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#this is straight from my sketchbook with some color thrown on it
blackbutler-mylove · 5 months
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Hello! I love seeing the Black Butler fandom come back from the grave and I feel like it will stay alive for a while until 2024. Unlike the time Queen Elizabeth died and brought it back to life for a few weeks.
Anyways, I have a Ciel x reader. Basically it’s Ciel with a reader that’s gets called “Lady of the Night” because of her dark and mysterious appearance that represents the night. She talks like she’s a character from Edger Allen Poe’s poems and looks like she came straight out of a Tim Burton film. It can be hc of Ciel before he made the reader his s/o and after. Or it can be a oneshot. It’s up to you!
Thank you and have a good day!
Thank you so much!
This headcanon takes place before the « big reveal » ;)
Ciel his still his canon age and reader is 14! (So a one year gap)
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°Ciel met you during a very boring reception between the heads of some of most important brands in England. Tea, silks, furniture, land, cattle and well, his toy company.
°Small talk is something ciel is very good at, but absolutely despises. That’s why after his usual tactical greetings, he decided to just sit by a table with a small glass of champagne, Sebastian standing by his side.
°The only thing slightly amusing to do was to watch the other nobles go about their empty conversations.
°That’s where your father comes in. He’s been widowed for seven years, and was at the head of a very important jewelry and ornaments company. Ciel knew that he decided very early on to include the input of his young daughter in his commercial decisions, but the daughter in question was rarely seen.
°Ciel never met you, despite his numerous interactions with your father. Well, until tonight.
°He saw you walking at your father’s side, wearing a very deep and dark plum colored dress. Wearing an array of silver jewelry from your family’s company and striking eye makeup, that made your eyelids look like they were adorned with lace. An odd way for a lady to present herself…
°Ciel got up from his seat and got closer to the small circle that formed around you two, made by very intrigued nobles looking to poke and prod at you with their questions.
°As he greeted your father for the first time this evening, he noticed you were completely unbothered by the indiscreet questions thrown your way, answering with as much bluntness and a whimsy tone.
° « Pray tell my dear, have you found yourself a betrothed yet? »    « It is not one of my priorities. »
°Here’s something he always dreamed of saying… He went to greet you and kissed your hand, but before he could say anything you perked up: « You have the most beautiful eye, my lord. »
°Sebastian chuckled under his breath as he saw his lord lose his composure.
°For the rest of the evening, you and Ciel sat down as you talked, and you even showed him the small sketchbook you carried around to draw down your ideas for new jewelry. 
°You even started to draw a small portrait of him with a certain crow perched on his shoulder, which he didn’t even notice as he was hanging on each word you said. When he asked about the bird, you replied that « Sebastian made me think of one, it is a simple artistic liberty. Crows are very intelligent animals. »
°When you had to return home, you gifted him the portrait. « We will need to meet again soon, lord Phantomhive. You are truly an inspiration. » You said with a shier tone.
°He was blushing each time he thought of you on his ride back to the manor, and he would be caught dead before anyone knew he smiled while he was in bed that night. Much to Sebastian’s amusement.
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I wrote about how they met! I can image that they kept meeting up after that, and the "lady of the night" might have gotten herself into a lot of the phantomhive's shenanigans!
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askerror87 · 11 months
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Sketchbook Dump for January-April 2023
Mostly OC oriented this time around! I’ve got something fun cooking but for now ooooo you wanna look at the pretty pictures ooooo
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Some sketches from a presentation I did on my birthday about FMA’s Fort Briggs. Maybe I’ll post the actual assets I made about it sometime soon :>
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OC/ Original project stuff <3
Image description below
[Image Description: Seven images, each paper and pencil sketches.
A uniformed man with light, shoulder length hair has a thousand-yard stare. His name is Jeorgen. A note in the background says 'cyan shine red bg'.
A different, younger man in a similar yet unkempt uniform looks skeptically over his shoulder to the left, holding a book. His name is Everett and he has a piercing on his ear.
Jeorgen, now with glasses, is being kissed on the cheek by a soldier with short dark hair and a jacket with a fur hood. Jeorgen looks extremely flustered while the soldier is collected.
Jeorgen and Everett at a cafeteria table, a cup of coffee in front of them. Jeorgen's hand is thrown over Ev's shoulder and is laughing boisterously, and Ev looks like he is trying to hold in a snicker, beads of sweat on his face.
Close-up of a man, Adonis, with distinct, long wavy hair looking straight at the viewer. Adonis' eyebrows are furrowed and the sclera in his eyes are black, and part of his face is covered by bangs darker than the rest of his hair. A dark button-up is layered under a jacket.
Fullbody drawing of a young girl named Zero pouting at the viewer. She has her hair put up in short, poofy pigtails. The writing in the background are notes about her design, with various arrows pointing at her. 'Starting to get old enough to do her hair but still lets Adonis do it' 'oversized t-shirt' 'belt' 'velcro shoes'. She's wearing an large t-shirt with a sketchy design of an hourglass over a long striped t-shirt, tied to her waist with a belt. You cannot see her pants and the shirt gives an impression of a dress. Under her velcro shoes are mismatched socks, one dark and long and the other short and striped.
Young man with long, white hair tied up in a spiky ponytail glaring at the viewer. The image is formatted larger than the other ones. He's in a turtleneck mostly covered by a lighter-colored jacket and his hand is covering his mouth, slightly flustered and looking angry about it. You can only see one eye, as the other is covered by bangs and a dark square eyepatch. His name is Dawn.
/ End ID.]
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aneal8 · 9 months
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Virtual Sketchbook 2
7/16/2023
-UNITY is about distinct pieces collaborating in a composition. Unity in an artwork produces a sense of harmony and wholeness by using similar parts and arranging them in a way that creates a sense of "oneness." VARIETY provides interest to the composition by incorporating juxtaposition and contrasting components.
-BALANCE is the distribution of the visual weight of objects, colors, texture, and space. If the design were a scale, these parts should be balanced to give the design a sense of stability. ASYMMETRICAL components are those that do not match or are not the same size, shape, or position. Parts that are SYMMETRICAL have the same size, shape, and position.
-EMPHASIS are the Highlight notions, themes, or ideas that the artist want to express in a work of art. SUBORDINATION shifts focus away from one area in order to accent another.
-Paths established or implied within an artwork that lead the eye across the layout are defined as DIRECTIONAL FORCE. This piques the viewer's interest and keeps him or her interested in the work.
-A succession of similarly curved lines or a recurring motif could be examples of Repetition. A pattern is the repeating of multiple design elements that function in tandem with one another. Finally, RYTHM is the sensation of movement created by the interactions and spaces between distinct parts in a design.
-SCALE and PROPORTION are both size-related design aspects. The size of one object in relation to the other objects in a design or artwork is referred to as scale. The size of one part of an object in relation to other sections of the same object is referred to as proportion.
An example of unity can be the food we plate, each food has a different spot to make it more appealing and appetizing.
2- some examples for Symmetry can be a ball, cars, butterflies, and snowflakes, examples for Asymmetry can be plants, clouds, and buildings.
3- an example for emphasis can be the street signs at nights that have contrast with the dark background. Or a straight line amongst curved lines. For subordination we can use the example of having the lights off when you watch a movie at the theater.
4- examples for directional force can be Turning the steering wheel of a car. A ball thrown upwards changes its direction towards the ground
5-an example for rhythm can be the dotted lines that separate the two lanes on the road.
6- an example scale and proportion can be when we fill up our gas tank, there is a relationship between the number of gallons we put in the tank and the amount of money we will have to pay.
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Titian, 'Noli me Tangere (chapter 4, sec 4.3, page 73)
This painting is a perfect example of the principle of emphasis and subordination. It represents the scenario where Mary first sees Jesus after his resurrection. The colors used for the background and visibly more dull and dark compared to the people in the painting. This Tanique is used to emphasize the desired main concept of the painting. Jesus and Mary are the focal pints, this is inferred by the colors used, such as whites, creams and grays, which are all lights colors and create contrasts. This painting also includes directional force, and its seen in the background and how the landscape flows together ( the tree with the ground, the sky and the sea).
My favorite color is emerald, and there is an experience I've had that stuck with me to this day. When I was younger I went to a beach in Spain and the coast was very close to a forest. watching the colors of the trees reflect on the water was so magical and calming that it made that moment unforgettable. The saturation of the color looked unreal. If I had to pick a color scheme it would definitely be warm fall colors, oranges, greens, yellow and reds are the colors I rent to lean towards more.
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This is a painting of a lion fish. I love painting marine scenarios and animals, I find it soothing and relaxing. This painting has a meaning to me that I am sure most people can relate. When I think of any poisonous animals (such as a lion fish), I think of a creature that has a way to defend itself in case of danger. Now this applies to us humans as well, most people tend to not know how to react in certain situations and they tend to make the wrong choice. As a petite girl I had to learn the hard way that I have to be able to defend myself in case of danger, and that I cannot let people take advantage of me or disrespect me just because of my size. I am strong and I am worthy, just like every person out there. As people, we need to be confident of our capabilities and be prod of who we are. Be your own protector, be a lion fish.
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toughtinkart · 2 years
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thinkin bout 1970s/1770s crossover fashion 💕
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sandalwoodhusbands · 3 years
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we are citizens of halloween town || 6k 
There’s a pile of books glaring at him from the coffee table. Three books, all neatly set one on top of the other, notes in black ink surrounding them. Lucas reaches for the thickest one.
It’s ugly. Brown and worn around the edges, kinda smelly like any book from the library this old would be. The bane of his existence, really, hate at first sight, some would say.
He glares back, nose scrunched up, before-
Well. He lays on it, okay?
He takes the fucking book, curls his arms on top of it and rests his head on the crook of his elbow. So what. It’s not like anyone’s going to judge him for it.
His boyfriend is drawing with crayons in the seat opposite of him. Give him a fucking break.
Fucking October.
He’s not someone particularly mindful of the seasons of the year (he’s not his ridiculous nerd of a boyfriend), would even say he enjoys autumn. But there’s something about October – the change in the weather, suddenly you blink and it’s night and you have five assignments due that you swear weren’t there before.
There’s no break from summer going into another school year. There’s sun in the afternoons, all warm, but not scorching hot, and whispering in your ear to come out and play, enjoy it before it’s gone. But you’re stuck inside, staring out the window trying to finish your fucking bio essay.
And then it’s night, and it should be chilly, because it’s autumn, but somehow it isn’t and either you have your boyfriend wrapped around you, or a blanket, but you can’t have both. But you kinda want both. So you settle for your boyfriend on top of you, and try to shield the uncovered parts of your body from the cold as much as you can.
It’s always fucking October.
So he’s tired, napping on a suspiciously smelly book because he’s earned this, alright? Just a little break.
“You good there, baby?” asks Eliott, because he’s a fucking angel.
“Hmm.” He says, words slurred against the table. “Just chilling.”
Eliott laughs lightly at that, and Lucas smiles into his forearm. The laughter warms his skin up, like a breath of summer wind, all the way from his belly and down to the tip of his toes, right where they wiggle against the fuzzy carpet through the hole in his sock.
He’s so ridiculously enamored.
Eliott hums from the other side of the table, catching Lucas’ calf with his feet and trapping it between his legs. “You do look very cozy right now.”
Lucas tilts his head up slightly, flashing Eliott a tired grin. “Shh.” He tuts. “I’m sleeping.”
Eliott laughs again, this time louder.
“Oh, alright. My bad” he says, but his legs keep playing tug with Lucas’ under the table. “Baby needs his rest.”
Lucas bites his lip to keep the laugher in his throat, as to not give himself away – although Eliott already knows. He always does, when it comes to Lucas.
It’s then that a little voice decides to make itself known.
“Eli!” the voice chastises quietly. Lucas hears a light thud, and then a shushed voice that says “use your inside voice, Lulu’s sleeping!”
Through closed eyes, Lucas can picture the little boy at the other end of the table. Shaggy brown hair, messy and way too long at the front, because he refuses to get a haircut. He can imagine the boy tugging at Eliott’s shirt, or maybe smacking his small palm flat against Eliott’s arm, big green eyes that match the color of his dino pajamas staring up at his big brother.
A silent snort, and then a gasp. Lucas buries his smile on his forearm.
“So you’re saying I have to be real quiet, so we don’t wake up Lulu?”
“Yes!”
“Okay.” Eliott agrees, and there’s enough mischief in his voice that it makes Lucas open his eyes. He barely has time to raise his head up to see the way his boyfriend picks his brother up by the waist, fingers diving to his sides.
Loud giggles erupt across the room, happy and carefree, and Lucas can only watch fondly as the little boy squirms in Eliott’s hold, eyes bright with laughter and cheeks dusted with pink.
“But Jules!” Eliott says between shrieks of laughter. His eyes shine when he looks down at his brother. Lucas falls just a little bit more in love. “You have to be quiet too!”
Eventually, the laughter dies down, leaving the living room in a state of comfortable quietness. Jules pouts up at Eliott “You cheated.” He complains, petulantly. In a way only a kid could.  
Eliott chuckles airily, pushing strands of curly hair off Jules’ eyes with an amused shake of his head. His eyes find Lucas’ over Jules’ head, happy and clear. Lucas smiles at him, and Eliott grins back.
Jules’ cheek is smushed in the crook of his brother’s neck. He’s quiet for some time, eyes droopy as Eliott resumes back to his sketchbook. Both he and Lucas follow the line of Eliott’s hand in wonder.
“Ma said to ask if you’ll take me trick or treat this year.” He speaks softly. There’s every ounce of innocence in his tone when he asks. “Please?”
The question makes Eliott freeze. He immediately turns to look at Lucas, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and Lucas knows what he’s thinking. Emma’s party.
Emma’s party, the one they had planned weeks ahead. Because when you’re in uni and every one of your friends have chosen a different degree it’s harder to match plans. Because they probably won’t see everyone until Christmas break again.
Jules follows Eliott’s line of vision, startling when he finds Lucas most definitely not asleep. He smiles at first, all big and sweet, like every time he sees Lucas, before his face sets in a look of determination. Jumping off his brother’s hold, he circles the glass table until his knees bump with Lucas’ shins.
He holds his arms up wordlessly, and Lucas picks him up on autopilot.
Bony knees dig into his stomach, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care, doesn’t care when Jules spreads his small hands across Lucas’ cheeks and looks at him with big, glassy eyes, asking “uncle Lulu, will you pretty please take me trick or treat this year?”
How could he say no? Not to this boy cradled in his arms, the sweetest kid he’s ever met. A little Eliott, so small when he first met him that he fit in the crook of Eliott’s elbow. He was just four months old then.
Four years later and many, many babysitting sessions later – because date night is a very serious thing within the Demaury’s. Every Demaury. Except maybe baby Jules, for now – he’s never loved a kid as much as he loves him. He never thought his heart was capable of holding so much love inside, for Eliott, for this family.
For he considers himself part of it, and he thinks (knows) it’s mutual.
So it’s no surprise. Not to him, or to Eliott, maybe even to Jules, when he answers “of course we will.” And then, because Jules is grinning, and Eliott is too, and he’s got his family in his arms and his world staring at him, he boops Jules’ nose. Because he’s so fucking happy this is his life. “Anything for baby Jules.”
Jules scrunches up his nose, eyes going crossed, before lying his head on Lucas’ chest. Eliott is already waiting for him to look back, sketchbook forgotten in the corner.
There’s a light in his eyes that Lucas is all too familiar with. He gets it himself every time he sees Jules riding in Eliott’s back, or sleeping against his shoulder on long car trips.
Do you think about the future?
I do.
And, in that future…?
It’s never finished, the question.
And in that future, am I in it? Do you see us in your future? Do you see me? Do we make it? Do I?
It’s never said, but they both know it, because one hour later, or two, or one breath away, when they find themselves holed up in their room, their duvet up to their shoulders and Eliott tracing lines across Lucas’ bare stomach, there’ll be a stupid tv show playing on the laptop, and they’ll look at each other in the dark with a smile.
I think you’d be a good dad.
Yeah. You would, too.
And that’s the end of the conversation, every time, because one second later Lucas would have his mouth over Eliott’s, a hand to his neck, and all thoughts would fly out the window at the finger trailing down his back softly.
“I want cookies for dinner.” Jules says tiredly against Lucas’ shoulders. His eyelashes flutter when he speaks, hand closed in a tight grip on Lucas’ sweatshirt.
He hears Eliott’s quiet groan. “God fucking damn it.”
They have cookies for dinner.
***
Eliott has been going on about the differences between spandex and latex for the last 20 minutes.
There’s only so many times you can hear the words “lycra suit” being thrown in a conversation before you get the need to push your boyfriend up against the wall and kiss him senseless to shut him up.
He just wants to take a nice shower. Make out a little, then eat dinner in bed. Eliott’s already rid of his shirt, so he stands in the middle of the room with a bare chest and black track pants hanging low on his hips.
He’s very appreciative of his boyfriend’s beauty, even when said boyfriend is running his ear off.
He’s sitting on the desktop table, back turned to the window. He’d been revising some notes when Eliott had barged into the room like a hurricane. He hadn’t questioned Lucas’ choice of study location (it’s not the first time. He doesn’t have a problem with chairs. It’s not a gay thing, Basile. The table is just comfier- shut up), just had shoved his phone in Lucas’ face, rambling about delivery dates and costume prices.
Lucas had blinked, very much confused, but had wasted no time in trapping Eliott’s waist between his legs. Eliott had just given him a happy look and continued talking.
Now he sits here. His legs are still wrapped around Eliott’s hips, arms circling his middle, and he’s long given up on keeping his back straight, or understanding what’s going on, so he pillows his head on Eliott’s stomach. With every word that Eliott says, the vibrations travel down to his ear.
“This is nice.” Lucas murmurs against Eliott’s stomach, when Eliott finally goes on a rant break. He rubs his cheek on the warm skin, smiling a little. His boyfriend smells nice, like their body soap and a hint of cranberry juice that he’d spilled on his pants during lunch.
Eliott looks down from his phone. He drops a kiss to Lucas’ hair, tightening his grip on his shoulders with his free arm. “You’re nice.”
“You’re nicer.”
“And you’re lucky you’re cute, because I know you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said for the past twenty minutes.”
Lucas snickers to himself, snuggling closer to Eliott when he feels fingers drawing shapes at the nape of his neck.
“Yeah, but what did you expect when my shirtless boyfriend is right here?” He says, and kisses softly between Eliott’s pecs to seal his words. “C’mon.”
Eliott tuts. “I know what you’re doing, Lallemant.”
Lucas turns his head up to grin at Eliott, fitting his hands on the small of Eliott’s back. He presses one kiss to his stomach. Two, three, tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips in the last one.
“What am I doing?”
Eliott exhales.
“You’re trying to distract me with sex.”
“Yeah.” Lucas breathes. No use in denying the obvious. He looks at Eliott through his eyelashes, slowly leaning in to leave another kiss to the expanse of his chest, teeth grazing the skin teasingly. “Is it working?”
Eliott shudders, and one blink later Lucas has a face full of Eliott’s hand.
He gives Lucas a disapproving look, spread palm covering his mouth. Whatever made him think that would help his case, he doesn’t know. Still, Lucas gives in this once, only because he looks very cute under their bedroom light right now.
He makes a muffled sigh against Eliott’s hand, rolling his eyes jokingly as Eliott retracts his hand back. Eliott squints at him. Lucas squints back, neither of them moving.
At the end it’s Lucas who breaks. He sighs again, looking up at Eliott and curling his arms around his neck. “Okay. What is it?”
Eliott laughs loudly, a sound that makes their bodies shake and Lucas’ face break into a smile even if he’s not sure what they’re laughing at.
“You really have no shame, do you?” Eliott laughs again, and he goes to slide his hands under Lucas’ ass to lift him up.
Lucas secures his grip on Eliott’s waist and neck as his body leaves the desktop table, flashing him a shit-eating grin. “You already know I wasn’t listening. No surprise.”
“Yeah, but don’t say it to my face.”
He presses teeny, tiny kisses to Eliott’s cheek as an apology. “Sorry, baby. I promise I’ll listen this time.”
“You fucking better.” Eliott threatens. He walks them around the apartment like the boy wrapped around his body fucking weights nothing. It’s a really fucking cute habit – albeit a bit weird at the beginning, when Eliott would just pick him up out of the blue at the most random times.
It helps me think, shush, Eliott had said the time Lucas had asked him about it. And that’d been it.
He’s his boyfriend’s personal light bulb, he supposes.
“I was talking to my mom this afternoon, and I think Jules is going through a Spiderman phase.”
Lucas smiles internally at the image of little Jules tricking his parents into buying anything Spiderman related he sees at the store.
He can imagine how the conversation went down. A blankie? He needs it, because it’s cold. And a toothbrush, because it doesn’t matter if he has one already! Two toothbrushes means more teeth-brushing time, and that’s good. That t-shirt, please mama, and maybe the pajamas too? The mask?
Wait a fucking minute.
“Oh hell no-“
“He’d lose his mind if we got him a Spiderman suit. Can you imagine? And to make it even better! Wouldn’t it be fucking cute if we matched? Like mini and maxi Demaury? So I’d get one too, and then-“
“I am not wearing Spandex.”
Eliott shushes him, sitting them on the edge of the bed. “And then I had a brilliant idea.” Lucas doubts that. He’s already dreading the next words that will come out of Eliott’s mouth. “Deadpool! Me as Spiderman, you as Deadpool, the fucking hottest couple of all Paris.”
Ah, there it is. He can’t even pretend like he didn’t see that one coming.
He drops his head to Eliott’s shoulder, an amused little huff falling from his lips. He knew he had lost the battle the very second Eliott entered the room.
“You in?” Eliott asks, bumping their heads together softly.
He’s one beat away from saying ‘of fucking course I’ll be you your better superhero half, you fucking beautiful dork’ when a weird thought flashes across his mind.
“Wait, what? Since when do Deadpool and Spiderman go together?”
Eliott pulls him back by his shoulders, frowning. “Are you serious?” His mouth gapes at Lucas’ blank stare. “My God, Mika really taught you nothing.” He murmurs.
“What? Eliott, I’ve seen all the movies. I can assure you I’ve never seen Deadpool and Spiderman in a scene together.”
“Well yeah, I mean the comics?” Eliott asks, like it’s obvious, and for one second he looks confused. Then realization dawns on him. “Lucas Lallemant, you haven’t read the comics?” The disbelief in his voice makes Lucas’ cheeks turn pink, his silence being enough answer. Eliott squeaks in outrage. “And you call yourself a fan?”
“I just never found the time, okay.” Lucas defends himself, pulling on Eliott’s hair weakly.
“I have so much to show you. So. Many. Gay. Superheroes, Lucas.”
The glee in Eliott’s voice turns Lucas’ smile into mush. “You’re ridiculous.” He says, but doesn’t mean it.
Eliott kisses him then, as if he can see through Lucas’ words. He kisses him soundly, hands cupping Lucas’ face and lips moving against Lucas’ at a slow pace. Lucas kisses back, digs his knees into the mattress to push himself against Eliott, smiling when he feels Eliott’s smile on his lips.
“But,” he says between kisses, panting. Eliott whines, like it’s a personal offense that Lucas stopped kissing him “isn’t Deadpool like, pan?”
Eliott gives him a dirty look that screams you did not just stop kissing me for this.
He kisses the side of Eliott’s mouth to make up for it.
“Yeah, so?”
“So, why aren’t you Deadpool and I’m Spiderman?”
Eliott takes Lucas’ face in his hands, bringing their faces impossibly closer together. From that distance their noses rub together with every breath, heavy and shallow. “Because you, baby,” Eliott whispers, thumb moving to press down on Lucas’ bottom lip wetly to prove a point “are my little merc with a fucking mouth.”
Lucas smirks proudly, parting his lips. “And a mouth I have.”
Eliott pulls him into another kiss. It’s a little rougher around the edges, but they’re both smiling into it. Eliott’s tongue slides between his parted lips, and Lucas catches it with his teeth. He pushes at Eliott’s shoulders until they’re both lying on the bed, chest to chest and Lucas’ knees on either side of Eliott’s waist.
Eliott has his hands spread across the curve of Lucas’ ass, and Lucas has been going at his neck for a while when Eliott starts shaking his head. He pulls back to look at Eliott, confused.
“I just can’t believe you’ve never read a Marvel comic.”
“And I can’t believe I’m surprised that you have.” Lucas grumbles back.
Eliott shoots him a lazy grin, raising one eyebrow. “What was that?”      
“I’ll wear the spandex?”
Eliott’s grin turns wicked. He’s already regretting this.
 ***
He regrets it. For a series of numerous reasons.
Okay, regret is a heavy word. He just… Halloween wasn’t a thing for him growing up, that’s all. When he still lived with his mama she’d always shut down the windows and lock all the doors three times, just in case, because she’s always had a struggling relationship with demonic creatures.
And Lucas, well, he’s always had a struggling relationship with the dark. It’s just fucking scary, okay? It’s scary, and lonely, and everyone always tells you ‘oh don’t worry, there’s nothing there!’ But you can’t fucking see that, can you?
See where this is going?
So yes, he hates the fucking dark, and everywhere he looks there’s shadows lurking in the corner and people in costumes that are fucking ugly, and fuck his life. Fuck his life, and also Eliott Demaury for, on top of everything, making him wear the tightest piece of clothing he’s worn in his life.
He thinks he’s funny, shooting Lucas knowing glances every time he flinches at a loud noise, looking ridiculously beautiful in that stupid Spiderman costume. Although, if he has to be appreciative of something, is the way Eliott’s long torso looks in the red and blue fabric.
He’s got his face mask in one hand, same as Lucas, so the costume only reaches up to his neck. His hair is all messy, grey eyes shining bright under the last rays of sunshine, and Lucas thinks his sexual awakening would have gone a lot smoother had this been the version of Spiderman he grew up with.
Or maybe he’s just in love.
“I see you’re enjoying yourself.” Eliott says in his ear as they walk past a group of kids with their brains in their hands. “Seriously, relax. It looks like you’re sucking on a lemon. Not a good look on you, baby.”
“Oh, shut up.” Lucas laughs, dragging his gaze away from them. “You love me in any shape-“
A loud thud behind them makes Lucas gasp. He turns his head around so fast he’s impressed he didn’t snap his neck, and the sudden coil in his stomach eases when he sees it’s just a near neighbor taking out the trash.
God, he’s a loser.
“Fucking hell.”
Eliott doesn’t laugh this time. He just bumps their shoulders together quietly, offering him a soft smile before resting his hand on the small of his back, dangerously close to his ass.
That’s another thing. For some reason, his boyfriend has decided in the past three hours that he’s really into Lucas in this costume. Really into it.
He’s lost count of the times Eliott has slapped, kneaded and squeezed his ass since they left home. He had to physically hold Eliott’s arms around his waist on the subway because Eliott’s hand kept traveling south. After the fifth time it happened Lucas slapped his hand away.
“I can’t help that you’re so hot!” Eliott had whined.
“Well, you’re gonna fucking have to.”
He would have been more concerned if the attention hadn’t been 100% on him.
(And Eliott does have a point. These costumes really leave nothing to imagination, and it makes their bums looking fucking great.)
Just then Eliott’s hands drops one inch lower, slender fingers brushing against the swell of Lucas’ ass. Lucas narrows his eyes, taking one step away.
Reaching behind his back, he grabs at one of the swords strapped to his back. “See this? I’m gonna poke you in the eye with it if you don’t stop touching my ass” he hisses under his breath, tilting Eliott’s chin up with the tip of the plastic sword. “There’s kids around.”
Eliott points to it. “You should use that to fight the trashcan from earlier.”
“I hate you.”
Eliott pouts, looking at him pleadingly. Lucas straps the sword back with a sigh and puts Eliott’s hand back on his ass. He can’t even pretend to be grumpy when Eliott looks so damn happy as they keep walking.
“You know I’m only kidding, right?” Eliott says suddenly, sliding his hand from Lucas’ ass to curl around his waist. He drops a kiss to Lucas’ cheek. “I love you, slight apprehension of the dark and all.”
Lucas raises Eliott’s hand up to his mouth and kisses it wordlessly. He smiles against the cold skin.
He swears he just heard a wolf howl, but he doesn’t tell Eliott about it.
-
Eerie music comes from the big speakers propped up in the Demaury’s yard. There’s a big pumpkin at the front door and spider webs hanging from the doorframe and windowsills. There’s a small sized sticker of a ghost plastered to the wall, looks like it’s barely holding on in there – probably put there by Jules. It makes Lucas smile.
Jules squeals when the sees them. He’s dressed in a black Spiderman suit, a literal small version of his older brother, and when they stand together it makes Lucas warm.
“Lulu, you look so cool!” Jules squeaks excitedly, hugging his legs. Lucas crunches down to pick him up, letting him touch everywhere in wonder. Eventually he finds the swords strapped to his back and looks at Lucas with wide eyes. “Can I play with the swords?”
Lucas laughs, dropping Jules to the floor to grab the swords.
“Be careful though.”
With that, Jules sets off running. Never too far away from them, he walks ahead on the street. The swords rattling across the pavement make an unsettling noise, and Lucas holds on tighter to Eliott’s hand when the cross a park with no streetlights.
For being the city of light, they should fucking invest on some streetlights.
Jules clinks one of the swords against something metallic, and Lucas jumps.
“I fucking hate Halloween.” He groans into Eliott’s shoulder.
Eliott just laughs.
They walk so many houses Lucas’ feet start hurting. Jules’ pumpkin bag is brimmed to the brink with very sweet candy that gives Lucas cavities just by looking at it. They make quite a trio, the three of them.
They pass groups of high-schoolers and little kids with their relatives - Lucas sees a lot of questionable costumes. Some of them he wishes he could unsee. It’s less scary like this though. Despite the theme, the streets are full of people. Loud laugher and the occasional shriek, nothing scary about a five year old wearing a skeleton costume and making ‘boo’ noises at them.
It makes Lucas relax.
Since Jules isn’t tall enough to reach the doorbell, he takes turns in dragging him and Eliott by the wrist to call at the door for them. They get complimented for their costumes a lot – someone says they make a beautiful family, and it makes Lucas blush and Eliott say thank you. Jules keeps himself busy nibbling on a strawberry licorice wheel.
On the way back, when it’s much, much later – much darker, and much colder – a girl stops them. She looks older than what they’ve seen all evening, and there’s a small group of them, girls and boys alike standing a few feet away from her, dressed similarly to her.
“Sorry to bother you guys, but I love your costumes.” She says excitedly. Guess you don’t see two grown ass men in expensive costumes going trick-or-treat in the suburbs of Paris, Lucas thinks. “I’ve always loved this pair.”
Eliott turns to look at him with a ‘I told you so’ grin. Lucas huffs amusedly, and Jules looks at them confusedly from his place in Eliott’s hip.
“Thank you.” Lucas says politely, “love your costume too.”
The girl’s grin widens. “Do you mind if I take a pic?”
They look at each other through the masks and shrug at each other.
“Sure.”
Eliott drops Jules to the ground and Lucas walks over to him, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and shuffling closer. Stupidly, he smiles behind the mask, as though it’ll make a difference for the picture. He stays still.
A moment later Eliott is spinning him around, hooking his fingers under Lucas’ mask and lifting it over his nose before pressing their lips together. Lucas loops his arms around Eliott’s neck automatically, and Eliott wraps his around Lucas’ hips.
He hears someone whispering something that sounds a lot like ‘oh my god they look so fucking hot’, and it makes them smile into the kiss.
“Yuck!” Jules says all of a sudden. He goes to tug at Eliott’s leg. “I’m tired Eli, can we go home now?”
Lucas muffles his laughter in Eliott’s shoulder.
Eliott picks Jules back up again and secures him on his hip, saying goodbye to the friend group.
Jules spends the whole way there, with the candy bag gripped tightly in his hand and his head drooping to Eliott’s chest every few minutes. Eliott carries him with one hand and holds Lucas’ with the free one. When they drop Jules off at home he’s been asleep in Eliott’s arms for a while.
The person from the house two blocks away was right: they make a beautiful family.
-
It’s darker than it’s been all evening, or at least that’s what Lucas thinks. They’ve decided to walk to Emma’s after dropping Jules off at Eliott’s parents’. It’s a cold night, and he’s seriously considering putting his mask back on to fight the biting cold hitting his cheeks.
It’s quiet for most of the walk, no kids screaming (probably eating their Halloween candy as dinner) or cars rushing through the streets (on the way to getting passed out drunk at a bar or in some house party). Just the sound of their steps and their voices being carried away by the wind.
Eliott’s got his hand in Lucas’ and he’s telling him about something he saw on a store glass a few blocks back. His fingers are cold, because he got the only Spiderman costume in the store without the hand gloves, and the tip of his nose shines pink every time they walk under a lamppost. He looks like the cutest Spiderman Lucas’ ever seen.
Eliott stares mid-rant when he notices Lucas staring at him. He looks back funnily, tilting his head to the side with a small smile.
“What?”
Lucas shrugs, matching smile of his own. “Nothing.”
Eliott squeezes his hand.
”What time is it?”
The question is sudden, and Lucas looks at Eliott curiously. After a beat of silence he just reaches inside the pocket on the costume’s belt, where he’s got both his and Eliott’s phones. The phone screen lights up their faces when he unlocks it.
“21:21”
Eliott’s expression turns solemn.
“Can we go somewhere before going to Emma’s party?”
“Sure?”
He doesn’t have time to think what any of it means when Eliott is suddenly tugging at their joined hands, rushing them through the empty streets. Lucas keeps his gaze set on the back of Eliott’s head as they run; they’re both panting, the cold air turning their breath into white smoke, and they’re both laughing a little although he’s not sure why.
The tight fabric of their costumes accentuates the curve of Eliott’s back, the muscles underneath flexing and relaxing while they run. Lucas understands Eliott’s fixation a little better.
They’re standing in front of a gate Lucas knows all too well when Eliott asks him to close his eyes.
“Run and keep my eyes closed at the same time? Shit, love, I know you like to skip class but you must have heard about self-preservation.”
Eliott grins at that.
“No running then.”
Eliott walks behind Lucas, wrapping one arm around Lucas’ shoulders and covering his eyes with the other. Lucas thinks he could tell Eliott that he doesn’t need to cover his eyes for him, that he wouldn’t peek anyway if Eliott asked. But he likes Eliott guiding him better, so he keeps his mouth shut.
He thought his heart would stop beating this fast every time they walk in here after such a long time, but it still does.
“This is spooky,” Lucas comments quietly. Branches tweak and crunch under their feet, and breaking the silence feels like an offense. “Is this the part where you finally murder me? Very Halloween-y.”
Eliott’s warm chest rumbles against his back when he laughs. “Yeah, I’ve been playing the long game. No one will suspect me.”
Lucas hums. “Very smart of you.”
“I know.”
They walk a few more steps until Eliott finally stops. He stays still as Eliott circles his body. His eyes stay closed even when Eliott removes his hand, waiting for instructions.
“Wait here.” Eliott whispers. His breath hits Lucas’ mouth, and Lucas reaches forward to grab his hips. “With your eyes closed.”
Lucas lets go of Eliott in surprise.
“Eh, no!? I’m not keeping my eyes closed, Eli, what the fuck? It’s dark and it’s Halloween, and hell fucking no.”
Eliott grabs him by neck and kisses him silent, before whispering against his lips “Just for a second.”
Then his touch is gone. Lucas’ heartbeat fucking skyrockets.
The sound of faint branches cracking makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand. He tells himself that it’s just his idiotic boyfriend doing fuck knows what, but when you can’t see it’s really hard to convince yourself of something you can’t check.
A particular loud squeak makes him jump, and he bites on his tongue to avoid yelling. He moves forward at the noise, in search of Eliott’s body. When he finds nothing but air he’s this close to saying fuck it all and open his eyes, to the cost of Eliott’s disappointment, because he’d rather live, thanks, and he’s sure Eliott would appreciate a boyfriend to be disappointed in than no boyfriend at all.
But then Eliott says “okay, you can open them now.”
And when Lucas does, Eliott’s face is looking at him upside down.
He’s-
Eliott is hanging from a thick tree branch with a self-satisfied grin on his face. Lucas’ mouth drops open.
“Oh my fucking god.” Lucas breathes. “Oh my god, you fucking idiot, get down here! You’re gonna break your fucking neck.” He says, waving his hands above Eliott’s body without touching, afraid the wrong touch will make him fall.
Eliott surges his hand forward to cup Lucas’ face, beaming. “It’s fine.” He pulls Lucas closer, palms fitting over Lucas’ cheeks and grey sparkly eyes staring into Lucas’, and Lucas breathes.
He breathes, wrapping his fingers around Eliott’s wrists, and smiles up at Eliott helplessly.
Eliott makes a sweet sound. “Trick or kiss?” he whispers.
“You’re an idiot.” He whispers back, but he moves his hands from Eliott’s wrists to his cheeks and brushes their lips together softly. Eliott sighs into the kiss, brushes his knuckles across Lucas’ cold cheeks, fits his thumb under Lucas’ chin.
He lets Eliott sneak in a couple more kisses - to the corner of his mouth, to his nose, then back to Lucas’ lips again – before taking a step away.
“Okay, get back down now.”
Eliott’s eyes flutter open at the sound of Lucas’ voice. He looks like he had forgotten where he was for a second, and it takes everything in Lucas to stop himself from walking over and kissing him again.
Smiling dopily, Eliott crunches up to hold the branch with his hands. He flips one leg over the branch, sitting on it for a second before moving down a branch, and then another one. His feet gets stuck in between two, and Lucas snorts.
“Some Spiderman you make…” Eliott shoots him a death glare, shaking his feet free before crunching down on the closest branch to the ground. “If you fall and die, I won’t cry at your funeral.”
Eliott hops down easily, moving to curl his arm around Lucas’ neck with a smirk. “Liar. You’d cry the most.”
“You dumb fuck,” he says, but he rubs his cold nose on Eliott’s neck before looking up at Eliott. “You cute, dumb fuck.”
Eliott kisses him soundly. “Merc with a mouth.”
They kiss again, Lucas tipping his body forward and curling himself closer under Eliott’s arm. He moves his hand to press against Eliott’s jaw as Eliott’s tongue slips between his lips, sliding it up and down the smooth material covering his chest. He sighs softly into the kiss when Eliott’s hand goes to the back of his head, scratching a little.
They pull back to catch their breathing. There’s red in Eliott’s cheeks, from the cold or the kissing, Lucas isn’t entirely sure, and he raises up on his tip toes to leave a kiss under his eye.
It’s then that a loud fucking metallic noise comes from inside the bridge.
Lucas looks up at Eliott with wide eyes. “Should I bring out the swords, or…?” He jokes weakly, but his knuckles turn white under the costume where he’s gripping Eliott’s arm.
Eliott frowns, looking behind him before looking back at Lucas. “Let’s just get out of here.”
And well, Lucas isn’t about to argue that.
Later, when they’re back outside and the lampposts light up the streets and Lucas has stopped clenching his jaw every time he hears a noise, Eliott says conversationally
“I’m gonna make a movie about you.”
Lucas grins up at Eliott. “Oh yeah?”
Eliott hums. “Yeah, wanna know how I’m gonna call it?” he asks, waiting for Lucas’ nods. “The hero who was scared of the dark.”
“I thought I was supposed to be an anti-hero?”
Eliott stops, and with him Lucas. He puts his hand in Lucas’ neck. Brushes Lucas’ cheekbone with his thumb, small smile like he knows something that Lucas doesn’t. “Nah. Not for me.”
Lucas kisses him. He keeps their hands intertwined all the way to Emma’s party.
End.
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M/M Book Recs
In addition to fic I’ve read a lot of m/m novels recently. Most of theses are books I’ve been screaming about to anyone who’s willing to listen but I thought some of y’all might enjoy them too!
The synopses are in italics. (Some are bastardized from Goodreads. Those are marked GR.) I’ve also added my thoughts on the book and some content warnings. 
Red, White and Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
What happens when America's First Son falls in love with the Prince of Wales? (GR)
Appa’s rec: 5/5 If you haven’t read this yet, this is the first one you have to pick up. The chemistry of the main characters is delicious. It’s basically a enemies-to-lovers story with awesome supporting characters and a little bit of international politics thrown in. There are some steamy sex scenes just a step below pure smut. Alex and Henry stole my heart and I will definitely be reading this book again and again.
Him - Sarina Bowen, Elle Kennedy 
(also, book two: Us and a novella: Epic)
Ryan Wesley’s biggest regret is coaxing his very straight friend, James Canning, into a bet that pushed the boundaries of their relationship. Now, with their college teams set to face off at the national championship, he’ll finally get a chance to apologize. But all it takes is one look at his longtime crush, and the ache is stronger than ever.  Jamie has waited a long time for answers, but walks away with only more questions—can one night of sex ruin a friendship? If not, how about six more weeks of it?  (GR)
Appa’s rec: 5/5 Ryan and Jamie broke me a little. This might be my favorite m/m book ever. The first book is a smutty masterpiece and the second book is an angsty heartbreaker with a happy ending. Highly recommend even if you don’t like hockey. The audio books are amazing as well. (I’d probably listen Teddy Hamilton to read my grocery list and swoon...)
Top Secret - Sarina Bowen, Elle Kennedy
Keaton and Luke are housemates. They are in a frat together. Luke thinks Keaton is a privileged idiot. Keaton thinks Luke is a grumpy asshole. They are both running for frat president. Keaton’s longtime girlfriend wants a threesome for her birthday. Keaton goes on an app to find them a guy and accidentally matches with Luke. They start texting anonymously. 
Appa’s rec: 4,5/5 There was some frat bro shenanigans that made me roll my eyes a bunch and dock 0,5 stars from my rating but other than that this book is amazing! I mean, lots of sexting, Keaton discovering his sexuality, and oh, did I mention that Luke is a stripper?! The smut is smutty and the angst is delicious. Content warning: parental abuse (mostly mental)
The Spiral Down - Aly Martinez
Henry Alexander is a famous pop star with a dark past and a very bad case of flying phobia. He’s also openly gay. After Evan Roth, a pilot, helps him through a flight and a panic attack Henry is obsessed, but Evan has his own demons that complicate their relationship to the point of breaking.
Appa’s rec: 4/5 Some solid smut, angst and a fluffy, happy ending. I highly recommend the audio book. Both readers were wonderful and I almost listened the whole thing in one sitting. I was obsessed!
Trading Teams - Romeo Alexander
Jake thought he had life all figured out. He had the perfect girlfriend, a starting position on the Varsity baseball team, and a raging social life. He was living the dream. That is, until he discovers that he’s in danger of losing his scholarship.  For Kyle, college was only a formality. He didn’t need the degree, and he barely attended his classes and still passed with flying colors. Instead of sitting in class, he’d rather be chasing his true passion—designing and programming an original MMORPG game. Kyle doesn’t need a social life, and he definitely doesn’t need a boyfriend, especially because that would require stepping out of the closet, something he has no intention of doing any time soon. (GR)
Appa’s rec: 3/5 Cute jock/nerd romance with some steamy smut. Not the greatest story but a good time!
Lock & West - Alexander C. Eberhart
Lock is awkward. He can’t make eye contact, counts when he’s nervous and has to remind himself several times a day how ‘normal’ teens behave. Homeschooled most of his life, he’s resigned himself to a friendless existence at his new Atlanta high school. Until he meets West. West has everything. Looks. Talent. Money. And secrets… so many secrets. Beneath the surface of West’s perfect existence is a pain he’s buried so deep a million therapists couldn’t unearth it and he’s determined to keep it that way. He’s an actor. He can act normal. (GR)
Appa’s rec: 4/5 This is a YA romance with some heavy, heavy stuff. Only read if you can deal with a lot of angst. (CW: eating disorders, sexual abuse, rape, parental abuse and post traumatic stress disorder). There is some light smut but it isn’t as explicit as in the previous recs. I really enjoyed this book despite the dark themes.
There Goes Sunday School -  Alexander C. Eberhart 
In sixteen-year-old Mike Hernandez’s life, only one thing is clear: Gay is NOT okay. His family’s life revolves around the church, so Mike has resolved to spend his life in the closet. His only escape—besides the occasional, anonymous gay make-out session—are his risqué drawings.
When his sketchbook goes missing in the middle of Sunday school, Mike is sure his life is over. What’s worse, the pastor’s son, Chris, suddenly seems hell-bent on adopting Mike and his friends and he has no idea why. When an awkward confrontation with Chris leads to an unexpected kiss instead of a much-expected punch, Mike’s world is turned upside down. (GR) 
Appa’s rec: 4/5 Obvious content warning for homophobia and religious guilt. This wasn’t as angsty and dark as Eberhart’s other book but there are some heavy stuff with homophobic parents and community. Some light smut. Heavy on the religion stuff. The main character is very sweet and conflicted. A good YA read if you don’t mind the religious aspects. 
Heartstopper vol 1 - Alice Oseman
Charlie Spring is in Year 10 at Truham Grammar School for Boys. The past year hasn't been too great, but at least he's not being bullied anymore, and he's sort of got a boyfriend, even if he's kind of mean and only wants to meet up in secret. Nick Nelson is in Year 11 and on the school rugby team. Nick and Charlie are placed in the same form group and made to sit together. They quickly become friends, and soon Charlie is falling hard for Nick, even though he doesn't think he has a chance. (GR)
Appa’s rec: 5/5 This is a web comic made into books. There are three volumes out so far. I’ve read the first two. (You can find all of these on the web still and there will be more volumes.) Oh my god, this is the sweetest story ever and the drawings are adorable. A quick read that will stay with you for a long time. Light angst and a lot of fluff. 
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sunflower-swan · 4 years
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Wolfstar chapter 6
A/N: Here’s what you need to know: I created this story for Writer’s Month 2020. Every day is a new prompt, and therefore a new chapter. This is an AU Wolfstar where Remus is a tattoo artist next door to Sirius who manages a flower shop. James and Lily are alive in this universe and own a coffee shop across the street. And to make parts of the story work with the prompts, Remus is about 10 years older than Sirius. It also takes place more or less in present time, minus Covid-19.
This is chapter 6 of a multi-chapter work. If you’d like to start from the beginning, here is chapter 1.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. I just like to play with them.
Day 6 Prompt: Ocean
Rating: General
Word Count: 1992
Tags: original character, pining
Chapter 6
Remus
Monica, “For You I Will”
I will cross the ocean for you
I will go and bring you the moon
I will be your hero, your strength, anything you need
Remus and Sirius sat at their favorite corner booth at the Potter’s Wheel Cafe for their morning coffee ritual. Sirius was having his usual black coffee with cream and no sugar. While Remus preferred a sweeter mocha cappuccino.
“So Silas is in America then?” Remus asked. While waiting for Sirius, James and Lily had filled him in on the finer points of what transpired after the ‘You’re a wizard?!’ incident.
Sirius nodded with a small frown. “Took a long-distance portkey to New York early this morning.” He exhaled a sigh so heavy it flipped the hair that had fallen into his face. “Six...bloody...months.” He punctuated each word with a knock of his knuckles on the tabletop.
Remus felt bad for his friend. It was obvious he hadn’t gotten much sleep since they had last seen each other. His charcoal eyes usually glowed with a fire that burned through Remus' soul. Today they were a shadowy reflection rimmed in red, all spark gone out. And that was when they were open long enough for Remus to see them. Throughout most of their brief rendezvous this morning, his eyelids became heavier and heavier over his sunken eyes. 
“Maybe you should take the day off. Catch up on some sleep?” Remus suggested after Sirius’ head nodded forward for the third time.
“Hmm?”
Remus threw a couple Muggle bills down on the table. “Come on, Sirius.” He went around to the opposite side of the table and helped Sirius to his feet. “We’re going to get you home.”
Sirius acquiesced to Remus' touch, and the latter led them to the alley apparition point. Once there, Sirius attempted to shake loose of the grasp Remus had around his waist.
“I can manage, Remus,” he mumbled.
“No! No, no. You are in no state to apparate anywhere on your own. I’m impressed you didn’t splinch yourself getting here.” Remus tucked his arm into Sirius’. “Hold on to me.”
“Mmm, ok.” Sirius relaxed into his body.
Remus’ spine straightened and his breath caught at the warmth of Sirius’ body perfectly fitted against his. Restraining all his instincts, he pushed aside the inconvenient feelings, and turned with a POP.
They landed in a secluded area outside Sirius’ flat, and Remus helped him inside. He half-carried Sirius into the bedroom, walking past a faded leather jacket thrown over a chair in the corner, and unceremoniously dumped him into bed.
As he turned to leave, a photo on the nightstand caught his eye. He picked it up. It was a picture of himself with Sirius, James, Lily, and Harry, standing outside the Tattoo Lounge, about a month after he had opened.
James was holding little Harry in one arm and holding Lily’s hand with the other. Remus had his hands tucked into his pockets, and Sirius had an arm around his shoulders. Photo Remus was grinning broadly and kept casting covert looks at Sirius, whose hair was blowing around in his face.
The four of them almost immediately accepted him into their circle. Which, looking back, was a little funny considering they had thought Remus was a Muggle.
He chuckled softly to himself and set the picture back down. He had reached the doorway when he heard Sirius rustle behind him.
“Remus?”
He paused, placed a hand on the door jam and turned his head. “Yes?” 
“Did you know you smell like old books and chocolate?”
This declaration startled him. He swung around to question about this revelation, but found Sirius had started to snore.
~~~~~
Remus stopped by the Loft before returning to the Lounge to inform Sirius’ employees that he wouldn’t be in today. They seemed unaffected by the news that Sirius was ‘ill’. He didn’t see that they needed to know any details further than that.
Once he returned to the secluded solitude of his own shop, he attempted to look over his appointment schedule for the day. Despite his best efforts to focus on the task at hand, he found his mind was in another place. A very Sirius-centric place.
Old books and chocolate? Sirius said Remus smelled like old books...and chocolate. What did that mean? He had been almost asleep when he had made the statement. Did that matter?
Sirius smelled like fresh coffee and leather. Remus would be lying to himself if he said it hadn’t percolated into his subconscious over the last year and a half. Being in Sirius’ bedroom where his scent was everywhere had caused Remus’ insides to squirm.
Not that any of that mattered. Not really. Sirius was with Silas, and Sirius was his friend...nothing more.
Around mid-day, a middle-aged man wandered into the shop. The bell over the door dinged, and Remus glanced up from the magazine article he was reading.
Remus studied the man with interest. He was wearing black converse, cuffed light wash slim fit jeans, and a black tee. Remus couldn’t help but notice how well his toned body filled out the tee. The man looked around the place like he was surprised to find himself there.
“Can I help you?” Remus offered.
The man jumped. “Whoa! Didn’t see you there! Sorry!” He chuckled, placing one hand to his chest while the other ran through his salt and pepper crew cut. “Whew! Old ticker’s still working,” he added with a jovial smile, and a pat to his chest.
Remus grinned in spite of himself, and stood. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He apologized and held out his right hand. “I’m Remus, and I don’t usually make a habit of scaring my customers to death.” 
The stranger’s whiskey colored eyes sparkled. He grasped Remus’ hand in his rough and calloused one. “I’m Logan.”
A bolt of electricity shot through Remus at the handshake, and he cleared his throat. “Ahem. So, what can I do for you?” he asked.
“This is a tattoo parlor, right? I thought the answer to that question would be self-explanatory.” Logan ran a hand across his five o’clock shadow with a mischievous grin.
Oh, brother. Someone thinks they’re a comedian. He forgot to roll his eyes because he was lost in Logan’ sparkling, sepia-flecked ones. “Did you have anything in mind?” You tall drink of probably straight water, he added in his head.
“No,” Logan said with a shrug and a smile that showcased his gleaming straight white teeth.
Right… “Ok. Well, I have a book here of some of the pieces I’ve done.” Remus pulled the book out and laid it open on the table. “You can look through here and tell me if anything jumps out at you.”
Logan leaned over and pulled the book toward him. “You did all these?” he asked in an impressed tone. He eyed Remus up and down before turning back to flip through the pictures.
Remus felt his face flush. He felt very exposed after the ‘check-out’ Logan just gave him. Maybe not so straight after all. He attempted an air of coolness and leaned one hand on the desk to peer through the pictures with Logan. “Yep. All me.”
“Very impressive.” Logan nodded his head.
Remus grabbed his sketch book and a pencil, and hopped up to sit on the desk. “Tell me about yourself,” he said, flipping to a blank page.
Logan's eyes widened only for a moment before he straightened up and leaned his hip against the desk. “Buy a man a drink first,” he said with a sly smile.
Godric, give me strength, said one part of his brain. While the other said, A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone! Instead, he waved the sketch book and said, “I’m going to sketch you a design.”
“Buy me a drink anyway,” Logan said, and took a step closer to Remus.
His sandalwood musk, which Remus had noticed the moment he stepped through the door, was now in sharp relief and threatening to overpower his other senses. At that exact moment, someone else, who smelled like fresh coffee and leather, burst through the door.
“Remus!” yelled the new man.
Logan jumped back the distance from which he had traveled moments before. Eyes and mouth wide in shock at the interruption.
“Remus?”
Remus looked between the confused look on Sirius’ face and the startled one on Logan’s, knowing exactly what this looked like.
“Sirius.” Remus attempted nonchalance. As if a ridiculously good-looking and age-appropriate man, practically breathing down his neck, was an everyday occurrence.
Logan sighed in defeat and stole the sketchbook and pencil out of Remus’ hands. Before Remus could protest the theft, he wrote something in it, closed it, and handed it back to him. “Call me,” he said with a wink and strode out of the tattoo shop, giving Sirius a curt nod.
Remus clasped his hands together in his lap, and lifted a questioning eyebrow at Sirius.
“Is that your attempt to look innocent?” Sirius asked, joining Remus sitting on the desk.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” Remus replied.
“Huh, right.” Sirius picked up the sketchbook and flipped through the pages. “And ‘no idea what I’m talking about’ just happened to leave you his number?”
Remus ripped the sketchbook out of his grasp and stood up. Sirius was grinning like the cat who caught the canary.
“Quit grinning like that,” he said. “What did you want anyway before you disrupted...nothing?”
“Oh, yeah.” Sirius fluttered the paper he was clutching in his hand. “Got a letter from Silas!” He looked down at the letter. “He says he made it to America fine. And he said he gets a personal day tomorrow, and he had a really cool idea.” Sirius' eyes sparkled. “At noon tomorrow, I go to Land’s End in Sennen, Penzance. At the same time, he goes to Montauk Lighthouse in New York. Then we can wave at each other across the ocean. Isn’t that sweet?”
As Sirius finished explaining The Plan, Remus could only nod in disbelief. “If it’s noon here, isn’t that like, 7:00 A.M. in New York?”
“Well, yeah. Anyway, want to come with me?”
“Come with you?”
“Yeah. To Land’s End tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
Sirius' face split in a grin from ear to ear. He rushed forward and clutched Remus in a rib-splitting hug. “Thank you so much! I couldn’t stand to go alone. I have to go arrange a portkey.” He released Remus and started for the door. “See you around eleven o’clock tomorrow?”
“Sounds good.” Remus waved as Sirius ran out the door. 
Why… Remus sat back down in his office chair and rubbed his hands over his face. He put his elbows on the desk. Closing his eyes, he rested his chin in his palms while his fingertips massaged his temples. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Remus contemplated why Sirius had asked him. Why not James? Why did Remus agree so quickly and easily to accompany him?
After some time had passed, Remus stood to look for something constructive to do. The scent of coffee and leather lingered long after Sirius had left, and it made his stomach ache as he paced around the shop. He picked up items only to deposit them somewhere else a moment later. Eventually, he picked up the sketchpad. He looked down on it a long time, before slowly flipping open to the page where Logan had left his number.
Remus hadn’t noticed at the time, but the smell of sandalwood that Logan brought into the shop had disappeared the moment Sirius had appeared. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Logan was really cute. Impossibly really cute. And age appropriate. Maybe he should call him. Maybe...
Remus slammed the book shut and threw it on the desk. Then he sank to the floor and rested his head on his arms between his bent knees. Who was he kidding? He doesn’t date. He can’t date. Not in his condition. And not handsome Muggles.
Next Chapter: Chapter 7
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patchwork-panda · 4 years
Text
If A Moment Is All We Are (ch 2)
For those who prefer AO3 format: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121633/chapters/58417417#workskin
Part 2:
My breath was growing ragged as I sprinted back to my apartment complex; clearly, the lack of food and sleep was finally taking its toll. I managed to make it all the way up to my floor before I finally tripped in the middle of the hallway and fell to the ground, not two feet from my own door. As I stared down the hall, the doorway to Mrs. Yamazaki’s unit seemed to draw me in. I immediately closed my eyes to keep from looking at it but as soon as I did so, the haunting images of the vision I’d had earlier resurfaced and it was all I could do not to break down right there on the spot.
I’d seen that cat-shaped clock once before, when Mrs. Yamazaki had first pulled me into her apartment and sat me down in her living room. The TV had been exactly where I remembered it, set to the channel Mrs. Yamazaki had kept it at all evening; she’d even told me about the comedic variety show she sometimes stayed up to watch on weekends, the program that played every Saturday, including this one, when the man with the snake tattoo breaks in to her apartment and stabs her in the chest...
I felt something welling up in my throat and I quickly pushed myself back to my feet, covering my mouth with one hand as I dug around in my pockets with the other for the key to my unit. My vision swam as I struggled to put the key into the rusty lock and the more I tried to concentrate on getting back inside where it was safe, the more vivid Mrs. Yamazaki’s grateful, smiling face grew in my mind’s eye.
“I don’t know where I would be if you weren’t here, Kyou-chan...”
I shook my head to clear the images away—it didn’t work.
“From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
The lock clicked open and I threw myself inside my apartment, kicking my grocery bag into my apartment so that it lay in a sagging heap in the entryway. I slammed the door shut behind me.
“Don’t thank me...”
My feeble voice echoed throughout the empty room. The dizziness returned and I covered my face in my hands and slumped against the nearest wall.
“I don’t deserve it.”
I sat there for some time, my head still filled with the angry buzzing that usually followed these horrific visions of death and I curled into myself, hugging my knees to my chest and forcing myself to breathe until my breaths evened out again. Out of nowhere, my stomach growled—very loudly—and I shakily reached into the bag for one of the bananas I’d gotten earlier.
When I was about halfway through my banana (with the headache disappearing, I could feel my blood sugar returning to a normal level), I heard a chime from my laptop. One glance at my desk showed me that, as usual, I’d forgotten to close my laptop before I’d gone out and as I got up and walked towards it, I saw that I had a new email notification.
“New Commission,” it read.
Gears turned in my head as I stared at my computer; I suddenly had a crazy idea.
Picking up the pace, I half-ran to my desk and immediately swept everything off of it except the laptop. Empty boxes and wrappers cascaded onto the floor but I ignored them and went straight for the pencil drawer. Drawing and sketching had always been just a hobby of mine but since leaving college, I’d managed to use my artistic ability to earn some money by doing commissions—drawings of anime and video game characters. It wasn’t a lot of money and I still needed to stretch whatever my parents had left in my bank account (I couldn’t handle telling them I’d dropped out) but I made it work.
The crazy idea solidified as I flipped my sketchbook to a fresh page and began sketching lines.
Maybe I could use my art skills to save Mrs. Yamazaki.
Drawing what I could see of the attacker was the easy part. Convincing the police that they needed to do something would be the challenge...
***
“Half-past eleven in a week’s time, you say,” the officer deadpanned, raising one eyebrow as he looked over my drawing at me.
“Yes, that’s right,” I said, nervously fiddling with the strap on my bag.
I’d done the impossible. I literally couldn’t remember the last time I’d left my apartment twice in a single day—I’d even showered twice today and eaten an actual piece of fruit. Not only that, I was wearing the cutest blouse I possessed, had thrown on a decently fashionable light jacket and picked out clean jeans and sneakers to wear, with not a speck of anime memorabilia in sight. For the first time in months, I could honestly say I looked like a normal person; I’d even taken off my face mask and stuck it in my bag before walking inside the police station.
As I watched the officer look over the sketch I’d made, the most accurate impression of the snake tattoo I could recreate, I felt a flicker of my old self returning to me. Despite having just seen another vision of a death this morning, I managed to force myself out of my apartment and now here I was, the furthest I’d ever been from my apartment in ages, talking to a complete stranger face-to-face. Perhaps this was all I needed in order to leave—someone to be concerned about besides myself. If I could end my self-imposed confinement for Mrs. Yamazaki’s sake, maybe with time I could do it for myself.
Maybe.
As long as I never ran out of face masks and nitrile gloves, it should be easy enough... I did have another mild panic attack after finding out I’d ripped my last pair of gloves when I’d saved Mrs. Yamazaki. At least wearing a face mask convinced enough people on public transit that I had a relatively bad cold and needed to be avoided...
I was in the middle of figuring out how to wean myself off of face masks and gloves when the police officer pushed my drawing back towards me and let out a heavy sigh.
“Look uh...” he squinted at me. “What was your name again...?”
“Kusunoki,” I said. “My name is Kusunoki Kyou.”
“Right. Kusunoki-san.”
He scratched his balding head.
“This is highly unusual. You say you overheard a man on the street talking about planning a break-in on his cell phone... and he gave an actual address—your neighbor’s address actually—and an exact time...?”
I nodded uneasily as he repeated my story, his suspicion starting to show in his tone.
“And instead of snapping a photo of this man and bringing us an image of his actual face, you went home and made a drawing of his tattoo.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Yes...?” I squeaked.
He scowled.
“Listen, we’re a very busy precinct and we don’t have time for crazy stories. Go home and study for your exams or something.”
He got up from his seat and escorted me to the door. By the time I shook my elbow out of his grasp, I was already outside and the automatic glass doors had slid closed with a sharp slap. I stood there on the sidewalk, staring at my own shocked reflection, my useless (but meticulously colored) sketch wrinkling beneath my fingertips and my brain unable to process what had just happened.
Everything had been going so well...
However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized the officer was right. My story really didn’t make any sense. Any normal person would think it was a prank, especially coming from a weirdo like me; I was lucky I wasn’t fined for my antics.
I’d managed to clean myself up a little but my nervous mannerisms and inability to meet the police officer’s gaze must’ve overrode my general appearance, making me seem suspicious and unreliable anyway. I twisted a lock of long black hair between my fingers, staring past my reflection into the office, turning away only when the officer looked back up.
Distantly, I heard the crosswalk light change and a cool breeze began to blow.
In the end, I couldn’t change a thing...
The breeze tugged at my drawing; it started to slip out of my hands but I didn’t tighten my grip.
My efforts didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I should just go home right now and go back to being a useless shut-in...
Suddenly, the wind picked up. It ripped the heavy sketch paper right out of my hands and I watched it numbly as it flew high into the air and sailed away into the crosswalk, where someone abruptly jumped up and caught my drawing in his hand.
“Whoops!” he exclaimed, snatching it out of the sky.
Drawing in hand, he jogged towards me, the crosswalk light changing from green to red behind him. As he approached, his face broke into a brilliant smile.
“Is this yours?” he asked warmly, holding the crinkled page out to me.
I nodded mutely and reached out for the sketch.
He was tall and relatively good-looking, with a mop of unkempt brown hair that curled loosely around his face and a pair of intelligent brown eyes that sparkled pleasantly in the light. Curiously, underneath his tan trench coat and professional attire, his palms, wrists and even neck were covered in a thin layer of fresh white bandages. It was almost as if he’d just walked out of the hospital... As I looked at up him, his eyebrows slowly rose until they disappeared into his bangs and the corners of his mouth began to twitch in obvious amusement—I realized with a start that I was staring at him instead of taking back my drawing.
“Oh...! I’m sorry!” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he laughed, his eyes shining with mirth as I quickly stuffed my sketch back into my bag. “I’m flattered to have caught the eye of such a beautiful woman.”
I abruptly stopped trying to close my bag and looked up. This time, I really stared.
“Huh?”
In one smooth movement, he gathered both my hands in his and tenderly held them to his chest.
“And what radiance you possess,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “With your lips as red as a Camellia blossom and your eyes as dark as the finest port wine—ah, if only I could drown in your eyes...! To cross paths with such beauty on so fine a day—has fate smiled upon me at last...?”
He gave my fingers a squeeze and I swear I felt time stop.
His grip was firm and his hands were so nice and warm that it took me a moment too long to realize that my skin was in physical contact with his and I needed to let go right away...!
But something was off.
Although he held my hands tightly in his, I wasn’t seeing anything from the distant future. No death, no scenes from another time, another place. No. Just this oddly flirtatious stranger in front of me, holding my hands in his and giving me compliments my shell-shocked brain couldn’t process.
“Beauty...? A-are you talking about me?”
He smiled, his lips curling around perfect, white teeth and what was left of my brain completely short-circuited.
“Of course I am.”
He leaned in close, his long bangs shifting softly with his movements and my cheeks burned when I noticed he was even more attractive up close. I could barely hear his next words over the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears.
“Are you doing anything later this evening?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “If not, I was wondering... would you be interested in joining me in a double su—”
“THERE YOU ARE, DAZAI!!” someone bellowed.
I let out a yelp and instinctively pushed the man away, snatching back my hands in the process and backing several steps away. The sudden outburst had shocked me back to my senses and while I thought my heart was going to jump right out of my chest, the bandaged man in the trench coat didn’t look fazed in the least. With a small, disappointed sigh, he shot me an apologetic look, straightened up and turned to face the crosswalk where the noise had come from.
“Kunikida-kun! I was wondering when you’d catch up,” he called, his voice pitching up into an almost sing-song tenor, a big goofy grin plastered on his face as he waved jovially to someone standing across the street.
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Kunikida roared back.
There, standing at the opposite crosswalk, looking angrier than anyone I’d ever seen, was a very tall man. His arms were crossed so tightly over his chest, it looked like he could snap himself in half if he squeezed any harder. Like Dazai, he was dressed like a professional, wearing a beige vest and pant set over a long-sleeved black shirt, a wine-colored ribbon tied neatly at his collar. He wore his hair long, in stylishly cut dark-blond ponytail and his rectangular glasses flashed menacingly as he glared sharply at Dazai. Unease building in my stomach, I watched his foot tap up and down with the uncanny precision of a metronome, like a countdown, and as soon as the crosswalk light turned green, he charged at us with all the force of a raging bull. I threw myself out of the way just as his arms shot out and his fingers closed around my companion’s bandaged neck. To my alarm, Dazai started laughing.
“Didn’t I tell you this morning that we had a very tight schedule today?” Kunikida barked, viciously shaking the brunette, who appeared completely indifferent to the assault, even entertained as his body rocked back and forth and his feet nearly lifted off the sidewalk.
“So what do you do? You wander off as soon as we leave the station and where do I find you? Flirting with a woman in broad daylight in the middle of the street! Smearing mud on the Agency’s good name while you are on the clock! You disgust me!”
At once, he dropped the guy and turned to me. Instinctively, I took a step back but to my surprise, he bent forward at the waist at a nearly perfect ninety-degree angle, sweat beading on his brow as he began apologizing to me.
“I am deeply sorry about my partner, Miss. This is completely inappropriate and the Agency will be taking full responsibility for his actions.”
“It’s okay!” I exclaimed, half afraid Kunikida would finish Dazai off if I said anything even remotely incriminating. “I’m fine. He didn’t do anything... bad...?”
Kunikida stared at me, the look in his gray-green eyes somewhere between confused, doubting and dumbfounded. Next to him, Dazai dusted himself off and I could feel his eyes on me as I chose my next words carefully.
“Really. It’s fine, you don’t need to do anything...” I glanced at Dazai’s skinny, bandaged neck, wondering when the bruises were going to show. “I’m alright.”
At once, Kunikida’s shoulders collapsed in obvious relief and as he straightened up, he fished around in his pocket to produce a small slip of paper.
“Here. My card.”
Bowing politely as I received it, I glanced over it. It was a rather plain-looking card, the sharp black text looking just as neat and tidy as the man in front of me. Intrigued, I read the card aloud.
“Kunikida Doppo-san. Armed Detective Agency?”
Something about that name sounded familiar...
“We’re detectives, Miss,” Kunikida said, as I turned the card over in my hands. “If you or anyone you know have any need of our services, please don’t hesitate to give us a call.”
“Detectives? As in private investigators?” I asked, suddenly feeling hopeful.
When Kunikida nodded, I quickly took the (very crumpled) drawing back out of my purse.
“Actually, I do have something I could use your help with. You see, I’m trying to stop a murder—”
“Murder?!”
Kunikida looked stunned but I kept talking as he and Dazai exchanged a glance.
“Yeah, I have this neighbor, Yamazaki-san. She lives across the hallway from me and if somebody doesn’t intervene in the next few days, she’s going to—”
“I’m really sorry,” Dazai interrupted me, looking apologetic, “But wouldn’t it be better to be asking the police for help on something like this?”
The hope died in my chest.
“I already tried asking the police,” I said stonily, staring at his feet. “They wouldn’t listen to me. They... they thought I was playing a joke on them.”
Kunikida stepped forward. He looked like he was about to speak when Dazai stopped him with a meaningful look. Dazai then turned to me, bowing his head a little as he spoke so that he was closer to my level.
“Hey...”
He put a bandaged hand on my shoulder.
“They’ll listen to you,” he said gently, his smile radiating compassion, “You just have to go in there and act like you’re someone worth listening to.”
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at his fellow detective.
“I mean, just look at Kunikida-kun. It works for him.”
“What the hell does that mean, Dazai?”
“What I’m trying to say,” Dazai continued, blatantly ignoring an increasingly incensed Kunikida as he spoke, “Is that you should try again. Look behind you, there’s been a shift change. Maybe you couldn’t convince the last person, but perhaps this officer will take you seriously.”
I turned and looked at where he was pointing, and sure enough, a different person had taken the place of the older, balding man from before. Dazai patted me on the shoulder.
“You can do it. I have faith in you. Oh, but just in case it doesn’t work out...”
He reached into his coat pocket and produced a card that looked very similar to Kunikida’s.
“You can contact me or Kunikida-kun and we will help you.”
He took my hand, placed the card face-down in the center of my palm and curled my fingers over it. Again, nothing happened when his skin met mine. I was dumbfounded. I looked up into his face and saw that he was smiling again, turning the charm back up to eleven as he stroked my hand with his half-bandaged fingers.
“In fact, you can call me if you need aaaanything at all,” he said, winking.
I flushed.
Unable to stomach any more, Kunikida abruptly seized him by the scruff of his neck, lifting him off of the ground (my hands fell out of Dazai’s at once) for a fraction of a second before slamming him down onto the sidewalk in a move straight out of a martial arts movie. Stunned into silence, I could only watch as Kunikida gave me a curt nod, asked me to call him directly if Dazai ever bothered me again and coolly adjusted his glasses, sliding them back up his nose.
“Please excuse us,” he said humbly.
He inclined his head in farewell and immediately dragged his limp companion down the street and out of my sight, Dazai’s tan trench-coat scraping unpleasantly against the sidewalk as he was taken away. My fellow pedestrians and I stared after them for a moment and only when people began walking around again did I remember to look at the card Dazai had placed in my hand.
“Dazai Osamu. Armed Detective Agency.”
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thelittlesttimelord · 4 years
Text
The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 28
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TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 28 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 28/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.
Vincent set up his easel and canvas in front of the church window.
“And you'll be sure to tell me if you see any, you know, monsters?” the Doctor asked him.
“Yes. While I may be mad, I'm not stupid.”
“No. Quite. And, to be honest, I'm not sure about mad either. It seems to me depression is a very complex…”
Vincent quietly shushed him. “I'm working”.
“Well, yes. Paint. Do painting!” He stepped back from Vincent and knelt down next to Elise. “Look what I brought you?” The Doctor pulled out a sketchbook and a pack of colored pencils.
Elise smiled and took them from him, sitting down next to Vincent.
“My little Ellie, learning at the foot of the master!” the Doctor commented. Maybe after this, he’d take her visit some other artists. She would be great one day. He knew because he’d seen it.
After many hours of listening to the Doctor talk and complain, night fell. He was now lying on the ground. “Is this how time normally passes? Really slowly. In the right order.” The Doctor jumped to his feet. “If there's one thing I can't stand, it's an unpunctual alien attack.”
“Are you okay?” Amy asked him, “You seem a bit, if I didn't know you better, I'd say nervous.”
“Yes, there's something not right and I can't quite put my finger on it.”
“There. He's at the window”, Vincent told them.
“Where?” the Doctor asked.
“There, on the right.”
“As I thought. Come on. I'm going in.”
“Well I'm coming too.”
“No! You're Vincent Van Gogh. No.”
“But you're not armed.”
“I am.”
“What with?”
The Doctor picked up the case for his gadget. “Overconfidence, this, and a small screwdriver. I'm absolutely sorted. Just have to find the right crosactic setting and stun him with it. Sonic never fails. Anyway, Amy, Elise, only one thought, one simple instruction. Don't follow me under any circumstances.”
Amy nodded. “I won't.”
The Doctor entered the church.
“Will you follow him?” Vincent asked her.
“Of course.”
Vincent looked down at Elise who nodded. He looked back at Amy. “I love you.”
Amy just smirked. After a few minutes, Amy began to worry. “Has he moved?”
“No. Just shifted to the next window. But, wait! He's turning now.”
There was a sound of breaking glass.
Elise started running for the church.
“Elise!” Amy yelled, running after her.
Vincent grabbed his art supplies. “Amy!”
Amy and Elise found him in the sanctuary.
“Doctor!”
“Argh! I thought I told you…Never mind. We'll talk about it later. Quick, in here.”
They got into a confessional booth, Elise clinging to Amy’s legs.
“Absolutely quiet”, the Doctor whispered.
Amy was breathing hard in fear.
“Can you breathe a little quieter, please?” he asked her.
“No. He's gone past.”
The Krafayis knocked into Amy and Elise’s side, causing the two girls to scream.
“I think he heard us”, the Doctor said. It knocked into the Doctor’s side next. “That is impressive hearing he's got. What's less impressive are our chances of survival.”
“Hey! Are you looking for me, sonny?” Vincent’s voice asked.
Amy opened the door to the confessional to see Vincent brandishing a chair.
“Come on, over here. Because I'm right here waiting for you.”
They climbed out of the booth.
“Come on. Quickly. Get behind me.”
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the creature. “Doing anything?” he asked.
“Uh uh,” Vincent told him.
They ran out into a courtyard.
“Where is he?” the Doctor asked.
“Where do you think he is, you idiot? Use your head.”
The Doctor tried his screwdriver again. “Anything?” he asked.
“Nothing. In fact, he seemed to rather enjoy it. Duck!”
The Doctor ducked.
“Left.”
The Doctor jumped the wrong way and got thrown against a wall.
“Right, sorry. Your right, my left,” Vincent apologized.
“This is no good at all. Run like crazy and regroup,” the Doctor said.
“Oh, come on, in here,” Amy said, spotting a door.
They ran inside the crypt and tried to shut the door, but the Krafayis stopped the door from closing.
Vincent stomped on its foot and the door finally shut.
“Right. Okay. Here's the plan. Elise, Amy, Rory”, the Doctor said.
“Who?” Amy asked.
“Sorry. Er, Vincent.”
“What is the plan?”
“I don't know, actually. My only definite plan is that in future I'm definitely just using this screwdriver for screwing in screws.”
“Give me a second. I'll be back,” Vincent said and ran off.
“I suppose we could try talking to him,” the Doctor said.
“Talking to him?” Amy asked.
“Well, yes. Might be interesting to know his side of the story. Yes, though maybe he's not really in the mood for conversation right at this precise moment.”
The Krafayis pounded on the door.
“Well, no harm trying.” The Doctor turned to face the door. “Listen. Listen! I know you can understand me, even though I know you won't understand why you can understand me. I also know that no one's talked to you for a pretty long stretch, but please, listen. I also don't belong on this planet. I also am alone.”
Elise’s head snapped up to look at him as he said that. What was he talking about? He wasn’t alone. He would never be alone again if she had her way.
“If you trust me, I'm sure we can come to some kind of, you know, understanding. And then, and then, who knows?”
The window across from them shattered, the Krafayis entering the crypt.
“Over here, mate!” Vincent yelled.
Amy, Elise, and the Doctor ran over to Vincent and hid behind a pillar.
Vincent now held his easel as a weapon.
“What's it up to now?” the Doctor asked.
“It's moving round the room. Feeling its way around”, Vincent told him.
“What?”
“It's like it's trapped. It's moving round the edges of the room.”
“I can't see a thing,” Amy said.
“I am really stupid,” the Doctor said, realizing what was going on.
“Oh, get a grip! This is not a moment to re-evaluate your self-esteem.”
“No, I am really stupid, and I'm growing old. Why does it attack but never eat its victims? And why was it abandoned by its pack and left here to die? And why is it feeling its way helplessly around the walls of the room? It can't see. It's blind. Yes, and that explains why it has such perfect hearing!” The Doctor yelled the last two words in frustration.
“Which unfortunately also explains why it is now turning around and heading straight for us,” Vincent said.
“Vincent. Vincent, what's happening?”
“It's charging now. Get back. Get back!”
“NO!”
Time seemed to slow as the Krafayis rammed into the easel, lifting Vincent into the air.
The Krafayis hit the floor and Elise ran forward. She reached out and touched the creature.
The Doctor knelt down next to his daughter, who now had her face pressed into the invisible creature as tears ran down her face. She could feel its pain, just like the Star Whale.
“He wasn't without mercy at all. He was without sight. I didn't mean that to happen. I only meant to wound it, I never meant to…” Vincent said.
“He's trying to say something,” the Doctor said.
“What is it?”
“I'm having trouble making it out, but I think he's saying, I'm afraid. I'm afraid…and…you are very kind.”
The Doctor placed a hand on the invisible creature. “There, there. Shush, shush. It’s okay, it's okay. You'll be fine. Shush.”
The creature stopped breathing and Elise let out a high pitched wail.
The Doctor picked her up, despite her trying to fight him, and cradled her to his chest as she cried.
“He was frightened, and he lashed out,” Vincent said, “Like humans who lash out when they're frightened. Like the villagers who scream at me. Like the children who throw stones at me.”
“Sometimes winning…winning is no fun at all,” the Doctor said.
“Hang on”, Amy said, “Before…someone screamed. It wasn’t me and I know it wasn’t you or Vincent”.
The three adults looked at the small Timelord and the Doctor allowed himself a small smile.
Elise had spoken and most likely not even realized.
They went outside to the churchyard and laid down in the grass.
Vincent, on one side of the Doctor and Elise on the other with Amy beside her, creating a circle.
They stared up at the night sky.
“Hold my hand, Doctor”, Vincent said.
They all joined hands.
“Try to see what I see. We are so lucky we are still alive to see this beautiful world. Look at the sky. It's not dark and black and without character. The black is in fact deep blue. And over there, lighter blue. And blowing through the blueness and the blackness, the wind swirling through the air and then, shining, burning, bursting through, the stars. Can you see how they roar their light? Everywhere we look, the complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.”
Elise could see Starry Night appearing in the sky.
“I've seen many things, my friend. But you're right. Nothing quite as wonderful as the things you see,” the Doctor told him.
“I will miss you terribly.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“I only wish I had something of real value to give you,” Vincent said as the Doctor held his self-portrait in his hands.
Amy giggled with excitement.
“Oh, no, no, no. I could never accept such an extraordinary gift,” the Doctor told him. He handed the painting back to Vincent.
“Very well. You're not the first to decline the offer. Amy, the blessed, the wonderful.”
They kissed each other on the cheek and hugged.
“Be good to yourself, and be kind to yourself,” she told him. “I'll try my best.”
“And maybe give the beard a little trim before you next kiss someone.”
“I will, I will. And if you tire of this Doctor of yours, return, and we will have children by the dozen.”
“Eek.”
“The little one.”
Vincent knelt down in front of Elise. “Keep working on your art. See the beauty in the world.”
Elise nodded.
“Doctor, my friend. We have fought monsters together and we have won. On my own, I fear I may not do as well.”
They hugged and then Elise, the Doctor, and Amy left.
As they were walking through the courtyard of Vincent’s home, the Doctor said, “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
“I was thinking I may need some food or something before we leave. I’m sure Elise is hungry too”.
Elise nodded. “Well, no, you're not thinking exactly what I'm thinking.”
The Doctor turned back to the house. “Vincent!”
Vincent popped out of the window shirtless and with a toothbrush in his mouth.
“I've got something I'd like to show you. Maybe just tidy yourself up a bit first,” the Doctor told him.
Soon they were in the alleyway where they left the TARDIS, which was covered in posters.
“Now, you know we've had quite a few chats about the possibility there might be more to life than normal people imagine?” the Doctor asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, brace yourself, Vinny.”
Vincent entered the TARDIS first, then ran outside again to look at the small blue box, and then enter the TARDIS again. “How come I'm the crazy one, and you two have stayed sane?” he asked.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Where are we?” Vincent asked as they exited the TARDIS.
“Paris, 2010 AD. And this is the mighty Musée d'Orsay, home to many of the greatest paintings in history,” the Doctor told him.
“Oh, that's wonderful.”
Two men walked by with a portable radio.
“Ignore that. I've got something more important to show you,” the Doctor said.
They entered the museum and made their way to the Van Gogh exhibit like they had a few days ago.
The Doctor walked up to Doctor Black. “Doctor Black, we met a few days ago. I asked you about the church at Auvers.”
“Oh, yes. Glad to be of help. You were nice about my tie.”
“Yes. And today is another cracker if I may say so. But I just wondered, between you and me, in a hundred words, where do you think Van Gogh rates in the history of art?”
“Well, big question, but to me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. Certainly, the most popular great painter of all time. The most beloved. His command of color, the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world. No one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.”
Vincent, who was standing off to the side started crying.
The Doctor noticed and put a hand on his shoulder. “Vincent. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Is it too much?”
“No. They are tears of joy.”
Vincent approached Doctor Black, kissed him on both cheeks, and then hugged him. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
“You're welcome. You're welcome.”
“Sorry about the beard.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They landed in a field.
“This changes everything,” Vincent said as they stepped out of the TARDIS, “I'll step out tomorrow with my easel on my back a different man. I still can't believe that one of the haystacks was in the museum. How embarrassing.”
“It's been a great adventure and a great honor,” the Doctor told him.
The two of them embraced.
“You've turned out to be the first doctor ever actually to make a difference to my life.”
“I'm delighted. I won't ever forget you.”
Vincent turned to Amy. “And you are sure marriage is out of the question?”
“This time.” Amy hugged him. “I'm not really the marrying kind.” She kissed his cheek and stepped back from him. “Come on! Let's go back to the gallery right now.”
They touched back down at the Musée d'Orsay and Amy rushed out of the TARDIS.
“Time can be re-written. I know it can. Come on! Oh, the long life of Vincent Van Gogh. There'll be hundreds of new paintings.”
“I'm not sure there will.”
“Come on!”
They entered the Van Gogh exhibit and Amy was disappointed to see all the same paintings. “So you were right. No new paintings. We didn't make a difference at all.”
“I wouldn't say that. The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things.”
The Doctor wrapped his arms around her. “Hey. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant. And we definitely added to his pile of good things. And, if you look carefully, maybe we did indeed make a couple of little changes.” He pulled her over to the painting of the church.
“No Krafayis,” Amy said.
“No Krafayis,” the Doctor echoed.
Amy walked over to the painting of the sunflowers.
At the very bottom of the vase, it said, “For Amy”.
“If we had got married, our kids would have had very, very red hair,” she said.
“The ultimate ginger.”
“The ultimate ginge.”
The Doctor and Amy laughed.
“Brighter than sunflowers.”
As they were leaving the exhibit, Elise overheard something Doctor Black said. “It is said that had Vincent lived, he was planning on taking on an apprentice...”
“Who was it? Another painter?” someone asked.
“No one knows. But what is known is that it was reportedly a young girl. She was never named, but he called her the “little star”.
22 notes · View notes
matrixaffiliate · 4 years
Text
Ojalá - Wilding
Chapter Update! FFN and AO3
Inspired by the music video to Lindsey Stirling and Andrew McMahon's song Something Wild. (Before you ask, I’ve never seen Pete’s Dragon.)
Wilding
Marlene smiled down at the picture in her hand. The marker and colored pencil had faded and the creases from the folds had scotch tape on them now to keep it from tearing into pieces. The dragon that had looked so fearsome when she was ten now looked sweet and endearing at nearly 30. The playground around her had been replaced and updated a few years ago, but if she closed her eyes she could still see where the monkey bars had been, the open area where she used to twirl and dance, and the bench he had been sitting at nearly twenty years previous.
Marlene could still see him too, his black hair falling into his eyes as he drew in his sketchbook. She'd only seen him at this park near her childhood home the one time, that day in mid-June. She'd been dancing to whatever tune had cropped into her mind when she heard a shout of protest. Marlene had turned to see some of the local boys trying to look at his drawings and the new boy trying to cover it all up. The other boys - as children are wont to do - took their frustration out by knocking all his papers and markers and pencils to the ground before running off.
She hadn't been able to help herself. Marlene had rushed to his side and started picking everything up and putting it back on the bench beside him. But when she reached for his sketchbook the boy grabbed her hand with panic in his gray eyes.
"It's alright," she smiled at him, "I won't look at it." She shut her eyes tight and carefully picked up the sketchbook before pushing it toward him.
He slid the book from her hands and Marlene pointed her face down at the ground before opening her eyes again and ensuring everything had been retrieved from the wood chips.
"Thanks," his voice was quiet as he started reloading all his things into his backpack.
"You're welcome," she smiled up at him.
His returning smile was small but it made her feel like she'd done something right.
"Want to see something?" He looked around to ensure that the other boys were occupied elsewhere.
"Sure."
Marlene sat next to him as he turned the sketchbook open and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper from his backpack.
"I'm a dragon hunter," he showed her his drawing of a green dragon and unrolled the other paper, "and this map shows where I think this one lives. It's through those trees back there." He pointed behind them, "And if you want, you can come with me and we can go searching for him."
Twenty years later, Marlene's heart still raced as she remembered running into the trees with him, in search of dragons. The game had been maybe twenty minutes long, but Marlene based all her conceptions of magic off of those twenty minutes where she was certain that it wasn't a game.
She still could see the dragon flying through the trees above them. She could still feel the security of the dragon hunter's hand as he helped her up the retaining walls and rock mounds. She could still hear his hushed voice as he pointed out into the clearing and murmured that the moss-covered mound they saw was the dragon, that they'd found him!
And she believed his whispers. She believed in the magic he'd spun around her, and she believed they'd crossed oceans and climbed mountains to get there.
The game ended far too soon when her mother called her back. Before Marlene could leave though, the dragon hunter stopped her and wordlessly handed her his picture of the dragon - their dragon.
She'd thrown her arms around him and he'd clung to her for half a second before immediately dropping his arms.
That was the last time she saw the dragon hunter, and as playing children often do, she'd never asked his name, nor given him hers.
Marlene opened her eyes to the real world. She wondered if she'd even be able to make her way back to that green mound they'd called a dragon, if she could find the trickle of a stream that had been the ocean they crossed, or the pile of rocks that had been their mountain.
She sighed as she realized that the answer was probably not. It was so long ago, and so much of it had taken place in her imagination that she wondered if her mind could even accurately remember the reality they'd changed.
Marlene looked down again at the picture in her hand. It was so much simpler then.
She wanted to come back to this place, to feel the way she did when she was ten and life wasn't so complicated. When bills were a foreign concept and jobs didn't take precedence over life. When her cares were only as deep as hoping the dragon hunter would come back one day.
"Excuse me," a voice sounded beside her as she sat on the bench and looked down at the dragon.
Marlene turned to see a man about her age, with black hair and eerily familiar gray eyes.
"Yes," her voice came out a whisper and her heartbeat so hard she was sure anyone could see it pounding through her shirt.
"Have, have you always had that drawing?" he fidgeted with his leather jacket and his black fringe fell slightly into his face.
"It was a gift when I was ten," Marlene bit her lip, waiting to wake up and for reality to drop the other shoe.
"Do you, do you remember who gave it to you?" His voice was tight, and Marlene thought maybe he was waiting for reality to smack him as well.
Marlene tried to smile through her nerves, "He called himself a dragon hunter."
The smile that broke across the man's face looked like the sun had broken through a gray and cloudy day.
"I can't believe you kept it," he gestured to the bench, "May I sit?"
"Of course," Marlene made space and deliberately pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
Well, she still felt pain, but she also still felt like she was dreaming.
"You're, you're the dragon hunter?"
He grinned, "You know I've often wondered if we never exchanged names or if I was just an idiot and forgot yours."
Marlene laughed, "We never exchanged names. I've called you the dragon hunter for the last twenty years."
"That name's a right side better than my real one," he chuckled.
"Now I'm afraid to ask," she smirked at him and admired the way his smile made him look more like the boy in her memories.
"Oh it's horrible," he bemoaned, "worse than Wilberforce, Bathsheba, and Elvendork combined."
Marlene's laughter bubbled out of her and she felt her smile break wider across her face.
"Well, my name is rather lovely," she gave him a cheeky grin.
"Any name would be lovely in comparison to my stain of a name," he threw his head back but Marlene saw him glance at her from the corner of his eye.
She smirked, "I certainly wouldn't want to rub salt in your wound with my heavenly name."
"Oh, but your heavenly name would give my poor ears something saintly to listen too," he managed to keep a straight face which only made Marlene laugh harder. "Please, bless me with a reprieve from my wretched name by gracing me with yours."
Marlene laughed harder, "You've picked up quite a bit of game since I last saw you."
He grinned like the Cheshire cat, "I was caught up in hunting dragons back then. I've learned how to balance work and play a bit better now."
"Do you still hunt dragons?" Marlene raised her eyebrows at him, wondering how far he'd play his charade.
"Of course I do," he said it so matter of factly that she almost believed him. "Why on Earth do you think I'm here? I'm back to check on our dragon."
"Do you still have your map?" She'd asked it as a part of the game, but he nodded seriously.
"Yes, but I know this way by heart now, so I keep the map in a safe place." He winked at her, "Can't have everyone knowing where our dragon is, now can we?"
Marlene almost believed him.
"Have you already checked in on our dragon, then?" She sighed wistfully.
"No, but," he held her gaze, "if you tell me your name, I'll take you back to visit him."
Marlene felt like he was weaving a spell around her.
"Follow a man I don't know into a forest? That sounds like a good way to get killed."
He sighed and looked dejectedly out at the park around them, "I know what kind of world we live in, but I promise you, I'm not going to hurt you."
Marlene bit her lip and tried to think clearly. The story he'd woven around her was compelling, and this was why she'd come back in the first place - to experience the freedom that had permeated her childhood. Ultimately, she decided the pepper spray on her key chain would probably give her enough of a head start to get away if he did try to hurt her.
"I'm Marlene, Marlene McKinnon."
His smile spread slowly across his face and he turned back to look at her. "I'm Sirius Black."
"I see why you prefer 'dragon hunter'," she teased.
"Yes," he nodded with a bit of a pout, then he grinned, "I know, just call me 'Dragon Hunter' from now on. It's a much better name."
She rolled her eyes, "You promised to take me back to our dragon."
"Right," he looked at his watch, "and we best step to it, or we'll be late."
He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the trees.
"Do you remember?" He asked as he pulled her along some unseen path.
"I remember what I imagined," she admitted with a touch of embarrassment.
Sirius blinked and then chuckled, "That's a start."
They quickly made it to the retaining walls she remembered and he jumped up before offering his hand out to her.
"These cliffs are easier if we help pull each other up," he hoisted her up on top with him.
And as they jumped up and over each wall, Marlene couldn't help but feel the way she had at ten as she followed Sirius back along his path.
"We have to climb this mountain up ahead," he murmured next to her as he scanned the treetops for their dragon. "But don't worry, I'll be there to help you."
Marlene smiled at him before looking up at the treetops. For a second she thought she saw the dragon she'd imagined all those years ago.
They scaled the small boulders that were far less intimidating at almost thirty than they had been at ten.
"We're nearly there, Marlene," he whispered as they walked side by side. "The last thing we have to do is cross the ocean, but you were a fair sailor as I recall so I'm sure we'll make it alright."
His smile was warm and Marlene felt her heart-melting all over again, and in ways that at ten she wasn't old enough to understand, but in her late twenties were far more interesting.
"Ah, our boat is still here," Sirius grinned as they approached the tiny stream.
The old large log they'd sat on in their game all those years ago was still there crossing the three feet from stream bank to stream bank, looking worse for wear.
"They don't make them like this beauty anymore," Sirius patted the log fondly before holding out his hand to her. "You still up to do some of the rowing?"
Marlene grinned, as she climbed on and opted to sit cross-legged on the log to keep her black Converse from getting soaked. "Of course I am, where's my oar, Dragon Hunter?"
Sirius grinned before he handed her a long stick and for a moment Marlene thought the stick felt just like the one he'd handed her all those years ago. But before she could think on it too hard, he began narrating their journey across the sea, dictating when they needed to paddle faster or slower, telling her what was around them. At one point he excitedly told her to put her hand in the water and touch the dolphins that were swimming along the ship's side.
And for the briefest second, she thought she could feel them under her fingertips.
"Careful here, we don't want to break the haul as we come ashore." His voice had no humor in it and Marlene found herself carefully maneuvering her oar as her mind envisioned them beaching their boat.
Sirius helped her off their log-turned-boat but didn't let go of her hand.
"I'm sure he remembers you, but he knows me and I don't want to take any chances."
Marlene chuckled but didn't object. The feeling of her hand in his felt secure and it quieted the part of her mind that wanted to be cynical, making it easier to believe him and the magic he'd knit around her.
He led her purposefully through the trees, scanning around them as he walked. It wasn't long before the trees started to clear and Marlene was thrown back to being ten-years-old again as they approached the clearing. Her heartbeat just as quickly now as it had twenty years ago as they crept through the trees toward the dragon.
And then she saw it.
The mound in the clearing she remembered from childhood no longer sat lifeless and covered in moss.
The dragon sat on its hind legs and stared at her with yellow eyes.
Marlene thought she might faint.
"He's real," Sirius' voice was low and directly behind her left ear. "You're not asleep. You're not crazy."
Marlene gripped his hand in hers, her emotions see-sawing between terrified and mesmerized.
The dragon shifted slowly, its hulking body rippling with each movement. Marlene tensed as he began his slow advance towards them.
"He won't hurt you," Sirius soothed and wrapped an arm protectively around her waist. "He remembers you."
Marlene's mind couldn't process any of this, but a small part of her felt like this was real, and that maybe she'd dismissed too much from her memories of her first encounter with the dragon hunter and his dragon.
She clung to that part of her as the dragon sauntered closer.
She thought for a moment the dragon smiled at her, but then his enormous head was eye level with her and she couldn't seem to draw breath.
"Easy there, big guy," Sirius chided and patted the dragon on its scaled nose, "she's getting used to it all."
The dragon huffed and nudged Sirius' hand away. Marlene nearly shrieked as the dragon moved its head against her body, pushing her around its side.
"Alright buddy, we can go for a ride," Sirius chuckled, putting himself between the dragon and Marlene.
"A, a ride?" Marlene felt her hands tremble at the words.
"It's completely safe," Sirius smiled encouragingly at her. "And dragons like to collect pretty things. He knows he can't keep you, but he's going to do his best to make you love him."
Marlene let Sirius lead her to and hoist her up on to the dragon's back. The green scales were smooth and glistened like polished metal as she slid up to behind the wing joints. Sirius climbed up in front of her and then pulled her hands around his middle.
"Hold on tight, I won't let you fall." Then he nudged the dragon's wing with his foot. "Take it slow, my friend, don't scare her."
Marlene would swear on her grandmother's grave the dragon rolled its yellow eyes at Sirius. Then it jumped up through the trees and into the sky, its great wings propelling them forward.
And then all her objections and fear seemed to dissolve away.
It was as though everything clicked, as if a part of her had always known that this was where she was meant to be, what she was supposed to be doing, who she really was.
She didn't know how long they flew, and she didn't pay attention to where they went, but she knew she never wanted to go back to reality. Marlene would gladly let this dragon collect her if it only meant it kept this crazy adventure real.
As the dragon finally nestled back down to the earth, Marlene couldn't stop laughing. She hadn't felt this happy since, well since the last time she'd come here with her dragon hunter.
Sirius chuckled as he helped her down before shaking his head at the dragon. "You win, big guy, I think that was just the ticket. She'll love you through eternity."
Marlene didn't even question when the dragon smiled. Of course, he smiled, why wouldn't dragons smile?
"That was amazing!" Marlene laughed and placed an affectionate hand on the dragon's side, "I don't want to go back!"
Sirius smiled at her like she was everything before offering his hand out to her. "You don't have to, at least not back to the way things were before."
Marlene took his hand confidently this time, her hesitations far behind her. "I'll follow you anywhere, Dragon Hunter."
He chuckled, "How about I buy you dinner to start?"
Marlene sighed, her eyes straying to the dragon, "Do we have to go?"
"He's been here for the last twenty years, and a lot longer than that; he's not going anywhere." Sirius patted the dragon's body as it rummaged through the dirt, for what Marlene could only imagine.
"It won't all disappear when we leave?" Marlene couldn't stand the thought of losing this all again. Of getting twenty years further down the line only to find she'd imagined it all.
"Not if you don't let it," Sirius squeezed her hand, "Not if you come back to it."
Marlene watched their dragon a moment longer before deciding to give in to the feeling that this was real, that she could come back, that Sirius would bring her back.
"Can we see if the dolphins are still there before we get dinner?" She smiled back at him.
Sirius let out a huge breath at her words and chuckled, "I'm sure they are, they were quite taken with you."
Their dragon huffed in annoyance and Marlene barely managed to not scream when he brought his head and front legs around towards her. In his claws was a bright shining scale and he pressed the scale towards her.
"She's not going to run off with a dolphin you great beast," Sirius rolled his eyes. "The dolphins wouldn't try and take her from you."
The dragon gave Sirius an annoyed glance as Marlene carefully took the scale from his claws.
"Is he giving me this?" Marlene ran her hand along its smooth surface, smiling at her reflection.
Sirius chuckled, "He's trying to buy your love."
Marlene laughed, "Oh sweet boy, you don't have to do that." She patted the dragon's nose and smiled when it managed to look bashful.
"See," Sirius looked smug and the dragon rolled its eyes again before nudging Marlene towards Sirius.
Sirius caught her as she tripped and it was now their turn to look slightly embarrassed.
"Let's see about those dolphins," Sirius cleared his throat, "and then, if you're still of a mind, I'll buy us some dinner."
Marlene nodded as her heart fluttered.
Neither the dragon nor the man whose arms were still loosely around her needed to buy her affections, she'd already given her heart to both of them.
True to his word, Sirius guided their boat back to the dolphins, and this time she not only felt them but saw them. In fact, she saw everything Sirius described as they moved through the trees as if it was overlaid on top of the world she'd just hours before believed to be the only one.
"I can see it, I can see it," she whispered again and again as Sirius pointed out the sights.
They slowly made it back to the park where it all had started before Sirius pulled her attention back to the original world.
"Are you still of a mind for dinner?"
Marlene felt the butterflies in her stomach take flight but she stepped closer to him and smiled. "I'd like nothing better, Dragon Hunter."
Sirius' eyes held hers and Marlene felt her breathing grow labored as he stared down at her.
"Would you like to know what I called you these past twenty years?"
Her breath was quickly leaving her but she silently nodded him on.
Sirius' smile was small and he spoke quietly as he moved closer to her.
"I've always referred to you as 'the girl I fell in love with'."
Marlene lost all ability to breathe as he closed the distance between them, but Sirius seemed intent on restoring oxygen to her lungs as he slowly brought his lips to hers.
Marlene had thought that riding their dragon made everything between these two worlds fall into place for her, but standing here, kissing the dragon hunter, showed her that she'd only scratched the surface. Her hands moved to cling to his leather jacket to hold her upright as the feeling of his hands gripping her waist seemed to be sending electric shocks through her nervous system. Her body was alive in ways she didn't know possible before all this and she wondered if the electricity coursing through her would consume her like a tree engulfed in a dragon's flame.
But before his kiss could completely devour her, the dragon hunter pulled back and smiled as he rested his forehead against hers.
"I've wanted to do that for ages," Sirius chuckled and Marlene couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her.
"I don't think it would have been wise when we were ten."
"Definitely not," Sirius smirked, "but now…" he kissed her again and Marlene sighed into him, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer.
"Now is perfect, my Dragon Hunter," she murmured against him, smiling when he responded to her name for him with a bit more fervor in his kiss.
Marlene was quite content to stay wrapped in Sirius' arms in that old park for the rest of eternity. But they were pulled from their blissful oblivion by a soft shadow blocking the sunshine that had been above them.
She looked up confused, only to find their dragon hovering above them, smiling. The dragon roared once before flying in a rather intricate flip and heading back into the forest.
"Did he want to say goodbye?" Marlene looked back at Sirius who looked rather annoyed.
"No, the great oaf wanted to make sure I didn't do anything stupid and scare you off."
Marlene furrowed her brow, still confused
Sirius sighed, "You're part of his collection, he's invested in making sure you want to continue seeing him. So if I hurt you, he's likely to hurt me."
Marlene stared at Sirius for a moment before breaking down in a fit of laughter.
Her father's stern eye, when she was a teenager, had nothing over a dragon who showed up unexpectedly.
"I think you're safe," she pressed up on her toes to kiss him again, "assuming you're alright with a dragon invested in all this."
"I think I'll be alright," Sirius slanted his lips over hers with a grin, "I'm part of his collection too."
9 notes · View notes
astarlightmonbebe · 5 years
Text
__April Showers
Tumblr media
You fell for Choi Hyunsuk in April, head over heels in love, only to lose him as soon as the showers ended.
Pairing: Choi Hyunsuk x female reader 
Word Count: 4,293
Featuring: Byunggon, Jihoon, Junkyu, Keita, and Yoshinori
Warnings: Some a-n-g-s-t
A/N: Hi, hello, I wrote this in the last four-ish hours instead of working on my other drafts. Obviously, this ended up being a whole 4k mess of words, so read at your own risk. Also, the ‘...’ indicate section end/scene change since sometimes the dividers don’t work. Sorry for any mistakes!!!
You fell for Hyunsuk in the beginning of April, when the air was thick with the incoming rain, everything humid. When fate had brought you to a small cafe as it had begun to sprinkle, a cafe that nobody ever visited, occupied by the one lone barista and customer, back to you and newspaper in front of him.
You remembered staring at his back as your ordered, the dark tips of his dyed blonde hair and the curve of his shoulder, swaying silver earrings. The kind of profile you wanted to draw with thin charcoal, outline in dark ink with a splash of glitter gel pen for his jewelry. You stared for so long that he eventually looked back, eyes connecting, hint of a smile.
“Sit with me.” He had called, and you had taken your drink and sat across from him without a second thought. He was your age; straight out of high school but not yet on his way to college, and so tiny you could fit him in your palm, like a little fairy with a hero’s face. “You’re a new face.” He had said, that same smile flitting across his face.
“I’ve never been here before.” You explained, sipping on your drink. He nodded, and you noticed the open notebook in front of him, the music notes doodled thoughtlessly across the margins. “Do you compose?” You asked, lifting your chin at the notebook. He moved his hand over the page, biting his lip.
“A little. Do you draw?” He motioned to the spirals of your sketchbook sticking out of your haphazardly thrown together bag. Blushing, you nodded. He grinned. “Draw me?” He asked, cupping his chin in his palm. You laughed, shook your head; though it was more of the sense that you never drew anyone, not that you didn’t want to draw him.
“Here, how about this.” He had said, reaching forward to tap the top of your sketchbook. “You draw me and I’ll write you a song.” You looked at him, dumbfounded, but he only smiled that blinding smile, all white teeth and lips. It was the type of smile that made you fall at first glance, head over heels in dangerous love with a boy you had just met.
“My name is Hyunsuk.” He, Hyunsuk, said. It was a name that fit him so perfectly, fit his raggedy black hoodie and flashy new sports shoes. His hand was small, thin gold bands tracing up his fingers, inlaid with jewels that were almost certainly fake, but nonetheless pretty. You stared at his outstretched hand, soft and warm.
“I’m y/n.” You introduced yourself shyly, shaking that warm hand. His skin smelled like flowers, violet rose. It made you think of petals blossoming in the winter, unfurling against white snow, ice dripping down in a messy aesthetic of sharp color. “And deal.” You added, taking out your sketchbook and one of your drawing pencils, the ones without an eraser so that you only drew and never stopped.
Hyunsuk smiled, biting his bottom lip, and it made your heart beat faster. You watched him bend his head, look down at his paper, already concentrating. Only moments ago you had been imagining tracing his profile on blank paper; now you were in control of the picture, a smudgy nose and soft eyes, messy hair falling in all the wrong directions over his eyes.
The two of you sat in silence as your drinks got cold, focused on each other and the art in front of you. Your sketch of Hyunsuk became a portrait, black and white shading and strokes, while Hyunsuk’s doodles became a song, the blank page filling up with notes over crooked lines and scribbled words.
Hours passed, and then the cafe was closing, and you and Hyunsuk were standing under the awning as it poured. The air was fresh and electric, ozone in the air, and Hyunsuk laughed, rain tangling in his bangs as he ripped out the song, folding it and handing it to you. You took it hesitantly, feeling flushed all over.
“You can keep the drawing. I had enough enjoyment watching you.” Hyunsuk said, waving and then looking up at the sky, thinking. He pulled his hood up, tucking his earbuds in and his phone away, and then dashed across the street. You watched him go in shock, the paper crinkling in your hand as you watched him disappear into the hazy gray night.
When you looked at the song, you saw he had written a number at the bottom, along with the words ‘call me-chs’.
...
You told yourself you wouldn’t call him, but you ended up dialing the number the next night, when the emptiness of your apartment stretched out a little too long. Silence was a lonely companion to have, your fingers tracing over the music notes, wishing you had a voice to sing the tune to you.
“Hello?” His raspy voice asked as soon as he picked up, and you smiled. “Hey, this is y/n. We met the other night, remember?” There was a beat of silence, long enough to make you feel nervous, hand curling around the frayed denim of your cutoff jeans.
“Of course.” Hyunsuk said sweetly. “How could I forgot such a beautiful artist such as yourself?” Warmth bloomed in your chest at the fact that he had called you an artist, not just a pretty human. It made you feel more like you were worth something, more than just your face or your curves.
“Ah, well, the problem is that you gave me a song but no way to sing it.” You admitted shyly. “I can’t sing to save my life.” Hyunsuk mmm-hmmed on the other end of the line, and you heard crackling static, voices mixing away from the call. You wondered if he was with other people.
A moment later he was back. “Hey, wanna go someplace with me?” He asked. “I can pick you up, if you like.” The you you knew didn’t jump into situations randomly, didn’t fall for strangers like a girl tripping on a dress. So why were you nodding, agreeing, falling for this stranger with a smile that would probably break your heart?
“Cool, I’ll text you my street.” You murmured into the receiver, hanging up before you could regret it. You’d wait at the corner, you decided, standing up and surveying yourself in the mirror. Faded and ripped jeans, a loose white shirt, and bare feet. Appropriate attire for a day at home, but you had no idea what this place Hyunsuk was taking you to held.
Moving to your room, you threw on a loose purple blouse and a pair of white shorts, as well as your knee length black socks and chunky white tennis shoes. A little mismatched, a little unordinary, but perfectly you. An artsy, paint stained mess of a girl with hair that was cut a little choppy, unruly bangs, but enough of a look to make you feel kind of cute.
You jogged back out of the room, grabbing your purse—which contained keys to a car you hardly used, your phone, and other essential items—and ran out of your apartment. You felt like you had been electrified, thinking of Hyunsuk running his hands through his blond hair, his rakish smile. Was this what people talked about when they said they fell head over heels in love at first sight? Maybe it wasn’t that bad of a feeling after all.
Hyunsuk pulled up five minutes after you had stationed yourself at the streetlamp on the corner, watching the dimming sunlight. The whir of his motorcycle broke the still air, and your hair fluttered in the breeze as he skated to a stop inches from where you stood. Pushing up his visor, he leaned forward, hands covered with leather biking gloves.
“You look nice.” He said, passing you the other helmet. You fitted it over your head, tugging the straps down and trying to fasten it with your clumsy fingers. Hyunsuk laughed, and it sounded like sunshine and late nights and too many stars to count. “Come here.” He said, motioning you forward. Reaching up, he did the clasp for you, hands brushing the bare skin of your chin. You shivered, not used to contact with others.
“Hold on tight.” He told you as you swung your leg over the back, cautiously wrapping your arms around his waist.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” You asked, your voice coming out strangely teasing and playful. Hyunsuk laughed and shook his head, eyes in half moons when he did.
“No, it’s a secret.” He said, kicking back. “Besides, I want to make our first date have an air of mystery.” You sat back, hands pulling tight around his waist, and the smile faded off of Hyunsuk’s face. “Why, did I say something wrong?” He asked carefully. “Do you not want me to call this our first date? Did I misread the situation?”
You shook your head, knowing that the helmet didn’t hide how red your cheeks were. “No, I’ve just never really dated before—but I do want this to be our first date! I mean, I’m willing to give it a try...I mean…” You trailed off, hiding your face in his back so you wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.
“Okay.” Hyunsuk said, starting the motorcycle up with a roar that shook you. “First date it is, then.”
...
The place Hyunsuk took you looked inconspicuous, a small graffitied entrance to a beat down club. He led you in the entrance, hand loosely holding yours, and you looked around in puzzlement as it opened up into a spacious room. Music was pounding, the lighting a soft pastel, fairy lights strung up. There weren’t many people, but the ones there were obviously enjoying themselves.
“What is this place?” You asked in awe, looking around with your mouth hanging open. Hyunsuk only let out another bright laugh, leading you to a round table in the back, near where the DJ was blasting music. He waved upwards, and the DJ waved back, headphones slipped around his neck.
“This is where I make the magic happen.” Hyunsuk said, letting go of you to spread his arms out, like an announcer. “You said you wanted to hear me sing you the song. I admit I can’t really sing—rapping is more my thing—but I’ll try my best for you, darling. He pulled out a chair at the table, motioning for you to sit down. Four other boys were looking at you, wide eyed and curious.
“Y/n, meet Jihoon, Junkyu, Yoshinori, and Keita. The angsty looking DJ up there is Byunggon.” You nodded timidly, shaking hands quickly with each one of them—except for Byunggon, who was obviously preoccupied. “Now, guys, take good care of her. I have a song to sing and a deal to fulfill.” Hyunsuk said, winking at you as he moved away as quickly as he had come.
“Ah, another girl who fell for him.” Junkyu said, giving you a wide smile. Though you were unsure of what he meant, you offered a thin smile anyways, trying to hide how uncomfortable you were. No matter how kind they were, you still didn’t enjoy meeting new people. Except for Hyunsuk, it seemed.
“She’s already head over heels.” Jihoon tsked, and you slunk down in your seat. Keita hit him. “Dude. I think it’s for real this time.” Jihoon scoffed, and you swallowed, deciding to not pay attention anymore.
There was the sound of a screeching mic, and then the music cut off abruptly. “Hey guys, sorry to interrupt your dance time, but I have a special song to sing tonight.” Hyunsuk said, the mic squealing with feedback painfully. He grimaced, leaning away and adjusting it slightly. You watched him, transfixed.
The lights faded out, darkness surrounding you, and you stared at the stage, the pool of light making Hyunsuk’s edges glow. He took the microphone from the stand, standing back a few paces, and started to sing, the very notes of the song you had written playing over the speakers. You wondered if he’d planned this just now, or had it planned already.
Hyunsuk was right; he wasn’t the best at singing, but his rap was amazing. You closed your eyes, taking in the sound of his husky, slow, sweet voice, like a soothing balm. It felt perfect to you, like a voice that would whisper ‘i love you’ in your ear, read stories aloud at night, play the radio and sing along under his breath.
When he finished, you opened your eyes, a smile spreading across your face. The other boys faded away, and you were only watching Hyunsuk hop off the stage, in his ripped jeans and silky jacket. He waved at you, running over to the table with an expectant look on his face. You slow clapped in his face, unable to keep a silly grin off your face.
“You were too much for words to express.” You said, standing so you were face to face. Hyunsuk practically beamed, grabbing your hands and giving you a quick spin. A chorus of ‘oohhs’ rose from the table as Hyunsuk dragged you down to the dance floor, spinning you out in a twirl.
You let out a loud laugh, feeling something unfurling in your heart, like you were letting go of a ten pound weight that had been holding you down. Your feet felt light as you spun back against him, the floor a moving pattern of squares all lost in a blur of color beneath you. Hyunsuk’s eyes were dark and captivating, and you let yourself spiral into them, dark pools of water with tiny crescent slivers of light.
Through his shirt, you felt the beating of his heart, slamming against his ribcage like a bird threatening to break free. Or maybe that was your own heart—maybe it was both your hearts, beating erratically together. Or maybe you two were sharing a heart now, a wild heart that beat for each other only.
“I’d write a million more songs for you, if I could.” Hyunsuk murmured in your ear, his voice exactly like you had imagined, and you smiled against him, feeling safe for once in your life. “What do you say you give me a chance to do so?” He added, pushing your hair back from your face.
You liked the sound of that.
...
Hyunsuk kissed you on the dance floor, hands cupping your face, bodies pressed together as everyone else revolved around you, a slow burn of emotion. It was perfect.
...
“What would you think of putting your artwork in this gallery?” Hyunsuk asked, holding the magazine up to you. It was a lazy day in late July, and you were sitting in your living room, Hyunsuk’s head in your lap was you both paged through various newspapers and magazines. The late afternoon sunlight was spilling in like honey, criss crossing his face. His hair dye was fading out, a messy patchwork of brown and wheat.
“Hmm, I don’t know.” You hummed, taking it from him and reading through it. “It sounds really hard to get into.” Hyunsuk smiled up at you, warmer than the sun itself, your one beacon of light.
“I think you could do it.” He murmured, pulling you down to kiss him. You ran your fingers through his short hair, feeling the cold metal of his earrings press against you. “Remember the girl who boldly demanded I sing a song for her? Channel that girl and go submit that artwork I know you’re hiding.” He let go, voice teasing.
You blushed. “I didn’t demand you do anything.” Hyunsuk quirked one eyebrow.
“That’s not how I remember it.” You hit him lightly, mood already passing, the entry in front of you seemingly full of possibilities. Hyunsuk was your magic, your inspiration. You had a sketchbook full of pictures of him; in charcoal and pencil, paint and oil, watercolor and crayons. You could fill a million more, all of him, his face and his hands and his necklaces and his jackets and his lips.
“I’ll give it a try.” You finally said, and the smile Hyunsuk gave you was reward enough.
...
For your six month anniversary, Hyunsuk took you for a ride on the highway. You rode with your arms firmly around his waist, watching the lights whip past, that feeling of being able to go anywhere. You fit into Hyunsuk’s shoulder now, head tucked there, feeling the sharp edge of his collarbone.
Hyunsuk pulled off the highway, coasting to a stop in front of the ocean. You hopped off excitedly, peering over the railing and smelling the salt on the wind. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to visit the ocean?” You asked excitedly, hooking your feet around the bottom and leaning out.
“Careful there.” Hyunsuk said, pulling you back. “Come on, let’s go down.” He jumped over the railing, slipping and sliding down the coast. You followed suit—though more carefully than him—and landed in the sand. It was cool when you steadied yourself, the sun having long left it.
Hyunsuk had moved down to the waves, leaving his shoes behind as he waded in. You hurriedly falling in, sucking in deep breathes, trying to keep some of the scent with you. Growing up you hadn’t been close to an ocean, and you’re one taste of the beach had been enough to leave you hungry for more. One of your dreams was a beach house, summers spent with golden sand and salty waves, surfing and swimming and floating.
“It’s cold!” You shrieked, dancing on tiptoes over the frothy tide. Hyunsuk pulled you in tight, arms interlocked. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, and you pressed yourself against the warmth of his body. He was staring out across the waves, and you followed his gaze, over the endless ocean.
“Something on your mind?” You asked, wrapping your arms around him and leaning in close. Hyunsuk smiled lightly, shifting in the slightest, his expression more distant than it had been in a while.
“No, nothing.” He said, and then he splashed water all over you, scooping up a handful and flinging it in a shower. You screamed, stumbling back and slipping. Hyunsuk’s eyes widened comically as you grabbed onto him, silencing him mid laugh as you both toppled backwards, water enveloping you.
You surfaced, bodies tangled together underwater, your faces so close to each other that you could make out every feature of Hyunsuk’s face clearly. He studied you, pushing wet hair back. “I love you so much.” He mumbled, kissing you, and you melted into it—into him—and everything was right again, because he was yours, and you were his.
...
Christmas was cold and loud, you in the center of all of Hyunsuk’s friends, gifts passed around and wrapping paper floating through the air. Hyunsuk had a ribbon tied around his wrist, a bow stuck on his head, and you pulled him close, giggling.
“What, are you my gift?” You teased, kissing his nose, and Hyunsuk laughed, adjusting the bow. His eyes said; I’ve always been yours, but the room was too loud for him to actually say something to you.
“Ugh, the two lovebirds are still going strong.” Jihoon said, wrinkling his nose, and the room faded into uproarious laughter, Hyunsuk throwing his gift at Jihoon, who barely caught it, doubled over at something that wasn’t even funny. Everyone was laughing, and you were laughing too, so much your sides hurt.
Something about Hyunsuk made you so happy it was painful, knowing that this happiness was only yours while it lasted. Still, you let yourself be taken over by this instantaneous joy, this feeling of being full of everything someone needed. Love and friendship and family, Hyunsuk’s hand in yours and his million dollar smile, his voice and the way your bodies fit together, like each curve had been made for the other’s. Two puzzle pieces, finally finding each other.
“You have a pensive look on your face again.” Hyunsuk observed, leaning forward to gently brush wrapping paper out of your hair. You were sure there was even more still stuck there, tape too probably. Junkyu had thrown a whole gift at you, and it had gone everywhere. You smiled at him, grabbing his hands gently.
“I’m just thinking that I’m so happy that I have you, that I have this.” You confessed with a soft smile. Hyunsuk didn’t smile, a vaguely sad expression crossing his face. “And I hope I have you forever.” You added with a whisper, trying to hold back years. “Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Oh, y/n.” Hyunsuk exhaled, chin wobbling and tears glittering in his eyes. He pulled you in tight, hand on the back of your head. Face buried in the fabric of his shirt, you let tears slip free, wetting it. You felt Hyunsuk’s shaking shoulders, your own shirt damp as well, and clutched him tighter.
Please, never let me lose him.
...
Hyunsuk and you were never perfect. You fought about music and art and politics and what it meant to be in love. You fought about boundaries and limits, about the time Hyunsuk kissed another girl when he was drunk. You fought about getting drunk and going to college and futures that weren’t quite as mapped out as Hyunsuk made them see.
Hyunsuk wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but your imperfect relationship was working out fine. It was fine, because you had confessed your heart to him, and he had given yours back.
...
One day, you opened the door to the apartment you now shared, and found it empty. Hyunsuk’s stuff was still strewn all over the place, opened notebooks and uncapped pens. Everything was there except for Hyunsuk and his motorcycle—it was your one year anniversary, and he had told you to come home, because he had another one of his spontaneous plans thrown together.
You called him, listened to the empty ringing, and wondered when he was getting home.
...
You waited, and waited, and waited. You called his friends, only to be met with answers that weren’t quite right, Junkyu stumbling over his words in a way that made you wonder if Hyunsuk was kissing another girl again, had his arms wrapped around some other stranger on the dance floor.
...
You called him again and again, but got tired of listened to the repetitive rings. Finally, you threw your phone across the room and slumped against the wall, burying your face into your knees, a curled up ball of pain.
...
Jihoon called you.
...
It was raining, but you ran anyways, slipping and sliding across the ground, tripping and ripping your jeans open, blood dripping down from your cut knees. You ran and ran, drenched and trembling in the emergency room, gasping sobs as you scanned every room for Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk.
When you found him, all you could see was red at first, then Jihoon standing at the foot of the bed, hands white and gripping the rails, face twisted into an expression of grief. “Y/n.” He said, and you knew, but you didn’t, you couldn’t.
Please, I asked you to never let me lose him.
“You’re lying.” You were screaming, your voice a crescendo of wavering notes, even though Jihoon hadn’t said anything more than your name. “No no no, you’re lying to me. Hyunsuk...Hyunsuk’s still here. He’s just hurt, right? You’re lying. He’s fine. He’s fine. He has to be fine—!”
You screamed, sinking to the ground, hearing the flatline on a monotone. There was nobody to grab your shoulders, shake you, hold you, because that was what Hyunsuk would have done. He would have hugged you and sung a song in your ear until you could breathe again.
Now all you could hear in your ears was a dull ringing, a repetitive pulsing of red lines behind your eyelids. You couldn’t breathe. Where was Hyunsuk to tell you to breathe? Who was supposed to help you catch your breath when he wasn’t here; when he was the one who was causing you to suffocate?
Your voice was raw, but you screamed on—though maybe you weren’t even making any noise anymore, maybe you had used it all up, maybe your voice had left when Hyunsuk did.
Hyunsuk.
...
“He wrote a song for you.” The funeral was dark and dreary, and you felt like you could barely stand, a swaying shadow on her feet, in the back of the crowd. They had asked you to make a speech. You had walked up to the podium and stared at the mic, remembered Hyunsuk singing to you the second day you had met.
Your voice was still gone. When you opened your mouth, nothing came out. No more ragged sobs, stuttered cries. Your eyes were dry now, too. It was like Hyunsuk leaving had sucked everything he had given back to you away. No more heart, no more soul, no more art, no more smiles.
No more magic.
...
In the darkness of your apartment, you listened to Hyunsuk’s last song, his familiar voice filling your ears. His one year gift to you, his surprise. The studio he had been coming back from, the one where he had finished recording. A story you had found out in bits and pieces, a goodbye you had never got to say and he had never got to tell you.
“Oh baby, I’ll love you forever.” Hyunsuk said in your ears, and you sobbed into your sleeves, the sadness overwhelming, the memories a crushing force.
...
It was April and it was raining outside, a shower that never ended.
[End.]
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noradarhkpalmer · 5 years
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draw me like one of your french girls, miss darhk
Title: draw me like one of your french girls, miss darhk
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nora Darhk/Ray Palmer aka Darhkatom
Warnings: Darhkatom gets a little suggestive
Summary/Notes: Ray finds out Nora can draw and then finds out she used to love to draw, so what does Ray do? What he does best of course. A big romantic gesture to fit the occasion.
I’m so sorry I fell behind on these! I had some personal health problems come up but I am going to try and catch up! This one is extra long! Enjoy!
Day twelve of 25 days of Darhkatom! Feel free to click the through the tag to see the others! Basically, I will be posted all loosely related (unless stated otherwise) fics for 25 days straight!
He had found the doodle when he was cleaning up dinner. They had had a quiet dinner in the galley while waiting for the rest of the team to get back from a mission. They sat there and talked, ready to get up and quarterback but also trying to enjoy a rare moment where they were the only two people on the ship. When Ray cleared the plates he noticed Nora had doodled on a napkin she hadn’t used. It was a profile of him, incredibly realistic, and Ray had tucked it into his pocket, reminding himself to ask her about it later.
Ray entered their room that evening once the team returned. It was now officially their room. It made him giddy every time he thought about it. Not only was that the only room Nora had ever stayed in on the Waverider but things were now sprinkled about the room that just made it theirs, rather than his and she just also happened to sleep there. Things like her houseshoes on her side of the bed, and Ray thought the fact that she wore them was absolutely adorable, she said it was because her feet were always cold but Ray didn’t care. He just thought it was one of the cutest things about her. Her books, the ones she brought with her and the ones she’d fabricated since were beginning to stack high in two stacks on Ray’s desk, which they now also shared. And of course her clothes were also in his closet, their closet.
He changed for bed and grabbed the doodle from his jean pocket before tossing the clothes in the hamper. Ray climbed into the bed next to Nora who was reading and humming quietly to herself. She looked up at him and smiled when he got in the bed.
“So ugh… I found something of yours after dinner tonight.” Ray handed her the folded up napkin and Nora took it with great confusion.
She opened it and her eyes went wide. “Oh I thought I had thrown that away with the rest of the food bits on my plate.”
“This is really good, Nora, and I’m not just biased because it’s a profile of me. You’re really good, have you ever drawn anything else or is this just some talent that is somehow magically wonderful the first time off?”
Nora smiled in embarrassment. “No… I used to doodle a lot as a kid, I was always drawing something, I much preferred it to playing with dolls or even reading, or playing with other kids. I stopped because I had a job to do but even when I got bounced around asylums and mental hospitals if I was able to have stuff to draw with I would, it usually wasn’t anything in particular but tonight you had moved your head to a certain angle and I don’t know, you maybe also had a look on your face and I just wanted to capture it and so I drew it.”
Ray placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re really good, I think you should do this more often. We can fabricate any art supplies your heart desires.”
“So I can what, draw you like one of my French girls, Ray?” She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. I feel like I barely have time to read or spend time with you between missions. I don’t want to clog up all my free time by drawing stuff that doesn’t even matter…” She tried to put the napkin off to the side but Ray caught her wrist.
“Hey, your art matters. I have no idea what all you’re going to create or have created but it matters. If it’s important to you or ever was, it definitely matters. You’re allowed an outlet, if Zari can have her video games that probably will actually melt everyone’s brains one day, you can draw or paint or sketch or whatever you want.”
Nora looked away. “I’m sorry, Ray, but I just don’t have the heart for it anymore. This was a fluke. Just me trying to pass the time while you were nerding out about some science thing.”
Ray knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to push her more tonight so he nodded sadly and let her toss the napkin in the trash bin. “Okay. I understand.”
xxxx
Apparently, Ray “understanding” meant he wouldn’t press the issue anymore that night. The next day, however, Ray spent probably too long fabricating sketch books of different sizes, fancy pencils, fancy colored pencils, erasers, and even some kits of charcoals and paints and pens. Ray knew he was probably going overboard but that was Ray Palmer’s MO, show love in absolute excess.
Ray neatly organized all of the art supplies while Nora was in the shower that morning and left it on her side of the bed and then disappeared to the lab to do work, slightly afraid of Nora’s quite possible negative reaction to the gesture.
Nora came back to her’s and Ray’s room now ready for the day when she saw what she hoped was not a giant pile of arts supplies on their bed.
She got closer and realized that it was.
Dammit Ray.
Nora picked up one of the sketchbooks and ran her fingers over it, remembering how most of the time in the asylums and hospitals she maybe had loose leaf paper and a dull pencil but she’d draw everything she wanted her life to be instead of a scared, demon possessed teenager. She drew herself as a princess locked in a tower, being saved by a valiant knight, that one had been recurring after getting her hands on an anthology of King Arthur tales, she also drew herself in a world where her parents were still alive, doing normal parent stuff like picking her up for school or decorating the Christmas tree. She drew the fantastical and normal, because back then, even the normal was pure fantasy to Nora.
Nora threw the sketchbook down and sighed. Ray’s heart was in the right place but hers just wasn’t… but she would try, for him.
xxxx
Nora figured she would find him in his lab, she had a small sketchbook tucked under her arm with a set of brand new and sharpened art pencils. She also had erasers and a small set of micron ink pens. She might not even do anything with the supplies but she would try, for Ray.
She saw him tinkering somewhere deep inside the chest plate of the ATOM suit and knocked on the open lab door.
Ray looked up at saw her there and then his eyes fell to the art supplies tucked under her arm and broke out into a full grin.
“I saw you got my present.”
Nora walked up to him and grabbed his chin gently to look him straight in the eyes. “I did, and you are so often what I don’t deserve, and I thank you for it.” She pulled him in for a soft kiss and patted his chest. “Carry on, I just wanted to watch you work.”
“And maybe doodle me, while you work?”
“Maybe.” She smiled and hopped up onto his workspace table and put the supplies in her lap. She sat there, just enjoying watching him work as she often came down to the lab to observe but then she got an idea and pulled a pencil out of the box, discreetly so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her actually trying, and opened to the first page in her sketchbook. She moved her pencil down the page, trying to get the perspective of him working on his suit correct. When she was satisfied she moved onto finer details, trying to capture the look of absolute concentration and amazement at his own invention on his face.
After a while the tinkering stopped but Nora kept tracing back over the same line, lost in the image of Ray on her paper and she felt someone touch her arm and she jumped. She looked up to see Ray standing next to her, trying to get a look at what she’d been drawing for the last hour.
Nora instinctively held the sketchbook to her chest so Ray wouldn’t see. “Can I help you, Dr. Palmer?”
“Just wanted to see what you were drawing.” He grinned.
“Well it’s not done yet so you can’t see it.” She gently pushed him out of her personal bubble and gestured for him to get back to work.
“Ah you want me back in the same spot so you can make sure you’re drawing me proportionally.” He started walking back to his suit and picked up a small wrench.
Nora smirked. “No, I know exactly how… well proportioned you are, Ray Palmer.”
“I am well aware that you do, Miss Darhk.” Ray abandoned his suit once more and went over to Nora, stepping between her legs and leaning down to kiss her gently.
Nora let the sketchbook drop and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him further.
They jumped apart at the sound of a cough and saw Zari standing near them, now holding the sketchbook.
Zari narrowed her eyes at them before speaking, “I better not flip through this and find naked drawings of Ray.”
Nora, now annoyed that her moment with Ray was interrupted used her magic to bring the book back over to her. “There aren’t any but the ones I have planned are all tasteful, and are for no one’s eyes but mine and Ray’s. Did you need something, Miss Tomaz?”
Zari, now slightly disgusted, shook her head and held up her hands. “Nope, getting the image out of my head of you guys recreating the scene from Titanic has taken top priority. I’m gonna go now.”
Nora laughed as Zari made her exit and tugged on the collar of Ray’s shirt.
“You… you have plans to draw me naked?” Ray asked, completely flustered.
Nora shook her head, “no that was just to get Zari to leave us alone, however, the more I’m thinking about it, the more I am liking the idea. Just not here,” she said and pulled him in for a deep kiss, the sketchbook forgotten again… but not for long.
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theoworthington · 5 years
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.・:*:・゚’ (twenty year old cis male theodore worthington) was made in (the upper east side) and attended (st. jude’s). he still resides in new york, and are currently (majoring in video game design in parsons). they are colorful sketchbooks, piles of sci-fi novels on the floor, tokyo nightlife and an 80's arcade. onlookers say they resemble aron piper. 
*shangela’s voice* HALLELOO EVERYONE! this is my third baby, oh my god. here’s my attempt at an intro post, which is basically just a bunch of bullet points thrown together. we’re needy so please LOVE US.
tw: death, bit of homophobia, just in case.
he is the youngest of the worthington children. dakota is his older sibling. so, you know the drill, his family comes from old money and they can be very traditional. most of the time, this doesn’t bother theo, as he’s learned to just go with the wave than to go against it like his sibling kota.
as the youngest, he is well aware that he won’t be the heir to their company. but it still gives him a comfort zone to explore his interests, like creating video games, which is ultimately what he wants to do. and his father is okay with it, since his expectations on him were never as high as with his oldest brother and heir to the company.
he was very affected by his mom’s dead. even though it was a long process, it was still very painful for the whole family. theo was sixteen when she passed away. she was the only one that knew about his sexual preferences, since she helped him come to terms with it a few months before she died. and he loves it and fully accepts himself. he just chooses to keep it a secret because he knows the worthingtons won’t be too happy about it.
so yeah, it’s 20gayteen and all but he still goes out of his way to keep it a secret. why? because after seeing the way his father rejected kota little by little, he realized he was going to be next. so he uses his nerdy geeky persona to hide. he knows he won’t be able to live with his father’s rejection so this is for the best.
ohhhh and he knew he was gay when he watched star wars for the first time and fell in love with both luke skywalker and han solo. he spent the first trilogy expecting them to kiss and was deeply disappointed when they didn’t.
so yeah, he’s your local geek, nerdy bitch. BIG STAR WARS FAN. MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YA’LL. 
some wanted connections:
EVERYTHING !!!
maybe some secret relationship? something very omander, for my elite fam out there.
and maybe the daniela to his lito, for my sense8 fam out there.
having his first love around would also be sweet pretty pls. i’d love it if it can be similar to isak and even/niccolo and martino from skam but with LOTS OF ANGST ‘cause they’re not on good terms
bitch makes good use of grindr and tinder so a bunch of hook ups and fwbs pretty please.
the guzman to his ander or the jonas to my isak, which basically means a straight male friend who knows that he gay and is super understanding and protective of him
a close group of friends from like forever that he has yet to come out to.
maybe one or two girls that he’s made out with or maybe dated for a little while to keep up the “straight boy” façade
all sorts of friends that he can be soft around
some enemies ‘cause why not?
actual partner in crime - cynthia
the exboyfriend - emery
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softpeetabread · 6 years
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University Life part 3
I’m so flattered by the positive reception to this au and the comments I received have encouraged me to continue. Thank you to everyone that’s taken the time to read this little tale. I have more in store and here is but a piece, which I hope can suffice until my next update. Enjoy!
[Part 1] [Part 2]
Katniss  had  to give Peeta credit for making it till the end of the day to crash and fall asleep, or at least until they made it back to his apartment. He didn’t even reach his bed and opted for the living room couch, even if it was probably uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she found a blanket in his room and covered him with it.
She had been at his apartment plenty of times to know where to find things. She prepared a mug with a teabag for when he’d wake up and started on dinner for them. They usually worked together to make meals, but Peeta needed his sleep and she would not disturb him just so they could cook.
Finnick came into the apartment some time later, a tired expression on his face. He’d probably had a long day as well.
“Did you replace my roommate?” Despite his exhaustion, he still managed to give her a mischievous smile.
“Please, you would be the one Peeta would replace,” she answered, her own playful smile on her lips.
“You’re like his mother. Look at you: making him food while he sleeps.”
Katniss shrugged. “Don’t be jealous just because this isn’t for you.”
After spending so much time with Finnick and Johanna thanks to Peeta, she had gotten up to speed with their jokes and jabs. Had she been a new friend and used that response she would have felt like she was being unnecessarily mean and biting. However, she knew her answer wouldn’t hurt Finnick since they tended to say worse things to one another. Katniss had simply adjusted and learnt from them all. Sometimes, harsh comments would get thrown around and Peeta would step in to defend her from his friends, but she wasn’t bothered because she knew she could hurt them with her words if she wanted to. There was a difference between being defensive and playing along.
By the time she finished cooking, Finnick had left to meet Annie at her apartment, leaving Peeta and Katniss alone once again. She heard Peeta yawn as he sat up.
“What a coincidence that you wake up just as I’m about to serve us dinner,” she said with a smirk.
“My stomach can sense quality food from a mile away,” Peeta answered, stretching his back. “What’d you make?”
“Your favorite: stew.” Katniss brought the pot to the table carefully, setting it on the center where the heat mat rested.
“I think you mean that’s your favorite,” he chuckled and got up to help Katniss set the table. “I’ll eat anything you make, though.”
“It’s not like you have a choice.”
Peeta pretended to be pensive about it. “Well, I could order something, but then I’d be wasting some good stew. And then, I’d get a long lecture from you about how awful it is to waste food. And then, you’d remind me of how long it took you to make it. I’ll save myself all that trouble.”
Katniss couldn’t help but laugh. Was she that predictable? “You are not only smart, but you are a wise man, Peeta.”
“I’ve learnt that I have to keep a woman happy or else I’d be facing her wrath,” Peeta shrugged.
“Don’t tell me your priority is to keep me happy,” Katniss said with mock sarcasm.
“Then, I won’t tell you.” He brought the plates to the table and Katniss served them dinner. “I do admit I have my priorities straight. It just so happens that one of them is to make someone happy.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that as she wasn’t sure who he was really referring to. “That person is very lucky… Now hurry up and eat your stew while it’s hot.”
“I could just heat it up!”
“It won’t taste the same!”
Peeta rested his face on his hand as he looked at her, laughing with amusement at their exchange. “There’s no winning with you.”
“You should know that by now.”
Putting his wisdom to use, Peeta kept quiet save for the chuckles he couldn’t help holding back, which made Katniss look away from him else she risked choking on her food. She had never laughed so much in her life, from what she remembered, until she got to know Peeta and now she couldn’t stop. The real winner was him because he got the last laugh out of her.
Gray eyes scanned the bottom of the pool until they located the colorful rings that had been arrayed in a line, each far enough for a challenge. There was a liberating feeling about swimming that Katniss loved and when she found out the gym had a pool—a bigger one than the one at the apartment complex—she was thrilled and couldn’t wait to jump in. She was practicing on reaching the bottom, which was the one skill she struggled with. Her dives were decent, her speed allowed her to reach the other end of the pool in about four breaths, and her strokes let her gracefully swim across without stopping. After doing this for years, it felt like a reward rather than a work out. It definitely felt like a cool down what with her being in the water, but her muscles still ached and she was more than sure that she would be sore the following day.
Peeta and her worked out together by running and he had showed her how to work some of the machines that appealed to her, but there were exercises in which they did alone. He did weights and boxing while she swam. If one of them finished early, they would wait for the other until they were done so they could leave together. She thought it was a good thing they didn’t depend on each other for all of their exercise routines and gave each other some space, too. Peeta had mentioned he only knew the basics for swimming like floating and not drowning, so Katniss didn’t insist on him to join her. She did offer to teach him and he agreed to it when their exams week would pass.
Katniss pushed through the water to swim downward and reached for a ring, lacing it around her arm as she reached for the next one. She managed to take three from the floor before she floated back up and took a deep breath, feeling how her chest ached and her lungs screamed. They didn’t look like much but pushing herself on the deep end of the pool took the most energy from her. Taking the rings was the easy part. She went back to get the remaining three after taking a few breaths and decided to call it a day.
She spotted Peeta sitting next to her things with a sketch book in hand. Katniss wondered how he had the ability to draw without difficulty, and it made sense to her why he would choose a career like architecture. Although, he could have also succeeded as a painter. She had been in awe at the canvases he showed her that were in his room, full of vivid colors and beautiful scenery. She walked towards him, wondering what it was that he was doodling.
“Drawing people swimming?” she asked raising an eyebrow.
“More or less,” Peeta answered with a shrug before putting his pencil down and closing his sketchbook. Only he found a way to carry that in his gym bag. ‘In case I felt inspired’, he had said to her once.
“May I see it when you finish?”
“I can show you right now, if you want.”
It must please Peeta that Katniss showed interest in his sketches, or at least that’s what it looked like to her. Not that there was anything wrong with that. If anything, she gave him encouragement and she admitted he looked adorable when he got enthusiastic. He flipped to the current page he was working on as she sat beside him, a towel wrapped around her to keep from getting water everywhere.
It was a rough sketch, but she could make out the figure of a girl standing along the edge of the pool and what looked like a braid that swayed to the side, as if she had shaken her head to get water off her hair. Her mouth hung open slightly as she realized Peeta had started to sketch her.
“I think your drawing looks way better than I do in real life,” she said, a playful smile on her lips.
“Hardly. I’m afraid about not being able to do you justice.”
Katniss rolled her eyes, even if it was flattering to be Peeta’s muse for one sketch.
“You could draw me as a fish and it wouldn’t make a difference.”
It was Peeta’s turn to raise an eyebrow at her. “I think I’ll draw your gills on your throat.”
“Don’t forget a fin on my back,” she added. “Make me look scary.”
Peeta put the notebook away as he spoke. “For me to do that, you would have to already be scary-looking, which you’re not.”
Katniss gave him a scowl, trying to prove her point that she was, in fact, as frightening as she claimed to be.
“Wow, you certainly terrified me,” Peeta said dryly.
“Good because I could be your worst nightmare.”
“Katniss, you’re as terrifying as a new born kitten.”
With the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder, Katniss began to walk away from the pool with Peeta beside her. “Just because I’m not as tall as you are doesn’t mean I can’t still scare the shit out of you.”
“I doubt it but keep telling yourself that.”
As she showered, she replayed Peeta’s words in her head and she somehow felt a bit bothered by the fact that he didn’t find her intimidating. She’d show him one day he should be scared of her. He may have been bigger than her in height and size, but he was an even bigger softy. She let it go after a while and breathed out, thinking about his sketch.
Why would he decide to draw her, of all people, anyway? She probably looked like a feral animal if anything, not some attractive swimmer like Annie or Finnick. Maybe Peeta would make her look pretty. He had such a talent for making even the most mundane things look amazing when his fingers created his artwork.
I admit this started off as a short story, but then it grew as I kept writing and I want to write as much as I can about the relationship between these two. I love banter, flirting, and flirtatious banter, so I hope I did something right here. Maybe this feels like these two instances aren’t related, but believe me, I’m following a sort of timeline. This matters to their story. I am open to suggestions about this au if anyone has any ideas they’d like to share with me! Whether it’s for their friendship or when they are dating (I promise, they will get together, just not today *winks*). Let me know what you think. I will update soon!
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kxkuko · 5 years
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Allhallows2k18theme - Costume design
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Pokemon used:
Isolde - Arbok ♀
Height 11'06" (3,5 meters) 
Attacks:
▸Acid ▸Screech ▸Glare ▸Bite
Tut - Golbat ♂
Height 5'03" (1,6 meters)
Attacks:
▸Whirlwind ▸Toxic ▸Haze ▸Bite
Author’s note: Agatha’s height is somewhere around 4’8 ft tall (1,42 meters). The attacks were taken out of their Gen 1 games movepools.
Outfit reference
Stage music: Pre-determined
Agatha felt so reinvigorated knowing exactly what she would be working on- truth be said she was ecstatic to put those on herself.
 The entire thing could be summed up in one word: vintage.
 Despite this being her very first time in anything like it, Agatha doesn’t show any signs of or even hints of nervousness. She has a very clear mind, and a goal to achieve.
 The way people looked at her. From the everyday people around her, the colleagues of her college to even her opponents at the pokemon League- they all made the same exact face of pure horror. That is exactly what she is going for; bring those faces back in the audience one more time.
 Agatha strutted her way towards the designated table at her slow pace, while one hand held onto her cane the other seemed to be carrying a sketchbook of sorts, alongside with a small purse. The elderly woman is more than confident in her work; she can see all the materials just waiting for her- the promised Ditto alongside with the unknown creature by its side.
 That insect looking creature standing by the pink shapeshifting pokemon’s side, it must be the creature called Leavanny. They were a surprise to her- not by itself, (seeing how she had been explained how things were meant to go); rather she wasn’t quite sure what that pokemon truly looked like.
 They were a lot taller than she imagined it to be. It isn’t like that bug looking pokemon would spark any interest on the ones she had brought alongside herself on stage, meaning no one is getting hurt this time around. Once the table was in her reach Agatha placed her belongings on the table.
 The elderly woman gave a nod at her pokemon, which stood by her side and whistles at them to stand still in order to wait for their next orders. Tut was wrapped up by his wings Isolde stood by their side motionless, both poison types had their blank empty eyes on the woman and only her. Agatha faced away from them, now her attention was on her table- there seemed to have just about everything she needed for her work. Well- almost everything really, as expected she wouldn’t be getting the real Ninetales fur.
 A shame really. Instead, she will have to use that synthetic generic fur, times like these made the former elite member to wish she were back in her youth’s era.
 No time to mope about it, the first pokemon she will be working on is Isolde. She pulled up close to herself the notebook, and went straight to the page that had the rough sketch of the serpent creature. The elderly woman already knew precisely her pokemons’ measurements, Ditto will simply be her mannequin as such Agatha casted a glare at the pink blob creature. “Ditto would you be so kind to take the appearance of a short Arbok for me?” she asked the creature while picking it up and placing it on the floor. The pokemon firstly took a good look at Isolde, then TRANSFORMED into one of its kind however it was just about Agatha’s height much smaller in comparison to the real deal.
 Isolde didn’t react to the other pokemon- in fact they seemed to be completely out of itself, as if they were completely unaware of its surroundings. “Leavanny get me the fur please.” She ordered and the bug type quickly walked up to her, while holding the roll with its leaf blades out for her. The elderly woman would pull on the fur, the first thing to be created would be the Arbok’s abbe as such she circled the transformed Ditto- holding one end in its front and meeting it on the other side. Isolde’s hood was a lot larger; with a simple mathematical equation done in the back of her mind, she took a pin from the small cushion on the table and precisely pinpointed the amount needed for that clothing article. Time to move on to the next step on the abbe’s creation, a chain will be holding the piece together- after all she wants the creepy mark in its hood to stay as visible as possible. “That will do Ditto.” Agatha said, allowing the pokemon to morph back to its original form “Now cut this right here Leavanny, and put the roll back on the table.” She pointed the exact place for the bug, while the insect SLASHED the piece out of the roll and followed the woman’s orders; Agatha started to rummage through the materials provided to her. It didn’t take long for her to find what she looked for, the golden single chain- its length was the exact one she needed as well. Lastly, she picked up two golden buttons, alongside with the sewing kit provided to her. Before the elderly woman could start assembling the abbe, she reached out for her purse- as expected for someone of her age her sight no longer was the greatest especially for things so close to her face. First, she got the line through the needle, sewed the buttons on the fur- and connected both ends with the golden chain. The piece in itself still was too long to be seen as a proper abbe.
 That is when she faced Isolde with what seemed to be of sorts- a friendly smile; it wasn’t in anyway less creepier simply because it was on her. Agatha spread the whole thing apart, holding it out in front of the motionless Arbok. “My darling, would you be as kindly as to lend me a hand here?” While the way shorter woman referred to the Arbok, she would spring back to life in order to listen to her command. Isolde’s mouth opened widely- at first it seemed like she hadn’t listened to her mistress, but look and behold- ACID started to leak from its mouth, every droplet would land on the fabric. Holes would start to form on it; she stayed like that for what felt like 2 minutes or so- then all of the sudden Isolde landed a BITE onto it ripping the unnecessary length out of the abbe. Whatever she had in her mouth had been torn about into nothing but shreds, the venom was still leaking out of her and some of it had landed on the floor. The abbe was done, thanks to the corrosive venom and the fangs- it didn’t have a straight line to its back. Agatha placed the clothing article aside, the final touch on the Arbok would come in the form of a pearls collar- which would be placed around its tail. They were obviously fake, the ideal kind for something that would be put on a pokemon. The woman reached out for Isolde’s tail and placed it on the table, she made sure to shoo both Leavanny and Ditto- the last thing Agatha would want is for the serpent to be startled. She quickly reached out for the reel of pearls chain (she just needed to cincture the beast’s rear), and in a matter of a minute Agatha assembled the prop- releasing Isolde’s tail right afterwards.
 “Grab me a chair and bring it over there Leavanny, quick!” Agatha ordered while pointing a finger at a spot by the Arbok’s side. The bug type seemed confused at first- they even let out a nervous chirpping, but soon enough they found the chair sitting by the table’s side- they quickly ran towards the woman who had the abbe in her hands. The chair was placed in the correct spot “Stand still” the former elite member said, as she had to put aside her walking cane in order to hold onto the pokemon and get onto the chair. Now she could easily place the abbe on the back of Isolde’s hood, which had perfectly fitted- it may look a bit tight on the pokemon but it was clear that they could move, and didn’t show any sign of discomfort.
 Agatha now had to work on Tut. “Hopefully my arthritis will be nice to me tonight.” She joked now looking at her Golbat, who still was hugging himself with the wings- having barely moved besides the breathing motion. The woman walked towards the table now looking for the body paint provided to her, the white color is all that she needs for him (by then Isolde had slithered back to the table- returning to her stationary form). Her gaze now fell upon the Ditto, while she took the paintbrush “Ditto stand still in front of Tut, and transform into them!” the former elite member ordered, as she watched the pink blob creature make its way towards the bat pokemon. Upon shapeshifting into him, Tut’s wings spread open widely revealing the mouth with the four fangs in full display- they also shared the Arbok’s empty gaze. The woman signaled for the Leavanny to bring the chair over, now on top of it Agatha started the drawing on the left- wing. At first they may seem like random white lines, some are straight others come off curly- or even crooked eventually the drawing became clear.
 Obviously, she still had to do the same thing on the other side’s wing, but the outcome would clearly be a pair of eyes with lines that simulated spiders’ webs. The dark purple was the perfect shade, so the lines stood out the most on the pokemon. Slowly but surely Agatha would work on the Golbat, using the Leavanny as a support for herself every time her legs felt weak. She was very close to run out of the color, thankfully she managed to get the whole thing. While getting off the chair with Leavanny’s help, Agatha took a quick look over at the timer. “Ditto stay like that, don’t transform back we must keep Tut’s wings like that so the paint will dry up a lot faster.” Agatha said to the disguised pokemon.
 It appears she will have to hurry up and get her dress done- she can even see a few empty tables from the corner of her eye. The paint was thrown aside, a napkin had been pulled out from her purse in order to clean her hands off. The elite member walked over to her sketchbook, and flipped a few pages until getting to her outfit’s design. The woman stretched her arms and snapping her fists’ joints in the process. “Leavanny, with me.” She said- the first dress her hands landed on was quickly grabbed and thrown onto the mannequin, it was a long dinner in the wine color. Agatha reached out for the pins and needles; there was no time to waste- the measurements were no brainer to her. As such she immediately started to pinpoint exactly where Leavanny would first work on. “Isolde. Get the velvet for me, give it to Leavanny.” The Arbok sprung back to life, as it slithered away to look for what her mistress had asked for “I need you to cut this much for me of the velvet fabric, as well as to get rid of the sleeves.” The former elite member shot a gaze upon the insect, while indicating it on her arms and pointing it exactly where the bug type is meant to do its magic. Agatha quickly faced away from the dress so she could work on the props.
 The first one was a black fascinator, the hat’s base had been provided to her. All that she needed to add to it was the fake red Pidgeot’s feather by sewing it there, once the feather seemed firm enough on the piece- it was time to move onto the next one. It was time to work on an abbe for herself, she reached out for the roll of fur- despite it seemed like she was being careless by the way she handled the fabric, it was evident how much experience the woman carried under her belt. The abbe was quite huge- especially for Agatha’s body, it was meant to cover her majority of her torso- at last Leavanny was done with its previous task “Now sew all of these together!” The former elite member ordered, as she whistled at her Arbok to come over “Now darling, use your fangs on the skirt. Don’t you dare to go anyway upwards.” Isolde nodded, her mouth opened widely before her countless rounds of BITES on the dress started. Agatha didn’t look away from her pokemon not even for a second, once she was satisfied with the torn out result there was a snap of her fingers- prompting the serpent to cease and slither away. By then Leavanny had finished sewing the abbe and gloves together.
 “Perfect.” The woman muttered- she was getting close to the end. Obviously she doesn’t have the time to get all fancy with her make up, as such a foundation alongside with an eyeshadow and a lipstick are more than enough for her. It was time to get dressed up and head straight to the stage.
As Agatha moved around her dress’ skirt would be dragged on the floor, the walking pace was quite slow making sure she wouldn’t end up tripping on her own masterpiece. The woman was all by herself when she made it to the center of the stage, at least for now. Her left hand held one of the pokeballs, the second one was located right on the cane’s handle. It seemed as though her cane hadn’t been altered in the slightest, after all the whole piece resembled a twisted branch of a dead tree.
 The former elite member waited for the music to start playing with an unfazed expression, her gaze was glued to the crowd. She was back at being people’s attentions – how much she had missed that sensation, as soon as the music started to be played a wide grin had formed on her face- it was one that displayed her teeth. The pokeball in her hand was tossed up in the air, while the one in her cane’s handle had its button pressed releasing both beasts onto the stage.
 Tut still was wrapped up in his wings and in the air when he was completely free of the ball’s restrains, before the Golbat landed on the floor its wings spread open widely allowing them to land on the floor gracefully all the while showcasing the painting in his wings. Isolde on the other hand had essentially slithered out of the pokeball, heading towards the other pokemon. “Good night everybody!” Agatha directed her word at the people watching her, one arm waved at them before she spinned in place “We hope you are all having a lovely night! Isolde darling, why don’t you give them a taste?”
 The serpent creature remained motionless for a moment, as if they hadn’t heard her mistress- her white soulless eyes only contributed to that idea. Only to jolt towards the crowd at a very high, she was SCREECHING at the humans- in a very high pitched tone as well. The jaw opened as much as it could, revealing the fangs and the ACID that already was inside of the creature’s mouth. Just when she was about to leap off at the people, Agatha snapped her fingers- making the creature to stop dead in place. ACID was visibly leaking from her mouth, some of it even falling on the floor just beneath her. They were so close to the people, this way they could not only see the outfit they had on themselves- but the infamous face found on her hood.
 A chortle left the elderly woman, as she snapped once again her fingers. The Arbok’s mouth loudly shut itself, before slithering her way back to the elderly woman. “I hope everyone is still here with us tonight.” Agatha said, still chuckling loudly.
 There was a clap of her hands, followed by Tut taking off from the land and started to shroud the stage with HAZE, a dark fog had formed- making visibility near impossible. One that the former elite member and the Arbok had walked into, the music was approaching its end- so did the stage’s presentation. Inside of the dark cloud, Isolde coiled herself around the woman keeping her underneath her hood. The Golbat then flew out of the dark cloud, and proceeded to flap his wings in a very high pace- creating a WHIRLWIND. A gust of wind so powerful, that the HAZE had been spread over the floor- dissipating it in the process and revealing his mistress standing in its very center, while being protected from the wind by Isolde.
 The flying type quickly descended- not landing on the floor, instead they were at the perfect height for Agatha to take one of his paws and shoot one final glare at the crowd as the music came to its end. Surprisingly the hood did effectively serve as some kind of umbrella to her, meaning Agatha’s hair still seemed to be in place- in fact the outfit was intact. The former elite member then bowed forward in response to the applauses, whereas her pokemon kept staring at the others around them with their blank gaze.
 Now, it was all up to the judges.
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sketchesofsam · 6 years
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The Illustration Master Class - A First Timer's Journal
This is a long blog post. It's mostly for my own purposes, but also for those who want an in-depth look at what being at the IMC is like. I have some pointers for first timers, things you might not think of and things to consider in advance. They'll be at the end of the article. I want to thank Dave Palumbo for allowing me to use a couple of his amazing photos too, he's a talented SOB. 
probably won't forget the moment my Facebook messages suddenly started pinging off. 'Congrats Sam!' 'Hey Sam, you won!' I distinctly remember thinking, hmm, what did I win? Did I enter another twitter giveaway or something? Then someone followed up with 'you won the scholarship!' It took me a moment. Then the chat I was in the middle of with my other half suddenly filled with lots of expletives and capitals on my end. Holy shit. I'd won the Muddy Colors scholarship to the IMC, something that had been a long-term wish of mine since I'd found out about it 5 or 6 years prior but hadn't ever had the funds to attend. So to find out that my entry to their scholarship program - through the generous donations of the Muddy Colors Patreon - submitted on a 'what have I got to lose' mentality that was still shadowed by the fuzzy sting of not getting into Spectrum, had scored me the full cost of the course. I'd honestly forgotten I'd applied. Let that be a lesson to those of you who hold back on submitting to things, especially the things that are free. It's always worth a punt. 
So what's it like to go to the IMC? I can tell you that winning the scholarship made the pre-IMC thumbnail assignment a lot more stressful than if I'd paid for it. The weight of imagining disappointing the people who had seen my work and voted for it - artistic heroes of mine -  was pretty heavy. It made me feel like I couldn't just go and do the same thing I'd always done, even if it had won me the scholarship. Before I started drawing, I reconsidered my influences. I'd started a secret pinterest board a few months back simply called 'Ho Fuck That's Good.' Stuff that gave me a gut punch when I looked at it. I spent a lot of time looking at those images and a lot of the others I had pinned. I stopped paying attention to work that I simply found technically impressive, that had awesome composition or great values. I looked for what moved me. Why it moved me. I started making notes about themes I found compelling or that cropped up a lot in my own work. I decided I wasn't going to do just a straight up realistic narrative Whaler Girl piece, I was going to try and make my own work be more like that which moved me. A risky, and perhaps somewhat dumb move, given those same realistic, narrative images had won me the scholarship. 
We were asked to provide 4 or 5 thumbnails, either of our own choosing, or from an assignment provided, such as an illustration to accompany a short story, the likes of which are often published on Tor.com. With themes like duality, death, grief and love in relationships crowding my brain, I created a lot of thumbnails. I wasn't going to take the first 3 or 4 that came out. I did about 20 in total and narrowed it down to the 6 I felt most attached to. Some of them even had hints back to The Whaler Girl in a very asbtract way. They'd come out better than I'd hoped for and I could see a tiny glimpse of the sort of painting I might get out of it. It made me excited to put them in front of my chosen faculty member. 
We were asked to pick a top 5 from the vertiable smorgasbord of faculty. That was hard. It turned out that most people got grouped with their top pick and that dictated who the other faculty were that would give you feedback. I suspect my pick would have surprised a few people. Kent Williams was actually the instructor I was least familiar with, but researching his work, especially his most recent work, it hit the same kind of buttons that my inspiration board had. His work felt emotionally personal and while I knew I didn't want to necessarily paint like he did, I felt he might be able to give good feedback on how to tap into that sense of the personal. Perhaps someone who could help keep me on track with the first wibbly steps I was taking with my own work. I count myself lucky to have landed in the group with Rebecca, Kent and Tara (McPherson). 
I wanted to make a good first impression, but there were so many approaches to the dreaded 'crit day'. Some folks brought only one or two finished colour thumbs, some folks just had small, traditionally drawn thumbnails, occasionally done on arrival the night before. Some brought photo mockups of the exact piece they wanted to work on. All approaches got good feedback. I'd been forewarned that crit day could be rough, but I think the Studio 201 guys were pretty chill. I did peek my head in on the other two rooms briefly. Donato, Greg Ruth and Scott Fischer were all highly animated and I've been told often argued with each other's feedback. Dan Dos Santos, Irene Gallo and Greg Manchess were part of the group that, from chatting to folks, seemed to get the most direct feedback.
I was a little surprised when there was no tracing paper used during my crit. All three faculty members responded favourably to what had been my favourite thumbnail, despite its weirdness. No direct suggestions other than resolving the shapes in my minimal, non-figurative space (that minor bit of feedback would come to haunt me by The Thursday of DOOM, but I'll get to that later). Inspirations like Inka Essenhigh, Hope Gangloff and Dorothea Tanning were thrown my way, I loved all three for very different reasons. It was safe to say inspiration was running high and I had a tonne of positive energy to run with. 
I felt like I was well prepped going into the IMC, but I wasn't. Choosing to go full traditional when having to fly internationally was a pain. I didn't have a lot of the stuff I needed and had to rely on the infinite kindness of my fellow students and faculty to see me through. Stephen, Annie, Chris, Julia, you were all lovely, I can't thank you enough. 
My Tuesday started with James Gurney sat at my breakfast table. That was surreal but awesome. He and his wife Jeanette are as lovely two people as you could hope to meet, full of insight and always taking notes. The previous day's lecture on photo reference was flowing through my mind and I dreaded having to ask fellow students. My figures were both nudes and that wasn't something I was comfortable with, though I thought perhaps I could take individual legs and arms and use a little online ref to fill in the rest. I wish I'd drummed up the courage to ask my fellow students, but that particular social step eluded me the whole week. I spent the day instead with many sheets of tracing paper, figuring out What marks were what. I had discussions with Greg Ruth and Donato Giancola about how to find those shapes and make them fit in my piece. You have to figure out who to listen to, and whose advice to stash for a later date. You get bombarded with advice if you go in as open-minded as I did. I'd thrown myself into a pool I should have been paddling in first, pretty much at the very public deep end. I'll admit I found ways to put off getting to painting, as it was only the 2nd oil painting I'd done in the last 20 years and the company I had in the room was stellar and a little overwhelming. Eventually, I chose to redraw via a grid so I could edit as I went along and I used some reference I shot of my own limbs to help flesh the drawing out. I left Tuesday feeling reasonably positive about the work.
Wednesday was a full day with faculty feedback, up to the first 5 pm lecture. Dan Dos Santos, who is perfectly lovely, but also very honest with feedback, stopped by my easel. Overall, very complimentary, he pulled me on a bit of weird anatomy, that after using a lot more photo ref with the rest of the piece, had begun to stand out. He suggested I grab Rebecca after our discussion. I'd responded best to her feedback, as she seemed to understand what I was trying to do, so I grabbed her after lunch. She immediately told me the leg and anatomy I'd had in the thumbnail had been working, and that if I liked the weirdness (which I did) to go weird with the rest of the piece to make the leg fit. Literally the opposite of Dan's feedback. Feedback is such a personal thing, every instructor has their own view of art and own journey. I'd probably tried to take a little bit of everyone who'd stopped by and given feedback and every little bit had nudged me slightly off the course I'd intended to take. Dan's feedback was spot on, if I'd been after something with a solid grounding in realism, but I wasn't. I was after an emotional feeling rather than muscles that looked like they fit where they were supposed to go. Rebecca suggested I just print the thumbnail out, mount it to masonite and paint on that. But resolve my shapes first. 
That led me to ask Tara for advice and after some back and forth, I thought I knew where I was going, and decided rather than be tied to the values I'd got in the thumbnail to start with, I'd trace down the printed thumbnail and resolve my shapes. All went well, I got the drawing on the board, and aware of the ever-ticking clock and my ability to get feedback on my painting process, I was keen to get started the following day.
I nick-named Thursday 'Thursday of DOOOOOOOM' in my sketchbook notes. With that many 'O's'. It started well, with my sketch on my illustration board, I figured I'd use acrylic underpainting to speed up the process, then seal with matte medium and start on top in oils. I'd brought a lovely lime green and violet with me, my underpainting was done in warm purple-reds as a counterpoint, and I was winging it. It felt good. I stepped away for a bit before lunch and came back after to the horror of a C-shaped warped board. A brand I'd not used before, I hadn't been heavy with it at all. I threw some matte medium on the back in the hopes it would pull itself out of the curve, but it only stiffened. I think panic set in at this point, I knew there was no point in doing more on the board, but I'd been stubborn over mounting the printouts I'd done. Old dog, new tricks and all that.
Distraught, I knew I had no choice. I slunk off to the back of the studio and tried not to blub my eyes out as I tried a totally new method of mounting with less than perfect tools. Flustered, my hair constantly got stuck in the medium, making me even more panicked that the whole thing would be a disaster and that I'd missed the last supply run and would have to face the very public shame of asking someone for actual help. If there's one thing I hate, it's not being self-sufficient. My fellow students would have happily helped out, but shame is a pretty powerful emotion, it tends to rule what you do. I prayed the mounted paper wouldn't need a 2nd sheet mounting on the back to counter the drawing mounted on the front. At best, in the blazing sun, this stuff would take a couple of hours to dry to the point I could paint on it. The wind did its best to prevent me from stacking the board outside and in my hours of deepest bleakness, I figured that maybe if it blew over into the dirt and insects, I'd say fuck it and make them part of the fucking thing too. It was also at this point I realised the printouts had cropped the two thumbnails I'd chosen to work with, altering their composition drastically. My own dumb fault for not setting the page size up properly in the printer. One more shame I'd suck up and live with. I wish I'd asked for help. I think knowing the pieces weren't what I'd initially intended broke my ability to give them my full attention and killed my mojo for the next couple of days. My anxiety rats, as Rebecca delightfully referred to them, were in full swing. 
While I waited for it to dry, I headed back into the studio and mentioned to Rebecca I'd given in with the curved board and mounted the thumbnail and would she have a look over what I'd chosen to do with the background. Rebecca is gracious and lovely and patiently listens to me explain what I've done. Then she points to some of the graphic elements I'd put in and gently says that they still feel too literal and forced, that the motifs I choose should be something I relate to closely and that it doesn't quite live up to the right hand, figurative side of the painting. I suggest a couple of other ideas, feeling a scrabbling panic bulding in me, only to hear her tell me everything still feels too literal. My logic brain knows she's right, but after a distraught morning, I'm clasping at any straw I have to salvage the situation. I don't know if it showed, and she saw that I was struggling with it or if it was just honest feedback for the moment, but at that point, she looked at me and said 'maybe this piece is a step too far for you right now, maybe you should do the other piece, if that's something that's more comfortable for you.' I think I agreed with her, nodded and extolled the virtues of taking a step back into my comfort zone, getting a painting I knew how to do done was a good thing, yes? But damn if that wasn't a kick to the gut at that very moment. 
She was absolutely right, though. I'd throw myself into a deep pool, with people who were olympic athletes at diving its depths, and in the course of a week expected to be able to at least dive a good distance with them. I'd been able to get my head underwater with my well-planned thumbnails, but in this overwhelming, information packed, inspiring, public test of artistic mettle, I'd punched above my depth, so to speak. Trying to shift gears artistically when you have your own space and the time to find your journey is one thing, I don't know if it can be done in a week, no matter how much amazing input you get from your artistic heroes. Chris, Erin, Annie, I'm sorry if my energy those next 48 hours was a bummer, it wasn't a place I was familiar with being. 
Kent Williams came to the rescue of my very bruised ego that evening with a talk about his personal journey through art. Indirectly, seeing the bredth and depth of his work over such a long time span, I confess to feeling a little idiotic that I'd expected to be able to make that leap in a week. Every faculty member who gave a talk like that had shown me that their journeys were long, and often fraught with failed ventures or periods of doing artistic things they didn't want to. I left the lecture with my tail between my legs, but a renewed sense that I would do my best with the hand I'd given myself. I did a couple of colour studies that evening, traditionally, inspired by seeing James Gurney's master studies in his lecture. I loved doing them, and wish I'd had more time to do more. But I found a piece online that had a palette I liked and did a couple of explorations of a similar theme. I finally, finally, 4 days into the escapade, managed to put down some oil paint. 
Friday and Saturday I painted as much as I could, but tentatively, I was making marks I'd never made before. I listened to the feedback being given around me and let anyone who wanted to stop and give me feedback, do so. I'm not sure I actively asked for it. I struggled as the ladies around me with their amazinly characterful pieces drew the attention of everyone who went past. I wondered if I was so far off the mark and weird that no one knew what to say about my piece. Maybe it was so bland that they couldn't praise or crit it. In retrospect, I recognise that my mood and lack of decent sleep was tinting my mood heavily, and I suspect I was giving off the same vibe, which is enough to make folks give you a bit of a wide berth. 
The theme of finding your niche and doing what you love came up in more than one lecture over those days. I went to bed at 2 am both nights, in an attempt to get as much done as I could. I socialised a little more, realising that was as much a part of the experience as the painting. If not more. I'm hugely thankful for the bonds I forged during that week, something I couldn't have done at home, no matter how much I painted. Those bonds were worth much more to me than the painting I half finished. I think I came to accept that what I wanted to do was going to be a journey that needed a little longer than a week to take. I wish there had been more 'round table' lectures with all the faculty, seeing them interact together on the business lecture was amazing. 
Sunday was chill. I'd had the intention of painting more, but clearing up took a while, and I felt good being relaxed. So I socialised more instead. Our final lecture with Donato was the perfect note to end the experience on and the open house was a chance to take in everyone's work, the standard of which was amazing. After a super tasty mexican dinner and strawberry margherita, the bar beckoned. After drawing I don't know how much hentai in people's sketchbooks and getting a badass Bill Nighy sketch from the awesome Bud Cook in my own sketchbook, alongside the weirdest pseudonyms and animal drawings ever, I crashed and burned as being under the influence after a week of mental stress and lack of sleep took its toll on me. Conan, thank you for making sure I got back safely that night, I really appreciate it, I suspect I'd have passed out in a dark corner of the bar otherwise. Sad I missed out on the late night partying that ensued, but damn, did I need that night's sleep. 
So there's one woman's view of what it's like to go to the IMC, to throw yourself at the mercy of the faculty and your own desires. To fail and not deal with it well, to realise that the painting was never the important thing. IMC was amazing. I can only hope this gives those of you who haven't been a teensy insight. I'm not going to cover what the lectures were or what faculty shared with us, that's a very specific IMC experience, that you really have to go to appreciate. I will say I am hugely thankful to Dan, Rebecca and all of those on Muddy Colors who made that experience real for me. It has enriched me in ways I suspect I'll only realise as my journey continues. Thank you to everyone who gave me kind words and praise and to those who tried to guide me on my way. If ever the opportunity arises for you to attend, I would say grab it with both hands and run with it. Even if your experience doesn't run as profound as mine, and it simply lets you have some time to paint whatever the hell you want, being in a huge room full of people going through the same thing is well worth the price, not to mention watching faculty paint in real time is invaluable. 
So, what if you've taken that leap, some months from now and you're going to the IMC? Here's a few pointers from someone who thought they were prepared and was woefully not. 
1 -  THE DORMS Are basic AF. I was somewhat prepared, but when the FAQ says the beds are firm, they mean it. Think springs wrapped in a bit of plastic tarp. The sheets are functional, but the blanket looked like someone had put used dog bedding through a shredder and mushed it out into a rectangle. I bought a spare blanket at the CVS store, cause no way was that thing touching my skin. I may be a little sensitive though. I affectionately referred to the whole set up as my prison bed, cause honestly, that's all I could think of. If you can bring your own bedding, I'd recommend it.
The dorm bathrooms are gender neutral, which means anyone can use them. I was fine with it, but it's odd the first time you wander into the bathroom and find the opposite sex brushing their teeth. I never had any problems taking a shower, though, they were pretty quiet. 
Morris Pratt Dorm was definitely the more social, I was very thankful to be on the 3rd floor, as a light sleeper, the partying into the wee hours would have kept me awake had I been on the lower floors. The box fans helped with white noise, but the doors are all pretty heavy, so unless folks are very delicate with how they close them, expect some noise. I found the box fan enough without the AC, even when it got pretty warm on the last couple of days. 
2 - FOOD. Having never been to a large educational establishment in the US, I wasn't sure what to expect with the food. Would I have to venture into Amherst to find healthy stuff, would there be much choice? The food was surprisingly decent. It's still a large facility, so it's never going to be amazing restaurant quality, but there were a few choices every day and a well-stocked salad bar. They even had a soft serve ice cream machine, that I managed to avoid until Sunday. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I had it on good authority that the coffee in the dining hall wasn't great. It might be an idea to bring a drinks container with you, as mealtimes are the only time you can get drinks on campus, outside of water fountains. Amherst is only a 10-minute walk down the road, though. 
3 - ART SUPPLIES AND STUDIO SAFETY. I brought paints, brushes and surfaces with me, with the knowledge I'd ordered a couple extra things for while I was there and that there was a supply run. If you work on specific surfaces, it's best to bring those with, Michael's wasn't super well stocked, and more speciality things like large clayboard weren't available. A lot of people bring extras and are happy to share, thankfully. I would have brought more old rags or kitchen towels and some tape. People often used walls to tape up thumbnails or other pieces of art.
The university runs a very strict number of safety policies surrounding paints, water and mediums. Bring some lidded jars with you for mediums and water. Everything has to be labelled clearly and remained closed when not in use. Even water used for rinsing acrylic and watercolours. All have to be disposed of carefully too. Same with anything you wipe paint or mediums on, so using something a bit more disposable like kitchen towel might do you better. They ask you to cover your oil paints when not in use, though that can be with a simple piece of palette paper. 
If you choose an easel, if you have space for a little extra table, you'll likely make good use of it. The chairs they supply are also very basic and not comfortable for long periods, so bringing a cushion is definitely a good idea.  Oh, and they say the studio opens at 8 am on Monday but I got there at 8 am and a lot of the spaces had already been taken, so if you want prime real estate, get there early! 
4 - SELF PROMOTION This sounds like a no-brainer. I brought business cards for the faculty and my portfolio review with Irene Gallo. I thought I'd sorted my work out reasonably well, but actually, my website would have been a better place to show off my work. I also wish I'd brought a physical portfolio to leave out for students and faculty to flick through, perhaps an example of finished work that was either nicely printed if I was doing digital, or one of my traditional pieces. The latter is tricky when flying. My business cards were on the pricey side so I wish I'd had some decent postcards or stickers, printed for the open studio, where folks were picking stuff up. You never know who's going to pick one up! The internet can be spotty in the building, so unless you have some 4G going on, it can be tricky to show off folios digitally. 
You might also be lucky enough to score a second portfolio review if the guests have enough time, I am so glad I could put my work in front of WotC's Jeremy Jarvis. It cheered my Saturday up no end! Make sure you check the lists when they go up and bag your second spot early. And don't puss out. 
5 - DON'T BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP I'm stubborn and British, so asking for help is the worst, but everyone there will gladly help you out if they can. Especially the assistant team, Daneen, Julia and Stephen and the 'honored easels' who've been in your situation. Take advantage of them, they are all lovely people.
And that sums it up! An amazing, tiring, exhausting, mentally demanding, inspiring, overwhelming experience that I wouldn't change for the world. I hope to repeat it in the next year or two. I count myself lucky to be part of the alumni and perhaps if you're reading this, I might see you there too. 
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