm I felt in the sketchy stages is actually going to pay off and the book does have potential to be as good as I felt it would be.

I probably (definitely) do over think these things- everything can still be changed at this stage after all, so yes it probably shouldn’t cause as much stress as it does- but its still a daunting moment.

For the first draft rough I take my sketches from my sketchbook and basically spruce them up so that they are more presentable. I do this stage mainly digitally, using my hand drawn paper sketches as a blueprint and drawing over them with my fancy Wacom tablet. At the same time I will hone the idea and story structure as this process goes on.

A lot of further big creative decisions are made here too. In fact that happens a lot during the whole process. Things will change, story ideas will develop and artwork will be tweaked all the way up to it being prepared to print.

The first step of that happens after I send through the First Draft Rough. My editor and art director will have a say on the drawings and offer input on what to change and how to move the story along. Sometimes this can be pretty brutal as being an arty type I am automatically a big old control freak. But I very quickly learnt that making books is a wholly collaborative process. Even though my name is on the cover all of my books have very much been a creative collaboration.

Anyway, I’m rambling a fair bit now, so why don’t we just have a look at some of the pages from the first draft rough :)

The Cover

Around about the same time as creating the First Draft I will start thinking about the cover. The publishers don’t usually want to see a cover sketch until the books rough internal pages are all ready to go to artwork. But the cover is always on my mind. For me seeing the cover- all be it in sketch form- helps to characterise the entire book. So I often think of the cover very early on.

Another thing that publishers will like to see is a number of different options for the cover. So I aim to sketch out 5 or 6 for them to choose. I definitely had my favourite of the sketches and assumed that they would also go for it. However, I was very surprised that they went for the final design. I love it, and I can now totally understand why it was chosen. But my favourite was actually the image right at the start of this newsletter- with Nicky and his uncles standing proud outside the Toy Shop. Nicky isn’t even in his Santa costume - I thought that we should keep that a big secret- which I now look back on as being a bit of a crazy decision on my part. Again, it shows how important the collaboration aspect is to making books. Having other insights and opinions are really vital.

Ok, here is a look at the cover sketches that I presented, including the design that we ended up using.

Phew….so there we are.

Hopefully you have had a little further insight into the sketching stages of ‘Kid Christmas’.

Thank you so much for reading these two- slightly rambley- recollections of how the idea developed (you can read Part 1 HERE)

Great Thanks also to everyone who has read the book. I’ve been absolutely chuffed to bits with the response that the book has had and it has made all the hard work and trials and tribulations (as fun as they all are) worth it.

Happy Christmas all. Ho Ho Ho.

David :)

[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”

[legends-live-in-memories]

Picture Perfect

AYO! its me back with more content for the second time this week while i ignore my other wips again. this is a lil gift for @queen-o-leen who i promised wholesome content for! I hope you like it!

Timinette/Timari Oneshot 1.9K words (not related to my other timari oneshots)

Summary:

“Tim spends a nice day in a park in Paris and takes a picture of a pretty girl.

He somehow gets an almost date out of it.”

no warnings this time. completely family-friendly. I know i surprise myself with this one too.

without further ado

He would be the last to admit that Jason was right and that time away was what he needed at this point in life but it can’t be ignored that, for the first time in possibly three years, Tim was having a wonderful day. He was having a wonderful week actually. After one too many unsuccessful cold cases and the simmering anxiety of off-world missions, his family, primarily Jason, for some reason, demanded that he take some time off and away from his unusual brand of normal. How that meant being sent across the Atlantic Ocean to Paris of all places, he wasn’t entirely sure. Alfred probably had a hand in that decision given that, as part of his forced vacation, Tim was not allowed to actually plan any of it. Him. Timothy Jackson Drake. The guy who stalked and manoeuvred his way into Batman’s house and team. The guy who tracked and found said man when the universe thought he was dead but was actually drifting through time. Yeah, Tim was not pleased about being led blind on his vacation. 

At least Paris was a nice city. And he brought his camera. He figured he could use this time to get back into old hobbies and what better hobby to start up again in the city of love than photography? He’s taken pictures of every tourist attraction worth visiting by his second day and began to take candid shots of people and animals. Would Damian like the animal pictures? Maybe, if they came from someone who wasn’t Tim. Is he going to try and give them to him anyways? Absolutely not. He liked his liver where it is, thank you very much. They would serve as great bribing material however. But that’s a thought for another day. 

Right now he was working on capturing what could possibly be described as the stereotypical outing with friends. He’s sitting along some bushes near the entrance of a park and staring at a group of teens his own age hanging around. He spots a brunette with thick curls of hair animatedly speaking with a guy in a vibrant cap. She’s waving a camera herself, and he appreciates her taste in equipment. Her eyes spark with fox-like mischief while the cap guy has a peaceful aura about him; like an old turtle. Next he sees a blonde, her hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail and she’s in a deep conversation with a red head off to the side of the whole group; her words are rushing out of her and she’s a buzzing bee with excitement. Another blond is in the area, but he sits in a broad patch of sun possibly napping with an open book on his chest. Very cat-like Tim supposes. He barely pays them more than a second of thought however. No. 

His focus is on the quaint beauty directly in his line of sight. She’s poised up against the giant tree trunk with a sketchbook in her lap and pencils surrounding her. Her hair hangs by her shoulders in twintails and it’s a colour so dark it seems to absorb the shade of the tree. She’s scribbling furiously on the page before her and her tongue is slightly peaking out to the side. Her forehead is creased with stress lines and her shoulders hunch slightly over her frame. She’s the vision of deep concentration and dedication and Tim would be a fool not to capture her. He’s gotten wide shots of her companions but now he wants to focus on her. 

Looking through the lens of his camera he zooms in on her profile. When his camera focuses, he spots a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, barely there, almost blending in with her complexion but Tim is nothing if not hypervigilant. He goes to take another photo when a bug flies into view. It’s a ladybug. It lands precariously on the tip of her nose and it’s just the thing that breaks her out of her work-induced trance. Tim is watching her now, long forgetting to click the shutter. Her eyes cross as she stares intently at the black-spotted creature and its presence seems to amuse her. She’s giggling to herself, as if sharing an inside joke with the bug and reaches a slim finger to swipe the insect gently from her nose. She inspects it and smiles a smile so soft that not even a feather could compare. He feels like an intruder. More so than one who takes pictures of cute strangers in public. 

Coming back to his senses, he takes another picture, the final picture, and lowers the camera from his face. He looks back at his temporary muse and finds that she is already looking at him. Her head tilts in confusion. Apprehension. Possibly a bit of fear. Which is valid given that Tim was pointing a camera at her from across the public park. What should he do though to quell her fears? 

He felt his face lift into a grin; he didn’t need to look at himself to know it was awkward and forced. A shrug of his shoulders and a flimsy wave of the camera in his hand was the only thing he did. Before he could begin to stumble over himself in apology, however, she surprised him. With a cautious hunch, her shoulders brought up to her ears, and an embarrassed smile to match his own, she slowly flips her sketchbook around and he comes face to face with, well, his face. It was a portrait of him. She had drawn a portrait of him. And she was showing him. Feeling embolden, he flips his camera to show her the screen but she’s too far away. He gets up on unsteady legs, cramped from his uncomfortable position, and begins a slow stride towards her. She meets him in the middle.

“Hi.” He barely speaks those words. They’re more like an exhale or a sigh of relief that he hadn’t scared her off. 

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind the drawing.” Her voice is high and light. Like a spring breeze. She’s daintily waving at him and he sees that her fingers are rough, and calloused. Unexpected but he finds it rather charming. Before he could get another word in, she’s off like an engine. “I just saw you there, and you had your camera so I figured you were taking pictures of us and thought that if you were then you wouldn’t mind me sketching you in kind but I should have asked and I’m sorry for breaching your privacy—” 

“Wait, slow down.” He fears that if he hadn’t interrupted her when he did she would run out of oxygen. Did she even breathe during her spiel? A voice in his head, that sounds like Cass, utters a soft ‘pot, kettle’ and okay, he sees a lot of himself in her mile-a-minute style of speaking. 

“No need to apologize. I’m flattered, truly. You were right, I was taking pictures of you. And your friends!” he hastily adds that last part. He turns his camera so the display screen faces her and he feels himself hold his breath in anticipation. 

A blush rises to her cheeks, red like the ladybug that interrupted her. He quite likes that colour on her. His eyes drift to the sketch and he’s further impressed by her skill. She has an eye for detail. He notices a bird in the background. It’s a robin. That piques his interest and lights a flicker of fear within him. 

“May I ask,” he begins slowly, unsure of what that little addition could mean. Did she know? How could she? Was his identity compromised?

“Why did you draw a robin in the background? It’s lovely but I’m curious,” he finishes. He’s going to play dumb until he has more information. She seems taken off guard by the question and raises her shoulders to her ears again in an embarrassed hunch.

“Well,” she starts, but she seems unsure and the words die on her tongue. She tries again.

“I just saw it fly by and then it landed behind you. So I thought ‘why not?’ and drew it. It seemed fitting.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye and now he felt kind of felt like a jerk for baselessly accusing some random girl. Of course it was just a coincidence. This bat-paranoia was going to be the end of him one day. It’s by sheer miracles and luck why it hasn’t already. 

“Oh, no worries. It just surprised me because it’s my favourite bird.” Right. Lie to the pretty French girl. But what else could he do? Tell her the truth?

“Then it’s a cool coincidence, huh?” She seems encouraged by that tidbit of information.

“Yeah, pure luck on your part.”

“What?” She seems more startled at that than Tim thinks she should be but before he can think deeper into it she speaks again and he would be a fool to not give her his undivided attention.

“Why did you take a picture of me with the ladybug? If you don’t mind me asking.” That stumps him because, to be honest, he does not know why himself. It just felt right. So he tells her as such.

“Well that would be another coincidence because ladybugs are my favourite insects.” She gives him a full smile alongside that statement and the brilliance of it almost blinds him. He wants to capture that smile for eternity. 

The thought strikes him. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He knows by the Friday of next week he’ll be flying back to Gotham where it’s business as usual and Red Robin won’t have time for commitments and puppy love. But right now? Right now Tim Drake is on vacation with a week and half left and all the time in the world to entertain the idea of a spring romance. Making the decision, he goes for it and takes the chance.

“I was getting a bit hungry. Do you know anywhere that’s good to eat at?” It’s an offer, open to interpretation. If she just lists some place, he knows where her interests lay. If she offers to escort him somewhere, then she’s taken the bait for exactly what it is, an invitation for more; whatever more is. He hopes she takes the bait. 

“Yes I do actually! My parents own a bakery just outside the park.” Her enthusiasm is uplifting and the offer of a place so personal is a good sign in Tim’s book. “Let me show the way, and I could join you if you would like.”

“Perfect. That’s wonderful. It will be my treat since you’re going out of your way on my account.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it’s my parents’ bakery. They’ll be more than happy to give some complimentary snacks.” She loops her arm around his and begins to drag him to the park gate. She’s strong and her grip is firm and Tim feels lightheaded at the ease with which she pulls him. He can’t help but be swept up in the tides that is this girl. 

“I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Drake.” He offers his name, something he should have done at the beginning.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and he’s caught up in the oceans of her eyes. They’re alight with joy. 

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Nice to meet you too.”

They’re almost by the bakery now, he can smell the fresh baked goods from here, and he can’t wait to sit down and get to know this girl better. Maybe get her number by the end of their lunch.

Yeah. Tim was having a wonderful day.

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

🕯 Anon said: I can hardly ever find someone who writes for Moblit? Could we have some more relationship headcannons? Hes one of my favorite characters yet hes so underrated! 🕯

Moblit relationship HCs

{ Moblit x reader | tw:none | fluff | modern }

{ "Garden in the Wachau" by Hugo Charlemont 1850 - 1939 }

His weakness is puppy eyes and honey glazed words, will tremble and his logic stops whenever you play the role, guaranteed to work 99.9% of the time.

Very fun to poke at, tease and fluster, will get defensive in an instant and tries to play it off but you can clearly see him huffing. Don't worry deep down he enjoys it.

Amazingly good at sketching and art in general, even with a number 2 pencil and the cheapest sketchbook out there, he will create a masterpiece.

Really good at shading, lining and having strong stable lines. Pretty good at mechanical designs and even architectural floor plans. On top of that he can draw faces and anatomy, sketches people a lot as practice when he's bored.

Speaking of that, whenever he's working on paperwork or making a work sketch, he finds himself drawing parts of you at the corner of each page surrounded by little hearts.

He also draws you a lot in general, would just glance up at you and study your features for a good meeting before getting to work, he finds it so relaxing that he uses it as warm up when his brain won't cooperate.

Really thankful and smiley whenever you get him art supplies since he runs out of them pretty quickly, will give you the most heartwarming smile you've ever seen just because you brought him a new sketchbook on your way home.

Pretty good at eye measuring stuff, can accurately point an objects dimensions without a measuring tape. It's a really useful skill when furniture shopping.

Listen to him when he says that couch is too big for your living room, he knows what he's talking about.

Will reluctantly help you move it if you still decide to buy it, but will be all huffy about it.

Will also be grumpy the next day when he has to move it again so you can return it because it turned out it really was too big for the living room and you kept accidentally hitting your leg against it.

Despite his grumpiness and "i told you!" Attitude, he will still help you without hesitation or for you to ask.

The trick is to give him a small "thank you" kiss and that will shut him up, he'll instantly forget what he was even complaining about and just immediately be wrapped around your finger again.

No matter how long you've been together, he still gets surprised whenever you kiss or hug him. He blinks for a few seconds as he process what just happened.

It's probably because his mind still hasn't caught up to the fact he now has someone to be intimate with, having always thought he'd end up one of those guys married to work.

So whenever you remind him that, hey you're actually here and still with him, he still gets that warm and fuzzy feeling each time like cotton filled his brain and he can't think about anything beside you and how the clouds wouldn't compare to the softness in his heart when you call his name.

Since you came into his life, the colours have been a lot more vibrant and the chaos that is his constant overthinking brain finally began to calm down a lot more.

The type to give you his, scarf, jacket, gloved and even hat if you show any sign of being cold, he'll just do it without question and takes your hands in his to blow a warm breathe on them.

Also the type to take whatever you're holding and carry it for you instead, no matter how heavy or light, he'll just continue the conversation like it's nothing.

Whenever he's tired, he doesn't like to talk about it, he just buries his head in your shoulder and takes a small nap as he vents to you about his worries.

Plays multiple instruments actually, doesn't like bringing it up because he thinks it's not that impressive. 

He's genuinely a very artistic person by nature, yet chose the path of experiments and mathematics.

Sometimes he will think which will sound better, if he took your last name or if you took his. He has these thoughts a lot throughout the day but doesn't bring them up.

Quick reflexes. Can and will catch anything you dropped, catch something before it spills and knows when to save a document before the app crashes. 

Really really likes it when you come for him for help, even for mondaine stuff. It doesn't show much but inside he's beaming, he actually even expects it and will get pouty if you don't.

Has a hard time asking you or anyone for help though, you'll have to subtly initiate it first.

Gets nervous if someone watches him while he's drawing, will mess it up, especially if it's you.

Doesn't...get hints or Flirting much, for someone so smart he sure is oblivious. It isn't that he doesn't understand it but it's more he doesn't think that's the way you meant it.

Yeah, romantically he's very awkward.

Yet very easy to read once you catch on to a couple things, his body language and voice tone almost makes him an open book.

If you mention something you like or show him something you're interested in, he will save that information in his brain till an occasion arrives.

He remembers everything, every single thing.

Will get you that thing or something related to the Internet in the span of a few weeks. His logic is that if you want something surely it is his job to get it isn’t it? 

Likes to provide, a lot. 

Is pretty good at cooking, terrible at baking. 

Makes a lot of small sacrifices for you throughout his day without mentioning them.

Like getting the kind of chips you like instead of his, making your favourite food for dinner instead of his, picking candles in your favourite scent instead of his, getting things in your favourite colour, etc.

Will jump in your defence without a second thought if he saw you being uncomfortable, literally pushes himself in front you.

Doesn't wear ties because...he's terrible at them, they always end up messy, too loose or too tight.

Hange 100% teases him about it, even though they don't know how to tie one either.

If you do it for him, he will actually melt into a puddle on the floor and end up on his toes the whole day.

Will secretly intentionally untie it just so you can fix it for him.

[gumnut-logic]

Mosaic Beach

It has taken me since Thursday morning (it is now Saturday night) to write this goes-nowhere-piece-of-fluff. I had a low level migraine Wednesday night and felt awful Thursday morning, so the first 850 odd words are me visualising being in a better place other than outside my daughter’s school. Then Scott had something to say and promptly ate my fic. But then at least he was thinking about Virgil.

Also, Gordon is evil.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ and @janetm74​ for the read throughs and support. You guys are amazing to me :D

I hope you enjoy this totally lazy fic ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

It was a lazy day.

Virgil suspected John, who had been kicked off Five the day before, had Eos routing all but the most dire situations to local authorities whether Scott authorised it or not.

There were days where Virgil wondered if Scott was really in charge, since John had so much ultimate say.

But that thought was for another day. He was tired and it was likely going to be a day off - please let it be a day off - and he was going to find a corner of the Island to sit alone and scribble in his sketchbook.

He ended up on Mosaic Beach, a personal favourite on the edge of the caldera. Gordon had mentioned it the day before regarding the quality of flotsam available after the last storm and Virgil thought he would see what he could find.

It was overshadowed by an ancient pokey tree brilliant in red blossom and the sand here was a mass of black and white swirls as the coral detritus fought the eroded igneous rocks – the reason they had given it its name. Gordon was right - there was all sorts of things tossed up the sand and Virgil spent the first half hour wandering along the strip of sea wrack picking up shells and whatever caught his eye.

One of the shells appeared determined to return to the ocean and it was with a small smile that he picked up the tiny hermit crab and watched it curl up into its shell.

Holding it gently in his palm, he sought the shade of the giant tree and sat down on the sand in its shadow. Here the breeze was gentle, the sand cool and, leaning back against a rock, he set the little crab down on a smooth patch of sand, along with his small hoard of shells and let it scamper across the little landscape that resulted.

Sketchbook out, he spent the next few minutes sketching the crab madly as it moved about. It shifted angle at random and he found himself increasingly switching from real life to a character sketch. A little personality sprouted from the page that reflected the little crab’s determination.

Ever aware of the crab’s needs above his own, he sketched fast, took a few photos and then gathered the little creature in his hands once more. He trotted down to the rock pools at the edge of the beach and found a spot he felt the crab would be happy.

Crouching down, he watched it scamper into the water.

His lips curved into a smile.

Gordon would know what species it was, where it lived and how to best care for it. Virgil was pretty sure he knew what type it was. Mel was pedantic about crabs and had given them a list of ‘these are endangered, tell me if you see them, kill one and I will kill you’. Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn’t a long list, so Virgil had memorised it. This little guy...he should be happy here.

The crab found some weed and promptly hid under it.

The rockpool drew Virgil’s eye a little longer before he finally stood up and let the breeze cool his face. A sigh at the sun’s warmth and he wandered back to the shadow of the pokey tree and sat down again.

The little crab stared up at him from his sketchbook, spritely and determined.

Kind of like Gordon really, despite the claws.

That prompted a smile at the thought of his fish brother’s reaction to being compared to a crab.

He would squawk, but he would love it.

Virgil returned to sketching the shells and bits of coral he had collected. Rearranging them, repositioning for lighting. He picked one up and stared at the colours created by a little mollusc. He was ever amazed at what Mother Nature was capable of. Simple geometrics and chemical formulae made one of the world’s strongest and most beautiful substances in nacre. Another broken shell showed the rainbow of colour that he knew his paintbrush would never quite be able to capture, much less the pencil and stick of carbon he had with him today. He was left with a little snapshot from his phone...which was never quite the same either...and what his memory could provide.

Perhaps it was nature’s way of ensuring it was always the most beautiful.

He shifted to scribbling down the beachscape after that. It wasn’t the first time he had drawn this beach, but as with all beaches, it was different every day as the tide sculpted it.

His fingers grew more and more lazy, his lines wandering through more emotion than reality as the day drifted on. At some point, he ate the sandwich he had packed, quite happy to not care what time of day it was and refusing to look at his watch.

Eventually the sketchbook was set aside and he let himself just stare out at the ocean lagoon, eyes tracking the movement of the distant waves and the laps of the ripples against the shore.

And nature’s rhythms lulled him to sleep.

-o-o-o-

“Hey, big bro, you might want to drop by Mosaic Beach before the tide comes in.” Gordon waltzed past the desk Scott was sitting at with a smirk on his face.

“What?” Scott’s brain was still stuck in working out what the hell Simmonds meant by the ‘urgent memo’ that had interrupted his afternoon off.

“The snoring is scaring away all the wildlife.” With that Gordon grabbed a book off the shelf on the far side of the room and backtracked out the way he had come in...without another word.

Scott was left staring where his brother had been.

But then Gordon was worth ignoring some times.

He turned back to his display and continued to try and work out why Simmonds had ordered sixty plastic flamingoes and then memo’d him about it in a panic.

It took him a good few minutes more before throwing it back at Simmonds’ supervisor in Japan with a ‘concerned’ note.

What did Tracy Industries need with sixty plastic flamingoes?

He shook his head and forced himself to stand up and not invest any more in any comms from the business. Today was hopefully his day off and he refused to fall into the trap of losing himself in all the things that required attention.

All the things.

He paused mid rise.

But no. No! Vacation day. He forced himself away from the desk and out onto the balcony.

It was a beautiful out here. The afternoon sun was blazing in a brilliant blue sky without a single cloud. The sea was murmuring far below. It was an artist’s dream.

He blinked as certain Gordon utterings connected neurons together.

A frown. “Gordon!”

No answer.

Another frown and he strode back inside, following the recent tracks of his fish brother down to the kitchen.

Scott found him reading at the table, a phone that was most definitely not his in one hand and the book in his other.

There were lots of photos of crabs.

“What are you doing?”

“Confirming the identification of a crab.”

“Why?”

“Virg found one down on Mosaic Beach and I wanna make sure it is what I think it was so I can report it to Mel.”

The dots that had been connecting earlier fused into a solid line with an arrow pointing directly at Gordon. “And where is Virgil?”

“Snoozing on the beach.”

“And why do you have his phone?”

“Because his drawings were excellent, but I needed a colour shot.”

“Gordon!”

His brother didn’t even look up. “What?” But then he blinked and frowned at Scott. “He’s fine. Well above the high tide line.” A glance down at the book again. “There, that’s it. Oooh, Mel is going to be so excited.”

Scott glared at Gordon for a whole second longer before storming over and snatching the phone out of his hands. Without another word, he strode out of the kitchen and took the path that would lead him down to the reported beach.

Younger brothers were hard work.

The little beach wasn’t the closest on the Island. Probably one of the reasons Virgil chose it to get away from pesky younger brothers. Trust Gordon to find him anyway.

He fingered Virgil’s phone in his hand as he walked. The green leather case was embossed with an elaborate dragon design.

Looking at it, all he could really feel was fondness.

He must be tired. Grandma was right. He needed a day off.

Easier said than done. It wasn’t like he could park himself on a beach and fall asleep.

He grunted as he stepped over some rocks to start the climb down to the little cove. The path was thin and wove amongst several pōhutukawa trees – or pokey trees as Alan called them, their dark green leaves adorned with puffs of red blossom. Birds darted between them squawking at each other. That combined with the surf in the distance and the breeze rattling palm trees, it wasn’t the quietest of places.

Nevertheless, he found his brother sprawled against a rock under the largest pokey tree at the edge of the beach, snoring his head off.

Definitely noisy.

Virgil was dressed in an old pair of work shorts and a t-shirt with a hole in it. Both sported spatters of paint and clearly showed how relaxed his brother was trying to be.

Beside him on a rock, carefully placed, no doubt by Gordon, the brat, was a sketchbook and a box of drawing tools. Virgil’s artist backpack lay folded up supporting his head - again likely Gordon.

Virgil snorted and curled up just a little more against the rock.

Gordon was a shit, but he was a kind one. Virgil slept like the dead and would likely need one of those waves off in the distance to wash over him if he was going to wake up before he wanted to.

Staring a moment longer, Scott sighed, gave up and sat down beside his brother. He dropped the phone onto the sketchbook and looked out at the beach.

Virgil continued to snore.

His biggest little brother had always snored. Scott had cornered him and got him tested for a variety of sleep issues, but he was fine. Just loud.

The terrible two used to make a point of pointing it out as much as possible. But that was before the hydrofoil accident.

Gordon didn’t know it, but due to his injuries, he now snored, too.

The ribbing about snoring in the Tracy household had dropped to a minimum since, Gordon the only unknowing ribber.

But Virgil remained the major noise maker and the brothers worshipped the soundproofing in the villa.

Regardless of the racket, Scott did find it strangely quiet out here. Sitting on the sand with nothing to do was oddly relaxing. Of course, he wasn’t really one to do nothing and Virgil’s sketchbook was right there. Gordon had obviously already stuck his nose into it and Scott was pretty sure Virgil wouldn’t mind if he took a peek.

Would he?

Lifting the phone off the book, Scott carefully picked it up and nestled it in his lap...ever, ever so careful. Okay, so he had some respect and not a little fear of damaging Virgil’s artwork.

The pages were thick and stiff and likely designed to support wet media as much as dry. Most of the work in it was pencil, however, maybe some charcoal? The darks were so deep in some that they had to be.

But Scott was no artist and really only had eyes for the content.

The first page found him looking at himself. Virgil had obviously either captured Scott’s likeness on the sly or drawn from a photo or holoprojection. His drawing stared up at him in almost all three dimensions. The expression on his graphite face was thoughtful, almost wistful. He could see his rendered self was thinking or planning and totally distracted...which was likely why he had no clue his brother had captured this shot.

But the artistic strokes were strong and sure, simple in their complexity.

Scott blinked, moved that his brother was so talented and capable.

Though he really shouldn’t be surprised.

Turning the page, he discovered their grandmother.

He had to smile. The concentration on Grandma’s face was almost comical. A bowl and a recipe book sat in front of her and the very tip of her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she frowned at whatever she was reading.

There was a touch of caricature in the drawing, a little exaggeration, but done with love and fondness, not mockingly. His grandmother was beautiful.

Scott swallowed and turned the page to find several detailed scribbles. They looked like pieces of machinery and the pages had notes written down the sides.

It was a spark moment. He knew Virgil well enough for that. One of those times when his thoughts all came together and saw him running naked out of the shower to grab whatever he could find and get it written down.

Several major equipment improvements had occurred exactly this way. It appeared that at some point, this sketchbook had been the nearest note book and had borne the brunt.

He stared at the diagrams, doing his best to work out exactly what they were. Sharp notation, numbers, that had to be the backend of a pod. It clicked. This was part of the pod assembly redesign from the previous year. Virgil had come to him with some major improvements, including a pod body redesign. What followed had been a massive overhaul of all the ‘birds’ assembly systems and a whole new set up, including colour changes according to which Thunderbird housed which pod. Virgil and Brains had been buzzing for weeks.

And it was possible it had all started here on this piece of paper. Now he could see the scribbled down inner workings of the assembly mechanism and the shape on the second page was a worked and reworked pod shell.

He glanced over at his brother who was still snoring peacefully. Virgil was amazing. Scott could not have been prouder of what his little brother had achieved. Yet Virgil never really boasted or bragged or even highlighted what he had done. He was just there. Always there, one step behind him ready to help.

He must be really tired because now he was getting emotional. There had been a few times in the last couple of years where he had come close to losing Virgil. He hadn’t, but there had been nightmares and many a night where he had spent reassuring himself that his biggest brother was still with him.

And yes, he could stand outside his brother’s bedroom door and listen to him snore.

It gave him comfort.

Gordon had caught him once.

That had been a heartbreaking moment.

Because his fish brother hadn’t said a thing, just reached up, squeezed his shoulder, dropped his forehead against Scott’s arm and just stood there for a solid moment. Another gentle squeeze and he left, not even looking up at Scott before he was gone.

It said more than any words.

Scott sighed and turned the page...only to come face to face with Gordon again. Though this time the joy in their fish brother’s eyes was lighting up the page. He was grinning at a shell and there was a speech bubble - ‘Virgil, come and see this!’

Scott had to smile. Gordon was notorious for sharing his beach discoveries. Virgil was usually the target because at least he knew a little bit about their little brother’s fascinations. Scott loved to see Gordon happy, but honestly, he couldn’t tell the difference between one shell or another. He tried. He honestly did, but Virgil had the patience of a saint and was much more engaging.

Scott loved to watch the two of them instead.

And yes, he saw Virgil sneak things into his pockets. Usually shells, but occasionally rocks and bits of coral. Those finds made their way back to Virgil’s studio and there was a whole corner devoted to marine still life.

Which was why it was no surprise when the next three pages of sketchbook turned out to be exactly that. A curly shell, a pile of cockle shells - Scott knew those at least - they were good for fishing. The third page had a plan for a reef painting. It had scribbled notes, much like the pod redesign pages, but this was based around a sketched layout. Scott frowned at it...it was vaguely familiar. He would have to ask Virgil about it when he woke.

The next two pages sported today’s efforts. The same beach he was sitting on emerged from the paper, along with some sketches of a crab. The first few were realistic, but the last one had the little hermit crab with an IR symbol on its side and one of Dad’s old uniform hats perched on top of its shell. It bore a sash that resembled Virgil’s despite the lack of green colour and one of its claws was bigger than the other in a very exo-suit-like way.

That had Scott grinning. This was no doubt the reason why Gordon had run for the crab book. Mel, in her position of Director of the Kermadec Expedition south of them on Raoul Island, was very particular about the endemic crabs on all the islands in the area.

He wondered what she would think of them inducting crabs into IR.

He wondered what she was doing today and if she might be available later for a nice evening together.

That thought was very distracting and had nothing to do with crab identification at all.

Virgil snorted, rolled over off his backpack and face first into the sand.

Scott startled, fully expecting a woken bear of a brother to surface from that.

But Virgil just kept snoring, now snorting sand as well.

He placed the sketchbook down, scrambled around his brother and gently shoved the folded backpack under his head again.

His fingertips brushed sand off Virgil’s face.

And he found himself sitting beside his brother again.

Why was he out here?

Because Gordon was evil and dangled the concept of Virgil drowning in the tide simply to aggravate him enough to do exactly what he did.

Gordon was a shit.

But a good one.

Another sigh and he lay back against the rocks and got comfortable, because, let’s face it, he wasn’t going back up to the villa without Virgil. His brother was safe, sure, but walking off and leaving him to the elements ran against his grain.

And Gordon knew it.

He would throttle, and possibly hug, his fish brother later.

Besides, it was nice out here, taking a moment to just be.

Virgil would approve.

Virgil would fake being asleep just to get him to do it.

Scott’s eyes darted to his now softly snoring brother, a sudden suspicion at the forefront of his thoughts. He would put it past either of Virgil or Gordon’s conniving ways to conspire to get him out here.

Virgil was drooling a wet patch onto his backpack.

Ugh.

Well, maybe not.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid.

Perhaps he just needed to relax.

Relax.

He closed his eyes and folded his hands in his lap. Kayo was good at meditation. So was Gordon. Virgil did some connecting with nature thing that seemed to work for him.

Exhibit A snorted as if in agreement.

He could try.

Out of all the sounds he could hear, only one really held his attention.

That same soft snoring. No waves or wind or birds squawking brought him any kind of comfort.

The sound of his brother breathing evenly beside him, safe and sound, was the most beautiful sound in the world.

What that said about him...well, he didn’t care right now. He was tired and worn out. Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe this is what he needed. He should care, should be annoyed, but the rhythm was lulling and, god, he was so tired.

So goddamned tired.

Virgil kept breathing and Scott followed him into sleep.

-o-o-o-

Hidden in the foliage of the grove of pokey trees behind his two brothers, Gordon just smiled.

-o-o-o-

[obeiii-mee]

Hi there! If its okay, could i ask for headcannons of the brothers finding out MC is an Artist? Something like, finding there sketchbook or napkins w doodles on them jfjdjs Or maybe they catch MC glancing at them alot while trying to draw them? hfjd Ty!! Your writing is really good~

Of course it’s OK! I’ve always liked the idea of MC having a really interesting hobby and teaching the brothers about it. I feel like all the brothers would be very supportive of them, even if they all had various reactions to their hobby but I really love writing wholesome moments like that. Sorry this took longer to come out, I made them really long to make up for it!

Also thank you. Your compliment means a lot :)

————————————-

The Brothers’ reactions to MC being an artist:

Lucifer:

-Well if you’re going to glance at him every two minutes, he’s bound to notice

-I mean, you’re pretty damn obvious

-Lucifer got pretty used to you whipping out your sketchbook whenever you could

-So for you to start doodling in his office while he worked wasn’t exactly unheard of

-He caught you staring at him before looking back down at your drawing, continuing your series of furious scribbles

-Now you piqued his interest

-“You seem very focused there love. What are you drawing?”

-Scared the crap out of you because he rarely ever talks when he’s working

-You were reluctant to show him but Lucifer has his insisting face on

-When you passed him the sketchbook, he momentarily froze

-Your drawing was so detailed and full of emotion, capturing him slumped over his desk, exhausted but determined to finish the work he’s been assigned

-He was so surprised and stunned, for a second, he forgot to breathe

-“It’s not exactly one of my best drawings yet but-“

-“You never fail to impress me MC.”

-He suspected you were drawing him but he wasn’t expecting this much effort to be put into it

-He would definitely keep all your drawings of him

-Loves all your work but secretly adores your sketches of him best

-Lucifer would occasionally look over your shoulder while you sketch, taking a peek at what you’re drawing and smile to himself

-He’s never felt this much pride for someone else before

Mammon:

-Was pissed you would rather spend time with an object rather than him

-It annoyed him at first because he couldn’t tell if you were listening to him or not while you had your nose stuck in your sketchbook

-Basically, he was jealous of a sketchbook

-You can’t do that Mammon, that’s Levi’s thing

-So one day he decided to see what the fuck was so great about that giant notebook you always have with you

-He turned your entire room upside down searching for the damn thing before finding it

-He flipped through it and I’m sure the entire House of Lamentation could hear his gasp

-You drew him for pages and pages in all sorts of positions and styles and he was a flustered tomato going through them

-You willingly drew him? The scum of a demon who could never do anything right unless it involved money? You put your time and effort into these sketches and doodles despite him being condescending and a dick at times?

-Excuse me but this man is already head over heels in love with you, you can’t keep giving him reasons to fall for you

-He was so engrossed into your work that he didn’t notice you behind him

-“Mammon why is there a mess in my room-“

-“HOLY SHI-AHHH!!!”

-Too embarrassed to even think of an excuse for going through your shit

-“Ah those...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drawn you without your permission Mammon-“

-“Are ya kiddin’ me? MC, I feel insulted that you didn’t tell me about this sooner. Can...Can I keep some of ‘em??”

-Now he insists that you draw him as often as possible and would even pose for you (he loves the attention let’s be real)

-He wants to see all of your drawings and will endlessly support you

-Thought about using your skill as a way to make money because art can be very expensive

-But in the end, he dropped the idea

-Why would he sell something so precious to him??

Levi:

-He probably has a sketchbook too

-You guys draw Ruri-chan together in your own styles

-Levi always insists that you’re much better at drawing than him tho

-Your talent makes him a little jealous but at the same time he’s fascinated

-Was so surprised when he found out you were into sketching

-Levi was even more surprised when you showed him all the drawings you’ve worked on for your favourite anime and video game characters

-OK but how come you’re so perfect? Not only are you a lovely person that is willing to watch anime with him without insulting his opinions but you can draw? W...h...a...t...?

-He requests several sketches of ‘The Tale of the Seven Lords’ characters and will actually tape them to his wall

-Some of them are right on his Ruri-chan shelf

-“Hey normie, do you...do you mind teaching me how to draw? I want to learn.”

-Is 100% determined to learn how to properly sketch from you

-You started drawing him as well, usually while he games

-You better stop, he’ll have a nosebleed if you keep being so nice to him!

-Draw him as an anime character and he will start fangirling

-“Phew. OK I’m finished.”

-“What did you draw?”

-“Hentai.”

-“This. Is. A. Masterpiece.”

-Will proudly show your work to his brothers (usually the same drawing more than five times)

-What did an otaku like him do to deserve you??

Satan:

-He found out you were an artist fairly quickly

-I meant he found tissues with doodles you left behind everywhere

-He kept all of them

-It was so refreshing for him to see you so invested in your drawings the same way he is in his reading

-You’re still under the impression you’re being sneaky by drawing him while he has his nose in his books

-You ended up finally gathering enough courage to show him one of your portraits of him

-He had a reaction similar to Lucifer’s really

-Praise!

-He made your drawing into a bookmark

-Idk how but he did

-You leave him a few doodles of you and him being all lovey dovey and he absolutely adores them

-Will lose his marbles if anyone says anything remotely negative about your style or talent

-Draw him fluffy animals pls he will literally have them framed and fixed up in his room

-Also if you draw any of his brothers (specifically Lucifer let’s be real) in a silly way he will actually start snorting with laughter

-You sketch him pretty damn often and he can’t really complain

-It’s really peaceful when you two are in the library and you’re working on your doodling while he reads aloud to you

-Buys you equipment like pens and pencils and even sketchbooks when he knows you’re running out

-He’s really delighted when you come over to show him your drawings

-Once he caught you staring at a cat as you started sketching it

-He actually didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much

Asmo:

-Noisy little fucker that he is and in need of drama, he looked through your sketchbook

-Thought it was a diary at first but nope

-Imagine his surprise when he found pages upon pages of drawings of his brothers and him

-Except his weren’t really a surprise

-He’s gorgeous of course you would want to draw him

-But oh my God, do you realise how much he values art??

-I know he looks as if he only thinks about sex but he definitely has a thing for creativity and art like painting and photography

-“MC darliiiing~? Why didn’t you tell me you can draw?”

-He actually shrieks at how well you’ve captured his beauty

-He insists that they look like actual pictures of him

-Takes several pictures of all of them and posts them on DevilGram

-A bit salty when you drawing anything else but him

-However, he can’t deny that you’re one of the most talented individuals he ever met

-He comes up to you every day and lractically begs you to draw him

-One time you came in your room to find him naked and asking you to draw him

-Is actually kinda good at drawing himself

-Specifically people

-He has enough experience exploring the human body so he surprisingly enough, knows a thing or two when it comes to body proportions

-“MC draw me like one of your french girls~”

-I’m sorry I had to do that

-He also likes the attention he’s getting when he poses for you

-He may think he’s the most beautiful being in all three realms but he definitely thinks you’re the second

-So he often offers to draw you too

-He likes having cozy chats with you while you draw

Beel:

-You left your sketchbook behind in the kitchen with him

-Mammon needed your assistance to get down from where Lucifer hanged him after one of his failed money schemes

-He knocked a glass of milk nearby it and had a panic attack for a minute

-Legitimately thought he ruined the whole thing

-Was actually about ready to cry because he knew how important your sketchbook was to you

-Looked through it just to make sure there were no splotches or anything

-To say he was relieved when he realised it was fine would be an understatement

-He was kinda drawn to your sketches, most of them carefully drawn and expressive, even some of the ones you scribbled out

-One specific drawing caught his eye though

-You drew him and Belphie together, with his twin brother’s head resting on his shoulder while Beel ate

-He was mesmerised by your talent and by your thoughtfulness

-Beel felt bad about it but he kept looking through your sketches, enchanted by everything in it

-You drew him and his brothers several times

-It’s safe to say the discovery of your drawings brightened his day

-Gave back your sketchbook later

-He apologised for going through it without your permission more than he needed to

-You had to accept his apology because he looked like a kicked puppy

-Feels very honoured whenever you let him look at your work

-Is more than happy to pose for you!

-But that might be a bit of a problem seeing as he tends to move around a lot

-“Whoa, that looks just like me! The food I’m eating looks really realistic too...which is making me hungry. Let’s go to Hell’s Kitchen, you can finish this there!”

-Supportive bean

-You gave him a family sketch of him and all of his brothers once

-Normally, he only likes gifts he can eat

-But he treasures that drawing more than food at times

-“This...this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me! Thank you MC! But uh, someone’s missing in this drawing.”

-“Ah shit, who did I miss?”

-“You.”

-If anything ever happens to Beel or his happiness I swear to Lord Diavolo-

Belphie:

-OK but you left your notebook just sitting there right next to him???

-How do you expect him not to look through it?

-Belphie doesn’t care much for privacy

-And he doesn’t exactly have morals either

-He didn’t even know you were into drawing

-Which to be fair, wasn’t scandalous considering he sleeps 20 hours a day

-But he wants to be more involved in your interests so that’s why he took initiative with your sketchbook

-Idk what he was expecting but definitely not a sketch of him staring back at him

-His heart skipped a beat but I don’t even know if demons have hearts

-The cheeky little shit took pictures and may or may not have made on your drawings of him his wallpaper

-Most of the drawings were of him sleeping, surprising...absolutely no one

-“So that’s what you’re up to whenever I go to sleep huh? So cute~”

-But besides all that, he is really touched

-I mean, if there’s anyone undeserving of your love and respect is the piece of shit of who tried to kill you

-Yet here you are, continuously showering him with affection and now this

-Probably spent hours looking at your sketchbook while you were at R.A.D

-Didn’t say anything to you when you came back except handing your notebook back to you

-Though he was less of a smartass and more affectionate for the rest of the day

-Next morning, you took the liberty of waking up before him and sketching him again

-He grabbed your arm halfway through your doodling and grinned at you from under the covers

-“Drawing me again huh? You won’t mind me doing this while you’re at it then right?”

-Now he’s sleeping in your lap

-Whenever you show him your work, he makes a small approving noise but he’s seriously impressed

-Draw Lucifer or Lord Diavolo in any offensive manner and he will actually start giggling

-Gets all huffy puffy when you draw his brothers instead of him (we all know Beel is the exception)

-I may have a thing for Belphegour

Al~

[misssophiachase]

The Luck of the Draw

For @klaroline-events KC Bingo -  Sketchbook - On FF and AO3

Klaus loses his sketchbook at school and Caroline (his sister’s best friend) finds it. The problem is it contains drawings of her and Caroline has enlisted his help to track down its owner. What could possibly go wrong?

“I need you now.”

“I know I’m amazing, but…”

“Would you just shut up and get in here?’

“If you wanted a tour of my bedroom, all you needed to do was ask, sweetheart.”

“Shhhhh,” she hissed, pulling him inside the room and shutting the door behind them. “Do you want the whole house to hear you, Mikaelson?”

“Says the girl who invited herself into my bedroom.”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention all night. What did you think I was doing under the dinner table?”

“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure if that was you or Arabella doing that,” he smirked. Arabella was the Mikaelson’s pet cat. Although friendly, Klaus knew exactly who was doing the rubbing. “Now, is there a point to all the dramatics, Forbes?’

“You infuriate me.”

“Enough with the compliments, love,” Klaus replied lazily, lying on his bed and placing his hands behind his head.

“You promised to help me find, well you know.”

“If we knew who it was you wouldn’t need my help.” Her response was an exaggerated eye roll. “Fine, I don’t have anything for you.”

“Unbelievable.”

“To be fair, you only brought me this proposition a couple of days ago. I need time to track down that kind of information.”

“Okay, calling it a proposition, which it so isn’t, makes it sound untoward,” she shot back. “How difficult is it to ask around?”

“Artists aren’t like cheerleaders and jocks; we do things differently. You know less flashy and more…”

“Sullen and brooding?”

“I personally take offence to that.”

“Says the broody guy who called me flashy,” she muttered. “How difficult is it to ask all your arty people if they’ve lost a sketchbook? One that just happens to have drawings of me on every page.”

Hearing that reminded Klaus just what was at stake here.

Sure, he’d lied when she’d brought him the sketchbook. He’d been looking for it for days when she presented it to him after finding it on the bleachers post cheer practice.

After kicking himself mentally for leaving it in such a public place, Klaus assumed she’d worked out it was his and was madly trying to decide out how to explain himself.

Sure, it probably looked creepy to an outsider, but Klaus had been sketching her for the last two years.

Given Rebekah had told him in no uncertain terms “to keep his mitts off” her friends, he had no choice but to draw her instead. Klaus considered it his way of dealing with his unrequited feelings.

They were worlds apart in the school hierarchy. Caroline was a junior and did pretty much every extracurricular activity on offer. Klaus, a senior, liked his space far too much to go to football games and parties. He much preferred spending time with his few close friends, reading books and drawing.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Caroline to ask his help in tracking down the sketchbook’s owner. At first, he considered coming clean but then had no idea how he’d explain himself so went with the alternative.

Tracking down someone who didn’t really exist.

What Klaus hadn’t expected was to have so much fun being around her. He knew she was beautiful, intelligent and all-consuming but the past few days had given him a glimpse of what could be. Or, given his sister’s views, what could have been.

Although, Klaus wasn’t going to let those thoughts get in the way. He was having far too much fun to stop now. One thing, however, had alluded him. What were here plans once she discovered the secret artist?

“I’m curious, Forbes. What exactly do you plan on doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Once you find your mystery artist, what happens next?”

“I, uh,” she faltered, her blue eyes filled with uncertainty. “I suppose I haven’t worked that out yet.”

“Why’s that?’ Klaus asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as desperate as it felt. 

“Caroline! Where are you?” Rebekah’s voice pierced the air. Even with his door shut she could still be heard. “I need help removing this face masque before it decides to stick on me for good.”

“Quelle horreur,” he joked in French, earning a knowing smile from her best friend. “Sounds like you better go tend to the screaming banshee given this disaster could rival the Titanic.”

“I’m not finished with you.”

“I kind of figured,” he nodded thinking that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing at all.  With another eye roll and a hair toss for good measure, she made her way towards the door. “Next time try and refrain from accosting me in my bedroom though, love.”

“You wish, Mikaelson,” she retorted, turning around one last time before pulling the door closed behind her. 

He really did wish.

It was only after she’d left, leaving a scent of vanilla and strawberries in her wake, that Klaus realised he already missed her.

2 days later

“What exactly are we doing here?”

“Why are you whispering? This isn’t the library last time I checked.”

Klaus had suggested they stake out the school’s art studio at lunch to try and track down her sketchbook owner. Yes, he was lying, but couldn’t resist being around her without the whole school watching them.

She’d been texting him a lot the past day and they’d fallen into their usual banter via cell phone. If he knew how fun this would have been he’d have started much earlier. 

C: How does someone draw like this?

K: Like what?

C: I always thought my stick figures were lifelike but then I saw these.

K: Stick figures get way too much criticism if you ask me.

C: Now you’re just being facetious.

K: That’s a big word for such a little girl.

C: It’s okay, I’ll buy you a dictionary so you can look it up, Mikaelson.

“So, this is where everything happens?” She asked, looking around at the myriad of paints and brushes, easels and canvases. Klaus liked the art studio, he found it incredibly relaxing and tranquil.

“You mean the painting?”

“No, dumbass, I mean the brooding.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re hilarious?” He teased, swatting her playfully with a paint brush.

“All the time,” she replied deadpan. “I’m thinking of majoring in drama at college.”

“Well, you have that drama queen thing going for you.” She gave him a look which clearly said he’d gone too far. “I’m not saying you’ll win an Academy Award for best dramatic performance though, that has my sister written all over it.”

“I’ve never understood how you two are related,” Caroline mused. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love Rebekah, but she’s so loud and bossy and you’re…”

“Not?”

“Obviously you missed out on that and she missed out on the smart-ass gene,” she laughed, her whole face lighting up. Klaus loved watching her love, hell he loved watching her do anything.

She was wearing her cheerleading uniform as there was a game that night. Her blonde waves were piled into a high ponytail and the school colours only made her eyes that much bluer.  

“So, how are we going to find this mystery person when no one is here?”

“That’s the whole point,” he insisted. “Take a look around and see if anyone’s artwork looks familiar.”

“Where’s your work?”

“Why?” He asked curiously but also probably too quickly. Was she onto him?

“Well, we’ve known each other all this time and I’ve never seen your work,” she offered. “You must be pretty good if you’re going to RISD after graduation.”

“How do you know about that?” Klaus was shocked, although they saw each other frequently he didn’t think she ever actually saw him. 

“Your sister must have mentioned it,” she murmured. Klaus noticed a slight blush cross her cheeks and decided it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “So, I, uh, guess I should take a look around.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he only just managed to get out. 

“Not many stick figures and here I thought I had a future in art.” 

“I can teach you.” It just came out before Klaus had time to process his offer. Maybe it was a stupid thing to suggest but it was too late now. 

“I might be a lost cause,” she admitted. 

“Come on, let’s give it a try.”

“Now?”

“Well, there’ll be less embarrassment if you draw a stick figure without the judgmental, brooding artist crowd watching.” Before she could argue, he’d moved in behind her, placing a sketchpad on the desk and a pencil in her hand. 

He was trying to ignore just how good she felt against his chest. He noticed her breath quicken, hoping for even just a second that she felt even a shred of what he did for her. 

“Okay, so point the pencil towards the paper,” he instructed, placing his hand over hers and tilting it slightly. Her skin was just as soft as it looked. “This is how you need to hold it.” 

“So, that’s what I was doing wrong all this time,” she teased. He smiled against her hair, thinking just how comfortable he felt, his hand guiding hers gently to the paper. 

Later that night

“I thought football games were a waste of time,” she teased, approaching him on the bleachers. The crowds were long gone, the field empty. “I seem to recall you saying something only a few days ago about cheerleaders and jocks being too flashy.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” he muttered. “I was bored, what can I say?”

“Did you at least catch my halftime act?”

“I did actually,” he smiled, thinking he quite liked what he saw. The pure athleticism on display was impressive and it didn’t hurt that she looked beautiful doing it. “Those spirit fingers had to be my favourite part though.”

“Uh, huh,” she growled sarcastically. “I knew you were secretly watching Bring It On when you thought Rebekah and I didn’t notice.” 

“In my defence, Finn and Elijah watched it too and I had a crush on the Clover’s Captain.”

“Wow, he even remembers the team name,” she laughed, taking a seat and putting her pom poms down. “You sure do like this spot.”

“Excuse me?”

“On the bleachers. I remember you used to watch me and Rebekah practice before try-outs from here. I could tell you weren’t really interested but it meant a lot that you did it for Rebekah.”

“It wasn’t just for Rebekah, Caroline,” he murmured, his gaze now downward, finally finding her red pom poms a much needed distraction. 

“The reason this spot stands out to me is not just because of that,” she said, moving closer. “This also happens to be where I found the mystery sketchbook.”

“Really? What a coincidence.”

“You know, I don’t think it was, Klaus,” she pressed. “I know it’s your sketchbook.”

“You do?” He asked, finally looking up into her eyes. 

“I’ve known since I found it and looked inside,” she admitted. “It seemed too much of a coincidence that it was in this spot and those sketches were of me.”

“So, you were testing me?” He asked, suddenly put out that she’d known and didn’t feel the need to be honest. Klaus felt stupid enough about her finding them as it was. 

“Maybe,” she murmured. “But not for the reason you think.”

“Why then?’

“Remember in your bedroom the other night, you asked me what I’d say to the person who owned the sketchbook?” He nodded by way of response, unable to get much else out given what was transpiring. “I didn’t know because it was yours.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course I knew what I wanted to say but I guess I but didn’t know if you wanted to hear it,” she admitted. 

“Why would you think that?”

“You didn’t own up to it, I thought maybe you didn’t feel...”

“Feel what?”

“Hey, no fair! You’re the one who drew the most beautiful pictures that, by the way, I’ve only looked at hundreds of times. Which gave me all these feelings and emotions and I’m the only one having to fess up?” She was rambling but Klaus thought it was so adorable it didn’t matter. 

“I think what you wanted to say is exactly what I wanted to say back to you.”

“This conversation has become awfully confusing but what I think you might be trying to say is...”

“I love you, Caroline Forbes.” She was silent for a moment, obviously processing not only his interruption but what he’d admitted. Maybe he’d gone too far?

“Wow,” she whispered. “Way to steal a girl’s thunder.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“How about we stop talking all together and do something else instead?” She grinned, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “But for the record, I love you too.”

“Rebekah is going to kill me, isn’t she?”

“You’re really thinking about your sister right now? Just shut up and kiss me, Mikaelson.”

[elleselanguitsansfin]

Hello all! Just wanted to share a draft for a short story I'm working on at the moment. The 'planets' (cough cough Luna and Sol) are based off of pre-Copernican cosmology, so this is just my interpretation of their characters in a work setting. There's a lot that I want to change but I was curious about what you thought so far!

“Earth!”

Mercury, the memo-boy, comes speeding down the hallway sending papers scattering across the floor. In his hand is a piece of gold note paper, which I know must have come from the boss’ office, which he presents to me as he skids to a halt. “Boss wanted me to give you this. He said it was urgent.” And then as quickly as he arrived, he leaves, tearing down the corridor.

“Jove, what now?” I open the note and read.

Hello Earth! Sorry about the inconvenience, but I need you to do a task for me. A few years ago I gave someone — one of the planets — a package, and I need that delivered to the address below. Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten who it was, but it’s an urgent matter so I was hoping you could ask around for me. I would do it myself, but I’m busy at the moment dealing with administration. Did you hear that the council is planning on revoking Luna’s and Sol’s status as planets, and replacing them with two nobodies called Uranus and Neptune? They’re crazy! Anyways, the sooner you get this done, the better. Thanks!

A mysterious package… Well, I suppose I should go talk to Luna first. She’s my closest friend, after all.

I push past the silver door with LADY LUNA inscribed on a plaque, and step inside the dimly lit room. “Luna?” There’s a bluish glow about, and I haven’t quite figured out whether I find it eerie or comforting.

“Yes?” A soft voice that sounds like tinkling bells echoes throughout the office, and I follow it to find Lady Luna herself in the middle of a pond. She’s standing atop a canoe that looks as though it’s been woven by silver threads, with little blue lights surrounding her head, while stirring the water around her with a long staff. Though I’m not in my office at the moment, I can feel my tides shifting.

“I’ve been sent on a mission. Would you happen to know anything about a package the boss gave you, a few years back?”

Luna looks up from her stirring. “No? Should I?” Her pale face wears a concerned expression, and her fingers dance up and down her staff. It’s a tic she has when she worries about something. Apart from her fingers, nothing besides her long hair and her long white gown moves — I’ve never quite figured that out, there’s no breeze in here.

“No, it’s fine, just trying to find someone.”

Her posture relaxes. “Oh, good. I haven’t heard from anyone but you in a while, actually, I was worried I had missed something.” Though Luna and I are close, she doesn’t talk much with the others. They usually only come to her for therapy, because she’s very calming, but otherwise they avoid her because she also has a little bit of a reputation as a lunatic.

“You haven’t, don’t worry.” Then I think. “Actually, there is a little bit of a concern at the moment… I don’t think it’s something to dwell on too much, you’ll probably be fine, but they’re reconsidering yours — and Sol’s — statuses as planets. I don’t know why, they’ll probably not change anything.” I have no doubt that Luna will keep her position, but I see her face shift and know perhaps it wasn’t something I should have mentioned.

“What?! How could they?! My work is so important! It’s because I don’t talk to anyone, isn’t it? They think all I do is follow you around all the time. I’ll show them! Get out!” Her skin remains the same glowing white as it always does, but her fists are clenched and her face is furious. One of her blue glowing orbs shoots towards me, and I narrowly miss it as I slip out the door.

I love Luna, but her moods are all over the place. You have to watch your words around her.

I walk through the cafeteria with the intention of finding Venus, but Mercury comes whizzing around a corner a little too quickly and knocks us, along with his stack of newsletters, to the floor.

“Hey, watch it!” He sounds mad, but Mercury is much smaller than I am so I don’t really care.

“You should watch it. You’re the one that goes way too fast.”

“Can you blame me? If our maker didn’t want me to go fast, he wouldn’t have given me super speed.” He glances around nervously. “That, and Sol’s chasing me because I stole his favourite paper weight.” He pulls a gleaming golden bird figurine out of one of his many pockets. “How was I meant to know he cared about this bit of junk?”

“If it’s a bit of junk, why take it?”

“I’m a kleptomaniac, I can’t help it. Besides, that’s my whole shtick. If I don’t steal everything, who will? It’s the principle of the thing.

“Right.” A thought occurs to me. “Actually, Mercury, has our boss given you a package or anything to look after? Within the last few years?”

“You do realise that nobody gives me anything if they plan on getting it back, right?”

“So that’s a no. Okay, then, well I’ll see you around then, Mercury! Do you need any help getting those papers?” I ask, pointing to the memos scattered on the floor.

“No, I’ll be fine. See you!”

I make it around a corner before I notice one of my shoes doesn’t feel quite right. I glance down. The lace from my right boot has vanished, somewhere—

I go back to yell at Mercury for stealing my shoelace but he’s already gone, not a single paper in sight.

At the end of another long hallway is an amber-coloured door with a sign reading VENUS. I don’t talk to her a whole lot — we’re quite similar, but she causes a lot of drama in the office and it’s a bit of a pain. You see, the thing is: she’s very, very pretty. By that I mean beautiful, and by that I mean drop-dead gorgeous. Venus has a bad habit of making people fall for her, only for them to get their hearts broken, and I don’t know if she does it on purpose or not but it’s fair for me to dislike her a little bit for that. Right?

I push through the door and the first thing that surprises me is the heat. Admittedly, I’ve never been in Venus’ office before. It’s like walking into a sauna, or a rainforest, or a very humid greenhouse. The second thing that surprises me is the amount of greenery everywhere. The walls and ceiling are obscured by plants in all different shapes and sizes, from tiny cacti to enormous monstera plants. Lying on a chaise in the middle of the room, with a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other, is Venus. A large feather fan flaps furiously beside her, which makes a cool breeze strong enough to ruffle her dark curly hair and occasionally flip the pages she’s trying to draw on. She wears an orange dress that compliments her skin, and it looks like a very fine material. Makes sense, considering how hot it is in here.

I slip off my sweater. “Hey, Venus.”

Venus glances up, and a look of surprise crosses her face. “Earth? What are you doing here?”

“Boss sent me. Do you know anything— gosh, it’s so hot! How can you work in this room?” I wipe my forehead with my arm, and it’s slick with sweat.

“Oh no, come sit here! It’s much cooler by the fan.” She drags me by the arm to her couch, where I immediately feel relief from the temperature. I can see her sketchbook now, she’s working on storyboards for advertisements. Venus has a knack for making things look attractive, hence she’s in charge of advertising and sales.

“Thanks. Do you know anything about a package the boss might have given you? A few years back?”

Venus shakes her head, her frizzy curls bouncing. “No, I’m afraid not. Why?”

I shrug. “He just needs it for something. Don’t worry about it.” I get up to go, but Venus grabs my arm again. “What?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” She hesitates. “You’re so good with plants. You have so many, and they thrive. But I’ve been trying to grow my own and it’s just not working. Are the conditions not right?”

“Oh— well, I think this greenhouse effect is good in theory, but it’s a little extreme and not all plants are suited for these kinds of conditions. Maybe you could set up little areas with different, I don’t know, climates for each? And you could research what different plants need to survive.” I have lots of plants, but they tend to take care of themselves.

“Great, thank you so much! I’ve tried asking around, but nobody really seems to care. Some of the interns are having a competition to see who can get a date first and whenever I try to talk to anyone that’s all that ever gets brought up anymore.” Venus looks both happy with the information but also quite dejected. I never really bothered learning office gossip, I just assumed Venus liked having all the attention.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Venus… if you want, you can find me in my office and we can talk about plants any time you want, alright?” I offer.

She beams. “Earth, that would be brilliant. Thank you.”

I say goodbye, and leave Venus’ room. It seems I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.

I plan on finding Mars next, but a clamour outside turns my attention to the window. Mercury zips along the path, the same paperweight clutched in his hand as the one he showed me before. Shortly after he disappears out of my line of sight, a tall, bronzed man in a chariot comes racing after him.

“Sol?” I call in surprise.

His chariot screeches to a halt, and Sol turns to me. He says nothing, but beckons for me to come outside. I crawl out of the window, and jog over to where he is. “Hop on, please, Earth. This kid’s messed with my belongings for too long.”

“I— what?” I’m too confused to register what he’s talking about, so he just pulls me up onto the chariot, cracks a golden whip, and the horses with manes of fire pulling the chariot whinny and start their chase again.

“You called me, was there something you wanted to ask?” Sol towers over me, which would be intimidating especially as I know him to have a fiery temper, but he radiates warmth which makes him seem friendly.

“No, sor— actually, yes. Did the boss give you any sort of package to look after? Within the last few years?” It would make sense if he did. Sol is very responsible and one of the more powerful of the planets. However, my guess is wrong.

“No, he hasn’t. He did give me that paperweight, though, and I’d really like it back.”

I laugh. “I’ll talk to Mercury later. Hey, aren’t you meant to be working right now?” Sol is in charge of scheduling, and he has the important role of being the one to chase the night away. It’s not a job that generally has breaks, so I don’t know why he’s out here.

Sol gives a sheepish smile. “I got Luna to cover for me. The eclipse will only last so long, though, so I’m hoping a few minutes will be enough to catch him.”

“Face it, Sol, the boy is too fast for you. Go back to work.” I pat him on the back and he sighs, before bringing the chariot to a slow stop.

“Fair enough. I hope you find who you’re looking for!”

I get off the chariot, and walk back into the building. Conveniently, Sol has dropped me off right next to Mars’ workshop.

Mars has a heavy iron door with his name on it at the entrance to his workshop. Inside is an array of tools and machinery, some of which looks so obscure I can’t imagine what it could be used for. Mars is toiling away at something metal at the other end of the room, which is made evident by the routine CLANG of metal against metal. I have to shout to be heard over the din.

“Hello, Mars!” The clanging doesn’t stop, but he looks up from his work. A few tufts of bright red hair stick out from under an iron helmet. Whether he’s wearing it for protection, or because he just likes armour in general (he’s a soldier every single Halloween), I can’t tell. I realise that if I want to talk to him I’ll have to be beside him, so I cup my ears with my hands and walk up the room.

“Hello” — CLANG — “Earth, what can” — CLANG — “I do for” — CLANG — “you?”

I grab the metal tool he’s using, so I can talk properly. “Two things: firstly, perhaps you could pause your racket just for a moment?”

Mars looks displeased, but complies. “Yes?”

“Thank you. Secondly, has the boss given you any sort of package recently?”

“No.” With that, the work continues, and my hands fly back up to cover my ears to protect them from the deafening noise. I already knew Mars was not one for conversation. He’s like Sol in the way that he’s hot headed, but perhaps he’s more likely to show it, or act on it. He’s usually behind the biggest fights at work, and I know that’s not a rumour because I’ve witnessed it myself. We keep him around though, because nobody is as good at production as he is.

As soon as I’m out of the workshop, I head towards the elevators. Who else could there possibly be? I’ve spoken with Luna, Mercury, Venus, Sol, Mars… what if he forgot? What if he actually didn’t give it to someone, and just left it lying around? I step into the elevator, because I can’t think of anywhere else it could be, and press the button for the top floor where Jove’s office is located.

The doors open with a cheery ding and I stroll through the corridor. It’s easy to see which door is the one I want: it’s wide open, and all around it are golden decorations in the shape of a grapevine. Without bothering to knock, I march through the doorway. “Hello, sir!”

“Oh, don’t bother with that ‘sir’ rubbish. Call me Jove!” Sitting at an elevated desk is a large man, with sparkling eyes and a rosy face. Jove reminds me a lot of Santa Claus, or Father Christmas, in the sense that he’s always cheerful and loves giving away presents. “What’s the matter, Earth?”

“Well, s— um, Jove. Is there any chance you may still have that package yourself? Because I’m sure I’ve asked everyone about it, and I know I certainly don’t have it, so I don’t know where else it might be.”

Jove frowns, a puzzled look on his face, which is so different from his usual friendly smile it’s surprisingly jarring. “Are you sure? Who have you spoken to?”

“Luna, Mercury, Venus, Sol and Mars,” I recite in order.

Jove’s expression changes from a frown to one of understanding. “Ah, I see. I know who has it — makes total sense, really, I don’t know how I could have forgotten. Then again, I suppose you forgot about him too, didn’t you?”

“Who could I possibly have forgotten?”

“Don’t you remember who works in our archives, taking care of everything we don’t immediately need?” Jove encourages.

“I don’t… Saturn!!” My jaw drops, and I am overcome with guilt. How could I have forgotten about Saturn?! I feel awful.

“Don’t worry about it, dear. It’s not that you see him often, anyways. I don’t think he’s been outside for at least a century.”

“Yes, but still…”

Jove gestures towards a tray on his desk. “Have a biscuit, you’ll feel better, and then go and fetch me that package, please?”

I take one, and walk out to go back to the lifts, but there’s an unfamiliar weight in my pocket. I reach into my pocket, and pull out a golden pen, with bands of different coloured metals going around the cap. A sticky note attached reads ‘For taking notes and remembering things’. It’s impossible to leave Jove’s office without a gift of some sort.

I haven’t been in the basement before. It’s cold, damp and dark, and it’s like a maze with shelves full of old files and peculiar artifacts that haven’t seen the light of day for years. I wander around for a bit, and almost walk past a row of shelves when I spot a figure balanced at the top of a tall ladder, leaning against a bookcase. “Saturn? Is that you?” I call out.

The figure turns, to reveal a wizened face with a long white beard. “Yes, that’s me. And you must be Earth.”

“How did you know? I don’t know if we’ve spoken before,” I inquire.

“No we have not, but I know everyone in this building, or has ever been. In fact, I know everything that has ever happened here in all history.”

“Really?”

The old man smiles. It’s a crooked one, but the one of someone who is very wise. “Really. All records are kept here, and I have read every single one.”

That is unbelievable, but perhaps spending so long down here gives you a lot of free time. “Saturn, Jove gave you a package some time ago. Could I have that please?”

Saturn’s face turns to one of knowing. “It is time, then.”

“Time for what?”

He says nothing, but climbs down the ladder and vanishes into the labyrinth. Mere minutes later, he returns with a package, wrapped in Jove’s signature golden paper and tied up with a simple white ribbon. “Take this and follow the markers in bronze to get to the exit. Good luck, Earth.” With that he’s gone again, and I don’t know if he was wishing me luck with leaving or with the package. I follow his instructions and leave the archives, Saturn just as much of a mystery to me as he was before.

The package glimmers prettily in the lights of Jove’s office. Jove welcomes me back with a shining goblet of wine, which now sits precariously on my arm rest, as I am sitting in a chair opposite his desk.

“Thank you Earth, you’ve done splendidly. Now, do you have any idea what this package is?”

“No, I don’t.”

Jove starts to undo the ribbon at the top. “You see, we were hoping we could increase our audience a little bit, but in order to do that we needed to find a place for them to go. I have been conducting some secret research throughout the company and have concluded that you, Earth, are the best fit for this new assignment.” He opens the package fully, and extracts a small box. “This is for you.”

I take the box and open it. Inside is what looks like dirt. “Thank you?”

Jove chuckles heartily. “It is more than what it looks like. From that, you will be the first planet to have people.”

“People?”

“Humans. They’ll learn to live off what you provide for them, and they’ll be full of wild and wonderful ideas that we planets have never come up with before.” His voice lowers. “They may hurt you. They may forget who gave them what they needed and that they wouldn’t be anywhere without you. However, they will be better with you than anyone else and it is a privilege to be able to host life. Not even I have that. Are you willing to accept this assignment?”

My jaw drops, but I close it hastily. “Of course.”

Jove smiles from ear to ear. “Then take the box, choose a place in your office to put it, and see what happens. I wish you luck, Earth.”

With steady hands despite my nerves, I take the box of dirt — people? — and rush back to my office on a lower floor. It’s a calming combination of blue, green and white, and as I scan the room, my eyes fall on a large green area on the floor where I know I’ve got forests, mountains, deserts and ocean. “Africa,” I decide, and place the little box in the middle. There’s a flash, then I feel a tingling sensation, and the box is gone. However, I look closely, and I can see movement that was unlike anything else I had seen before. I was already used to creatures, but never any that were as apparently developed as these. Already they were moving things around and taking parts of plants to make things. Remembering I told Sol I’d talk to Mercury, I decided I could leave my people to their own devices for a little bit. As I slipped out of my office into the coffee room, I made a few plans.

I would treat them with kindness. Hopefully, they returned the favour.

[trashmouth-tozier89]

Welcome to the Loser’s Club Asshole! - Ch.1 | ONE

Warnings: swearing, one homophobic slur (Bowers)

Word Count: 4,084

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader

A/N - the first official chapter of the first series on my page! oof, this is gonna be a ride. please know this is basically my interpretation of the two recent adaptations of IT that have come out, and so the cast of this exactly the same, with you as Y/N! I hope you enjoy this, and my interpretation of the film! 

If you wish to be added to the taglist, send in an ask or pop it in the comments! :)

Welcome to the Loser’s Club Asshole Masterlist 

Being the new girl was certainly the worst.

Y/N’s mum had decided her family needed a big change, and she assumed this would mean something like refurbishing the living room or getting a family pet, not moving to a completely different town on the opposite side of Maine. She had begged and pleaded, took every chance she could to convince her against the decision, but before she knew it, the house was bought and she was packing her bedroom into measly cardboard boxes.

Being a stickler for organisation, she had split everything she owned into 4 categories; clothing, books, cassette tapes and others. As she slipped her final book into the box labelled books, she sighed in relief; glad she was finally finished and could take a rest. It’s not like she owned much anyway, but she didn’t exactly like doing something which she didn’t want to do. Packing up her stuff meant that this was final, it was happening and nothing would change it.

Moving to a new city meant moving away from the place she called home; her friends, other family; she even considered the possibility that she’d miss the bullies at her school. She wasn’t exactly the most confident and outspoken person, so she wasn’t sure how easy it would be to make new friends. Especially considering the school her mum had enrolled her at, Derry High School, had taken one look at her grades and placed her in all the higher set classes. If she were to make friends, they would probably end up being nerds who were the pit of all jokes at the school. It’s not like she had any way of keeping in touch with her friends back home either; she wasn’t sure if her new house would have a telephone, and even if it did, catching up on the phone every night was not the idea of fun she had pictured for her summer holiday. She was utterly doomed to spend your summer indoors, alone, doing art to pass the time.

She lay back on the mattress that was once her bed, which annoyingly had no bedding on but it was better than nothing, and flipped to an empty page in her sketchbook, the pencil meeting the paper within seconds. She didn’t even have to think about what she was drawing, for the inspiration simply came without effort. Halfway through drawing, her mother barged into the bedroom, looking around to check she had completed what she had asked. Y/N could tell she was stressed, her decision quickly backfiring when she realised how much there was to do; the two were meant to be leaving for Derry tonight, and the moving truck was yet to arrive.

“Is it still not here yet?” Y/N questioned, looking to her mother’s worried expression and matching it. She nodded, shaking her head softly and sighing loudly. This really was taking a toll on her. “Is everything else packed up?”

It was just the 2 of them living in the house, though not for much longer. Y/N’s father had been out of the picture for about a year now, passing away after a terrible accident in one of the quarries across town, and it had taken a damaging toll on the whole family. Her mother had been feeling down for months, and she considered that this was probably the reason she wanted to move; the memory of her husband was bound to this town and if she were to move, maybe she could escape the pain. Y/N couldn’t deny, that really was the only reason she was happy to leave this town too, and so she went with her decisions with at least a little support.

“Thankfully it is. We are just waiting for the truck and then we can leave. I’d be happy to set off now, but I don’t know how I feel leaving all our stuff in the house by itself.” She explained, sitting down on the edge of the bed and resting her head in her hands. Like a miracle, the truck pulled in as soon as she finished her sentence, and Y/N could see the glee on her face when the middle-aged man from outside shouted “Is this the L/N residence” from the drive. She stuck her head out the window with a big grin, nodding yes and explaining she’d ‘be down in just a second’. It had all begun to set in; they really were moving, and they probably wouldn’t ever be coming back.

Making her way down, Y/N’s mother was in conversation with the truck driver, whilst other men rushed past her to grab all the furniture and boxes from inside the house. She only heard small snippets of her conversation, before sitting down in the car and closing the door. She didn’t want the big goodbyes and sadness; she wanted to get it over and done with before the emotions began to sit in. Thankfully, her friends had already said goodbye to her the day before; once she had left, she would be en route to Derry, no stops.

***

The new house was nice. It was nothing compared to her old one, but it was manageable. Y/N had her own room, and she could definitely fit all her furniture into it without too much of a squeeze. It just felt... strange. The whole town felt strange. Off. Like something wasn’t right.

Nevertheless, she lived here now and she wasn’t going to complain, because it would only upset her mother more and she didn’t want that to happen. Today was supposed to be Y/N’s first day at school, which she saw as extremely pointless considering the fact it was also the last day at school before summer. Her mother hadn’t picked the most opportune time to move house, but she wanted Y/N to at least get one or two friends before going into the summer, so she had someone to spend the time with. She understood the reasoning, she just didn’t exactly agree.

Especially considering she was 5 periods into the school day and yet to make any friends. Everyone either sent her a glance of disgust or confusion, questioning who she was and why the fuck she was even here. She peeked at her timetable to see her last lesson was easily the worst, Math. Being in the higher set didn’t make it much easier either. Apparently, the smart kids of Derry were much smarter than the smart kids of her hometown. Walking into the classroom, she recognised everyone from your previous classes, except one boy who sat right at the back of the class. His head was leant down, focused on a book, but she knew she didn’t know him based on the fact she hadn’t seen anyone with the same curly hair and blue shirt.  Due to the fact the only empty seat happened to be next to the boy, she made her way over.

“I-uh, is this seat taken?” Y/N asked, pointing to the vacant seat with a grin on her face. His head shot up at the sound of a girl’s voice, shaking his head slightly to indicate it wasn’t before looking back at his book. She sat herself down, pulling the math textbook out of her extremely light backpack and turned to face the boy. He seemed nice enough, and she thought she ought to begin making friends; at least then she could say she tried. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, it’s a book about birds.” He mumbled, almost like he didn’t want to be talking to her, but she wouldn’t let that put her off.

“Have you ever been birdwatching? I love to just sit in my back garden and watch them, sometimes I get my sketchbook out and draw them” she smiled at the thought, memories of her and her father sat in the garden with binoculars that were too big for her face hanging around her neck as he pointed out what each one was. Birdwatching soon became one of her favourite activities. That was the benefit of living near trees, and thankfully her new house also had that.

“Wait, you actually like birdwatching? I love it; b-but all my friends think it’s stupid!” He perked up, shocked to have found someone else with the same passion. She knew she was going to get along quite well with the boy, or she hoped at least. “I’m Stanley Uris, but you can call me Stan. That’s what my friends call me”

“I’m Y/N L/N. Hopefully we can birdwatch together sometime soon.”

“I-I’d like that” he grinned, cheeks blushing red at the idea of a pretty girl like her wanting to spend time with a boy like him. Her first official friend – Stanley Uris. Stan Uris. The boy from math class.

Maybe her summer wouldn’t be as lonely as she anticipated.

***

As the final bell of the day rang, the children of Derry High School spewed into the hallways, cheers and laughter filling what was previously silence. A collection of 3 boys rushed out of once classroom, carrying on down the corridor together; anyone around them could see very clearly that they were best of friends just from the way they interacted.

“So there’s like this church full of Jews right? And Stan has to take like this super Jew-y test” Eddie Kaspbrak, the smaller one of the 3, explained. The boy had a fanny pack tightly strapped around his waist, containing who knows what, and his backpack hanging over his shoulders. Some may have considered the extra accessory unnecessary for a school day, but they did not know Eddie and his hypochondriac personality well enough to make a judgement.

“But how’s it work?” Bill Denborough questioned; Bill was largely considered the leader of the pack due to his optimistic personality and valiance, also the fact that he was the tallest of the 3 gave him a slight advantage. Though, everyone has noticed the way Bill had been acting a lot more removed, and they immediately credited it to the fact Georgie, Bill’s younger brother, had gone missing only months earlier. No one dared to bring it up to the poor boy though.

“They slice the tip of his dick off!” Eddie pointed out, with a little too much enthusiasm. Bill pulled a face, as if to say Eddie was crazy, but the third boy simply scrunched his eyebrows together in a frown.

“But then Stan’ll have nothing left!” Richie Tozier, the final of the three, joked. Richie was the clown of the group, or as they liked to call him, the ‘trashmouth’. Mainly due to the amount of rubbish and vulgar words that came out of his mouth almost every second of every day. Richie couldn’t help it, it was his personality, but most people who met his for the first time didn’t expect such crude things due to the way he looked; the lens of his glasses were so thick, they made his eyes appear 5x bigger than they really were, meaning Richie was able to get away with a lot of the wreck he havocked.

“That’s true” Eddie started, before being interrupted from the touch of a hand grabbing his shoulder, and a familiar voice shouting “Wait up, you guys!” from behind him. The 3 turned to face Stanley, who had made his way out of maths a little late because he wanted to give Y/N his telephone number and address. That way, they would be able to birdwatch together.

“Hey Stan, what happens at the bar mitzvah anyways? Ed says they slice the tip of your d-d-d-dick off” Bill stuttered out, another stand out feature about the young boy. Bill had sported a stutter since he was a young child, which had earned him the nickname ‘Stuttering Bill’ from everyone at school. He hated the nickname, and he didn’t necessarily like his stutter either, but it had been getting better as time went on.

“Yeah, and I think the Rabbi’s gonna pull down your pants, turn to the crowd and say ‘Where’s the beef?” Richie exclaims, earning a small chuckle from the other two, while Stan simply stayed straight faced.

“At the bar mitzvah, I read from the Torah” Stan began, earning the attention from the other boys, “And then I make a speech, and suddenly I become a man”

The explanation seemed enough for Eddie and Bill, but of course, Richie slipped in one more joke with “I could think of funner ways to become a man”. That was before locking eyes with a group of boys, obviously older, who went by the name of the Bower’s gang; there was Patrick Hockstetter, a tall quite lanky boy, with black shady hair; Belch Huggins, overweight enough so that his belly always hung slightly over his belt, a baseball cap on his head and a grin of mischief on his face; Victor Criss, rather tall and thin like Patrick, but with hair as light as his pasty skin; and lastly, Henry Bowers. Sporting a brown mullet, wearing a t-shirt and a look of disgust on his face, Henry was the worst of them all.  Even the name, Henry Bowers, struck fear in almost every student at Derry High. It was common knowledge; do not cross Henry Bowers or any of his goons. Unless you have a death wish, that is.

Richie had been so distracted by the gang, he barely noticed when Stan corrected his grammar; “More fun, you mean”

The Bower’s gang stared at the smaller group as they passed by, Patrick licking his lips at Richie as if he was fresh meat. It is obvious from the boys faces they were frightened, Eddie even double-taking once or twice to ensure they weren’t following. Richie piped up, noticing how the group had been rendered silent; “Think they’ll sign my yearbook? ‘Dear Richie, sorry for taking a hot, steaming dump in your backpack last March, have a good summer!”

Eddie and Bill chuckled at the memory of Richie’s disgusted face having discovered Bowers had, in fact, taken a shit in his backpack without him knowing. Richie had learnt from that point that whenever the gang were in the toilets, it wasn’t a smart idea to also go in. And make a joke which is bound to aggravate them. Stan, however, was too preoccupied by Greta Keene who had knocked into his shoulder whilst barging towards the toilet at a speed that was simply unneeded for a school corridor. Greta was also a bit of a bully, but mostly to the girls of the school, considering she thought she was superior to them all. With the attitude of a stuck up brat, Greta was despised by the group of boys too. This was understandable.

 ***

“Best feeling ever” Stan grinned, as the 4 boys dumped everything and anything they could out of their backpacks and into the bins in front of the school. It was extremely relieving for them, knowing school was finally over.

“Oh yeah? Try tickling your pickle for the first time” Richie quipped, earning nothing but eye rolls and sniggers from the rest. Thankfully, Eddie was changing the subject before Richie could continue.

“Hey, what do you guys wanna do tomorrow?”

“I start my training” Richie explained, as if it was the most obvious thing that could’ve been said. This confused Eddie, and the remaining boys, as he questioned “Wha-what training?”

“Street Fighter” Richie answered, referring to the video game in the arcade Richie had practically dedicated his life to complete.

“Is that how you wanna spend your summer? Inside of an arcade” Eddie grimaced at the idea; he never understood the appeal of gaming, or the arcade for that matter, whereas Richie was the exact opposite. Richie looked at Eddie with a disappointed look on his face, huffing lightly.

“Beats spending it inside of your mother!” Richie exclaimed, chuckling at his own joke as he lifted his hand to high five Stan with an ‘Oh!’, only for his arm to be pulled down by Stan, who wasn’t joining in on any of Richie’s jokes, and instead making a more reasonable suggestion; “What if we go to the quarry?”

Eddie seemed on board with the idea, Richie too, but Bill was quick to remind them; “Guys, we have the b-b-b-Barrens”

“Right” Stan responded, understanding that going to the Barrens meant spending the day searching for Georgie.

“Betty Ripsom’s mom…” Eddie mumbled, changing the subject once again, as he spotted the woman stood next to a police car. She was looking around at all the children, searching for her daughter, who had also gone missing month before.

“Is she really expecting to see her come out of school?” Stan muttered, feeling a pang of guilt as he noticed the distraught expression on the woman’s face.

“I don’t know” Eddie answered, “As if Betty Ripsom’s been hiding in Home Ec. for the last few weeks”

“You think they’ll actually find her?” Stan asked again, eyes still pinned solely on the woman.

“Sure. In a ditch, all decomposed, covered in worms and maggots, smelling like Eddie’s mom’s underwear” Richie retorted, almost with a lack of humour to it.

“Shut up! That’s freaking disgusting” Eddie complains, the fact his mother is the pit of another one of Richie’s jokes getting on his nerves.

“Sh-she’s not dead. She’s m-m-m-m-missing” Bill insisted, turning back to Richie with a saddened look in his eye. The boy’s hearts dropped at the realisation of what they were talking about, and how sensitive it was for Bill. If Betty was dead, that meant Georgie probably was too, and Bill wasn’t ready to accept that.

Richie adjusted his glasses slightly, apologising quickly; “Sorry Bill. She’s missing.”

Bill turned to walk away from the bins and towards their bikes, with the others following behind – “You know the Barrens aren’t that bad. Who doesn’t love splashing around in shitty water?” Richie barely got out before a hand had grabbed onto the straps of his backpack and flung him backwards, sending him tumbling into Stanley. As they fell to the grass, Stanley’s kippah slipped off his head. Patrick noticed this, and grabbed the head cover before Stanley could stop him; “Nice Frisbee, flamer” Patrick mocked

“Give it back” Stan insisted, but Patrick had flung the small hat into a passing bus and shouted “Fucking losers” before Stan could grab it out his hand.

Belch approached an unsuspecting Eddie from behind, burping loudly into his ear. This caused Eddie to gag and run to the over side of Bill to get away from the boy. Bill, however, escaped any ridicule apart from a nudge from Henry as he passed by, mumbling “Loser” not so discreetly.

All the meanwhile, Y/N was stood at top of the path leading down to where the confrontation could be seen happening. She had been walking out of the building to head home, glad the day was finally over, before she witnessed the boy from math class being pushed over and bullied by the group of boys she didn’t even know. She usually would’ve left this kind of confrontation alone, but considering Stanley was the only friend she had managed to make yet, she kind of owed it to him. She rushed over to Stan’s side, helping him up off the ground, him mumbling a small ‘thank you’ in response. She watched as the bullies began to walk away, but she wasn’t going to let that happen; who were they to treat her friend like shit?

“What is your problem?” she shouted, capturing the attention of the rest of the Loser’s, but more importantly the Bower’s gang. They stopped in their tracks, turning back with a look of surprise on their face; surprise that someone would have the audacity to stand up to them. She couldn’t help but take a step back, feeling intimidated by the older boys, but that didn’t stop the girl from standing her ground with confidence.

“What did you say?” Henry scoffed.

“I said, what is your problem – need I repeat that again? Maybe a little slower so you and your pee brain friends can understand it a bit better this time?” she retorted, not letting the pit of fear she felt bubbling in her stomach show. Eddie, Richie, Stan and Bill cowered behind her, looking at each other in shock that this random girl was standing up to the school bullies, insulting them.

“Y/N, right? Only your first day at this school and I’ve heard all about you. You and your mom – I heard, she gave the principal a blowie so he would let you join the school. Not surprised, from the looks of you, your whole family are whores.” Henry muttered, making his way closer and closer to her face. Y/N felt sick at his words, the idea of a rumour like that being spread around school filling her with nothing but rage. With his final sentence, she watched as his hand went to reach under her skirt, before he had locked eyes with a police officer who stood against one of the cars. He pulled his hand away almost immediately, and she swore she saw a look of fear in the bully’s eyes. He began to back away, thankfully, but finished with one final sentence.

“This summer’s gonna be a hurt train, for you and your faggot friends” He threatened, before licking his palm and sliding it across Y/N’s cheek in one swift motion, eventually walking off towards their car and driving off. As soon as the group were far enough away, Y/N span around to check on the boys.

“A-are you guys okay?” she muttered, checking all 4 of them for grass stains or bruises. Meanwhile, they stood frozen, staring at the girl. It was starting to make her nervous, like she had done something wrong; “what?”

“That. Was. Hot” Richie muttered out, one word at a time, as his eyes remained solely on the girl in front of him. He thought the girl was the prettiest person he had ever seen; her e/c eyes which sparkled in the sunlight; her smile which stretched up to her eyes, that just seemed so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness; her wavy h/c which flowed, it looked so soft, and he just wanted to run his fingers through- What was happening to Richie?

“Excuse me?” She questioned, furrowing her brows and giggling at the boy.

“Uh, thank you. He meant to say th-th-thank you” Bill stuttered out, the girls appearance setting him back a little too; nowhere near as much as Richie though. While the other boys had snapped back to reality, Richie still seemed in some kind of trance, until Stan nudged his side harshly.

“Oh that’s no problem, Stanley here is the only friend I’ve made so far, so I thought I’d help out. I guess I didn’t expect…”

“Henry, Henry Bowers” Eddie filled in, noticing she was racking her brain for a name she knew didn’t reside there. She nodded, smiling thankfully before continuing

“…Henry to be so, uh, psychotic. Is he always like that?”

“Pretty much, stay away from him as much as you can Y/N. He’s a dickhead” Stan warned her, watching as her head nodded in acceptance; he didn’t have to tell her twice. “Oh, we were going to head to the Barrens tomorrow, i-if you wanted to join?”

“The Barrens? What’s that?” she questioned, furrowing her eyebrows and looking around the group to see they were all staring at her in admiration.

“It’s a small tract of land still heavily covered in trees and plant life, but there’s a river that runs through it…” Stan explained, watching as she went to ask why anyone would want to spend their day splashing through shitty water, but his face said it all; don’t ask.

“Umm, yeah. I’d like that – you have my number right, Stan?” she asked, and he nodded quickly. “Right, well I guess I better be off – my mom’s probably sat at home, waiting to hear all about how shit my day was, so… I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

She skipped off into the distance, Stan waving goodbye before turning back to the 3 boys who still stood shocked. Stan chuckled at the way they watched her leave, Richie’s mouth even falling open slightly, beginning to drool. He wiped it away quickly, before turning to Stan in an instant and almost yelling

“Who the fuck was that?”

[let-me-make-you-proud]

Tangled: The Series Q&A with Kait.

This is a recapitulation from today’s (September 14, 2019) Questions and Answers session with Kait on the Tangled Discord Server.

Q: Which Disney princesses outside of Tangled the series can you see Varian being friends with? Nonfranchise ones included.

A: I think Belle is the first one who comes to mind!! She’s super studious and goes against the grain…not to mention her father is an inventor who’s a little off-base! 🙂 I think he’d be super comfortable experimenting with Belle and her dad and reading awesome stories! (Maybe even sharing the Tales of Flynn Rider with her! …Assuming she hasn’t read it! Haha. ) He could also eat ham sandwiches with Anna. Sorry. Second thought. Lol!!

Q: So Kait, as a storyboard artist on the show what kind of little details, quirks or creative touches did you or any other artists put into Varian scenes you or others storyboarded?

A: Ha!! Any acting scene with Varian I had…I pretty much based off of Anna Lencioni (my best friend/ another board artist on the show.) Anna makes these very specific expressions and she gestures to herself a lot and closes her eyes and creases her brows and says things like “A-huh! Actually…” or “Um!!” Before making a point and it’s always reminded me of him.

She kept a “flynnolium” prop from Halloween with green goo in a vial in her cubicle at work so long it grew mold. She said she was studying it. She found scrap metal in her boot one day. She has a basement lab for her experiments and crafts. She befriended two raccoons at her last apartment. She is the most accident-prone person with freckles I’ve ever met…she’s pretty much him.

Jeremy Jordan’s reads give you so much to work with…and I love that character so much I feel a natural sort of understanding of how he might say something or do something…but Anna would always do these specifically Anna things that I had to use for Varian.

Q: Do you have any specific advice for aspiring storyboard artists or people who aspire to work in animation?

A: Gestural drawings help you learn to draw fast…which is a very important part of storyboarding. I would say storyboarding‘ s biggest requirements are clarity and speed. Lots of productions have different requirements in terms of what they look for from story artists. Tangled‘s leadership cared a lot about drawing skill, animation, layout, etc. because it more strongly informed the animation studio to have those things. The show I’m working on now (Monsters at Work) is a 3D show…so for our production, the emphasis is more on story and speed. We pitch ideas more than we pitch drawings…so clarity is important and acting is too, but we’re far less precious about tying down drawings and animating since we shift into the 3D production pipeline after story. The boards are still very important…but the more technical aspects are a *little* less so. The focus is just more on story and character and what the board artists can bring to their scenes.

So I’d say just practice drawing…maybe try and give someone a prompt or ask a friend for one. Choose a theme! Maybe vampires? What’s the worst thing that could happen to a vampire? What’s the best thing? What’s the funniest thing? What if they were also an alien? Or fused with a werewolf? Or chained to one? What would happen? Giving yourself a starting point for an idea will inspire you to explore all the possibilities for humor, drama, etc. in that idea. If you’re struggling to give yourself a prompt, try looking online…or maybe choosing a song you like or a passage from a book for inspiration.

There’s also this really fun thing you can do to study cinematography and shot composition called a “three tone” exercise. Basically…put on your favorite (live action) film, grab a sketchbook, grab a black and grey marker, and use the white of the page for your third tone. What you wanna do is (as you’re watching or while pausing) sketch a small thumbnail using only three grey tones of what you see on the screen. Draw the shot- where the characters are, try and duplicate the lighting…it teaches you a lot! 🙂 (Phew!)

Q: Do you have any fun non-spoiler head canons about Varian?

A: I think his favorite dessert is apple pie and I think he bakes recreationally very often! He’s probably a good cook. (Though he may have one or two minor accidents……a burnt thing here and there. Minor oil splatters….haha!!)

Q: What’ve been your favorite episodes, both to storyboard and in general? Of course, no specifics if it’s S3

A: Haha! Well…What The Hair and Queen for A Day have special places in my heart because they were such big moments for my favorite character…(Varian, haha.) But I’d say the episodes I had the most fun boarding are all in season 3!!! Which is exciting! I have to start compiling some work to post! 🙂 I think the episode I had the most fun with is one you guys will really enjoy.

Q: Will we get some interesting surprises (In Season 3)?

A: Without any spoilers- absolutely!! The show is always full of those.

Q: So We’ve heard many fans express why they love Varian as a charcter before, I’d love to know what drew you and Anna to Varian as well and why you guys personally found him to be a great character.

A: When Shane Prigmore originally pitched the character to me, he was much younger. He was like 11 or so, I think? Maybe 12? He’s still pretty young…but what Shane said was that he wanted him to go from this wide-eyed kid to this dark, angry person whose bangs fell over those wide, bright eyes…just full of rage. That idea was super interesting to me…it just hit on something in character development that I felt like I’d never exactly seen before? He was so young and it was such an interesting idea to me to make a child the villain and to give that child a strong reason to be angry? It felt like it was taking this child very seriously, which I appreciate. It felt very real and very dark.

The thing that threw me through a loop but also evolved my fascination with the character was Jeremy Jordan’s casting. I listened to a lot of the auditions they had for various actors and I had seen a ton of Shane’s concept art of the character…a lot of them were VERY different than what we have now. One version Ricky Roxburgh (writer) contributed to had Varian cast as an adult in the story. But when I heard Jeremy I felt like I totally understood who Varian really was.

He was a well-intentioned disaster with unchecked emotions. That. Is me! Haha!! I see myself in his imperfections, his emotionality in spite of his creative and often intellectual thinking. He wants to ascend to these levels he may not be ready to ascend to…he feels this need to prove himself and seek validation. I don’t know, I guess I relate to that! And I’m just a sucker for good guys gone bad. The other half of this, of course, is that he’s very charming and cute and super reminds me of my best friend, Anna Lencioni.

Q: Which character do you most like seeing interacting with Varian?

A: It’s a little spoilery for me to reveal that……..but I think you guys are gonna know when it happens! Haha!

I can’t wait to post THOSE boards

That’s actually right out of the episode I think I liked boarding the most, haha.

Q: If there was one prop (furniture, object, the like) from the Tangled series that could be made real and you could keep, what would it be..?

A: I think it’d have to be those little alchemy orbs that Varian throws? They just suddenly clean the whole castle hallway somehow and like…could use me some of that. He also has the one that removes stains from tablecloths, so. I’m sloppy. That’d be a big help. Haha!

Also his staff is pretty cool 😉, I boarded/created that staff…David Lee (prop designer) did its final design…haha

Q: I have a question about a scene in season 1. When Varian got back the first part of the scroll he mentioned that it took him a while to translate it. Has he really been able to read it or has it been a bluff?

A: Varian can indeed translate what’s on the scroll. 😉

Q: Do you have any networking advice for those trying to get into the animation industry?

A: Post your work!! Make it easily accessible, tag it well, just show what you’ve got online! Upload boards, animatics, drawings, etc. Creating an online presence can really help put your name out there. Apply for internships, jobs. I know it’s hard to network because a lot of industry professionals don’t have time to answer specific questions or give portfolio reviews…so it’s sort of important to take some initiative on that and be self-motivated.

For me, I studied the portfolios of Disney feature story artists, CalArts students, etc. and tried to structure the presentation of my work based on that. Also, it helped me get a sense of what pieces of work would best showcase where I was trying to go and what I was trying to do. I’d ask yourself those questions as you develop a portfolio and artistic voice online! 🙂

My first feature job after a trainee program in New York at Blue Sky happened because Doug Sweetland (Pixar animator, feature director, awesome dude) found my work online and liked it. He just reached out based on that!

Shane Prigmore actually reached out to me for Tangled similarly.

Q: Besides Varian, do you have a favorite character that you’ve boarded?

A: I always love Eugene. He’s the second character I think I’m most like. His acting was really fun to play with and I felt like I could push his expressions a lot because he’s so funny. I loved boarding Lance too (I boarded a lot of Lance in S3!!) but MAN was he hard to draw, haha! His face shape is just really hard to draw at certain angles.

Q: With Varian cosplay that is going on, what Disney character would you like to see Varian dress up as next?

A: Jack Skellington! Halloween is afoot. Jack is another well-intentioned disaster. Guess I have a type!

Q: What’s Varian’s opinion on raccoons, are they his favourite animal?

A: I imagine it’s because Ruddiger is always finding interesting things in the trash and giving them to Varian to use in his experiments. Also, they’re fat and cute.

Q: There’s a bit of an argument going on over how many freckles Varian has. Can you confirm how many he has?

A: Ha!!! Yes…one second… 14!!

Q: How big do you think Corona is? Like Vatican City small or Arendelle big?

A: You know, with the wall and all, it actually feels a little on the smaller side to me? I’m sure there’s a little bit of discrepancy between the movie’s version of Corona and our version…but based on where we went within Corona on the show, I’d say it feels on the smaller side.

Q: Are there any non-spoiler Varian scenes or moments that didn’t make the cut that you can share?

A: MAN. Yes. There is one scene that changed after I rolled off the episode and I’m very sad about it. I’ll post it after the episode airs! There was also a line of Varian’s that I boarded to a specific read from Jeremy Jordan and that read was not chosen in editorial later so…I’ll post that one too, haha!

Q: What is your favourite song from the first two seasons so far?

A: All my favorite songs are in season threeeeee…hahahaha!! I think Let Me Make You Proud or the Buddy Song are my favorites. Buddy Song still gets stuck in my head now and then.

Q: What do you think Varian would order at a drive-thru? Specifically at chipotle 😂

A: Chipotle isn’t a drive thru!! Hahaha He’d get the kid’s quesadilla from chipotle. I think Varian is a fries/chips kind of person…something to snack on while he works! He probably also likes milkshakes.

Q: (Continuation from the question above) Chocolate or vanilla?

A: He’d revolutionize by combining them both. FOR SCIENCE!

Q: What is, in your opinion, the most challenging part of varian’s design to draw?

A: His goggles, hahaha. Or just his…hair in general.

Well it’s funny too because when you board these guys, you get used to doing a shorthand for them and then when you go to draw them FOR REAL you realize how complicated that actually is and how wrong your shorthand actually was? Hahahaha

Q: is Varian ticklish at all?

A: I feel like Varian, Eugene, and Lance are all equally ticklish. To the point of absurdity. Cass would fight it as long as she could…but when it finally got to her, she’d laugh uncontrollably. Rapunzel, she’s the TICKLER.

Q: What do you think Varian opinion and belief on magic is now that he’s seen it with his own eyes?

A: I imagine that he certainly believes in it now and no longer underestimates its powers…but I imagine he’s ultimately more comfortable staying in his own lane and working with worldly properties!

Q: If Varian would have been able to meet Demanitus…how would their conversation had looked like?

A: I feel like Varian would have had a TON of questions about his legendary device and whether or not he truly traveled dimensions.

Q: Did Varian have any other friends in old Corona before he met rapunzel?

A: Probably not many…he’s a bit of a hermit. I think Ruddiger is his best friend……. It’s sad but I also think that’s kind of why it hurt so bad when Rapunzel wasn’t able to help him. Also why he was SO excited to have Rapunzel, Cass, and Eugene come visit.

I think the village looked at Varian as a little unstable or worrisome. I’m sure everyone knew he was very nice…but they were likely very unnerved by his inventions.

Q: Do you think Varian ever tried to synthesise gold or the elixir of life like a real alchemist?

A: I’ve wondered that myself!! I think his alchemy has proven to be more about other people…helping others, making people proud. Maybe if someone he cared about was in need.

Q: If you were to meet Varian in real life, what would you say to him?

A: What elixir did you make to get THAT kind of volume? His hair’s so POOFY! Honestly, I’d probably just give him a hug.

Q: How much does Varian know or remember about his mom?

A: I’d say about as much as the photo of her on the wall.

Q: Is there spoiler about his hair streak? Or is it just by design?

A: It’s totally by design. I think it’s safe to assume it’s probably the result of some lab accident!

Q: In what ways is Jeremy Jordan like Varian?

A: I don’t know Jeremy Jordan personally, haha! But I think a lot of these inflections he adds to Varian sort of off the cuff probably come very naturally to him. I know he often wants to do his own pass at the musical arrangement Alan Menken writes…like he’ll want to do something a little different, in his own way, and it will change the song completely!! In an awesome way. That’s a little Varian-esque. In the “Let Me Make You Proud” reprise…Alan Menken had sung that “they are going to pay…they…will…pay” all in a low, downward tone. Jeremy wanted to scream it and make it powerful and angry and loud when he said “PAY” and you could just hear the spite in his voice for the “they will pay.” Genius!

Q: What was the most shocking moment/revelation of the series to you (minus anything season 3)?

A: It’s hard to say because I knew most of what was going to happen long, long ago. I think one of the things that made me go “oh dang!” was something Tom Canfield boarded. It’s that part in Destinies Collide where Lance slices the entire statue down the middle with a sword. What a BAMF!

Q: What were your thoughts on the early concept of Varian having an apple orchard and being a farm kid instead of a young alchemist?

A: He still kinda has those things! Quirin is a farmer as well as the village leader and there are apples on their little farm estate! 🙂 I think that makes Varian very unassuming as a mad little scientist. I’m sure that’s how (Ruddiger and Varian) met! Remember, he used his purple tacky goo stuff to catch raccoons so they wouldn’t eat the crops! And Ruddiger’s favorite snack is apples. 😉

Q: What is his official height and weight?

A: Smol.

Q: How did you guys come up with Varian’s name? And was there any other name suggestions for him before the name ‘Varian’ was chosen?

A: I’m not sure who came up with that name, actually! I’m sure it has something to do with the meaning of the word “variant” which means something that varies, changes in form.

Q: What’s his last name?

A: His last name!! I have NO idea and it bothers me!!! A Disney magazine referred to Varian, Ruddiger, and Quirin as “The Ruddiger Family” and I still haven’t stopped laughing about that.

Q: What sad Disney movie moments would make him cry?

A: Oof. Lion King.

Q: What musicals do think Varian would enjoy?

A: Little Shop of Horrors! I think he’d see himself in Seymour! Or Wicked…you know, that villain arc.

Q: How did Arianna and Fred meet?

A: I actually don’t know off the top of my head!

Q: Would Varian enjoy rollercoasters?

A: I think he’d enjoy how they’re MADE and then scream his head off while riding one, throw up his cotton candy and corndog, and go play carnival games instead. Then get mad that they’re rigged.

Q: So what comes next for you now that the series is almost over? Any big plans?

A: Well the series wrapped for production a while ago! I’ve been on another show for almost a year now! 🙂 I’m working on the new Disney+ show Monsters at Work as a director! It’s an awesome, awesome show…totally next-level…I’m shocked that I’m getting to be apart of something like this. It’s a direct sequel to the movie that serves as an office comedy (a la The Office, Parks and Rec) and has so many characters that fit immediately into the Monsters Inc world. Monsters Inc is my favorite Pixar movie…so I literally come to work and leave work on the same high! It’s an awesome, awesome show with a great crew! 🙂 It’s also just really exciting to be apart of the first original animated property for D+!

Q: How would you compare working as a director to working as a storyboard artist?

A: It’s hard work, just as hard, but in a different way! For me personally, I’m a little easily fatigued by drawing? I get a little creatively frustrated because my thoughts move quicker than my hand. Or because I don’t always feel like I can execute in a drawing what I’m thinking in the way that I want? Part of that is just being an artist…and it’s not ALL the time that I feel that way…but I think I have a certain stamina for drawing that I found challenging to increase.

Directing is just different! It has a lot more to do with managing a team, communication, coordinating, listening, speaking up, problem-solving, being very aware of story as it applies to ALL parts of a production. I don’t draw as often anymore. You have to consider a lot more…more people, more constraints, more difficulties, more opinions, more solutions…it’s just MORE. And you also still have to draw! 🙂 It’s very busy work, but it’s AMAZING and I love it. I feel like I’m contributing to animated storytelling a lot more in this role, actually. I love working with people, I love workshopping, and I love helping! I’m also just spoiled to be working with some great people right now. It’s a blast.

Q: Are any Tangled: The Series crew joining you on that show?

A: Yes!! Tom Caufield and Wendy Sullivan were on it for a minute, but they’ve both moved on to Dreamworks recently! James Suhr (board artist), Isabelle Gedigk (season 3 board artist), Naomi Hicks and Casey Coffey (revisionists), David Lee (props), Ricky Roxburgh (writer), and I are all working together again! It’s awesome.

Q: Does Varian, deep down, blame himself for the amber?

A: I believe he does.

Q: How do you deal with artist’s block?

A: I try to think about the intention behind what I’m doing. Why is the scene I’m working on very important to the story? If it feels unimportant or boring, how can I make it interesting? What can I do on my end to make it more inspiring or fun without going too far off the rails and still serving the scene’s purpose?

If it’s not work-related, I try and start with some fan art or something familiar for me to draw. I have a lot of scribbly Varians in the margins of a lot of my sketch documents. I use him as a warm-up a lot. It helps build my confidence to draw something familiar/ that I think I can draw pretty well.

Q: What’s the hardest scene you’ve ever had to board?

A: Oh God. ANYTHING with action. I’m not an action gal. Lots of stuff in S3. I was board partners with Wendy Sullivan and ended up getting a lot of action to board even though she’s WAY better at it than me!! It was an interesting challenge…but it was very, very challenging. Ben (Co-EP) was a great mentor to me in the scene I did for the mid season. He was very patient with me, despite my shortcomings as an action board artist, haha. I enjoy boarding for comedy much more.

Kait: Anyways, I should probably head off now! Thank you guys so much for all the questions!!!! You’re awesome! I hope you’re all super excited for S3! It’s a great one.

[angrylizardjacket]

and everything that goes with it; i thank you all

A/N: So........ ash v. social media v. borhap cast i guess??? no-one asked for this, but i love them.

[aydtd]

It definitely starts as a joke.

“Hey, Ma Rocket?” Joe’s filming on his phone during a costume trial. With her arms crossed, Ash is partially hidden by Rami who’s spinning, the frills of his shirt fanning out around him. She’s frowning, thoughtful and pensive, but when Joe calls, she turns to him, eyebrows raised and expectant.

“Aye?” She’s not smiling, mind obviously still pondering over the fit of Rami’s costume, but it’s a clear enough acknowledgement that Joe’s response is clearly spoken through a smile.

“You responded; you’re the on-set mom now.” He declares. Ben laughs from somewhere off camera. “No takebacks.” Joe follows it up with, but Ash is already wearing a longsuffering look of resignation. The video cuts off before she can flip him off, but her movements are too deliberate to be misconstrued as anything else. The video is released almost a full year later, once the NDA has been lifted on the movie and Behind the Scenes pictures and videos start flooding out, but at that point the joke had moved beyond being just that.

Ash is not hard won; kindness and respect win her loyalty easily, it’s just that those traits are sometimes hard to come by in this industry, and she’s often dismissed because of her age, especially by younger performers. Bohemian Rhapsody is different, of course in part because they all know who she is by virtue of who they’re playing,

Joe’s not her favourite, not officially, and neither is Ben, much to his quiet disappointment; officially her favourite is Karen, and everyone else is tied second, but each of them holds a very special place in her heart and soon that begins to bleed into her social media, as well as some of theirs. Ash gets Instagram at Joe’s behest, only a month before the world premiere of Bohemian Rhapsody. It’s not as if she’s lived her life in obscurity, but come the turn of the millennium, her time at the edge of the spotlight had mostly come to an end, and she had been able to continue her work behind the curtain of pop culture for almost twenty years. This was all new, and unexpected, but she tried to take it in stride.

So she follows the cast, of course, follows Roger and Brian and the Official Queen page, as well as any of her friends or former clients she can find, and much to their horror, her children. Okay so her son isn’t horrified since he’s a public figure and he doesn’t use it for personal photos, but both her daughters have posted pictures of themselves in bikinis, and they thought they’d be safe since Roger followed them after the photos were posted, and at least he never went back and liked any of their old photos. Ash likes every single photoeach of her children has even posted, and all three are a little horrified.

That’s a cute one of us at Bonfire Night!! Is one of the many comments she leaves across the entire timeline of Astrid’s Instagram history, this particular one being from a 2014 photo, and so Astrid herself posts a screenshot of her mother blowing up her notification on her story.

@joemazzello what have you done

Joe subsequently posts a screenshot of a set of DMs between himself and Astrid on his own story.

Yesterday @ 3:47am

@astro_winnie: then tell him to change his oil

@astro_winnie: what a heathen

Today @ 1:21pm

@astro_winnie has mentioned you in her story

@joemazzello: What exactly are you accusing me of here?

@astro_winnie: mum didn’t have an Instagram yesterday 🤔🤔

@astro_winnie: I don’t know how but this is your fault

@joemazzello: she’s just having fun 😂😂

@astro_winnie: SHE LIKED MY BIKINI PIC FROM 2 YEARS AGO IM DYINg

The whole conversation is captioned ’Well anyways, go follow Ma Rocket @rockettaylor49’. The following picture on his story, posted ten minutes later, is a clarification that he isn’t actually Ash’s son, that it’s just a nickname. Even so, Ash’s actual son gets a photo with him at the premiere and caption it ‘brother from another mother (probably) @joemazzello’ and it goes viral on both Tumblr and Twitter.

Ash’s first official post is a picture of herself and Freddie, a Polaroid of the two of them aged beyond belief, taken in 1969. It’s the only photo she had when she was still in uni, and even she seems surprised to see it. Roger finds her staring at it, expression blank as she looks at where they keep it, pride of place, over the mantle. Without even asking, he understands, and he presses a kiss to her temple.

’@rockettaylor49: My favourite client helped me with this caption, he said I should remind you all that you can have more than one love of your life, and that that love isn’t necessarily romantic. To me, Freddie was family from the moment I met him, and I love and miss him every day. Freddie & Me. 1969.’

The post is flooded with love and support and more heart emojis than you can shake a stick at, and it’s not long before she’s amassed a large following. The only outlier in the initial comments comes from her second daughter, Cate.

@cate.astrophy: @rogertaylorofficial got upgraded to favourite client. nice.

The entire rest of the family, as well as a few random unknowns, like the comment.

Ash’s aesthetic is surprisingly clean; old photos from back in the day, old initial costume designs in sketchbooks, the paper gold with age and colours faded, but still with her initial notes scribbled neatly around the edges. The only modern things she posts are photos of shopping bags filled with fabric she’s just purchased, and photos of her friends and family.

There’s only one selfie on her page. Its Ash, poorly framed if only to keep Joe in focus behind her where he’s leaning against the door to a trailer and double over with laughter, with Ben glaring through the window at both of them.

’@rockettaylor49: Trixie gave me a selfie stick and Ben tried to confiscate it when he heard me say 'selfie’ so he was locked out. Usually I was with Roger on the other side of the door back when Deaky was locking us out of places… What a terrible influence he was!! But anyways here you all go, my first selfie. Me & Trixie featuring My Disrespectful Boy, Ben. 2018.’

The way the cast call her ‘Ma’ definitely started out as a joke, mostly between Joe, Ben, and Ash, but it slowly spreads to the others.

“Where’s The Golden Boy?” Ash calls on set, holding a cap for Rami, who was warming up. It’s rather endearing, the way he jogs to her wearing a smile.

“Here, Ma, what do you need from me?” 

“Hat.” Is all she says, presenting it to him. They’ve always had a soft spot for each other, having worked together on Night At the Museum and it’s sequels for several years. He was one of the last to pick up the habit of calling her ‘ma’, after spending so long calling her Rocket, but he’s grown into it, they all have. Even some of the crew have taken to using the nickname, or some variation.

And maybe she leans into it, leans into her age and her wisdom, and they know they’re sort of telling her story too, but there’s a disconnect when they look at her, at her greying hair and the deep laugh lines around her mouth, and they forget who exactly she is. Though sometimes, rarely, they’re given sharp reminders.

There’s a video on Gwil’s phone that he later puts on Instagram once he has her permission, and the NDA has come to an end, of Ash on the set of Live Aid. She’s sitting on the edge of the stage, legs hanging over the edge, and Roger’s in front of her, at the perfect height to rest his chin on her knees. 

“Do you think you can still do that impression of yours?” Roger’s voice is barely audible, but he’s grinning, and Ash cards a hand through his short, white hair.

“Which- oh, the Freddie- oh Christ,” she laughs, “this’d be the place for it, aye?” And she starts clearing her throat, about the time that Roger spots Gwil and his curious camera.

“Sorry, was just trying to catch a video of the empty stadium,” Gwil’s voice can be heard, and Roger laughs, which causes Ash to turn. Seeing Gwil, she smiles, and nods at the camera.

“You’re gonna wanna get a video of this,” Roger grins, nudging Ash’s knee, and she turns an amusing shade of pink, struggling to her feet. Gwil rushes forward to help her up, but Ash brushes him off.

“I used to do this with Freds to help him warm up, and whenever I was side of stage,” she says, a strangely fond smile on her face as she reminisces, “I’m no singer, never have been, this is probably as close as I’ll get,” she warned, looking straight at the camera.

Taking a deep breath, she clears her throat, and belts out ‘ay-oh’. As if being summoned by a siren, everyone who can hear her, responds in kind. Smiling, pleased, she continues with the bit, as does everyone else, slowly gathering around her. It sounds uncannily like Freddie, and she holds an arm out to Rami to join her in leading the gathered crowd, which he agrees to with a bright grin, which ends with him yelling ‘hey, hey, hey, Hammer to Fall!’ and Ash, as well as the rest of the crew, bursts out into laughter.

The video’s posted with the caption ‘Ash Mercury in her prime’. All three of Ash and Roger’s kids comment about how they hadn’t heard her do that in so long, and not for the first time, Gwilym finds himself marveling at what it would be like to have Ash and Roger as actual parents.

Once the camera’s off, Ash  talks quietly about how she and Freddie used to practice it, because he couldn’t teach Ash to sing to save his life, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t teach her this.

“He was like, an actual brother to her,” Ben says quietly when he and the other three boys are gathered together, checking in before they finally started filming.

“Yeah, it’s crazy to think some times; she took his last name for a full fifteen years," Rami muses, and there’s something that warms in his heart whenever he catches Ash’s wistful gaze as she watches them perform, quietly grateful.

There’s a few videos here and there from set from Ash, little moments she finds endearing, usually set to music;

She catches her son, Barney, and his partner dancing to Seaside Rendezvous alone in the makeup truck, joyful and bright, they sway together to the beat as her son sings along, and his partner laughs fondly, pressing their smile against his chest as he tries to make kazoo noises.

When Cate, her middle daughter, comes to set, she takes a seat by the piano and plays the opening for Seven Seas of Rhye.

“That’s the one he wrote for you, isn’t it?” She turns, beaming, and Ash sits beside her. Again, Cate plays the opening, and Ash hums along, out of key, and Cate swallows her own gentle laughter, instead singing along.

Karen Gillan has a perm in order to play Ash, but unlike Joe, she appears to have no trouble in it, actually takes great pride in it. Ash has caught the rest of the cast, on several different occasions, using it to take photos of themselves with a stunning, ginger beard, which amuses her to no end, as it was something Roger was want to do on occasion when he got bored back in the day.

On the night of the Oscars, at the afterparty, Ash uploads two videos in the same post, one from set, and one from that night. They’re simply captioned ‘Me & The Champions. 2018/19′.

The video from on set is from the final day; Ash’s hands are shaking the camera slightly, but her voice is loud and clear, ringing throughout the set; 

“Where are my kids?” And like clockwork, Ben, Gwilym, Rami, and Joe all come out from various places, followed by Lucy and Karen, all giving her fond looks.

“Oh man, I’m gonna miss my set-mom,” Joe looks like the thought genuinely pains his heart, and as the realization dawns on the others, there’s a fond and faintly forlorn expression mirrored on all their faces. Joe’s the first to go in for the hug, despite Ash’s faint ‘oh Jesus Christ, Trixie’, but they all soon join.

The second video is from right after the Oscars awards ceremony, when most of the cast and crew who’d been attending are doing photo opportunities, and while Brian and Roger are already with them, Ash had hung back.

“It’s so good to see all my kids in the one place!” She calls, and Joe’s expression lights up as he hears her voice.

“Ma, we won!” Rami holds up his Oscar with delight, already a little tipsy, as were the rest of them as they crowd Ash, all wrapping her up in a group hug. Someone’s humming We Are The Champions. Ash suspects Joe. But she takes delight in the moment anyways, pride flaring bright in her chest.

[codyfernmorelikedaddyfern]

Medicine - Jim x fem!reader // Part One

I’m doing this guys.

Multi part fanfiction on Jim losely inspired by multiple songs on my playlist. The whole thing is following Medicine by The 1975 but each chapters will have a different theme within it besides this one because it’s mainly exposition.

Description: In a desperate attempt to “make things work” in a marriage already shattered a decade ago, (Y/N)’s parents move in Palos Verde where she meets Medina, a newfound hermit like her.

Warnings: mention of dysfunctional/toxic relationships, alcohol and drug abuse.

Word counts: 1.6k+

She hated being the new kid in town. She hated the attention it brought to her as she wandered the confusing halls of her new school. She hated the eyes glued to her as she sat alone at her table at lunch. She hated having to introduce herself over and over again to her classmates. She hated the spotlight and the stares.

Her gentle footsteps carried her to the lockers, looking down at the 93 scribbled on her palm, scanning the metal doors and looking for the number she had been assigned to in the ocean of students pacing up and down the hall.

 “Hey, you’re (Y/N), the new girl, right, a gentle voice spoke behind your as you snapped out of your search.

- Oh, yeah, hi! She turned to the girl, probably around her age, standing next to her. We have classes together, don’t we?

- I think so, yes, I’m Medina.”

 With a friendly handshake and her best smile, the blonde girl helped (Y/N) locate her locker and settle. The next couple of classes where spent in hushed whispers and sassy comments about diverse people walking past them or throwing glances in their direction.

 The outcast had found another hermit with who she could moan about others with and it made their afternoon slightly more tolerable.

As the bell rang the end of the day, the two young women took their own paths home, Medina jumping on her bicycle and riding down the road aside a tall brunette. She had never mentioned a boyfriend but she didn’t know the blonde to take any sense of betrayal in her blood.

 Kicking up a stone or two on her way to the house she had barely got the chance to settle in, she was lost in her thoughts, trying to remember the information that had been unfurled in front of her throughout the day. The voice of her father welcomed her in the house. All she could see was the blinking colours spewing out of the TV and the back of the elderly man’s head on the couch as she climbed up the flight of stairs carrying her to her bedroom.

The door gently swayed closed as she sat at the brand new corner desk begging to be used. Unpacking her bag’s content on the desk, (Y/N) quickly worked on her tasks for the night after putting her favourite playlist on for motivation.

 Her gentle features bobbed to the beat of the music while she could hear the ocean’s harsh waves crashing on the rocks a hundred feet away from her window.

Her mother must have opened it during the day during her daily compulsive cleaning sessions. What a strange woman she was, the young one thought. After her father had caught his spouse in bed with another man, she had spun their world around and condemned herself to a life of a full time housewife, losing her mind in cleaning products and a pair of rubber cloves, the chemicals becoming some twisted medicine to her unfaithfulness.

 What a strange man her father was, accepting the multitude of apologies her mother webbed over the years. She had given up her work to tie herself to his will. As a child, her parents were the only idea of love she could base herself on which is mostly the reason of her own relationships failing. Her shifted idea of what a man and woman should act as when together was shattered when the time for her to have her first boyfriend came.

 And before she could remember the night said boyfriend broke her poor little heart, the creaking of her door pulled her out of her daydreaming, her mother standing in the frame. Her voice, raspy from decades of smoking, invited her to join them for dinner.

That’s one thing she hated too. The questioning. Yes, her day had been fine. Yes, she was making friend. Yes, her homework were finished. No, she hadn’t developed a crush on the neighbour yet. Her eyes rolled so far she fear it might disappear at the back of her skull.

 “We have been invited to a little gathering after dinner, would you care to join, the voice of her father pushed the clouded thoughts of her day out of the way.

- Sure, where is it?

- Down a few blocks, there will be a bonfire and you could bring your doodling stuff, the mother carried on.

- Yeah okay, I guess I could walk home if the adult talk become too boring, the teenager concluded as she pushed her last broccoli in her mouth, chewing on it for longer that she should.

- Great, we’ll be heading there when you are ready, sweetie”.

 The urge to roll her eyes once more was intense but she held back. The family dynamic had been broken all those years ago when the cat had gone out of the bag about her poor mother. Or poor father? (Y/N) didn’t know which one to pity the most. Their empty drive to “make it work” had smothered their daughter.

She found a way out in art. She would try her hands at any mediums. Sculpting was her favourite and she lavished herself in bringing bodies and forms to life from her nimble fingers, calloused and blistered by the hot clay. But what she was the best at was with a pencil.

 Many a sketchbook had been filled with grotesque cartoons and semi realistic portraits and stills. The comfort that sketching a frame of her vision on the blank pages somewhat made up for the lack of a mother or father figure, the two of them too busy trying to work on each other.

After shoving the dirty cutlery and plates in the dish washer, she jumped up the stairs and gathered her supplies before kicking her shoes on and following her parents to the car. There was no need for conversation as the vehicle sped down the empty streets and there was also no need for a car ride altogether.

 The smell of burning wood hit (Y/N)’s nose, offering a pleasant change from the brine and seaweed. Stepping out of the car, an unknown voice welcomed you to join the group of mingling adults at the back. A series of new introduction took place as her father shook hands with multiple strangers.

“You must be (Y/N), ‘the new girl’ Medina talked about. I’m Phil” his large hand reached forward for hers, which she shook while noticing that glint in his eyes.

The same sad glint she had seen in her father’s eyes. With the same palm, he quickly pointed to the large bonfire 200 ft forward on the beach. “She’s over there if you look for her” he mentioned causing her to whisper a quick thank you and darting towards the large dancing flames surrounded by a handful of teenagers.

 Once the sand pooled too much in her shoes and she cursed herself for wearing them, she quickly pulled them out, gingerly walking towards the only figure she recognised. Medina’s 6th sense must have been tingling because she turned around to the hesitant silhouette approaching, inviting her to sit by her side.

 “I didn’t think my dad meant it when he said you were invited tonight” the blonde suddenly blushed as the spot next to her got filled with her new acquaintance. Enquiring about the content of her Y/N, sparked a lengthy conversation about art and drawings, learning that the other outcast’s outlet was to surf with her sibling.

As if mentioning her twin was a magical incantation, his hazy body walked into view. The boy she had mistakenly assumed was the boyfriend your new friend was only his brother. He slumped next to her, his words slurred and somewhat jumbled while carrying the lingering smell of weed and booze.

 “Y-You’re not going to introduce me, he nearly choked, his head slumping forward in a playful wave.

- That’s (Y/N), she’s new here, she looked at her brother then turned to her friend, that’s my brother Jim, he’s… not new here.

- Very nice to meet you, his hand reached forward, sawing wildly.”

 Hesitantly shaking his hand, (Y/N) shared a somewhat worried look with Medina. His broad shoulders fell backwards in the sand while he gazed at the stars but her eyes were set on the display of the waves.

The blonde excused herself for a second, muttering she needed the bathroom, before her figure disappeared up the sandy slope to the house. The awkward tension thickened as the young woman felt Jim’s gaze read her features.

 She was not the conventional type of pretty. But damn did she look gorgeous as the amber lights of the flames licked her skin somehow highlighting her flaw in an array of beauty. It was probably the alcohol clouding his mind or most likely the drugs fogging his eyes. Fishing out her notepad, she started to stain the pages of her notebook with the beauty of the ocean she was witnessing as the moon was coasting on top of the waves.

The gentle footfalls of Medina brushed against her ear while (Y/N) consumed the night, her nose stuffed in her pencils and charcoals, the conversation between the twins losing itself in the blur of her focused gaze darting between the water and the her paper.

 How could he focus on the words leaving his lips when this otherworldly apparition was so deeply enthralled in her mind? Her fingers greyed and stained by the lead she was smearing on the pages. And he noticed it. That broken glimmer in her eyes. Because she was broken too, maybe more than he was himself but in her own beautiful way. And maybe he could fix her. For a split second where her eyes fell deep within his, the haze of his inebriated mind, he sobered up.

_________________________________________________

Taglist anyone?

[kiruuuuu]

Kapkan/Glaz sequel in which the Spetsnaz go swimming and some... get wetter than others. (Rating E, explicit, ~4.2k words) - The sequel to this oneshot!

.

Glaz’ pencil travels over the thick paper, leaving behind graphite traces which form a whole not yet, but soon. His mind’s eye is closed as he draws exclusively with his physical ones, captures shadows as he sees them and dips and valleys the way they appear before him. Over the soothing practice, he forgets all about the oppressing heat reigning unchecked once more – a few weeks, they were graced with respite from this British record summer, but now it’s returned full force and with a vengeance. Still, it’s easy to leave it behind when he can focus on his favourite hobby. Even if his teammates make it mighty difficult to concentrate.

“Make sure to get me from my best side”, Tachanka rumbles, self-satisfied with the attention he’s receiving.

“Bird’s eye view?”, Fuze guesses from the pool, shit-eating grin immediately extinguished by getting dunked underwater by Kapkan.

“One more unqualified comment like that and I’ll demonstrate why my nickname during training was freight train.”

Their bickering has been going on all day, fuelled by frustration over the heatwave – not even the trip to the SAS-owned pool has managed to lift their spirits significantly. They’re more prickly than usual instead of just lethargic and Glaz knows exactly why. “In German, they’d call your best side your ‘chocolate side’. Marius told me when I sketched his Magpie”, he informs the other three, hoping to defuse the situation somewhat and maybe even switch topics.

“Any side of his is his chocolate side”, states Kapkan, deadpan, and finally allows Fuze to breathe again. “If you didn’t get it – I’m talking about your lovehandles.”

“Shut up or I’ll shove that pool noodle where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Glaz sighs inwardly. He’d been looking forward to lounging by the pool in peace, dip in and out to cool off and get some exercise without ending up panting like he’d just run a marathon, and maybe catch a few glimpses. Just a few. He asked about sketching and stormy eyes locked with his for a split second which felt like forever, and Glaz’ mind already provided ample inspiration, excuses for a specific pose, daydreams and a whole lot more unbidden imagery… but then those grey irises slid away again in disinterest. Whether feigned or not, Glaz couldn’t tell.

Tachanka was the one who volunteered eventually, and instead of relaxing around the people he knows best in this passionless country, Glaz is now stretched out on a chair by the side of the pool, studying the old man’s physique and listening to the other three bicker.

“You can try. I’ve seen you in the water once, and you swim the way you fight – like a tank.”

Kapkan probably thinks his derision comes across as good-natured mockery instead of biting venom. He’s lucky they all have thick skin or one of them would’ve retaliated much more harshly than they tend to do, and a pissed-off Spetsnaz is nothing to scoff at. He has these days when he sharpens his claws on them, like an animal: honing his fangs on his kin, and though he recoils upon a pained sound, he’s planning his next attack nonetheless. Glaz has noticed this since day one – Kapkan carries himself like a predator, watching, assessing, waiting.

He takes himself much too seriously, but a personal jab with no harm intended only would serve to rile him up further instead of prompting a relieved smile.

“I was carrying all my gear. I’d like to see you try to continue your water ballet with Glaz on your shoulders.”

“Hey, you don’t get to watch the show and complain about it!”, Fuze protests. He’s been vainly attempting to gain the upper hand for half an hour now and really should’ve known better than to ask Kapkan of all people to help him improve his hand to hand in water. They all know Kapkan is merciless and not above humiliating his opponent, as showcased by the fact that Kapkan’s hair isn’t even wet and Fuze must’ve swallowed a litre of chlorinated water by now.

“No one would pay money to watch you drown for an hour, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t move so much”, Glaz mutters and instantly regrets drawing attention to himself, because even Fuze and Kapkan cease their wet struggling to regard him curiously.

Tachanka is the one who seems to say what everyone’s thinking: “You’re suspiciously quiet today, lad.”

That’s just my seething fury coupled with the frustration of being disappointed every day, no worries, Glaz thinks and unconsciously glances over at Kapkan, who returns his gaze calmly. “I’m concentrating. Besides, shouldn’t we go back? Our hide-and-seek excuse won’t buy us another hour.”

It’s become an inside joke at Rainbow at this point – an unspoken yet silently agreed upon rule states that once a month, each team is allowed the claim to wanting to improve their navigational skills and sense of perception by utilising the natural terrain of the English countryside. In short: they tell Six they’re basically playing hide and seek so they can go out and do whatever for a few hours. The GIGN have used it to bake a surprise cake for Harry (whose vegan lifestyle makes it difficult to buy cakes for him), the Americans snuck off to Skype with their families on Thanksgiving, and the Germans prepared a barbecue plus an improvised bouncy castle for the 15th of October, when Rainbow celebrates six birthdays all falling into the same week. And today, the Spetsnaz used it to splash around in the SAS-owned pool on base.

Time well spent.

“You’re right. Don’t forget to clean up or it’ll draw suspicion”, Tachanka reminds them and rises from his sunbed like a corpse from a stretcher, complete with groans of the dead and joints popping. “I’ll even help, that’s how refreshed I feel.”

“And the fighting was my idea”, Fuze chimes in between coughs, cheeks reddened and looking wholly miserable, “so I’ll do it.”

Next to him, Kapkan is unfazed by their tussle and surfaces from the pool not even out of breath, rivulets of water running down his torso and making his skin glisten in the indirect sun beams falling in from the skylights. He’s… distracting, and therefore Glaz reacts entirely too late to his teammate joining him and pointing at the sketchbook in his lap. “Can I see?”

Unfortunately, he’s dripping all over it or else Glaz might’ve considered his question, but he’s had one too many books with him out in the rain or the snow and knows how ugly the damage looks on the pages afterwards, so he nearly flings it off into the distance with how vehemently he yanks it aside, and merely hisses a curse in preparation of telling Kapkan off for being this careless.

It’s just -

The only thing that leaves Glaz’ lips is an English: “Fuck me.”

And, well. He overheard someone else use it, probably Twitch or IQ when they burnt their hands, and then he noticed others saying it and though it’s been dancing on his tongue for days, apparently now his brain decided it was time to finally birth it.

Kapkan looks like he slapped him.

“Watch the fucking language”, Tachanka admonishes him with a wide grin. “Someone might think you’re an actual adult, Glazkov.”

His cheeks are killing him, they’re hotter than the air outside and getting flustered now will certainly look suspicious. “Just be more careful. Okay?”, he mumbles into his beard, directed at a thunderstruck Kapkan whose expression is inscrutable.

“You two can go ahead, we got this”, Fuze informs them and this seems to tear the very wet and almost-naked man in front of Glaz out of his stupor.

“Oh, I – I can take over for you. I’ll clean. You go.”

And now Glaz really wishes he had slapped him. What a perfectly obvious excuse to not end up alone with him. Before he gets a chance to drop a cutting remark of his own, Tachanka voices what everyone’s thinking: “You shit in somebody’s cereal, or why don’t you want to go back to base? You need to be forced to tidy usually.”

Fishing for justifications, Kapkan lamely defends himself by claiming he still has something to make up to Fuze – which is likely, yet no reason for him to choose cleaning over lazing about some more – and Glaz has to fight the urge to strangle him. That is, until he realises two can play this game.

“I’ll stay, too”, he announces and suppresses a laugh at how quickly Kapkan’s head snaps in his direction. “I can let my pages dry out in the sun. We’ll see you in half an hour.”

“And this why you’ve always been my favourite. Show me your masterpiece in a bit, alright?” Tachanka slaps him on the back approvingly and then heads off in Fuze’s company, the two of them discussing actual strategies about fighting underwater instead of beating the Uzbek up unhelpfully.

A stony silence settles in, making Glaz’ stomach cramp. The other Russian towels himself dry while he puts the chairs away and gathers the supplies they’ll need – there’s not much to do, the pool is being used daily and as long as they mop up all the splashed water, they should be good. Everything is done wordlessly, fuelling the awkwardness causing Glaz to drop whatever he’s holding twice, and it keeps getting worse.

Why have you been avoiding me, he doesn’t say, though he really wants to. We can pretend nothing happened. We can go back.

He could. With difficulty, but he could. If only he knew what was up. But working up the courage is impossible, he’s failed for weeks already and with a friendship on the line, with possibly more -

Kapkan chuckles. The low sound manages to pierce the spiral Glaz is sending himself down and interrupts his thoughts. “They really do have fucking pool noodles here. What on earth do they do with these?”

The supply closet indeed provides a variety of colourful foam noodles, even a deflated alligator and a beach ball. It seems they aren’t the only ones to use this facility for purely recreational purposes. “All I’m picturing now is Seamus wearing floaties.”

His comment earns him an amused snort and the ice is finally broken. They share a grin and Glaz’ relief must show on his face. “I almost want to go back in and ride this crocodile.”

“Or go dive for some of these rings.” Suddenly, Glaz gets an idea when he spots a hoop, reminding him of a dolphin show he once saw. “Hey, you think I could jump through this one?”

“No way. You’re too fat.”

Hilarious. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna bet?”

“Easy. Take a running start and jump through without touching the edges, you win. Otherwise, I win. I’ll even hold it up for you.”

“What are the stakes?”

This is where he wanted to land and Kapkan gladly followed him, possibly knowing full well where this was headed. They eye each other up. “A favour”, Kapkan suggests and couldn’t have been more vague.

Even so. Glaz likes where this is going. “Sounds good. Let’s do it.” He rids himself of his shirt and places all valuable belongings safely out of reach, encouraging Kapkan to do the same, and then walks a good distance away from the pool where Kapkan is standing, holding up the hoop expectantly. And it’d be so easy to win the bet and be owed a favour – so many possibilities. He’d be hard pressed to choose and already, his imagination is providing idea after idea, one more tempting than the next…

Then a whole other prospect enters his mind. It’d be even easier to lose. And end up at Kapkan’s mercy.

He starts jogging, building up speed, gaze fixed on the hoop until Kapkan’s is as well, the other man waiting to see whether the object will wobble from impact, no matter how small, ready to pass judgement on whether he won or lost -

- and then Glaz collides with him and shoves him into the pool.

The splash is extremely satisfying, almost as good as Kapkan’s brief grimace of surprise, shock, and betrayal as he sails through the air, flailing. Glaz almost laughs, gets out a bird-like noise of entertainment before it devolves into a shriek as Kapkan shoots back out of the pool like a crocodile himself, having spotted his prey by the shore, and the next thing Glaz knows are hands around his calves – no, one hand, the other somehow manages to land on his ass but the result is the same, they yank him in together with his previous victim.

Compared to the suffocating humidity outside, the water is refreshingly cool and punches through his consciousness like a shot of caffeine injected directly into his bloodstream, yet what makes the experience all the more powerful are the strong arms enveloping him in a tight embrace. Too tight, he was half on an exhale when going under and wants to swim up but Kapkan doesn’t let him, cradles him close and makes no move to swim to the surface, so Glaz starts struggling. Panic sets in and when he reaches down to pinch Kapkan’s inner thigh as hard as he can, large air bubbles escape the other man’s mouth. At least it’s successful: they rise.

“Fuck”, he spits out when he can breathe can, coughs and coughs into Kapkan’s face because suddenly, he’s too close and did he just try to kiss Glaz while he’s still recovering from nearly drowning? “What are you -”

It was a mistake putting his hand anywhere between Kapkan’s legs. The iron grip around his wrist hurts, even underwater, and his hand is uncomfortably pressed against the other Russian’s swimming trunks. Glaz moves his fingers to not cramp up and oh, hello. At least this time Kapkan’s dick isn’t being shoved into his face. The next attempt is successful and cold lips move against his, hurried, forceful, and then Glaz’ back hits the side of the pool with Kapkan’s body caging him in.

He should’ve known it would be unceremonious like this, the byproduct of a struggle, a line crossed stumbling instead of deliberately stepping over it. “Ask me”, he gasps and gives in, obliges: his fingers wrap around the flesh swelling despite the coolness of the water and he deepens the kiss. But not for long. He won’t be the passive party in this, and he demonstrates it by biting down on a lower lip.

“Like that”, Kapkan purrs against his chest and begins moving his hips against Glaz’ hand, the motion slow and almost sensual. He’s in a world of his own, thinking he’s won a prize of, well, something, thinking he’ll finally get… what? An awkward handjob by someone he was too cowardly to ask outright?

“Ask me”, Glaz repeats with more emphasis and feels his own body react. And how could it not, with a body mirroring his own in strength and build, with Kapkan panting in his ear and forcing his fist to remain where it is so he can fuck it. His fury has evaporated, was probably fed by the underlying anxiousness of quietly getting rejected, but now that it’s quite obvious Kapkan wants the same thing he does, all that’s left is stubbornness. That, and the desire to make Kapkan admit it.

He’s a match, though. Just as pig-headed.

And so, when he still hasn’t said anything else after more aborted kisses, Glaz tightens his grip, tightens it until Kapkan goes very, very still. His eyes are gorgeous up close. Glaz wants to feel him inside so badly, he momentarily forgets what he was doing and revels in the fantasy until a tongue dragging over his mouth catapults him back into the present.

“Suck me”, Kapkan whispers amid the soft gurgling of the waves they’re producing

Jesus fucking Christ. Glaz twirls them around with an annoyed sigh and, while wrestling the other man out of his shorts, hisses: “Why’d it take so fucking long?” All that Kapkan offers is an uncertain look as if he had mild doubts about what he just demanded, but they seem to dissipate as soon as Glaz lifts him out of the water. “Lie back.”

Wordlessly, Kapkan obeys, sits down on the edge, lower legs still dangling in the water, and leans backwards, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch. His cock is proudly jutting straight up into the air, wet and dark and delicious, and in one fell swoop, Glaz captures its head between his lips.

They don’t have much time. He’ll have to make this quick.

Under the taste of chlorine, there’s skin and Kapkan, and he savours the taste on his tongue as he swirls it around the tip generously. Having draped himself over his friend’s thighs, his weight holds Kapkan down which turns out to be necessary as he’s pushy. His hips twitch and tilt, try to thrust upwards further into Glaz’ mouth and as if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s a hand on his head pushing down.

Somehow, he manages to free himself and glare at his dishevelled friend, flushed and beautiful and flustered – and if it was any other situation, one where time wasn’t of the essence, he’d let Kapkan do whatever he wants. But not now. “I’ll bite”, he warns him seriously, “stop that shit. Behave.”

A curse is his response, but Kapkan obliges and withdraws his arm, and then throws his head back with another swear as Glaz swallows him whole. The flesh is piping hot and rock hard, just like Glaz’ own, and he sucks it down like it’s made of sugar, opens his throat, lets the tip hit the back of it. It pains him that he can’t relish in finally doing this, but hearing all these surprised grunts and sharp breaths has its own merit – not even the cool water can calm the vicious pulsing between Glaz’ legs and he idly tongues the ridge of Kapkan’s glans, wondering what it’d feel like inside him.

When he gets down to business, he can feel Kapkan’s muscles twitching and drinks in every hiss whenever he sucks hard. He’s not teasing anymore, instead bobbing his head in a relatively fast rhythm, using his tongue to exploit that sensitive spot on the underside and massaging the balls with one hand, squeezing out moan after moan. Kapkan is loud, much louder than he expected, and very appreciative. He seems to melt under Glaz’ ministrations and actually relaxes into the stimulation which is, well, lovely, but not goal-oriented. They need to be back in twenty, maybe fifteen minutes. And thanks to Glaz’ stunt earlier, they’ll need to clean up a second time.

He pulls off the cock in his mouth with a wet noise and once again addresses his friend: “Come on. I want to feel you pulsing in my throat.”

It’s more forthright than he’d normally be, but circumstances necessitate it. Not like Kapkan seems to mind, if the scandalised yet intrigued expression is anything to go by – he also tenses up noticeably as Glaz takes him back in to the hilt, stomach muscles fluttering and contracting when Glaz reaches up to gently rub over an erect nipple. “Filthy mouth”, Kapkan rumbles and lets out an echoing moan when his nipple is twisted between two fingers. He’s so hot. Glaz wishes he could blow him for hours, but alas. “Never would’ve guessed you’re that perverted. Go deeper. Yes.”

Glaz nearly chokes himself on Kapkan’s dick with no regrets and increases the tempo, sucks even harder and deprives himself of oxygen, and the pay-off is worth it. With another loud groan, Kapkan shudders, his entire body going taut, and his cock throbs in Glaz’ mouth, shooting out bitter liquid in spurts, in time with soft rolls of his hips. He finally made him come, finally blew him to completion and it was everything he hoped for. Watching Kapkan’s expression slip from need to utter bliss is as satisfying as he’d hoped, and he gladly swallows around the erection clogging his throat.

When he pulls free again, his friend is lying flat on the tiles, breathing hard and contemplating existence. He looks shattered, more spent than after a training session and Glaz would really like to hug him. Instead, he instinctively reaches down and grabs his neglected cock, harder than it’s been for weeks (since the day he made an implicit bet with Kapkan and went to bed early, dreaming up scenarios similar to this one). Right in front of him, a naked Kapkan is recovering from what looks like to have been a mind-blowing orgasm, and as Glaz takes him all in, marvels at his form, the softening dick gives a last feeble twitch.

Shit.

Okay, he’ll be quick.

He discards his own swimwear, just leaves it floating away, and lifts himself out of the water. Kapkan has barely time to react before Glaz is straddling him, trying not to cream himself from the skin contact alone, and as revenge for all the shoving previously, Glaz guides one of his friend’s hands between their naked bodies. “Do it”, he prompts quietly, desperation colouring his voice and Kapkan must’ve noticed or else he might not have complied so fast. Calloused fingers close around Glaz’ shaft and dear god, this will be an embarrassingly quick affair.

Kapkan wastes no time and jerks him fast from the get-go, almost brutal (probably how he himself likes it and the thought causes Glaz’ knees to go weak), and it’s not only water droplets hitting Kapkan’s flat belly now. The sudden intense stimulation has Glaz whimpering and fighting it, wanting more or maybe less, who’s to say – certainly not his short-circuited mind. He barely has the brain capacity left to suck Kapkan’s other middle finger into his mouth but he does notice his friend’s eyes darkening upon the realisation.

When the finger enters him, he buries his face in the crook of Kapkan’s neck and moans. He imagines it’s Kapkan himself, pictures them rolling around on a mattress with all the time in the world, harsh thrusts and nails raking over his back and Kapkan stares into his soul as he pumps load after load into him, and Glaz is moving his hips now, grinding down against Kapkan’s hand and he doesn’t care how fucking needy he must seem because he wants this. The hand on his cock is merciless, the speed unwavering and it’s flirting with being too much – there’s vague pain there but isn’t that normal, where Kapkan is concerned?

The digit inside buries itself even deeper and brushes over his sweet spot which he rewards with a whine, so Kapkan does it again and again, and with several weeks’ worth of anticipation, with the memory of a hard dick poking his cheek, with Kapkan’s taste still on his tongue, Glaz is shoved over the edge. He shivers violently, isn’t even sure what kind of noise escapes his lips as his climax shakes him to the core, traps him in ecstasy for half an eternity during which he’s hardly aware of anything around him – and when he realises he’s coming all over Kapkan’s chest while his friend is milking him expertly enough to prolong his orgasm, it’s another half. Kapkan lets him ride it out and brings him down gently, doesn’t overdo it and withdraws when Glaz puts a hand on his wrist.

Glaz’ relief is overwhelming and lasts throughout his afterglow: a minute or two during which he sits up, calms his racing heartbeat and inspects the mess he made on pale skin before him. They finally did it. And Kapkan doesn’t even look like he regrets it. He… looks like nothing, really, expression empty as he doesn’t even move to wipe the semen off him, and doubts slowly begin to overtake the pleasant exhaustion in Glaz’ bones.

“Can I kiss you?”, he asks meekly and feels silly, perched on top of another man who had his finger inside him mere minutes ago, and yet he’s not confident enough to just lean down and do it.

Kapkan examines him attentively. “Don’t make this weird.”

“You made it weird a long time ago.”

Visibly uncomfortable with the topic, Kapkan drags him down with enough force to make their teeth click, and though the angle is odd and their noses are in the way, the gesture counts. Glaz feels his muscles relax during the brief kiss and smiles as he comes back for air. When Kapkan smiles back, the fact that they still have to clean everything, including themselves, and that they’ll be really late with no excuse at all loses its threat.

They shower together, joking some more about the SAS operators’ pool habits, and then quickly sweep the floor once again. Stepping out into the blinding sunshine is like running into a wall, the heat is unbearable and tiring. Glaz almost wants to fall asleep standing up.

“Just so we’re clear, you lost that bet”, Kapkan tells him, blinking into the brightness instead of looking him in the eyes. “So you owe me a favour.”

Glaz’ lips curl into a grin. “Of course. You only need to ask.”

And while Kapkan doesn’t respond, there’s a certain glint in his eye which is full of promises and reassurance.