#this one had two sketches and two different color palettes. that i then fucked around with in the color editor

[sinusoidaldisfunction]

Blister. Twisted Sister.

[matchheadz]

THIS IS NOT A TUTORIAL

So I like to draw. That much is clear. In fact, I went to school for it! For an exorbadent amount of money, actually. Well, not drawing. Animation specifically but thats not the point.

I like to draw, but for a long time I felt like I couldn't because my 'process' was rather ridiculous. Or at least, I felt like it. I still sort of feel like it. I want to remind people here that your process doesn't have to look clean or pretty or whatever, because nobody (unless you go to an art college in that case just get in the habit of saving custom layouts for projects, trust me) is going to see it.

I call my sketchbook my 'shitbook' because its full of stuff that will never see the light of day. Blind contour drawings. Random mixtures of shapes. Observational drawings with little notes to myself. Don't worry about those 'aesthetic journals.' Fuck 'em, I say. Life is messy as shit, let your sketchbook show that.

So today I wanna show you the absolute mess that is my process. I like to take screenshots during a painting or sketch that I feel is pivotal in my learning process so I can see if I took the right direction or not. As a result, I have a ton of these .pngs lying around. Lets look at one:

What the fuck is that? EW! THATS UGLY! Hold on, what about this one:

Hmm, well what about this- wait what the fuck is this

These are all thumbnails/sketches from IT projects I did maybe two or three yearrs ago. These never saw the light of day, save for maybe a joke post or to a partner involved in a project. These were for me to look at, to carve out. These don't have good anatomy. They're not the final composition. Sometimes they're in a completely different style. Point is,

These are my versions of thumbnails. It's how I plan my shots, my layout, my composition, my expressions. Is some of it pretty? Maybe? Is most of it absolutely vile? YES. And I love it that way. The dirtier the better, as I like to think. Its a thought process. I want my thumbnails to look like I'm thinking so I can combine those thoughts. For example, I'll show you the last Vergil painting I just did and all the steps I did with that. Look at this ugly little motherfucker:

This is a strange sketch considering the final product. What I did here was look at the 'jinx pose' from Arcane and be like "hmm. Vergil?" and tried to use the perspective and anatomy. it did NOT work out in this sketch because as you'll see in a second, the rough colors did not work for me. But in this specifically, I focused on the musculatory anatomy of his shoulders, because I knew that was going to be something super defined and important to understand with how odd his vest is. So here are my flats. Sorta:

So at this point I'm clearly focused on the face and my file is still named Vergil Thirst Trap Lol and something clearly isnt working with my perspective. His head and arms are huge, and Vergil might have a grabable waist for some of you but this isn't it. So At this point I'm done with my first sit down and I step away. I come back the next day (during work hehehe) and I get to this at the end.

Alright! Color is looking a little better. Arms are more sculpted and while I'm aligning myself to my sketch more than anything, I'm also very closely looking at my pose reference, thinking about anatomy and my color palette. I step away (I clock out) and I take a minute to look at it. Its... looking better? But theres something off still about that perspective. At this point I'm a little frustrated with this vest and its weird rules. So I bare my teeth and gnash at it:

WHOA WHY THE FUCK HE LOOK SO WEIRD HERE?? Cause I flipped the canvas after painting and didn't realize how odd it looked oops. We'll do some fixing but that face looks nice for now and I think im better understanding the contrast I need through some actual photo editing. So let me tell you the story of Vergil's hair. Its a sad one. It will enrage you. This man had four different itterations. Most of which I can't show you because I painted over them so many times. But heres a screencap of the one I thought was gonna work.

Its NICE. I liked it alot. But the I realized this was not the way things were heading. Hair too swaggy. IMO anyway. I was slowly editing the name from Vergil Thirst Trap lol to Vergil to Vergil has mommy issues. and this hair? It matches the lightning well, but this was more Vergil Fucks. so what was the end result of the body?

more or less this (Those buttons didnt look like that I just realized this screenshot is fucked but you get the idea.) I did some composition editing, some contrast play and more effects, but this was pretty much done. So, like, shit gets messy. Thats not even counting the layer of overlapping reference photos I used because I don't use art boards like a normal person. shit gets messy! Let it get messy. Just clean up when you're done and hopefully you get something you're proud of >:)

[kait-is-always-late]

Halloween Madness - Brandon A.

Salem is a makeup artist. Brandon and his band are her newest clients. What could go wrong, right?

Warnings: gets suggestive, cursing

Word count: 3380

A/N: this will have more parts when I get around to writing them

~~~

I was setting up everything I would need to paint whoever’s face(s) I would be doing today when the door opened and some people entered.

“Boys, this is the makeup artist that will be turning you into monsters for tonight’s performance. Her name is Salem Santos.” The man said to the five boys that had come in after him. I smiled at them and stepped away from my kit so I could greet them.

“You can call me Sal. Nice to meet you all.” They all smiled and a couple waved. I glanced at the older man and he rolled his eyes.

“Are you going to introduce yourselves? She’s not a mind reader. She doesn’t know your names.” The older man left the room with a head nod in my direction. The blonde's eyes widened and almost tripped over himself to shake my hand.

“I’m Austin Porter.” He said, shaking my hand. I smiled at him and then shifted my eyes to the tallest of the group.

“Zion Kuwonu.” The tallest said.

“Nick Mara.” Said the one with a heavy jersey accent.

“Edwin Honoret.” The tan one said.

“¿Eres de la República Dominicana?” I asked and he nodded.

“Sí. ¿Tú?” He asked.

“Brazil,” I said and Edwin nodded with a smile. I looked over at the final boy who was just staring at me. I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. Zion chuckled and Nick jabbed the boy in the stomach. I giggled and the boy looked over at Nick.

“Stop staring at her with heart eyes and introduce yourself, you idiot.” The boy blushed and I laughed. I stepped closer so I could shake his hand.

“I-I’m Brandon Arreaga.” He mumbled and I rubbed his shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, Brandon.” I gave him a smile before stepping back over to my kit.

“Alright. I’ve got ideas for most of your looks but I need you guys to agree with them.” I said, jumping straight into work mode. I pointed at Edwin and held up a palette of paints that were safe for the skin.

“I was thinking about a full skeleton. Because for Austin I was thinking he would be a half skeleton.”

“Half skeleton?” Austin asked.

“Yea. Half of your face and neck would be like Edwin’s entire face and neck. Zion could be red like the devil, Nick’s a zombie and I’m not sure what I want to do B’s face yet.” I looked at all their faces.

“Sounds awesome!” Austin exclaimed and I smiled.

“Oh, and I’m going to need you all shirtless when I do your looks,” I said, not looking at them, digging through my kit to find the palette that had the pale greens, yellows, browns, and blues I would need to do Nick’s zombie look.

“Oh, saucy.” I rolled my eyes at Zion’s comment.

“I could care less about you guys being shirtless. I just figured you wouldn’t want your oh so expensive chains getting dirty.” I said mockingly. Austin and Edwin started laughing and slapped Zion’s shoulder.

“Bro you just got shot down!” Austin exclaimed through his giggles. I rolled my eyes but exclaimed happily when I found the palette I was looking for. I turned back around and crossed my arms.

“Who wants to go first? Edwin or Zion?”

“Why are they going first?” Austin asked, in a curious tone.

“I will need the most time to get their looks done. They have the most time-consuming looks because I have to make sure the colors will be built up enough so that no skin peeks through. Especially Edwin. Edwin! You’re first!” I called out to the Dominican that was now across the large room from Austin and I. He bounded over and I pointed at the chair I had in front of the mirror.

“Sit, please. And the shirt, chains, and anything else you don’t want getting dirty off please.” I said, getting all my brushes, sponges, and anything else I’d need together.

“Can I watch?” Austin asked timidly.

“Of course. Just sit there.” I pointed to another chair that was close but not close enough that he would be in my way when I moved around.

“So how long have you been a band?” I asked.

“About two years or so. It’s been so fun!” Austin said and Edwin nodded.

“Word of advice, I know we're going to be talking but you CAN’T move once I get started. I really don’t want to be 95% done then you talk or move and it gets messed up.” I told Edwin and he gave me a thumbs up. I pulled out a black eye pencil and sketched everything out on Edwin’s face. Once I was done sketching out the look I got to work with the black and white that his look consisted of. I spent the next hour painting Edwin’s face to perfection.

“Okay, and you are done!” I told Edwin, spraying his face with a bunch of setting spray.

“Aus, go get Zion please,” I said, not looking away from Edwin, making sure that I didn’t miss anything. I grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

“Yo! This is dope!!” Edwin exclaimed looking at his face.

“Don’t touch it either. Don’t need it smearing.” Edwin nodded and took his hands away from his face. Zion plopped down in the chair Edwin had vacated and I pulled out the reds and blacks I’d need.

“Same deal as Ed. Anything you don’t want dirty, take it off. I’m going to take the red down onto your shoulders so the look is continuous and doesn’t look like it just stops at your jaw.” I told Zion, turning to Austin.

“Where’s Brandon?” Austin shrugged.

“Ed! Where’s Brandon?” I yelled over to Edwin who was letting Nick take pictures of his look.

“Uhh, bathroom maybe?” He yelled back.

“Well, someone go find him! We still need to discuss what he wants!” Austin took off after I said that and I got to work on Zion.

“Tell me if you have an itch or anything, okay?” Zion nodded and I proceeded to turn him into a demon. Black around his eyes, lips, and around his face to make it look like he had a different bone structure and red as the base color. I was maybe 50% done with the red base when Brandon strolled over to us.

“Heard you wanted to talk to me?” I nodded and pointed to Austin’s chair.

“What do you want done to that face?” I asked, glancing over at him.

“Maybe a zombie like Nick?” He suggested. I nodded absentmindedly, already trying to envision what he was gonna look like once I was done with him.

“Yea that’ll work. Oh, and tell Nick he’s next after I finish with this one.” Brandon nodded and left the area. I finished Zion in about 50 minutes and set the look with setting spray.

“No touching, and tell me if you have an itch. I’ll get it so you don’t have to touch your face.” Zion nodded and got up.

“Jersey! You’re up!” Nick jogged over and I patted the chair. I was about halfway done when Nick spoke up.

“Ya know, Brandon’s got a crush on you right?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really? And how exactly do you know that Nick?” I asked sarcastically.

“Because he never stares at someone like he’s been staring at you.” I jumped at Austin’s voice.

“Fucking hell man! Don’t do that!” I scolded, a hand over my heart that was beating very fast.

“Fuck, you’re so lucky that didn’t mess up Nick’s makeup. Or poke his damn eye out.” I muttered and went back to doing the red around Nick’s eyes. Another 30 minutes and Nick was done and the look was set with setting spray. He smiled at me and got up. I pointed to the chair Nick was just in.

“Sit down Porter. It’s your turn.” I said, turning to get the white and black and heard him taking his shirt off behind me along with his chains.

“Sal, do you have any chains?” Austin asked when I turned back around. I nodded.

“Yea my cousin Jefnier gets me chains all the time. And earrings. And rings. And overpriced clothing and shoes. I mean, I appreciate that he gets me the stuff. Though I wish he’d buy me stuff that’s more geared towards what I do.” I shrugged.

“Jefnier?” Austin asked, clueless to who I was talking about. I smiled.

“Lunay. Hey Siri, facetime 'idiota derrochador'.” I said and she did as I told her to. It rang a few times before Jefnier picked up.

“Hola primo! ¿Qué pasa?” He asked.

“No mucho. Este es Austin. Está en una banda estadounidense llamada PRETTYMUCH. Di hola.” I said and Jefnier smiled.

“Hey man,” Jefnier said and Austin’s eyes widened.

“He speaks English?”

“Yes, you fool. He’s been learning from me for years.” I flicked Austin’s head and he whined.

“¿Está tía contigo? Si es así, dile que digo hola! ¡Y que la quiero más que tú!” Jefnier rolled his eyes but laughed.

“Sí lo que sea. Oye, me tengo que ir. Te hablaré luego, ¿de acuerdo?”

“¡Adiós primo! ¡Te veré pronto!” I said before he hung up and I went back to sketching out Austin’s look.

“So, you’re basically going to have Edwin’s look but only on the right side of your face. And there’s going to be a ‘cut’ on your neck on the left side.” Austin nodded excitedly and sat still so I could get the paint on his face. I finished with him in around 45 minutes and set it so it wouldn’t smear.

“Alright mollete, you are done! Now onto amante.” I said and ushered Austin out of the seat.

“Amante! Come on over, you’re up!” I yelled and Brandon came over. Edwin burst out laughing since he knew what amante meant. I shot a smile at him and grabbed the pale green and brown.

“I’m going to make you the prettiest dead person ever amante,” I told him.

“What does amante mean?” Brandon asked. I smirked.

“You sure you wanna know amante?” He nodded.

“Loverboy. I think it’s cute, don’t you agree?” I grinned at the bright red blush that spread over Brandon’s face. I spread the green and brown mixture across his skin and added some red around his eyes.

“Now for the finishing touch.” I tilted Brandon’s face away from mine so I had access to his neck so I could create a fake cut on his neck with fake blood and the whole works. I had to get really close so I could make sure it went on properly and Brandon steadied me with hands on my hips when I stumbled a bit since Austin ‘accidentally’ ran into me trying to get by me. I finished up and glanced up at his eyes. I gave him a shy smile before stepping away and grabbing my setting spray. I sprayed a bunch of setting spray on his face and nodded.

“Don’t move just yet,” I added a bit of the green and brown on Brandon’s lips and grinned.

“There we go! Come on, I want a group picture and some individual photos of you all for my professional Instagram account.” I let Brandon up and he stood up and stretched. I turned my head away, knowing if I watched him any longer, I might just kiss him.

“So how long have you been doing makeup?” Austin asked once I had grabbed my camera so I could get good shots of the makeup.

“Around 13 or 14 years,” I told him, fiddling with the settings while the boys got dressed in their performance outfits.

“And you are how old again?” Edwin asked, strolling over to Austin and me, dressed and ready for his band’s performance.

“I’ll be nineteen on Halloween.” Austin’s jaw dropped.

“You’re only 18?!” I laughed and nodded then set my camera down.

“Yep!” Edwin had this nasty smirk on his face and I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure I trust that face,” I whispered to Austin before backing up a bit. Edwin followed and I bolted away from Edwin.

“Get her!” Edwin yelled while running after me with the other four boys following his lead. I ran down the hallway and took the first turn I came to and looked for a place to hide. I noticed some speakers with a small opening that I could hide in and I dived into it. I shoved myself into the darkest corner and held my breath when I heard the five noisy boys come closer to where I was hiding. I put a hand over my mouth and tried to stay as still as possible until I heard them leave. I closed my eyes and breathed out while letting my shoulders sag.

“Hiding from someone sweetheart?” I jumped but didn’t scream when Brandon spoke.

“How the hell did you know I was in here?” I asked quietly.

“I saw you dive in here before the other four came around the corner. Let me guess, Edwin had this mischievous smirk on his face before you bolted?” He asked, crossing his arms and tilting his head. I nodded and he shook his head with a smile.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here so you can get your pictures.” Brandon held his hand out and I took it slowly. He proceeded to tug on my hand and I stumbled towards him.

“Piggyback ride?” He asked, looking down at me. I raised an eyebrow.

“You think you can carry me, noodle boy?” I questioned before Brandon smirked. He moved closer and threw me over his shoulder.

“What was that about me being a noodle boy sweetheart?” I huffed and started beating on his back.

“Put me down!” I yelled, kicking my legs around, hoping Brandon would put me down.

“Stop squirming sweetheart,” Brandon growled and I froze. Brandon chuckled before pulling me back over his shoulder and set me back down on my feet.

“Come on. I think those four idiots went this way.” Brandon said, walking down a random hallway.

“Nuh-uh. You can go find them. I’m going to go clean up and reorganize my kit so I don’t have to rush later.” I said, backing away from Brandon, hoping I wouldn’t be chased again. Brandon smirked.

“Alright then. Let's go.” He said, striding over to me and slinging an arm over my shoulders, dragging me back to the dressing room we were put in. We made quiet conversation on the way back to the room. Brandon opened the door for me and I smiled at him.

“Thanks, Brandon.” I smiled back.

“Can we do your individual pictures now?” I asked, once I had finished cleaning up my workspace and put everything away in my kit.

“Sure thing Salem. Come on, I saw a good spot for pictures while I was looking for the bathroom earlier. Ill text the guys to meet us there.” I nodded and grabbed my camera. Brandon threw his arm over my shoulder once again and led me from the room, taking me to the place that he had seen earlier. We got there five minutes later and the other four were waiting for us there. I was fiddling with the settings on my camera and walked straight into Brandon’s back when he stopped suddenly. He laughed and I rolled my eyes.

“Meanie,” I mumbled under my breath at him before walking around him.

“Okay, picture time then you guys will be ready to perform!” I said, holding up my camera. I spent the next half an hour shooting them before giving them all a smile.

“Thank you, guys, for being so patient. These look amazing.” I said, looking down at my camera and previewed the photos I had just taken of them.

“Happy to be of service Salem,” Austin said jokingly, bowing and everything. I laughed as the other four did the same. Out of nowhere a stage hand appeared and told the boys it was time to perform.

“Hey, come watch from side stage. It’ll be fun.” Brandon said and I shrugged.

“Okay. Just let me go put this back with my kit.” I said, motioning to my camera. He nodded and I went to put my camera back. I set it down and turned but jumped when I found how close Brandon was to me. He was staring down at me and I couldn’t find the willpower in myself to break the stare down.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I asked quietly, not moving an inch. He leaned down ever so slightly and I swallowed thickly. His lips quirked up just a tiny bit. I could hear voices from outside the room and I leaped away from Brandon and turned away from the door before Nick poked his head in.

“Come on B. We’re needed on stage.” He said before exiting the room. I took a deep breath and turned back around only to find Brandon with a smug smirk on his face.

“You coming?” He drawled slowly. I nodded and followed him out of the room, the heat in my cheeks not going away. I wandered along behind Brandon until we reached side stage. The blush had gone away a bit so it wasn’t as noticeable but Brandon still had that smug ass smirk on his face and it was annoying but insanely hot. They went onto the stage and got into position for when the song started. I could hear the hosts making PRETTYMUCH puns and I rolled my eyes. But the music started and I turned my focus onto the boys again. I was impressed by Brandon’s voice but practically started drooling when he started to hip thrust while dancing. They finished their performance and came backstage and I gave them a smile.

“So, how’d we do Miss Halloween?” Zion asked. I smiled and gave them a thumbs up.

“Really good! I loved it.” I told them. They thanked me and moved past me except for a certain gothic zombie.

“Who was your favorite sweetheart?” He asked in a low voice. I gulped and looked up at him, his frame towering over mine.

“Uhh…. Nick did really good.” I said quietly, backing up as Brandon started to take steps towards me. My back hit a wall and Brandon stepped close to my body.

“You sure he was the one you were drooling over sweetheart?” He asked condescendingly. My cheeks went red and I looked away from his burning gaze. He grabbed my chin and made me look back up at him.

“Aww, what’s the matter sweetheart? Are you blushing?” He asked with a smirk. My eyes flickered down to his lips and back up to his eyes quickly. He chuckled darkly and let go of my face and backed away from my body. He looked down at me and gave me a cheeky smile. A throat cleared and I looked away from Brandon and over to Zion who was leaning on a wall and smirking.

“Hate to break up whatever this is but the rest of us would like to take this makeup off.” His words cleared the haze that was clouding my mind and I frowned.

“You can’t take it off yet. You guys still have to walk the carpet of whatever they have for this thing in like an hour.” I told him and he groaned.

“Seriously?” I nodded and his shoulders sagged. I gave him a small smile as he left.

“Do you like IHOP?” My head whipped back to Brandon.

“What?” I tilted my head in confusion.

“Do you like IHOP?” He asked again.

“I mean, yea. Who doesn’t?” I said rhetorically.

“I’ll come get you after we walk the carpet and you get this makeup off of us.”

“Wait are you asking me out on a date?” I asked. He got closer again and leaned down so his face was near mine.

“Not so much asking sweetheart as I am telling.” He said lowly.

“Okay. Uh um, where should I wait?” I asked timidly.

“We don’t bite sweetheart. You can come hang with us in the room we were in before.” Brandon said, holding his hand out to me.

~~~

Hi everyone! So this is my ever fic post on here so I hope y’all like it! Like I said, there will be more parts to this. And a very big thank you to @cncopmhoe for all her help with this. I bothered her so much for this and I really appreciate that she didn’t get too annoyed with my constant questions.

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!YN -  Chapter 1 - Being a Professional

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU, 

Length: approx. 4.6k words

Chapter 1 - Being a Professional

 Art was subjective. Many people can see a film, pictures, video games, paintings, music, all of it, yet each person could leave with a different view of it to share with their peers. It provides chances of expression, different outlooks on multiple various exciting topics. Art could also help you make a lot of money if it piqued the interest of a particular group...you know, and if the artist was on time to the FUCKING ART SHOW! 

  Jimin’s eyes frantically scanned the entrance of the show, as people filed in and out, yet none of them was the person he was hoping would arrive. It had been a half an hour since the art show began, and Jimin had been making small talk with the attendees, high-end businessmen and women who were looking for the right art piece to hang in one of their many living rooms. However, they couldn’t purchase anything unless the artist was at the venue. Which, as of 7:35 p.m., he was not! 

  “Are you alright, Mr. Park?” A man asked, making the brunette turn his head. Before Jimin, stood the most important man in the room, the one that allowed Jimin to be standing on these marble floors at all. And he was here, with Jimin.

  Waiting.

  “You keep looking at the door. Don’t tell me your date stood you up.” Jimin couldn’t help but laugh a bit, taking a sip of his champagne.  

  “No, no.” He said. “Just waiting for someone.” Someone who I kept reminding that this was the most important night of their life and they’re still late! He thought to himself. Jimin looked over at the man before him and offered him yet another one of his charming smiles. “Oh, here. Would you like me to get you another glass of champagne, Mr. Oh?” He offered.

  “Hm? Ah, I didn’t even realize I ran out.” The man laughed a bit. “I’d appreciate that Mr. Park, thanks. I’ll be over here by this artist’s work…” he motioned to a wall of different paintings. “I’ll see if I can finally scope out your artist.” The man looked at Jimin, seeing the slight look of panic on his face. It made him smirk. “Is he still in the bathroom?” 

  “Uh, I’ll find out.” He smiled, nodding his head. “While I get the champagne.” Just as quickly as he nodded his head, he hurried to find a waiter that was close to the entrance, pulling out his phone. As he stood by the door, he took a waiter by the tie, keeping him close. “Tell me the appetizers you guys have, please.” He asked. Though the man began to speak, Jimin was frantically pushing buttons. The sound of his phone connecting was no use to calm his nerves because if he didn’t get an answer, he would probably break the phone in half and flee to a different country. Fortunately, he heard a deep voice on the other side, panting and gasping for air in desperation. 

  “H-Hello?” 

  “Taehyung, where are you?!” He asked. “You’re almost 45 minutes late. There are people -.” 

  “Don’t shout, I... I hear from you.” Jimin blinked as he put a hand on his hip. “And take your hand off your hip. It makes you look like a diva.” 

  “Wha-?” Just then, Jimin turned slightly to his left to see a panting Taehyung, hunched over and holding onto his knees tightly as he tried desperately to get air into his lungs. His grey suit jacket was a bit wrinkled from the running, and his hair had little strands flying off his head from the wind blowing against it. But he was here and alive, so that was all that mattered. “There you are.” He hurried over. “What the heck is wrong with you? Do you know how much I had to crank up my charm to keep the people who want to see you at bay?” 

  “But you’re good at cranking up the charm. That’s why I love you.” Taehyung looked up at him, patting his friend’s cheek as the waiter walked over to the two of them, Jimin forgetting that the poor man was rattling off appetizers to him. “Oh, good. I need a drink.” Taehyung gasped, reaching out to grab one of the drinks. Jimin grabbed one too, and Taehyung smirked. “Have you been stress-drinking again?” He asked, putting the glass up to his lips and taking a sip.

  “No.” He said. “...Well, yeah, but that’s not it.” Jimin quickly thrust the skinny glass towards Taehyung, who looked at him curiously.

  “...You think I’m going to stress drink?” He asked curiously. 

  “No, dummy.” Jimin huffed, turning the two of them towards the gathering happening only feet away. “Look. Right there.” He pointed straight ahead. “Oh, Min-Jae. That’s the guy that keeps talking to me about you. He’s the guy who even got your work displayed here in the first place.” Taehyung looked the man over, watching as he stood by Taehyung’s paintings and works, hands in his pockets as he stared ahead silently. “Go bring him a drink and chat him up a bit or something, will you? I’ll go try and mingle with some other people for once.” 

  “Alright, alright.” Taehyung sighed. “...I still cannot believe you got my art into such a high-end show.” Taehyuhg sighed.

  “Yeah, don’t make any of this go to waste. Now go.” Nudging his friend, Taehyung nodded, walking over towards Mr. Oh, drinks in his hands. 

“Mr., Oh?” He called out, making the man look over. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Kim Taehyung.” 

  “Aaaah, Mr. Kim. Finally, I was getting worried your nerves got the better of you.” He said. When he saw the drinks in his hands, he grinned. “A partier?” 

  “Hm? Oh.” He chuckled. “No, Sir. Here. My manager told me that you were looking for another drink, so I took the liberty of bringing you one.” Mr. Oh took the glass into his hands, nodding his head.

  “I was waiting for about 45 minutes.” 

  “I uh...heh. I apologize. This is my first time at an event as big as this. I usually have my art shown at smaller gigs.” Mr. Oh chuckled.

  “I can tell...” Mr. Oh said, his eyes wandering back to the handful of portraits before them. He quickly took the full glass from Taehyung’s hand, lifting it to his lips to take a sip. “So, tell me, where does your inspiration come from?” He asked.

  “Well…” Taehyung began, putting his hand in his pocket. He pursed his lips together. “It depends. This one I got inspired by a nice tree I passed by a while back.” He motioned to a painting that encompassed every shade of green on the canvas, the other various colors put in places that accented the beauty of the greens. “This one...I uh….” Mr. Oh looked over at him as Taehyung motioned to a myriad of colors on a circular canvas, blending and almost creating a new color entirely, while still accenting the beautiful hues of the rainbow. “This one I…made after a very...important….dark… a moment in my life.” He saw Mr. Oh put the glass to his lips again, and let out a shaky breath as he turned to a third painting. He was silent for a moment, pointing to the picture. He was out of bullshit to spew. “...Well, nothing inspired this one. I just wanted to draw a dolphin.” 

  “A....dolphin.” Mr. Oh said, nodding his head. “I see.” 

  “Yeah.  A lot of things inspire me, but I don’t know how to describe them. I just paint what I want.” Mr. Oh walked over and examined the paintings, leaning in close to observe what he was looking at.

  “....A dolphin.” Mr. Oh repeated. Taehyung raised an eyebrow, wondering why the hell this guy kept saying that.

  “What do...you think?” He asked curiously, watching Mr. Oh step back once again. Silence filled their little area for a moment, and Taehyung shifted in nervous anticipation. 

         “What do I think?” Mr. Oh asked, turning back to Taehyung. He put his hands behind his back. Taehyung took a step back, trying to remain calm despite the sudden nervousness she felt in his stomach. “I think that you’re the kind of person who gives the term ‘professional’ a bad name.” It was then Taehyung felt it. His heart sank directly into his stomach. 

  “...I-I’m sorry?” 

  “You heard me. Your paintings are subpar, your attire is atrocious, and your professionalism is a joke. Almost one hour late, and you couldn’t use that time to think up a single intellectual thing to say?” 

  “Uh, I-.” 

  “You even have your…Instagram on here. That’s just embarrassing…” He motioned to the small little plaque on the wall that read @thelocalartaeist. Then he turned back to Taehyung. “Look, Mr. Kim-.” Mr. Oh said, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. “I’ll be honest. You seem to deserve at least that. Your friend Mr. Park did a lot of help with the marketing of my business's newest branch in Busan.” When his comment was meant with a confused stare from the twenty-five-year-old artist, he let out a much more frustrated groan. “Consider it a favor to him that your art is even hanging up on this wall right now.” Taehyung frowned. “Why do you think I’m the only one here even giving these a glance? Because they’re not at the same level as the rest of the art in this show. You might want to consider staying at your...usual locals, hm?” 

  Taehyung’s eyes wandered to the paintings that were hanging on the wall. All of the hours he spent awake in his room, living off mugs and mugs of coffee, as crumpled and ripped up sketches scattered around him. They filled his studio apartment, leaving him to spend moments writhing in pain on the floor because he got a cramp in his wrist from hours of nonstop drawing, or in frustration. After all, he ran out of blue paint just as he was about to finish the sky. All those moments, he poured into his art….

  ...and he was unprofessional because he wanted to draw a dolphin?

  When Mr. Oh watched Taehyung’s shoulders slump, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll have my security return the paintings to you within 24 hours.” 

  “I don’t need your help,” Taehyung said simply. Mr. Oh blinked, eyes slightly wide in surprise. Taehyung’s lips turned into a tight frown. Mr. Oh nodded.

  “Fine.” He said, passing his champagne glass to Taehyung once again, using his finger to tug at the wrinkly collar of his jacket before putting his hand in his pocket. “And invest in an iron. That’s a good start.” He hummed before he began to walk towards another group of people who were admiring the work of another artist. Taehyung looked down at the empty wine glass in his hand, gripping it tightly.  He suddenly heard footsteps approach him. When he looked up, he saw Jimin. 

  “How did it….?” He fell silent, just staring at Taehyung. His knuckles were white, hand shaking slightly. “Tae-.” He put his hand on his shoulder. Just as he did so, Taehyung’s hand released, sending the glass onto the floor. A loud shattering sound alerted the attention of everyone in the room, finally bringing Taehyung back to reality. “Woah!” Jimin hopped back, watching glass scatter around his feet.

  Taehyung glanced around, seeing the faces of other people. All eyes were on him now, women clinging to their dates in fear of a violent outbreak, single men preparing to take control of the situation as needed. Min-Jae was looking over, hands in his pockets as he chuckled a bit, only turning away from the scene with seemingly no more interest in Taehyung. Taehyung glanced at Jimin, who turned to a waiter and asked for someone to clean this. When he looked back to Taehyung, he offered a kind smile.

  “You hurt?” Jimin asked curiously. Taehyung didn’t respond, only offering a soft smile. “...You can tell me what happened when we get home. Come on.” Patting his friends back, he led him out of the event, just as an event worker returned to the broken glass to clean this up. As the duo walked past, a couple was walking in, but Taehyung was so busy staring straight ahead that he didn’t notice, causing him to bump into the woman.

  “Oh. I’m sorry, are you alright?” The girl asked, turning to him. Taehyung looked over, biting his lip.

 “I-I’m fine. Sorry…” he said. The woman nodded, offering a kind smile before the man, a tall, well-pressed individual with black glasses and slicked-back brown hair, gently put his hand on the small of her back.

“Are you alright? Let’s get going.” The young woman nodded, following him into the event. Taehyung watched as Mr. Oh approached the duo, shaking hands with the man.

  “Ahhh, Mr. Kim, I’m glad you finally made it. And who is this?” Mr. Oh said. Before Taehyung could overhear anymore of the conversation, Jimin finished leading him out of the event.

“I’ll make sure to get the paintings back to your apartment tomorrow,” Jimin said. Taehyung only groaned in response, stuffing his hands in his pockets as the duo headed down the road. “Let’s go down to that pub and get a few drinks.”

         The local bar, a small yet cozy place where locals would get together to wash away the stresses of the long day they had, would find Jimin and Taehyung as frequent guests. Jimin’s job as a popular marketing executive meant that he had connections, connections that sometimes helped him and his friend out, while other times, slapped them both hard in the face. He was realizing now that this was a connection that would leave a dark bruise on Taehyung’s ego, as he sat back in his seat watching his friend throwback shots.

         “You know if you keep drinking like that, you’ll wake up outside your apartment again,” Jimin said, crossing his arms. Taehyung set his now empty shot glass onto the table with a forceful slam, before looking at his friend with glazed-over eyes.   

         “Did you even hear what that jackass said to me?” he asked, sniffling. “No, you didn’t. He said my art was subpar, and I gave professionalism a bad name.” Running a hand through his hair, he sniffled. “You had to see how he looked at my picture of the dolphin. He said it was subpar. I worked days on that painting.”

         “I know,” Jimin said softly. “I remember the fast food bags that piled up outside your front door because you wouldn’t pull yourself back to cook.                   

         “Right?! But that jackass doesn’t even get that. All he cares about is…” he groaned, hands falling onto his face in an attempt to stifle his frustration. “I don’t even know. God, this sucks.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Jimin said. “You have tons of followers on your Instagram that love your work.”

“My work and my face. More than half of my comments are on how attractive my teenage fans think I am, not even my artwork.” He groaned. “I love them, but it’s so frustrating.” Jimin nodded in understanding, though he didn’t come close to understanding. “How the hell did you even get to know that guy? He said you helped him out.”       

         “Yeah. While I was helping him market, I overheard him talking about the art show he was holding for his friends. I showed him your social media, and he seemed to like it.”

  “Well, I guess he’s a good actor, huh?” Taehyung sighed. As he saw one of the waiter’s approach, he leaned back in his seat. “Can I get another bottle of soju? I’m almost out.”

         “No, absolutely not,” Jimin said quickly, his hand reaching out to grab hold of the empty shot glass. “He doesn’t need any more drinks, but some bread or something would help sober him up.” The waiter nodded his head, giving one more apologetic glance to the frowning Taehyung before walking away. 

         “Aaaah, Jimin, that’s not nice! I want to drink!” Taehyung whined, hoping a set of wide eyes and a pouty lip would help his case. It didn’t. 

         “I’m not carrying you home again; you’re heavy when you are blackout drunk!” Jimin huffed, running a hand through his hair. He could see Taehyung’s face slowly switch emotion. No longer was he pouting like a child with wide eyes and a quivering lip, but instead, his eyes cast over with a dark somberness, his bottom lip stuck between an anxious set of teeth. Jimin sighed, leaning forward so that his hand reached out, taking Taehyung’s hand tightly in his own. “I’m sorry.” 

         “You shouldn’t be,” Taehyung said, resting his head in his hand. “You didn’t make me look like a complete jackass in front of some of the most important business people in Korea.”

         “But I shouldn’t have accepted the offer. Mr. Oh was a douchebag even when I was working for him. I just wanted to-.” 

         “Jimin, please,” Taehyung said, looking up at him. When Jimin looked up at him, he saw Taehyung’s glassy eyes turning red, and he quickly tried to hide it by running his arm across his wet eyes. “Just forget it.” Jimin leaned back in his chair, the duo staying in silence as the waiter brought over a basket of some bread, the warm aura of the slices of bread sending somewhat of a comforting feeling into both men. Taehyung reached out, taking hold of one of the loaves and tearing it in half, profoundly inhaling the warmth of the bread as if it would consume his body and take away the awful feelings coursing through him. When he took a bite of the dough, he glanced down at a napkin, sitting idly on the table as it waited to be used. It hadn’t yet, but Taehyung planned to put a stop to that. With the bread still in his mouth, Taehyung reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small pen. With a click, the pen opened up, and he grabbed hold of the napkin, sliding it closer as he leaned forward. When Jimin saw the pen touch the napkin, he tilted his head. 

         “Hm? What are you doing?” Jimin asked curiously, leaning forward in curiosity to what caught his friend’s drunk attention. Taehyung didn’t even look up; his pen continued to just scratch against the pale white napkin.       

         “Drawing.” He said simply. “The bread is hot.” Jimin couldn’t get a view of what Taehyung was scribbling down, since Taehyung had it so close to his chest. Tilting his head just a bit, Jimin was able to get a view of Taehyung’s face. His eyes were still red, still wet from the embarrassing night that he had experienced. However, Jimin noticed something new sparkling behind those wide, dark eyes.

         Absolute inspiration.

---------------------------------- 

         Teaching and instilling the ideas of inspiration in young children is an essential tool in the ever-growing development of children. Inspiration could come from anywhere, at any time. By providing children with enough opportunities to draw and create based on their own experiences, drawing their inspiration from things they didn’t even realize were planted in their memory, is an easy and enjoyable way to see the personalities of children. It takes a lot of patience, a lot of creativity, and a lot of overly exaggerated praise that keeps the children wanting to succeed in hopes of that praise being given again.       

         When you’re the head pre-school teacher of about 17 children just barely aged 4, you need to succeed at that whole ‘overly exaggerated praise’ aspect. You paced the room, watching the little heads of children rocking side to side happily, their hands reaching into colorful buckets of markers and crayons to pull out their absolute favorite color, only to scribble all over their blank, white canvas in five seconds and call that art. As your eyes scanned, one of your younger students, a girl named Yuna, was doing just that, a pink marker clutched in her tiny hands. 

         “Yuna, remember, don’t scribble all over the page. Draw a nice picture, use as many colors as you can, okay?”  You hummed, kneeling down and gently reaching out for her hand, setting the pink marker down.

         “But pink is my favorite Teacher.” She said sadly, pouting a bit.

         “I know. But look at all the other amazing colors, okay?” You smiled, picking a few hues of reds, yellows, and blues, and spreading them all out in front of the little one for her to see. “Not everything in the world is pink, you know.”

         “I know…” Yuna, though a bit bummed that she couldn’t create her entirely-pink world, reached out and grabbed the closest thing to it: red. With a pop, the cap fell onto the table, and Yuna hunched over, continuing her frantic coloring. Just as you continued to walk around and look at the kids, one of them tugged at your skirt. Turning your head, tiny Yeonjun, a skinny little boy with wide eyes, tried his best to get his picture as close to your eyes as possible. 

         “I’m done!” He beamed. “Look! Look!” As you knelt, you took the picture from his hands and examined it. Yeonjun’s image was decorated in various colors, arching over one another to make a crudely drawn, yet still recognizable rainbow. Some of the colors overlapped one another, and it seemed that the orange was an afterthought, hastily rushed in between the red and yellow at the last moment, so it wasn’t too easy to spot it. The sky was scribbled with a lighter blue than the one used for the rainbow, yet still, it was scribbled with such an unsteady and novice hand that the blue overlapped with the rainbow, and if it didn’t, there were significant gaps of white leftover that he didn’t color. 

         “This is so good.” You beamed. “Tell me, what was your inspiration for this one?” You asked curiously, looking up at the boisterous little boy whose eyes were sparkling. 

         “Well, I saw a rainbow with my Mommy the other day after it rained alllll night. Then, I got to splash in the puddles. So, I drew the rainbow.” 

         “I love it. Can I hang it up on the wall?” Yeonjun nodded, practically bouncing in place, his hands balled into anxious little fists. As you got to your feet, smoothing out your skirt, you led Yeonjun to the wall of pictures. The wall was covered in many different images from all the students, ranging from holiday and birthday cards to pictures they drew or even colored in. Whatever they wanted to display in the classroom, you were happy to hang up. The only rule was, they had to show that they worked hard on it. There were no scribbles on this wall, no random circles, or simple lines that were done in a second just so the student could get as many pictures as they could of their own plastered up for the world to see. That wasn’t fair, not in your eyes. “Alright.” Snagging a piece of tape, you handed the completed picture to the young boy. “You can choose where it goes.” Yeonjun’s eyes scanned the wall of art, trying to find the best place he could put it. After a moment, he found it. 

         “There!” His hand pointed up to a blank space he located, right between a colored in a picture of the South Korean flag, and a drawing of a tree with apples on it. “I want it next to Taehyun’s picture!” Before you could say anything, Yeonjun got onto his tiptoes, trying his absolute hardest to reach the spot himself. However, it was much too far for his tiny stature; even you had to reach your hand up and stretch for it to fit. However, just as Yeonjun was getting discouraged, he was swooped into the air. Turning your head, a heart-shaped smile, and wide eyes caught your attention. Jung Hoseok – better known to your students as just Mr. Hobi - your good friend and co-worker, who had a spirit so free and a personality so upbeat that just saying his name would get the kids in a frenzy every morning. He, though a bit unorthodox in his methods of handling the kids, was well-liked, and very good at his job. 

         “Up we go!” Hoseok cheered. “Okay, can you reach now?” 

         “Uh-huh.” The little boy placed his picture in the spot he desired, pressing on the piece of clear tape with his thumb to make sure it would stick. After staring at it with a proud smile, Hoseok set him down. “Thank you, Mr. Hobi~.”

         “No problem. Now, go play until our next activity, okay?” He hummed, smiling wide as he watched the little boy hurry off. Next thing he knew, tons of children swarmed him, holding up their pictures. 

         “Me next, Mr. Hobi!” Yuna shouted, holding up her picture as high as she could. 

         “No, me!” Another boy, Kai, shouted, trying to get his even higher than Yuna’s.

         “Alright, alright. We can hang them all up; we still have some room.” Hoseok said, kneeling to look at all of the pictures being shoved in his face. “Now, Kai, can you tell me what you made?” 

         “I made a dinosaur!” He beamed. “It’s breathing fire! I saw a real one at Disney one time!” 

“Those aren’t real!” Another little girl, Chareyeong, shouted, a hand on her hip as the other held the palm of her best friend, little Yuna. 

“Uh-huh! My Dad told me so.” Kai snapped back, deciding to end the conversation with his tongue poking out of his mouth. Chaeryeong was quick to do the same, as was Yuna before Hoseok quickly crossed his arms, a disapproving look aimed towards all of them. Instantly, the bickering ended. With that settled, Hoseok nodded, scooping the male tyke up and holding up in his arms, allowing him to search for a spot. You knelt as well, taking Yuna’s picture from her. While it was still consistently pink, the reds and blues added as well, making it look like Yuna spent a lot more time on her project.

         “What did you draw for us, Yuna?” You asked curiously.

“A pink cotton candy castle with red and blue gumdrops.” Yuna nodded, a grin forming on her face that reached from ear to ear. You smiled as you examined the picture thoroughly. 

“Can you tell me what inspired you to draw this, Yuna?” you asked curiously. Yuna was silent for a bit, taking a moment to think.

  “…Well, I saw Yeonjun pick his nose in gym class yesterday, and thought it was gross. So, I drew cotton candy because it’s not gross.” A few of the other kids giggled at the memory of Yeonjun’s little finger jammed up his nose before the gym teacher quickly spotted and wiped his hand off with a Kleenex. Glancing up at Hoseok, he was just setting Kai back onto the floor; a grin spread on his face as he heard the little girls reasoning for her picture.

  “…That’s your inspiration?” you asked, an eyebrow arched in confusion, and yet, somehow slight amusement. Yuna nodded, the reasoning making total sense to her.

  “Mhm. It’s my inpirtion.” She hummed. Only able to reply with a shake of your head, you placed a piece of clear tape onto the picture, and moments later, Hoseok scooped her into his arms, as she searched for where she wanted her picture. Once it was up, you stared at it for a moment.

Inspiration could come from anywhere, it seemed.

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A/N: I’m back guys! I look forward to sharing my newest fic with you. I have more stories and ideas in the works as well, so I hope you enjoy everything I have to share! <3

[ambereyesandwine]

We’ve Got Soul: Chapter 3

WC: 2450

Warnings: Sass, cursing, ya know, the usual

Beta’d By: @teaspacebar

Notes: This chapter is mostly relationship building between Fantasia and the boys, and to show the change in their relationships in the year-ish since the last chapter.

Chapter 3:

October 8, 2037

8:04 A.M.

           “Hey,” Fantasia called out around the hair-tie bit between her teeth. “Gavin, get up.” She shoved his shoulder before putting her hair up the rest of the way.

           “Nooo,” He groaned.

           “Seriously, you have to go to work today.”

           “I shouldn’t have to, it’s my birthday.”

           “Yesterday was your birthday, today is Thursday. Get up.”

           Gavin propped himself up on his elbows so he could face her. “What time is it?”

           “Eight. I let you sleep for as long as I could before I came in to get you, but I have to go, and you need to leave for work soon.” She was walking around Gavin’s apartment, finishing putting herself together as she spoke. “My blanket is folded on the couch, and I made you breakfast, it’s in the fridge. Take a shower before you go, you stink.”

           “You’re an asshole.” He called through his bedroom door.

           She grabbed her keys, “That’s what friends are for, I’ll see you later!” And the door was shut behind her. Fantasia boarded the next bus to get to Carl’s and rang the doorbell right on time.

           Markus answered the door, “Good morning Fantasia.”

           A smile plastered across her face. “Good morning,” Fantasia said as she walked through the house to the studio. When she entered the room, Carl turned in his chair to face her.

           “You’re late.”

           “I am not,” She dropped her bag under the desk by the door, “You just get bored when I’m not here.”

           “I’m an artist, I’m never bored.”

           “I’m an artist and I get bored regularly.”

           Carl chuckled lightly, “That’d be why you’re an apprentice with lots of work still to do. Today you’re working on texture. You get one color, and you’re going to tell me a story with just the paint thickness and brush stroke.”

           “That’s it?”

           “That’s it. Have fun.” Carl left the studio without another word.

           For a few moments, Fantasia just stood in front of the canvas with a blank stare. “How the hell am I supposed to do this?” She quirked her head a little. “What if I…” Fantasia collected a palette and the paint she’d need to make her color and got started. It was almost three hours later that Carl re-entered the studio to find her standing in front of a dull blue canvas with no visible concept, other failed attempts scattered on the floor.

           As Fantasia continued to add paint to the piece as she spoke, “I’m almost done.”

           “There’s nothing there. I told you to make a story, not a mess on a canvas.”

           “Just give me a minute.” Fantasia looked over her project one more time before turning to face Carl. “It’s done.”

           Carl sighed. “My dear, I sincerely hope you are about to surprise me.”

           “Don’t I always?” Fantasia turned on the lamp she had set up to shine over the painting from the upper-right corner of the canvas. The shadows cast by the ridges in the paint formed a city block, crowded with silhouettes.

           Carl nodded. “Pleasantly surprised, indeed. It’s an interesting idea to use the light, I may have to use that at some point.”

           “Thank you,” Fantasia’s smile grew as she looked between Carl and her painting.

           “I figured this would take you a larger portion of the day. You’re more than welcome to stay if you’d like to continue working.” Carl wheeled over to his lift and continued a large piece he had in progress.

           Fantasia grabbed her bag and found a place to sit on a table across the studio from Carl’s lift. She sat cross-legged and hunched over her sketchbook as she drew her mentor at work.

           Markus entered the room and approached Fantasia. “What are you drawing?”

           “Carl,” Fantasia replied lightly and showed Markus the page. “It’s fun to draw him when he’s too busy with other things to stop me.”

           “I can still hear you.”

           “But you won’t stop me cause you’re already in the lift.” Upon receiving no reply, Fantasia continued to sketch.

           “Do you need anything while I’m here?” Markus asked politely.

           “Just your company, if you have some time.” Fantasia looked up from her work to smile at him.

           Markus smiled back. “Of course.”

           Fantasia scooted over and moved her bag to the floor to make room for him. She patted the newly opened space, which Markus gladly filled. When he was seated on the table comfortably, Markus switched between watching Fantasia draw and watching Carl paint, almost as though he was studying.

           “What do you think?” Fantasia tilted her sketchbook Markus’s way to show him her semi-finished drawing.

           “I think it’s very life-like.”

           She hummed, “Mm, an easy answer. I’ll get an opinion out of you one day.”

           “Were you looking for another response?” Markus questioned lightly.

           A small huff left Fantasia’s chest. “No, Markus. It’s okay.” She smiled at him. “I think I’m gonna get some lunch. Carl?” She called across the studio, “I’m gonna make lunch, do you want anything?”

           Carl continued to paint as he replied, “No, I’m fine, help yourself.”

           “Awesome,” Fantasia hopped off the table and held her hand out toward Markus. “Do you want to come?”

           “If you’d like.” Markus took Fantasia’s hand and neatly slid off the table before following her into the kitchen.

           When Fantasia got to the kitchen, she immediately turned to Markus and asked, “What do you think Carl would like to eat?”

           “He said he didn’t want anything.”

           “Yes,” she huffed, “But he always says he doesn’t want anything and then as soon as I bring food into the studio, he asks you to make him something. I’m just trying to take out the middle step.”

           “He does seem to have a pattern.” Markus replied. “What about a salad?”

           “That sounds great, Carl could use some vegetables in his life.” Fantasia went to the fridge and collected lettuce, peppers, a cucumber, and some other vegetables. “Do you have any chicken breast?”

           “Yes, second shelf from the top.”

           “Awesome,” Fantasia grabbed the package and handed it to Markus. “Will you cook a couple up while I cut veggies?”

           “Of course.”

           The two had lunch put together in 20 minutes, and Fantasia put it out on the table while Markus went to collect Carl.

           “I said I wasn’t hungry,” He said, rolling up to the table. “But that does smell pretty good.”

           Fantasia smiled. “I figured you’d say that, that’s why we made enough for two to begin with. Here.” She placed his salad in front of him on the table.

           “Aww,” Carl said with disdain. “I smelled chicken, I thought it was all chicken. This is not real person food, it’s for herbivores.”

           “Good thing you’re an omnivore and can eat both.” Fantasia picked up her utensils and stared at Carl from across the table. “Eat.”

October 13, 2037

12:27 P.M.

           As Fantasia walked into the station, she was greeted by the call of her name.

           “Tasia!” Gavin jogged over to her and snatched the paper bag from her hands and kissed her on the cheek before plopping down at his desk. “Finally, I’m starving.”

           She sat down in her usual chair. “You’re super affectionate today, are you dying?” Fantasia said it between bites of fries.

           “Fuck you, I’m in a good mood.”

           She nodded, “Ah, there you are. What’s up?”

           “I made a big arrest today, for your information,” He laced the second half of his statement with attitude. “We’ve been looking for this guy for months,” Gavin continued to talk around mouthfuls of food, “And I got him today, cause I’m the fucking best.”

           “Uh huh.” Fantasia gestured with sarcastic curiosity, “So were you the only police officer at the scene, or did you have other people there?”

           “There were others.”

           “Uh huh, and did you do all the work by yourself while they just stood around, or were they all involved?”

           Gavin narrowed his eyes. “The second one…”

           “Uh huh, so did Gavin Reed get him or did the DPD get him. Together.”

           The pleasant expression on Gavin’s face melted. “You’re a soul-sucking terrorist. You know that?”

           “Chris, I fixed him!” Fantasia called out across the station.

           “Thank you!” Came back from the general direction of the break room.

           Gavin’s eyes went wide, “What was that?”

           Fantasia replied nonchalantly, “Chris texted me while I was on my way over. He said you were being scary. I fixed it.”

           “I hate you.”

           “I am the only person you don’t genuinely despise on some level or another, and I brought you food, so you have to be nice to me.”

           He grumbled to himself and silently ate his food with his normal, grumpy disposition until Fantasia got out her sketchbook.

           “What are you drawing.”

           “You’re talking with your mouth full, and it’s disgusting.”

           “Sorry m’lady.” Gavin dramatically attempted to swallow the entire mouthful of food and almost choked before trying to pretend nothing happened and asked again, “What’re you drawing.”

           She looked at him, perplexed. “Do you regret that? Do you regret what you just did, or do you stand by that?”

           “Yes.” His voice was strained as he coughed and reached for his drink.

           Fantasia nodded slowly with an affirmative hum before answering Gavin’s question. “I’m drawing you with a smile on your face. It’s so rare, I figured I’d capture it forever. Ya know, ‘make a picture, it’ll last longer’ and all that.”

           “That is not how the saying goes.”

           “Do I look like I give a fuck?”

           “Ouch, the Clever Comeback Queen has struck again, let’s hear it folks.”

           Fantasia rolled her eyes. “What else do you have going on today?”

           “Paperwork.”

           “Ah yes, saving the world and filling out paperwork. Real heroes don’t wear capes, they wear dirty leather jackets and listen to shitty music.”

           “Hey,” Gavin pointed accusingly at her, “You stay off my music. Carry on My Wayward Son is a classic.”

           She scoffed, “Yeah maybe, but its but its older than Hank and you act like it’s the last good song ever released.”

           “Cause it is.”

           “No. Look me in the eyes,” She pointed at her own face with two fingers. “I listen to you blast all kinds of terrible music from when you were in middle school and high school that is way different than Kansas, and I am willing to put money down that the only reason you’ve ever even heard of that song is cause of that show you used to watch cause you thought it would make you cool.”

           Gavin’s face crunched, trying to formulate a response, but he caved, “I got nothin.”

           “Yeah.”

           “You free this weekend, or do you have super special painting practice?”

           “I’m free, I think,” Fantasia stated as she started cleaning up their lunch. “Carl has some fancy charity auction thingy that I’m not allowed to go to.” She shrugged.

           “Why not?”

           “Oh, ya know, big names only, they have a reputation to keep up.”

           “So, you’re not even allowed to go?”

           “Nope.”

           “That’s dumb.”

           “Agreed. You wanna go out instead?”

           “Depends,” Gavin considered.

           “On?”

           “Are you gonna be pissy the whole time about how you didn’t get to go to the auction thing?”

           “What? No. It’s literally a bunch of old dudes in a room talking about ‘strokes’ all night and pretending they aren’t talking about their dicks. I am totally fine not being the only female in that room.”

           “Awesome, then I’ll see you later? I gotta get back to work.” Gavin gestured widely to his mostly empty desk.

           “Yeah, you have fun with all that. I’ll shoot you a text when I pick a place.”

           “It better not be some shitty line-dancing bar again.” He called out as Fantasia started to walk away.

           “If you actually cared you wouldn’t make me choose every time.” She shot finger guns at him before she turned to leave.

November 2, 2037

6:09 P.M.

           “So, dad, what’s for dinner?” Leo walked into the dining room where Fantasia and Markus were serving dinner.

           Fantasia’s smile dropped as soon as she saw Leo’s face.

           “Oh, hey Tay, wasn’t expecting to see you here. Are you on the menu tonight?”

           The resulting scowl and glare that Fantasia produced could have pierced most people’s skin, but Leo didn’t back down. “Nobody calls me Tay,” She seethed.

           “Exactly! So, I’m unique!” He smiled a shit-eating grin.

           “So, you can call me Fantasia. Nothing else.”

           “Oh ouch,” He turned to Markus, “That bitch is almost as cold as your insides tonight, huh?”

           “Leo,” Carl interrupted, “That’s enough. What do you want?”

           “Well food for starters, if you’re offering.”

           Carl made no gesture to offer the things his son demanded. “Why did you come here, Leo?”

           “What, I can’t just come over to hang out with my pops?”

           “You never have before,” Fantasia spat.

           Leo turned on her, “I’m sorry, who were you again? This is my dad, not yours, little orphan girl.”

           “I said enough,” Carl restated sternly. “No more games, Leo. Why are you here?”

           “I need money.”

           Carl looked confused, “I thought you said you got a job.”

           “Yeah, well it fell through and now I need money for rent.”

           “What do you mean it ‘fell through?’”

           “They found out about the ice, does it matter?” Leo’s agitation covered his face.

           A sigh left Carl’s chest, “How much do you need?”

           “A thousand dollars.”

           “Fine.”

           “Thanks, dad, I knew I could count on you.” Leo made a pointed glance toward Fantasia before he spoke again. “I’m glad the help is keeping you good company while I’m away.”

           “I’m not-” Fantasia started but dropped it when she saw Carl’s face. He was already upset, and she didn’t want to make it worse for him.

           “Was that all you needed?” Carl asked hopefully.

           “Yeah,” Leo started back out toward the door. “I can’t stick around. I got places to be.”

           “Oh.”

           “I’ll see you around pops,” Were Leo’s last words before the door closed behind him.

           Fantasia immediately turned to Carl and asked, “Are you okay?”

           He took a deep breath before replying, “I’m fine. What did you two make for dinner?” The smile on his face was forced.

           Markus chimed in, “Alfredo that Fantasia insisted we ‘wing.’”

           “I just didn’t want it to be something from a cookbook you have memorized! I wanted it to be fun!”

           Markus smiled. “It was fun.”

           “Then the mission was accomplished, can I eat now?” Carl reached for his plate.

           “Yeah, sorry.” Fantasia set the table the rest of the way and sat down across from Carl to dig into her food.

           The two ate in relative quiet with only the sounds of the dishes being washed as background noise.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (10)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. SMUT, 18+ please.

A/N: Bucky’s reaction surprises her, Sam Wilson might bitch slap Steve Rogers, Bucky makes my favorite sandwich in the entire world because he is a skilled chef, and they have a memorable night together (please stop by if you would like a smut free recap).

But of course, you guys know me, so…I am sorry...

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

She mourns for Henry and the tragedy of his fate. Loving a soldier was one thing she never expected and the experience nearly killed her. The war trudges on, and sometimes soldiers pass through the village; while she always puts her nursing skills to good use, she keeps her distance.

Sometimes she sits by the creek, washing clothes in the cold water and thinking. She wishes she had the power to scrub her own brain clean, but no.

This is her penance, the one she will pay from now until the end of time.

To remember.

*****

MISSION REPORT

BOTH TARGETS UNEXPECTEDLY INFILTRATED BASE. UNABLE TO SEPARATE AND ADDRESS INDIVIDUALLY. WILL CONTINUE HOLDING PATTERN UNTIL OPPORTUNITY ARISES.

What did they find? Sweat beads along his scalp, freezing drips wetting pale hair. He needs to know, he searched that base from top to bottom, but he knows they found something. The Soldier was skittish, and her - well.

Something happened.

They will tell him. That he can promise.

All in due time.

*****

No one knows this, but sometimes when Bucky can’t sleep, he likes to draw.

Between the two of them, Steve is the real artist, no contest there. For Bucky, it’s not about drawing well, it’s about drawing something that helps him connect with his past.

So occasionally, when the nightmares are really riding his ass, he wanders to the roof of the tower with three things: his pink notebook of “Bucky Facts”, a blank pad of paper, and Steve’s Prismacolor colored pencils. He flips through his notebook and finds something he’s struggling with - and he draws it. For some reason, when he can transpose the memories from a bundle of echoes into a colorful sketch, it cements the idea in his head.

A paint by number puzzle. Words and colors swirled together to reimagine the past he's so desperate to remember.

Now, he sits on the coffee table in front of a woman who has no need to ever remind herself of the past. No need for clumsy outlines and careful colors; the endless infinity of memories locked behind her haunted eyes speaks of every color in the universe and Bucky wonders if he had to paint her memories, what colors could ever convey the horrors of her past.

He thinks she and the Soldier would have a remarkably similar color palette.

God, he hates that fact.

Her voice is hoarse from talking and she keeps swallowing, stubbornly pushing down the lump of tears threatening to melt in her throat. He understands why she was reluctant to tell him, why she said those ridiculous words.

I don’t think you’ll like me very much, when you know.

Everything about her seems so much clearer now. The hesitancy to reveal her past; the strange collection of items he found stashed around her home; her fear he would be angry when he knew her ability. Bucky gets it, he really truly does, but here’s the thing.

It makes no god damn difference.

He loves her. Nothing will change that.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” he hears her whisper and that’s it.

Scooting forward, he drops from the coffee table to kneel before her. Wiggling himself between her legs, he wraps his arms around her waist and gazes into her miserable expression.

“Listen to me. Do you remember when you told me not to apologize for what happened to me? That is wasn’t my fault? It took me years to even start believing that, but the moment I heard it from you, it finally made sense. You did that for me. So right now, I need you to remember those words and repeat them back to me, alright?”

“I can’t -”

“You can,” he says firmly. “What happened there, what you did - it was not your fault. Do you understand that? It was not your fault. Say it back to me.”

The words are lead in her mouth. It takes several stumbling attempts, but Bucky is patient.

“It wasn’t - it wasn’t my fault,” she finally says, her cold fingers clutching his forearms. Bucky rewards her with a huge smile and buries his face against her belly. He hugs her tighter.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats, his voice muffled in her sweater.

"It wasn't my fault," she says one more time. Threading her fingers through his hair, she drags her nails lightly over his scalp and Bucky leans contentedly into the touch. They sit in silence and let the minutes drift along until he finally feels her tension subside.

A peculiar thought occurs to him, then.

“The base in Poland, where you were held. I think I know it,” he says cautiously. “Awhile back, we got a distress signal from there. I saw that chair, the one you mean. I, um, sort of broke it. Went kinda nuts and tore it apart. They stuck me in rehab after that, but - totally fuckin’ worth it.”

“Good,” she says fervently, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm. Bucky reaches up and catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and trying to lighten the mood.

“Well hey, so - you met Carter then,” he says with a grin. Her lip trembles slightly, but she tries to smile.

“I did,” she confirms.

“Wish you could’ve met under better circumstances, you would’ve had a lot in common. Steve loves telling people how often she’d bust my balls.”

Bucky tickles her and she huffs out a breathless laugh and squirms away. He feels a thousand times lighter when he hears a playful note return to her voice.

“Something tells me you probably deserved it Sergeant.”

“Won’t argue there,” Bucky agrees and stretches up to plant a firm kiss on her lips.

*****

The sun is setting when she asks if she can have some time alone. Bucky can see the struggle in her face - reliving nightmares is exhausting.

“I’ll just be outside,” she says quietly, shrugging into her coat. “Need a few minutes to - think, I guess.”

“Hang on,” he says. Going into the kitchen, he flips on her electric kettle, pulls her favorite purple mug from the cupboard, and plops a teabag inside. Grabbing her biggest quilt, he fluffs it open and wraps it tight around her shoulders; once the kettle sings, he hands her the steaming mug of Earl Grey and drops a kiss on her nose. “There, now you’ll be warm.”

For a long moment, she stares at him. Bucky watches her bite her lip, steeling her nerves to speak. He waits expectantly, his hands running lightly up and down her arms to warm her, but nothing happens. Whatever she wanted to say disappears and she looks down.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Anytime,” he says softly and opens the door for her. She steps onto the cold porch and sinks onto the top step, tipping her face toward the setting sun. Bucky shuts the door with a click.

Everything changes.

Stalking to the kitchen counter, white-hot rage fills his chest. Snarling at the offending photos, he snatches his phone and dials Steve, and before the phone finishes the first ring, a blond head appears.

“Whaddaya got?” Steve asks, as he rummages through the fridge.

“Are you ever not eating,” Bucky scowls and Steve grunts.

“I’m a growing boy. So?”

Rubbing his forehead, Bucky tries to organize his thoughts and figure out where to begin. The clink and clatter of silverware keeps coming through the phone and then Steve’s piling leftover containers in his arms and dumping them on the counter and out of nowhere, Bucky loses his shit.

“Steve, can you - can you just - I need you to - god fucking dammit Rogers, sit the fuck down!”

Steve jerks to a stop when Bucky’s voice scales up. Considering him for all of three seconds, Steve dumps the mess of leftovers - which all have THESE ARE SAM’S DON’T TOUCH written on them in black marker - without a word and walks away, sinking into an armchair.

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

The whole thing is insane and Bucky has no clue how to begin.

So he just starts talking.

About the woman who saved his life when he was bleeding out in a blizzard; how she called him Soldier and brought him to her home and sewed him up. How he shoved a butcher knife to her throat in thanks, before she told him the story of how she met him years ago. How her words helped him remember that bloody night in Paris.

He tells Steve about deciding to stay, about her potato soup, about how he remembered Steve telling him about the letters he got from his girl during the war, and how it felt when Bucky realized he was the Jimmy she wanted that night. He relays the story of how they met during the war and Steve sucks in a shocked breath. Bucky tells him she kept all his letters and how she let him read them again and how he asked her to marry him the last time they were in the village and if he sees tears fill Steve’s eyes, he forces himself to ignore it.

He keeps talking.

About discovering the information at the base, photos and information about the original soldier trials and how there must be someone who fired up the signal, because Bucky found recent blood and a clean black glove. He tells Steve about her ability and what Hydra did to her all those years ago and he can hear Steve’s teeth clack together, can see the furious tick in his jaw.

It smooths away for a moment, when Bucky recounts the story with Peggy. Steve always was a sap.

Bucky tells him almost everything, but saves some things for himself; he figures he deserves to have a few memories that are all his own.

Well, not just his. Theirs.

When he finishes, Steve is silent. Bucky can see the thoughts swing dancing through his brain as he works it out. Finally, Steve clears his throat.

“Okay, that’s a lot to unravel. I’m gonna have some questions, but for now I’m just gonna go with it. Sounds great.” Bucky snorts and Steve just shrugs. “What can I say? It’s fuckin’ weird, but we’ve seen weirder. I trust your judgement. Tell me what you need.”

Yes, Steve Rogers can be a massive pain in the ass, but Bucky sure fucking loves him.

“Alright. The first distress signal we got was that base near Krakow, where she was kept,” Bucky says. “They were testing soldiers there and I found more evidence here - it can’t be a coincidence. I think there’s something or someone connected, I just haven’t found the link.”

“Let’s assume you’re right,” Steve says. “What next?”

“I’m going back into town tomorrow to see if I can dig up anything else. Can you look into that Hydra fuck who was chasing her? See if there’s something we’re not seeing?”

“Got it,” Steve answers. “Say the name again?”

“First name Wilhelm, last name Richter, Romeo-India-Charlie-Hotel-Tango-Echo-Romeo,” he rattles off. “I vaguely recognize his face, but I was still new when he disappeared, and those early memories are shit. I think the story was that he deserted, but that’s all I got.”

“Going to the lab now,” Steve heaves himself to his feet and walks swiftly toward the elevators. Smashing the button, he waits impatiently and then looks down at the phone, his expression softening. “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah?” Bucky says distractedly, craning his neck to see out the window. He can still see her sitting on the steps, gazing pensively into the coming night.

“You got your girl back. I’m - hey. I’m really fuckin’ happy for you.” Surprised, Bucky looks down at the phone and sees Steve giving him a crooked grin. “You deserve this. Don’t forget that.”

Bucky nods, feels his face grow warm. “Yeah. Thanks man.”

“I’m coming out to see you both, soon as we get this sorted,” Steve warns. The elevator in front of him dings and Bucky barks out a happy laugh. The idea of his best friend staying at their house like they’re an ordinary couple, with a boring life and annoying friends who crash on their couch - it sends cozy domestic tingles skittering up his spine and he can’t fight the idiotic grin.

“You got it.”

Steve gives him a goodbye salute and the elevator ends the call.

*****

“I was thinking,” Bucky says an hour later.

Dressed in his old sweatpants and ratty Captain America t-shirt, he’s slouched against the arm of the couch. Curled tight against him, her head is tucked into his shoulder. She musters a tiny smile when she looks up. “Should I be nervous?”

“Hey,” he pouts. “It’s like you assume I’d have crazy ideas or something.”

“When the shoe fits,” she murmurs, poking him.

“Very true.” Placing a finger under her chin, he tips her face up and gives her an exaggerated kiss. “But it’s not that crazy. How about I make you supper?”

She perks up at the suggestion, her strained smile morphing into something real. “I’d love that.”

Scrambling from the couch, Bucky grabs her hands and lifts her up. “Come keep me company,” he urges, guiding her to the kitchen counter. Tugging a blanket tight around her shoulders, she shuffles with him and hops up on a barstool. Even through the layers of sadness, he sees a glimmer of happiness spark in her eyes, and honestly?

That’s all he wanted.

Digging through her drawer of kitchen towels, he finds a green polka-dot apron and ties it around his waist with a flourish. Pulling a hair tie off his wrist, he coaxes the strands into a messy bun, and then cracks his knuckles for good measure.

“You definitely look the part,” she compliments and Bucky winks.

“Alright, so this is a Bucky specialty,” he says confidentially. Rifling through the cabinets, he sets a skillet on the stovetop and starts assembling the ingredients: bread, butter, honey, peanut butter, and three bananas. “I make excellent cereal, exceptional frozen pizza, and this - fried peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwiches.”

She wrinkles her nose skeptically. “That doesn’t sound like a real thing.”

“Darlin’,” he says, reaching over and tapping her on the nose with a spatula, “where’s the trust?”

Finally. Finally, he gets the sound he wanted.

A small laugh escapes.

“You’re right. Sorry Buck,” she says, and when he sees the adoration in her eyes, he thinks his heart might explode.

Ten minutes later, he slides the gooey sandwich onto her plate and if she still looks skeptical, she gives him the benefit of the doubt. Taking a small bite, she chews for a moment and looks up in surprise.

“This is fantastic!” she exclaims. Bucky grins and takes a huge, messy bite; peanut butter drips onto the plate, a bit of honey gets stuck in his beard, and a few bananas tumble out.

“Got lots of hidden talents, just you wait and see.”

*****

One bottle of wine, and four sandwiches later, Bucky sees her stifling a yawn and proclaims himself exhausted and ready for bed.

“You go on up,” he tells her, “I’ll be there in a sec.”

While she makes her way upstairs, Bucky does a methodical loop around the small cabin. He checks, double checks, and then triple checks every single lock; every window and every door, even the fireplace flue, gets a thorough review. Once he’s satisfied, he flips the lights off and stands at the living room window, letting his eyes adjust. Feathery snowflakes are swirling again and as he glares into the moonlit night, he finds threats lurking everywhere.

The wind whistling through the trees beyond the front door. The shadows beside the weatherworn walls of the woodshed. The meandering flow of the icy creek down the slope. Before it felt peaceful and idyllic - now it seems harsh and sinister.

It infuriates him.

What does he have to do to have a normal god damn life with her? Why is there always something standing in their way?

“Whoever you are,” he mutters, “and whatever you want, you stay the fuck away from her.”

But the night keeps it’s dark secrets. With a vicious sneer, Bucky heads upstairs.

*****

Flickers of blue and orange dance merrily in the fireplace, casting a warm glow around the dark bedroom. Padding silently to the doorway, he stops.

And he drinks up the image hungrily, slotting it into his newly built box of favorite memories.

Huddled on the bed, her knees are drawn up to her chest and she gazes thoughtfully into the flames, her chin cupped in her palm. When he clears his throat, she looks over with the ghost of a smile.

“Hey, you,” Bucky says quietly. Walking to the foot of the bed, he waits nervously. For what, he doesn’t know, but it feels like the right thing to do.

Sitting up on her knees, she leans forward and skims her hands lightly up his chest, circling his broad shoulders and trailing down his arms. When her fingers brush over his hands, one a little sweaty, one always cold, she picks both of them up together and drops a kiss on his knuckles.

It nearly makes him cry.

Instead, he curls a wide hand behind her neck and finds her lips. The kiss is deep, his tongue rubbing gently against hers and it feels like heaven, sizzling hot and full of fire. God, her kiss could bring him to his knees.

But rather unexpectedly, she breaks away.

And Bucky feels his entire world tilt when she sheds her t-shirt, before eagerly meeting his lips again. Frozen in surprise, he feels her guiding his hands over her body, until his fingers are splayed across her bare skin and this time he breaks the kiss with a strangled groan.

“Are you sure?” he says hoarsely, staring intently while he struggles to keep his hands from roaming. “We don’t have to do anything, I don’t expect - “

“Please, Bucky” she interrupts softly, her cool hands skimming down his chest and he tightens his abs reflexively. “Please?”

There’s no way on earth, he’s telling her no.

Cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over her nipples, Bucky moves in for another kiss. Metal and human, his fingers circle her breasts, pinching and rolling the sensitive skin until she’s panting into his mouth and he drinks down the sweet sounds. He feels her bunching up the fabric of his shirt, wordlessly asking him to remove it, and he wants to feel her skin on his more than anything, but then his stupid head gets in the way again.

“My - my scars and everything, they’re not - it ain’t pretty,” he warns. “I know you saw them when you fixed me up, but this is different. I know that, you don’t have to - I mean, I can leave the shirt on, if you - you know, if you want.”

“No,” she says fiercely. “I want you, Bucky. All of you.”

The words are magic and Bucky sags with relief. Taking a deep breath, he crosses his arms and and he shakes only a little when he pulls the shirt off. It drops from numb fingers, and the web of thick scars looks surreal in the firelight, smooth and dark pink. He watches her eyes find the pattern carved into his skin, five ropes of raised tissue clearly outlining his attempt to claw the damn thing off in some past life.

Fucking Christ, he hates this part of himself, he really fucking does.

But of course, it doesn’t faze her.

Bringing her mouth to the joint of his shoulder, she presses her lips to his scars, and each line Bucky unwittingly scratched into his body, she memorizes with her tongue. On and on, her mouth moves against him and when she finally stops, the puckered skin feels warm for the first time in his entire life.

In disbelief, he stares at the unfiltered love in her face and he feels the faint burn of tears pricking his eyes.

How the hell did he ever got so god damn lucky?

With a rush, he slants his mouth back over hers, and pushes her back into the fluffy blankets. Crawling hurriedly over her, he settles between her legs, never breaking the kiss, while he reacquaints himself with everything. The tiny noises she makes, the feel of her body beneath him, the insistent way she rolls her hips against him. Every bit feels perfect and Bucky loses himself in her, time immaterial as he does his best to take her apart.

Because if she really does have to remember everything, well - Bucky's damn well going to give her something incredible to remember.

When her fingers trail down and hook in the waistband of his sweats, desire zings straight to his dick and he’s so close to just going with it, he really is, but god dammit, he’s a moron who’s unable to let himself be happy, so once again, he breaks the kiss with a reluctant hiss.

“Fucking hell. Wait, wait, before we do anything, I’m sorry, but I need - I have to tell you, I gotta be honest,” he rasps urgently, cursing himself in every language he knows. “There are - there were - there have been others. Through the years, I’ve been with other people. During - when I was with them. And then a couple others since I came back.”

Okay, maybe Steve Rogers isn’t a cockblock after all.

Maybe Bucky Barnes is his own god damn idiot cockblock.

Shame wells up and he tries to look away, but she immediately turns him back.

“Bucky, no. Don’t. I assumed. It was seventy years. Of course, there were other people,” she gives him a crooked little smile. “There were others for me too, sometimes. When I needed to - to cope. With the loneliness.”

There’s a wild flash of anger at her words, not directed at her, not even directed at the nameless lovers in her bed, but directed at the circumstances that put them on this path; they deserved better than this. But regardless, he needs her to understand something.

Something that shapes everything they are together.

“It was only ever you though,” he promises heatedly. “Deep down inside, it was only you. It’s only ever been you. I need you to know that.”

“I know,” she says, and she tugs him down for another toe-curling kiss.

This time, finally - he goes with it.

“I want to memorize every single inch of your body,” he murmurs. “Don’t want to ever forget again.”

So he starts at the top.

He kisses the curve of her shoulders, the delicate skin over her collarbone; he licks and sucks at her nipples until her skin feels chaffed from his rough beard. He pulls down her sleep shorts as he moves lower, fumbling awkwardly with his own sweats and tossing them both over his shoulder. At first he skips what he really wants, and instead searches out the fragile bones at her ankles, traces the smooth muscle in her calves, nips the skin behind her knee.

He holds himself back until he can’t take it any more.

And then he buries his face between her legs with a groan.

She tastes like heaven. Fuck, how did he live this long without having her on his tongue every single day? He feels her knees tip inward self-consciously and he gently pushes them open, keeping them pinned to the bed because he’s planning to stay here forever if she'll let him.

Looking down, she finds him watching intently. His dark hair tickles her thighs, his bright blue eyes burn her from the inside out, and her entire body begins to tingle. Fingers flex, toes curl, her breath comes fast and rough, and then Bucky sucks her clit hard and pushes two thick fingers into her.

Strung out and floating, she grab fistfuls of his hair and moans.

Bucky grips her leg tight and breaks away for a split second to speak.

“Come on honey, let go for me,” his voice is a low growl and she glances down to see him grinding his hips into the bed, searching for his own relief, and it’s that flex and roll, the way his muscles bunch so beautifully, that tips her over the edge. With a cry, she comes hard, clutching his face to her as the orgasm shivers through every cell of her body.

“Oh god,” she rasps, “oh god, Bucky.”

It thrills him beyond anything, the sound of his name like a prayer on her lips.

“So good,” he murmurs, still continuing the light strokes of his tongue. “You taste so fucking good.”

“That was - that was - god, Bucky” she mumbles, tripping over the words. Mouthing at the curve of her hip, he hums delightedly.

“Just getting started. Can you turn over for me?” he asks gently, and she blinks slowly, before her smile follows. Rolling to her stomach, she stretches languidly, wrapping her arms around a pillow. “I hope you have another one in you,” Bucky says lowly, giving her bottom a playful squeeze.

“I think I can manage,” she says, her voice muffled, and Bucky huffs a laugh. Planting a kiss at the base of her spine, he works his way north, his tongue tracing every bump along the way. Up, up, up, his lips cover the knobs up her back and his fingers follow, warm flesh and cool metal walking up her ribcage, until he reaches the back of her neck. Licking a slow line up, he mouths at the smooth skin behind her ear and her body twitches at the feel.

Nudging her legs open further, he shifts his hips and reaches a hand down to grip himself tight. Willing himself to stop shaking, he rubs himself between her legs, and finds her so wet and so slick from the orgasm he gave her just moments before. With his lips at her ear, he whispers his favorite words in a low rush.

“I love you,” he tells her, before he pushes himself inside.

At the feel, he goes utterly still.

It rattles him down to his god damn bones, this love he has for her - she can feel him trembling above her and she glances over her shoulder to meet his wide-eyed stare.

“I love you too,” she breathes, and her voice is the anchor he needs. Blinking rapidly, he dips down to kiss her cheek.

And he starts to move.

All Bucky knows in this moment, is her. The tight feel of her on his cock. The way her skin holds a hint of salt. The way she shudders every time he bottoms out. Every nuance of her body that he must have memorized in his past life.

Sliding his hand beneath her, his fingers find their way between her legs and he strokes her clit with every slow rock of his hips. Against the backdrop of dim light from the crackling fire, the room fills with the delicious sounds of pleasure, quiet grunts and the sharp catch of breath and the rustle of fabric as a body slides over silky sheets.

Dropping his mouth to the pulse at her neck, he sucks gently, insatiable for the thrumming feel of her heartbeat laid bare on his tongue. When he hears her breathing harder, sees her hands gripping the bedsheets tighter, feels her body beginning that faint tremble again, he abruptly changes his mind.

“Wait, please wait,” he begs, pulling himself carefully from her body and rolling her onto her back. Wide eyes meet his and time stops.

Spread out beneath him, she is sheer perfection.

Before she can speak, Bucky captures her lips again and shoves himself back into her.

And maybe it’s the strangest thing, but even without the memories to guide him, that muscle memory branded into his heart knows what to do. Just like their first time together, Bucky pulls her leg up and hitches it around his waist, thrusting into her harder. Unable to speak, unable to even look away, they watch each other, both devouring the small bits they find, in case god forbid, they ever lose each other again.

When her fingers curl around his neck, drawing him closer, he rests his forehead against hers.

“Bucky,” she whispers, his name catching in her throat, “Bucky.”

“I’m here,” he pants above her. Every thrust comes faster and his control begins to slip. “I’m here, I lo-love you, god I love you so fu-fucking much, never leaving you again, not ev-ever,” he grits out.

Anchoring his knees to the mattress, he slams himself into her again and again, hitting every nerve ending just right and suddenly she finds a universe of stars. Clutching his shoulders, she clings tight to him as her body tenses and she comes one more time.

Bucky stutters out a wrecked groan when he feels her body gripping him, and that familiar tingle hits his belly. Burying his face in her neck, he gives one last, hard thrust and then grinds himself against her, a strangled growl ripping from his throat when he follows her into that blissful oblivion.

Breathing hard, he keeps his eyes shut tight against her, willing his heart to slow. Against her neck, he sucks a wet line up her throat, back to her lips. Warm, lazy kisses ease them both back to reality and their racing hearts find a new rhythm.

One that beats together.

Muscle memory, in the purest sense.

When you cut to the heart of their story, there’s a simple truth: they’re so different from who they were together in 1944. Both have lived multiple lifetimes, filled with all the tragedy and heartbreak the world could dish out; it shaped each of them in ways the other has yet to discover.

But even though time has reshaped them into something new, there are some things that will never change.

Each touch buzzes with forgotten familiarity, the way she trails her fingers up his sweat-slick bicep, like something he remembers from a hazy dream; the way his breath catches with every slow thrust of his hips is a sound she could follow in her sleep; the way their bodies fall easily into a rhythm together, an unconscious muscle memory.

Bucky wants to run into the snowy night, wants to shout his happiness to the heavens. This right here, this is what the poets sing about. Every line, every song, every beat of a lovestruck heart. Here in her arms, he finds everything he ever hoped to have and in the fading firelight, he holds fast to the one truth he knows above all else.

Love like this, is worth any cost.

“You’re the love of my life,” he whispers, and she lays her cheek against his chest and kisses the sweaty skin above his heart.

Right there, Bucky knows he’s the luckiest man on Earth.

*****

The sun is just beginning to creep into the eastern horizon, but he’s been awake for hours.

Laying between her legs, his head is pillowed on her stomach. The sleep shirt she wears is tissue thin and satiny smooth; it smells just like her and keeps taking deep, cleansing breaths, trying to embed that scent into his memory. Bit creepy maybe, but oh well.

Dim rays of light begin to slip into the room, filtering through the tall pine trees flanking the window, and as the world begins to wake, she follows. Like a touch-starved kitten, Bucky nuzzles into her, wordlessly asking for affection and when she scratches her nails along his scalp, it feels so damn good, he gives a blissful little groan.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and she hums.

“I love you,” she mumbles sleepily and there’s a pleased rumble in his chest at her reply.

“Won’t ever get tired of hearing that,” he sighs happily.

“I’ll never get tired of saying it,” she answers with a yawn.

Still half asleep, he feels her relaxing, the comforting strokes of her fingers getting slower, heavier, and he knows she’s drifting back to sleep. Maybe he should let her, but there are these words he’s been practicing under his breath all night long and he’s getting anxious and he just wants to say them, before he loses the nerve.

“Darlin’?” he asks quietly, folding his hands across her chest and resting his chin on them.

“Hmmm?” she says, her voice a bit slurry as she opens her eyes. Bucky fleetingly thinks every bit of light in the world must be concentrated on her, because she’s the only thing he can see.

Heart racing, he tamps down the nervousness and wets his lips. He wants to do this right, wants to make sure it’s perfect.

“Would you do something for me?” he says carefully, choosing those words, borrowing that phrase he gave her back in 1944 and god, he hopes he’s returning them in the way she remembers.

At first, she doesn’t catch it, simply running her fingers down his arm, but her words are so naturally reminiscent of the past.

“I’d do anything for you.” Bucky says nothing, simply waiting. She’s confused by his silence, until he tilts his head and a slow smile curves his lips. Her eyes widen and she blinks slowly. “Bucky -“

The staccato thrum of her heartbeat is suddenly flying against his hands and his blue eyes are so bright, overflowing with emotion when he completes the question.

“Would you marry me?”

Time, normally an unending commodity, freezes. They stare at each other, Bucky holding his breath as he waits, desperate for the same answer she gave him in 1945, knowing it’s a risk, he’s taking a huge leap here, but unable to do anything except go for it.

“I want to marry you Bucky, I do, I want - I want it so - god, I want it so much. You’re all I ever - this is the only thing I’ve ever wanted - “

Blowing out a huge breath, Bucky starts to laugh. Bouncing up, he cuts her off, peppering her face with happy kisses, sloppy wet trails down her forehead, over her cheeks, on her nose, up her neck. Every inch of skin he can find he marks with excited lips.

“Shit, thank god, ugh thank god! I mean it this time, I’m getting you that ring. Soon as I get back to New York I’ll get it, you come with me, we’ll pick it out together, anything you want. Hell, I got decades of back-pay from the army, and I mean, I hate to brag, but I’m sorta rich now.”

“Bucky -“

“Whatever you want for a wedding, I’m game. If you want something big, that’s great. Something small, even better. Only thing I need is to have the team there, and Steve’ll flat out murder me if he doesn’t get to stand up with us, he’s a real bitch for attention sometimes.”

“Bucky -“

“And we can live wherever you want, doesn’t matter to me. I’d love to just stay here if that’s okay, if you don’t mind, I mean it really feels like home and I ain’t had one of those for so damn long, but if you wanna live in New York or hell, anywhere, I can make it work, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Bucky, I’m - “

“And I’m done with work, that’s it,” he laughs exuberantly “Stark’ll be pissed, he just made me this new arm, but I don’t fuckin’ care, I got you now, I’m staying put unless they get really desperate and -“

“Bucky, stop!”

The panic in her voice is like a wave of ice water. It shuts him down instantly. Silence hangs heavy in the room before he blows out a long breath.

“Shit,” he says softly, embarrassment pinking his cheeks. “Dammit, that was - was that too much? M’sorry, I got carried away, I just - shit, I’m sorry.”

Sitting up on her knees to face him, she reaches up and tucks his messy hair behind his ears and cups his flushed face in her palms. “No, it wasn’t too much, it was - it was perfect, that’s not it.”

“Okay. Okay, so - was it something else I said?”

She says nothing, but instead she searches his face, her eyes slowly roaming over every feature and Bucky thinks for a moment that she’s memorizing him. Licking her lips, she rubs her thumbs lightly over his sharp cheekbones and she swallows hard.

“Shit,” she says under her breath. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck.”

“Hey now, thought I was the one with the potty mouth here,” he jokes weakly. She doesn’t crack a smile and Bucky feels his stomach swoop uncertainly. “Darlin’, what - what’s the matter?”

Still, she says nothing. Longing is so heartbreakingly clear in her face and Bucky can’t reconcile it. Suddenly, she surges forward, pressing her lips to his and he catches her, folding her up in his arms. She kisses him desperately, twining her arms around his neck and Bucky still has no idea what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. All he wants, is to soothe whatever terrible thought is upsetting her, because this is his job, this is what he does.

He loves her, no matter what.

When she finally breaks the kiss, he tries to smile. “What was that for?”

Breathing hard, she closes her eyes.

“Just in case.”

With those words, she extricates herself from his arms and climbs from the bed. Walking to the fireplace, she slots her fingers into a tiny groove on the bottom of the third stone above the mantle. It takes no more than a gentle tug, and the stone comes away easily. Setting it carefully on the floor, she reaches into the black space it reveals.

Another hiding spot.

Whatever she collects, she stares at it for a full minute, before clasping it to her chest. Turning slowly, fearful eyes lock on his face and for a fleeting moment, Bucky conjures the morbid image of someone walking to their own execution. Climbing back onto the bed, she sits back on her heels and he sees her clutching a small silver box.

“I want to marry you Bucky Barnes. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you, because I’ve loved you every single day since the moment we met, and I hope - I need you to know that.”

“I know, honey,” he says in absolute confusion.

“You’re the love of my life. Please remember that,” she whispers, and she sets the silver box on the bed. The lock has five numbers, and she spins each dial until it pops open. Fingers shaking, she picks up the small piece of fabric inside and holds it out for him to see.

It’s the strangest thing.

In her hand, is a ripped piece of faded blue cloth, with a familiar gray patch sewn into it; smudgy rust-red splotches color the edges like fingerprints.

Wings. Gray wings. Nostalgically familiar, because back in the war, each of the Howling Commandos wore one on their left sleeve, a mirror image tribute to the one painted on Steve’s helmet.

Including Bucky. Who wore one on the left sleeve of his coat.

The left sleeve of his blue coat.

Now, he stares uncomprehendingly at the piece of cloth. “What - “ he starts, but his voice fades. Small shivers are running through her body as she watches him, her face filled with dread. Taking a shaky breath, she whispers.

“There was one other time we met.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

[fragmentedshards]

The Voices, Chapter Three: Artistry

With the shoveling finished, Euriel caught the next trolley heading back to The Downs and Eimear walked until she reached the GeneCo. building, dreading entering even more since her encounter with Pavi Largo that morning. She let two white-clad Genterns guide her to the elevator, which, to her surprise, took her straight up to the main office, which she found already painted over with coats of white gesso and a haphazard array of paint and tools laying on an unsteady-looking work table. There was even a large cup of water for rinsing paintbrushes.

“That’s odd,” Eimear said, more to herself than to anyone in particular. “I would have guessed that they would want me to work from the ground up.”

“That would be the logical thing to do,” Luigi Largo answered, taking Eimear by surprise; she hadn’t yet noticed him. “But my siblings and I thought it best to start with this room, since this is where we do most of our work.” he walked out from behind the desk and removed one of his black gloves. “You must be Eimear Hammond.”

Eimear removed her own glove, making a mental note to mend the hole that had formed in it. “I am.” They shared a brief and amiable handshake before she asked, “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to paint, for this or any other room?”

Luigi shrugged. “I don’t know much about art, and I don’t think my brother or sister do either. It’s pretty much up to you, just make it nice.” he chuckled as he returned to the desk. “Hell, if you or I or anyone else doesn’t like it, we’ll just pay you to paint over it and start again.”

At that moment the elevator doors dinged and an assistant walked in, carrying a pot of coffee. He poured a cup for Luigi, who took one sip and promptly sloshed the steaming coffee all over the poor assistant.

“Why do people keep bringing me this decaffeinated swill?!” he yelled as he whipped out a knife, only to find his wrist being twisted by Eimear.

“No!” she commanded sharply. “We don’t stab people!” she heard how ridiculous she sounded, as if she was trying to parent a child when in reality Luigi Largo was forty-eight, but it was the best she could think to do. “Now drop it!”

Taken aback as he was, Luigi actually let go of his knife, letting it fall to the concrete floor. Eimear kicked it away, then dragged the assistant to her painting table, where she dipped the first thing she grabbed - which happened to be her glove - into the cold water and began placing the cold, wet glove on all the places where the coffee had splashed. After a moment’s hesitation, Luigi produced a pocket handkerchief and joined Eimear in this endeavor, apologizing profusely to the assistant under his breath.

“Now, go get a clean uniform and be sure to keep putting cold water on any place that still feels like it’s burning,” Eimear instructed the assistant once they finished, who nodded and left in a considerable hurry as Luigi ripped open his shirt and stood staring in frustration. Eimear gave Luigi an odd look when he did this.

“It’s dirty!” he snapped, before using his wristband to contact a Gentern. “Bring me a clean shirt!” he barked.

“Ah, did you-a stab someone else, fratello?”

Eimear’s shoulders sagged. That voice could only belong to Paviche Largo. He must have been in the elevator when the assistant left.

“No, I spilled coffee,” Luigi answered his brother, about as convincingly as a child denying eating sweets before supper. Eimear shook her head.

Pavi made his way over to her before she could get started on her work, taking her hand in his with a flourish. “Eimear Hammond, the-a famous artist,” he exaggerated before kissing her hand. When he looked up, Eimear saw recognition flash across his features, and openly groaned. “Why, tesoro!” he exclaimed, reaching for her mask. “This is-a fortuitous! You must- a sing for my brother, show him your skills!”

Luigi laughed nervously, gently pulling Pavi away from Eimear, as he was obviously making her uncomfortable. “Pavi, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Your brother is convinced that my sister and I should sing for GeneCo., Mr. Largo,” Eimear explained in exasperation. “He overheard us singing while we worked this morning.”

Luigi’s face was somewhat blank. “Do you sing well?”

Eimear sputtered. “I don’t know... Apparently I do? I know my sister does; I can harmonize with her, and I tell stories well....”

“You could be the-a spokeswoman as well!” Pavi insisted.

“That role should still belong to Miss Largo, even if she is mute,” Eimear shook her head violently. “Speaking for the company should be up to you three and you three only.”

“Does that-a mean you and-a your sister will sing?”

Before Eimear could argue further, the elevator dinged again, this time to reveal Carmela Largo herself, being helped by two male Genterns, one of which even bore Luigi’s new clean shirt. Clearly, Carmela was sailing on Zydrate to help with the pain of her reconstructive surgery on her throat. She even wore a shirt with a high collar, no doubt to hide the scars while they healed. The Genterns helped her to the couch, where she reached for both of her brothers.

“Carmela?” Luigi sat beside her, concerned. “Do you need something?”

By way of response, the youngest Largo merely pulled her brothers in close in a haphazard hug. Eimear tilted her head as she watched, remembering the stories Graverobber had relayed to her about Amber Sweet and thinking how different the woman in front of her seemed from that storied woman. Maybe that’s the difference a decade as well as going mute makes, she thought to herself.

Pavi leapt up suddenly. “Even more a-perfect! Tesoro, you must sing-a for my sister as well! Who-a better to judge your talent than the soprano before you?”

Eimear drew back, putting her hands on her hips. “Now, that’s just mean-spirited,” she scolded, but Carmela looked up at her and mouthed something. Sing, that was what she was trying to say. Carmela wanted Eimear to sing. “I... I’m sure I couldn’t...” she insisted, even as Carmela grabbed her hand and pulled her to stand closer to the sofa. She took out a pen and some paper and wrote quickly on it while Eimear, Luigi, and Pavi glanced at each other in confusion. Finally, Carmela handed Eimear the note, which was written somewhat sloppily due to the influence of Zydrate. Eimear read it carefully:

I sang for eleven years before my voice was taken. It’s not mean-spirited if I had my chance and took it while I had it. Please, sing? I would love to hear it.

Sighing, realizing she didn’t want to disappoint Carmela, Eimear returned the note and nodded reluctantly. “Alright,” she said quietly, and Pavi immediately began clapping. Luigi put an arm around his sister.

Eimear fiddled with one of her gloves, wondering what to sing on the spot. Finally, her eyes fell on the art supplies, and she knew exactly which song to sing. Taking a deep breath and not looking at anyone in the room, she began:

Starry starry night

Paint your palette blue and gray

Look out on a summer’s day

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul

Shadows on the hills

Sketch the trees and daffodils

Catch the breeze and the winter chills

In colors on the snowy linen land

Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen; they did not know how;

Perhaps they’ll listen now.

She paused and looked up to see Carmela’s hands clasped together in adoration and Luigi gone slack-jawed. Pavi applauded and called for her to sing more, at which Luigi and Carmela both nodded, almost trance-like. Not knowing how to refuse, Eimear continued, this time looking at them as she sang:

Starry starry night

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze

Swirling clouds in a violet haze

Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue

Colors changing hue

Morning fields of amber grain

Weathered faces lined in pain

Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand

Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen; they did not know how;

Perhaps they’ll listen now.

There was no doubt about it. Somehow, she had completely entranced the Largo siblings. Pavi applauded once again, standing up and even giving a little leap. He grasped her hands in his enthusiasm before Luigi put his own hands on his brother’s wrists, letting him know to let go of Eimear’s hands.

“Oh please, tesoro,” Pavi pleaded once more. “You must sing for GeneCo., you and-a your sister both. It will break-a our hearts to a-lose you.”

But Eimear walked backwards a few steps, trying to gather herself. “Now, hold on just a moment,” she said. “My sister and I told you this morning, Mr. Largo; we can’t afford to be in debt to GeneCo., or belong to it. We are doing our best to take care of our family, we can’t take risks like this!”

Carmela mouthed something again, but neither her brothers nor Eimear could read her lips. Frustrated, she wrote on her paper again and shoved it at Eimear. No contract, it read. No debt. Just performing. She wrote on another paper, giving it to Luigi. He read it aloud; “Both sisters should be able to negotiate for themselves and make sure the terms of their employment are amiable.”

Eimear looked at each Largo sibling in turn, studying their faces. If news articles, as well as most firsthand accounts, were to be believed, she was almost certainly asking for trouble by getting involved. But then, eleven years had come and gone since Rotti Largo’s death, and in that time it seemed that his children - Luigi and Carmela, at least - were making an honest effort to be better people. Besides, she thought to herself, If they haven’t changed after all and they’ve set their sights on you and Euriel, what’s to prevent them from coming after Fortunato?

Touching her mask lightly right about her scarred cheek, she declared, “I’ll discuss this with my sister tonight. I will let you know what we decide in the morning.”

Once again forgetting all concepts of personal space, Pavi put his hand on Eimear’s masked cheek, presumably trying to be charming. “You won’t-a regret it, tesoro, I assure you!”

Luigi removed Pavi’s hand from Eimear’s mask and took his new shirt from Carmela’s Gentern before shooing both of his siblings out of the office, making sure his sister knew to ask for anything she needed. “That’s an idea, though,” he said as he redid his ascot after changing shirts. “For the mural, I mean. You could paint something like Van Gogh.”

Eimear looked at him in surprise. “You recognized the song?”

“Parts of it.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know much about art,” she quipped, crossing her arms. Luigi glanced at her, not quite smiling as he finally sat back down at his desk to get to work. “Knowing one artist isn’t the same as actually knowing a lot about art,” he said, and Eimear found she couldn’t argue with that. She laughed a little in spite of herself before beginning to sort through the paint colors that had been provided to her, finishing the song as she did so:

For they could not love you

But still, your love was true

And when no hope was left inside

On that starry, starry night

You took your life, as lovers often do;

But I could have told you, Vincent

This world was never meant

For one as beautiful as you.

Like the strangers that you’ve met

The ragged men in ragged clothes

The silver thorn, a bloody rose

Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know

What you tried to say to me

And how you suffered for your sanity

And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen; they’re not listening still;

Perhaps they never will.

*note: for this chapter, listen to “Vincent” by Chloe Agnew

[love-and-monsters]

Kaleb the Harpy

This is the first of three pride month stories, featuring the MLM couple Matt and Kaleb.

  You glared at the canvas. It was, no matter how hard you stared, stubbornly and solidly blank. You lifted your brush to the canvas, tip hovering just over the white surface. It trembled slightly and you had to take a moment to breathe and steady your hand again. It had been a solid two weeks and you hadn’t managed to paint a single new original piece. You were starting to get anxious just looking at the canvas.

“Matt?” You jerked up and looked at the door. Your sister was standing in the doorway of your studio, one hand raised as if to knock, despite the door being open. You two had rented out an apartment together and it was working out pretty well. At least renting with your sister meant you didn’t have to try and find a stranger that you worked with.

You lowered the brush to your palette and wiped your hands off on a cloth. “I thought I said you weren’t supposed to come see me when I was working.”

She shrugged as she walked into the room. “You’re not painting anyway. You haven’t painted anything for weeks.”

You glared at her. She rolled her eyes. “What? You haven’t.”

You turned back to the canvas and picked up the brush again. “Why are you here?”

“We’re going out,” she said. Your head snapped away from your canvas and the brush tip tilted, sending a line of paint down the canvas. A curse slipped from your lips and you hopped up, pulling the brush away.

  “Callie, what the fuck?” you said, staring at the line down the canvas. Callie just shrugged, expression still neutral.

“Look, you’ve been sitting in here for like, three days. You need to get out. Maybe it’ll give you some ideas for what you want to paint next.” She glared up at you. “Come on, Matt. I invited a friend, we’re just going out for lunch.”

You frowned at her, then at the canvas. That thin, black line down the canvas only made you more frustrated with the whole thing. “Fine, fine. Where are we going? Callie smiled. “A café that opened downtown. One of my college friends is coming. You know Kaleb?”

You shook your head as you headed toward the door of your studio. “I don’t know any of your college friends.”

“Well, you’ll see him when we get there. He’s an interesting guy. I think you’ll get along.”

It only took a few minutes to get to the café from your home. It was new, only about a month old, and had some pretty good coffee. That was all you really knew about it, though.

As soon as you walked into the café, Callie started waving. “Hey, Kaleb! It’s so good to see you!”

You turned your head to see who she was talking to and your heart stopped. Standing at the table was one of the most beautiful harpies you had ever seen in your life. He was tall and kind of willowy, with thick, gorgeous feathers along his arms and a long, flowing tail. His feet were taloned and almost resembled a stork’s. Even when he was still, you could imagine him moving with a flowing, gentle grace.

Kaleb rose from his chair, holding out a feathered hand. “You must be Callie’s brother, Matthew,” he said. His voice was surprisingly soft, considering his brightly colored appearance.

You cleared your throat as quietly as possible and took his hand. “Yeah, I am.” Kaleb smiled at you as he retook his seat.

The café was rather popular and bustling around lunch, so it was a little difficult to hear Kaleb’s soft voice over the noise, but you listened as intently as possible. He worked as a gardener for some rich people in the next town over. It was physical work and kind of dirty, but apparently, he enjoyed it. Callie spent several minutes talking about her job in HR, mostly complaining about how awful some people could be. Then, Kaleb turned to you with interest in his eyes. “What do you do, Matt?”

You couldn’t stop a sigh from entering your voice as you spoke. “I paint.” Kaleb took a sip of his coffee, eyebrows lifting.

“You paint? That sounds like a nice job. I wish I could paint.” Kaleb hesitated as you nodded, not saying anything else. “Are you working on anything interesting right now?”

Bitterness slipped into your voice. “No.”

Kaleb shrank back in his seat, glancing at Callie. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

Callie snorted, waving off his concern. “Nah, Matt’s just a big grump because he’s got artist’s block.”

 “Oh, I see,” Kaleb said. He offered you a smile. “That happens with me sometimes. I get chances to redesign some of the gardens, and sometimes it’s rather hard to think of what I want to do.”

You looked at him thoughtfully. “What do you do when you can’t think of anything to design?”

Kaleb shrugged. “Usually I go out and sit in the gardens I’ve already created. Sometimes I work on the gardens. It’s rather meditative. And the gardens are so beautiful, it helps me come up with new ideas.” He smiled tentatively at you. “It’s quite peaceful too. It helps me relax and the ideas just start coming.”

Lunch didn’t last much longer than that. As you were heading out the door, Kaleb caught your arm and walked along next to you. “Hey, I know that artist’s block can be rough. And I’ve been working on this really nice flower garden at my job. It’s very beautiful, if I say so myself.” He puffed out his chest and a note of pride crept into his voice. You couldn’t help but smile at him. “But I was thinking, if you wanted to come with me and see if you can get any work done when you’re there, I don’t think my employers will mind.”

You looked at him in surprise. “Tomorrow?”

“Well, if you want. You don’t have to. It was just an offer,” Kaleb said, shrinking back a little, a flush touching his cheeks.

To your surprise, you found yourself saying, “When do you want me to come over?”

Kaleb perked up, feathers rustling with eagerness. “I can pick you up tomorrow around eight. If that’s not too early for you, of course.”

It was definitely too early, but you smiled anyway. “I can be ready by then.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kaleb said. He took a nervous step back, waving one of his wings. “Bye.”

You waved as he headed off down the road and you headed back to your apartment. The canvas stared at you accusingly from across the room. The dark line across the surface made your stomach tighten a little bit. With a sigh, you took a sheet and draped it over the canvas so you couldn’t see it anymore. At least the thing wouldn’t be looking at you accusingly the whole day.

You woke up only ten minutes before eight and it was a scramble to get ready in time. Kaleb was already waiting for you outside your building when you ran out, still running a comb through your hair.

“Are you ready?” Kaleb asked when he saw you. You nodded, securing your bag over your shoulder. It had your paints and canvas in it and on your other shoulder hung your smaller easel. Kaleb smiled eagerly and led you to his car.

The car wasn’t really small, but it was cramped. Most of the backseat was covered in gardening supplies and it was starting to encroach into the front. The entire car smelled faintly earthy. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, not like fertilizer. Just a little like someone had recemtly dug up a garden.

Kaleb shoved a few tools into the backseat with a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I haven’t cleaned out the car in a while.”

“It’s all right,” you said. He smiled thankfully at you. He’d dressed simply, in a pale T-shirt and short, dark pants. It made you feel a little out-of-place, since you’d put on one of your nicer shirts and long pants. Kaleb, at least, didn’t mention it. He just started the car and you headed toward his work.

You were aware of the general area Kaleb worked in, but you’d never actually been there before. It was a large mansion with one of the most sprawling gardens you’d ever seen. The entire front yard seemed to just be an extensive flower garden, verdant hills covered with brilliantly covered flowers in every direction. Closer to the house were trees and bushes, many sprouting blooms in every color of the rainbow.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, unable to keep your awe out of your voice. Kaleb blushed, a grin spreading across his face.

“This is the garden I’ve worked on the longest,” he said, pride entering his voice. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I can see why,” you said as the car rolled to a stop. Kaleb got out and you followed him as he walked across the garden, stopping near one of the bushes.

He glanced back at you as you stopped next to him. “You can sit wherever you’d like,” he said, gesturing broadly to the garden. “My employers have never minded me bringing people around to look at the gardens. I think they like showing off.”

You hesitated for a moment, then paced a short distance away and set down your things. Kaleb got to work as you took out your canvas and paints and began to look around for what you wanted to draw.

Despite the beauty of the day and the gorgeous garden around you, you were having a hard time picking something out to draw. You’d locate a nice little patch of flowers, go to start painting, then your desire would die or you wouldn’t be able to figure out exactly how to start. After about thirty minutes, you considered giving up in frustration when you happened to glance over at Kaleb.

He was crouched over the bushes, gently touching at them with the tips of his fingers. His lips twitched like he was speaking to it softly. There was something about his expression that was different than the one you’d seen before. It was serene, completely at peace and confident with what he was doing. His movements as he tended to the plants were sharp and utterly knowing. He had no doubts about what he was doing. He was just perfectly in his element.

You almost didn’t realize it when you started painting. You just wanted to get down the way he looked then, perfectly at ease. The first few tries were nice, but not quite there. It was just missing the essence of him.

After a few sketches, you started on your canvas. Kaleb was tending to a fruit tree. It wasn’t bearing any fruit, just flowers, and he was pruning back some of the branches and apparently assessing the health of the tree. You moved quickly, not wanting to ask him to pose. You had a feeling it would sort of ruin the moment to do that. That if you asked him to stop moving, he would lose the flowing grace you were trying to capture.

This time, your brushes seemed to flow perfectly. Every line and every stroke just fell into place. For the first time in a long, long while, you lost track of time and just painted.

You only broke out of the trance when Kaleb called over to you. “How’s it going?” He trotted over, shaking a few leaves out of his feathers and wiping some sweat from his brow. “Are you ready to take a break?”

The painting was only partially done, but it was already looking better than anything you’d done in months. You turned the canvas away from Kaleb as he approached. He grinned at you. “Is it a surprise?” he asked.

“Something like that,” you said, feeling a touch embarrassed about having spent the entire time basically just staring at him. He didn’t seem upset by this. Instead, he smiled at you and sat down on the ground. He rummaged in a bag for a moment, then held out a small object wrapped in paper to you.

“Here.” You took the object from him. It was a sandwich, wrapped in waxed paper.

“Thank you,” you said. “You didn’t have to get me lunch.” Kaleb waved you off with a feathery arm.

“It’s no trouble. Your sister mentioned that you sometimes forgot to eat, so I thought I might as well bring something for you.” He smiled at you. It was so utterly charming that you felt your heart skip a beat. You looked away from him as your face heated up.

Lunch was eaten in silence. You snuck looks at him whenever you thought he wouldn’t notice. He seemed perfectly at ease in the garden, even in the silence. His feathers rustled slightly in the cool breeze.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Kaleb said after a long few minutes of silence.

You swallowed the bite of sandwich you’d taken. “Really? You seem like the kind of person who’d like being alone.”

“Oh, I do,” Kaleb said. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the silence and the meditation of being able to work on my plants and the garden. But sometimes it’s a little lonely. It’s nice to have another person around for a little while.”

Before you could even come up with a response to that, he reached out and took your hand. His fingers were warm and calloused from work. You could feel your blood rushing in your ears and your brain seemed to short-circuit for a minute. Kaleb squeezed your fingers tentatively. “Thank you.”

It took you almost a full minute to get your brain back into working order. “Thank you,” you said, trying your hardest not to stammer. “You’ve really helped me. I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t get through my block.”

“You’re a great artist,” Kaleb said. “Your sister showed me some of your work. You would have gotten through it eventually.”

“Maybe,” you said. “But I’m still glad you helped.”

“You’re welcome,” Kaleb said. He finished off his sandwich and went back to work. You sat back and continued to watch him for a few minutes before you returned to your painting.

The day passed slowly. You sketched and painted on and off, looking for good poses from Kaleb. You weren’t even bothering to pretend to paint the garden. Kaleb was your muse and you focused entirely on him.

Even though the march of time was technically slow, you felt that the day ended far too soon. The sun started to tilt down in the sky and you finally stopped polishing your painting. It was an image of Kaleb, wings spread, tail flicking out behind him, reaching up to examine the branches of an apple tree, tending to some of the blooms. It wasn’t perfect. You hadn’t quite managed to capture the expression on his face, one of pure contentment and focus. But you had managed to capture the flowing grace of his body, and that was better than anything else you’d done in a while. You’d even managed to use the black line down your canvas, working it into the tree trunk. It was, all things considered, a good painting.

Kaleb had approached you so silently, as you examined the painting, that you didn’t notice him there until he let out a soft gasp. “Is that me?”

You jumped and that motion drew Kaleb’s attention down to the discarded papers at your feet. He stared at them for a moment, then reached down and lifted a few of them. His eyes widened as he looked at them. “Are these all of me?”

It was hard to read his expression. His cheeks were red, but you couldn’t tell whether he was embarrassed or flattered.

You were pretty sure your face was as red as his. You stammered, trying to explain yourself. “It was just that you looked so good when you were tending the garden- I mean, I just got carried away in trying to capture you- Sorry.” It was hard to look up at him. Your gaze fixed on his feet as they twitched, talons digging into the ground.

“Really?” Kaleb said in a soft, disbelieving voice. “You wanted to paint me?”

You glanced up at him. His expression was definitely flattered and perhaps a little bit uncertain, as though he thought maybe you were trying to play a joke on him. “Of course. You’re… a good muse.”

Kaleb smiled at you. “Thank you.” His voice was soft, but absolutely sincere. You smiled at him, giving him a little nod. He looked at the painting for a moment, a gentle smile gracing his face. “It’s a beautiful painting,” he said. His feathers brushed against your arm. You smiled up at him.

“I tried my best. It’s not perfect.” You swallowed. “You’re better looking in real life.”

Kaleb laughed breathlessly. He looked at you. “Matt. Do you want to go out and get some dinner?”

Your heart thundered in your chest and you looked up at him. “Now?”

He smiled. “I’d like to spend some more time with you.” He glanced away. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“No,” you said, gathering your paints. “I’d like to spend more time with you too.”

[demaury]

Some kind of mistake (cha. 2)

Ever since Eliott first came across the new resident of the apartment 320, he made peace with the fact that Lucas ‘Big Blue Eyes’ Lallemant would, one way or another, turn his life upside down. Thing is, he hadn’t expected that Lucas’ wife and Lucas’ daughter would play a part in it. Because, you know, he didn’t know they existed until it was too late. (ao3 link)

Eliott wasn’t a morning person generally speaking, mostly because his daily schedule included more often than not coming back home past two in the morning and sleeping off until noon, but he had at least assumed that all the noises he had been hearing since Saturday would stop on Monday morning. Because, you know, as Sofiane said, not everyone had a job like his.

Well, he was wrong. On Monday morning, it was yet another string of loud noises that woke him up, growing louder and louder as they pulled Eliott out of his heavy slumber a little bit more each time, until a final metallic thud resonated like a shotgun through the overall quiet building.

He bolted out of sleep, head spinning a little as he tried for a few seconds to gather what the hell was happening, where he was, what day they were and if, somehow, he could get his heart to start beating again without having to call an ambulance. His eyes kept fluttering from one corner of his room to the other as the thoughts streamed in.

The good news was that he was in his bedroom — alone, which was always a plus.

The bad news was that the clock on his nightstand read half past ten in the morning, and that technically, he was the one in the wrong, because technically, people were allowed to make noise at this hour.

He hated that.

Eliott dropped himself back onto his mattress with a sigh, rubbing his face with his hands, occasionally staring and blinking at the ceiling. Moving in wasn’t easy but apparently, Blue Eyes wasn’t the quiet type either — he knew he should have picked up on the name used on Saturday, but he just couldn’t remember, so Blue Eyes it was. So far, all he had heard from his new neighbor were yelled-out conversations during the entire duration of the weekend, in large part coming from his too loud friends, and the incessant come-and-go and rattling noises of someone settling in. Not much to make an opinion, one would say, but the other people living in their apartment complex were discreet, for the most part. In the nearly five years he had lived here, Eliott still had no clue what was his next-door neighbor's name. All he knew was that the man was probably in his forties, single and likely an accountant, or something equally unattractive and equally boring. They had passed each other by a handful of times, and he always looked like he was exhausted and drowning in his ill-fitting suits.

He was still staring blankly at nothing when his alarm went off, and Eliott grabbed it from the nightstand to shut it down as the first couple of notes from Boy Epic’s cover of City of Angels hummed quietly in the silent room. He had exactly thirty minutes to get up, get dressed, and get ready to go before the meeting one of his clients had scheduled with him (read: for him). He took a rapid shower and was heading for the front door when someone knocked. Once. Twice. Eliott frowned and unlocked the door, chucking it open when he found Blue Eyes standing in the doorway.

His hair was even more of a mess than it was already Saturday morning, and a few light bruises marbled his arms pocking out of his one-size too big tee-shirt. Eliott didn’t know why he found the whole thing alluring, but he did anyway.

“I was starting to think you had well and truly died this time,” he remarked with a cocked eyebrow.

Blue Eyes gave him a look and mechanically rubbed the bruised spot on his forearm. It was the exact gesture he had made on Saturday morning, after the bed base disaster, and Eliott could only guess that those were the casualties born from Murphy’s Law. “Nice to know you got worried, I appreciate.”

Eliott found himself grinning, and maybe he tried to contain it. It was only the second time they were talking but for some reason, it didn’t seem nearly as emotionally draining as it could have been. It felt easy. Almost Natural. Comfortable, somehow.

Blue Eyes cleared his throat a little, starting to fidget with his hands. “I- uh. I wanted to apologize for the mess I’m doing these days in the building. I’ve been told by someone from the first floor that it was starting to get on people’s nerves. And, like, my friends- they can be loud. Like, really loud. And messy. Back where we lived everyone was kinda used to it, but-”

His voice trailed off and Eliott tilted his head to the side, slightly intrigued by the sudden change in his demeanor. He hadn’t picked him as the rambly, dorky type — it left Eliott to wonder how those different personality traits didn’t just end up short-circuiting each other in such a small body.

“It’s fine,” he said with a casual shrug. “I got loud friends too.” After an awkward second of silence, he held out his hand, Blue Eyes glancing back and forth between his face and his hand before shaking it. “I’m Eliott, by the way. In case you need an alibi, you know where to find me.”

Blue Eyes frowned, looking rather confused. “An alibi?”

Eliott smirked. “Well, you stated that you were on the verge of murder, if I remember correctly.”

A smile broke onto Blue Eyes’ face, illuminating his features as realization hit him. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks for the offer, I might take you up on that someday,” he said, then he seemed to remember he was still holding Eliott’s hand and nearly dropped it right away. This time, Eliott well and truly bit back a chuckle. “I’m Lucas. Lallemant. Nice to meet you.”

Lucas. Right. It was a cute name. A cute name for a cute face. Back off, Demaury, you’re staring, a voice chided in his brain, and strangely enough it sounded an awful lot like Idriss’.

“Nice to meet you too.” He shoved his hand into his jeans’ pocket, cocking an eyebrow. “Was that all?”

“Yeah,” Lucas said, then he tore his eyes away to what Eliott just knew was an invisible spot above his shoulder before adding quickly: “I mean, no. I also wanted to thank you for helping me last weekend. It’s really not the best way to make an impression but you didn’t laugh at me and let me die a slow and painful death, so I figured maybe I could offer you a coffee at the very least. Well, only if you’re free, I mean.”

There he was, rambling again, and every single word made it harder for Eliott to restrain a large grin from splitting his face in two. His phone pinging made it a hundred times easier, though, as Eliott was suddenly brought back to reality. “I can’t right now, I was just about to go,” he admitted, and Lucas’ smile fell a little bit.

So that wasn’t just his brain messing with him. This guy really was an open book.

Lucas took a step back from the doorway. “Oh, right. Sorry for the bother,” he winced.

Eliott grabbed his leather jacket and from behind the front door and closed it behind him. For some reason he didn’t want Lucas to think it was just a made-up excuse, so he fished for his keys in his jacket’s pocket and started locking the door behind him. “Another time?” he offered, looking behind his shoulder, where Lucas was already retreating towards the stairs.

Lucas turned around. “Sure,” he nodded with a grin. “Anytime.”

*

“It needs to be perfect. The opening is all that matters, you get that, Eliott, right?”

“I already knew that a week ago,” he remarked as he glanced sideways at the blonde girl next to him.

Scheduling meeting with clients wasn’t something he was doing all that often. Not to be overly introvert, but he had found out early in his career that it was easier to review what the clients wanted once it was laid out on an email rather than simply spoken out in the open. But, eh. Daphné Lecomte was another level of enthusiastic. And nervous. Sometimes he wondered what she was on, because it sure as hell looked like it wasn’t legal.

They had met back when he was working on the opening of a club, the year before; at the time, Daphné was the new recruit of an event planning agency, and she had taken the habit of slipping his name to her boss every once in a while, when they needed to promote new places and book new events. Now she was a few months away from launching her own business, the project of a travel agency she claimed she had been nursing since high school, and it was entirely because she had asked him with her huge, puppy eyes (and, granted, because she had helped him out in the past) that he had agreed on helping her to design the perfect logo.

God knew he had come to regret his decision. It was the second meeting and she had yet to decide on a color palette. “You can do that without me,” Eliott had observed on their first meeting.

“No! I need you. I need to know things work fine,” Daphné had protested.

And so he had stayed. Far too long, if you asked him.

“Coffee, I need coffee,” she mumbled, running to the tiny kitchen adjoined to her office, where they had been locked up for two hours already.

Eliott rolled his eyes to himself and slumped back against his chair. Her habit of pacing back and forth while he was sketching things away was always making him dizzy after some time, and he was trying really hard not to tell her to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up. It took another two hours after lunch for her to finally decide on a color palette, and by then Eliott had already made peace with the fact that they would need to schedule another meeting, if not two, to sort out the rest. He was already dreading the moment she’d have to pick a font.

It was four in the afternoon when he made it out, half-past five when he dragged himself to the bar next to Sofiane’s place, and almost eight when he came back home after both Sofiane and Idriss suddenly called it a night after Eliott suggested they go out.

“Are you kidding me?”, he protested, annoyed.

“Nothing against you, Demaury,” Idriss snorted, stretching out his long limbs high above his head. “Siham will just skin me alive if I get home late. Last time she got mad at me for a fucking week.”

“And she banished me from the flat,” Sofiane reminded, looking all gloomy in his drink.

Eliott shrugged. “She’s never mad at me.”

“No one’s ever mad at you, you fucker,” Idriss grumbled. “Not even your exes.”

“Joris did threaten to burn his apartment to the ground, though,” Sofiane observed carefully.

Idriss barked a laugh that made two girls behind them scoot around on their chair. “But he didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t call that a victory,” Eliott cringed, the story still leaving a bad taste on his tongue.

He and that Joris guy had been dating for about a month a few years ago, and half of their relationship was a blur leading to a manic episode he had very scarce memories of. He didn’t recall very well what happened after that, only that Idriss and his girlfriend Siham had taken him in for a few days while he was coming down from his high and going through the depressive episode that always followed. As it had turned out, Joris had never been heard of ever again and after some time Eliott finally obtained that Idriss and Sofiane kindly backed off and stopped acting like they were his bodyguards. Only Siham continued to treat him like he was her baby, but it wasn’t strictly babying per se — it was just keeping the door wide open whenever he needed anything and never getting mad at him for literally anything.

After separating with his friends, Eliott had taken advantage of the time spent in the subway, on his way home, to rapidly review his most urgent emails and to track his parcel through the Chronopost app — only to find that his precious, 300€ Wacom Tablet had been delayed. That was his luck, really, and that’s why he found himself knocking at the apartment 320 instead of going straight back home.

It didn’t take three seconds before the door swung open, taking him a little aback when a grinning Lucas exclaimed: “Not only on time but-” before his voice trailed off and his eyes widened a little bit when he realized Eliott wasn’t whoever he was waiting.

Technically, he would have found it funny. And probably made a remark. But right now he was too busy trying not to stare at the large patches of skin he could see thanks to Lucas’ denim button down hanging wide open.

Fuck he was fit. Who would have thought?

“Oh, shit, sorry. Hey,” Lucas said, clearing his throat a little bit, and it was thankfully enough for Eliott’s brain to snap back into place. It wasn’t the first six-pack he saw in his life, after all.

“It’s fine, no harm done. I need a small favor though,” he admitted, wincing a little.

Two days had passed since Lucas had popped up to his flat but Eliott hadn’t had much time left to make due on his rain check. The most they had taken together was the elevator so far, and some part of Eliott regretted not having told Daphné to fuck off on Monday, if only for a couple of hours.

Lucas tilted his head to the side. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Will you be home on Friday?”

Lucas’ eyebrows shot up and he blinked a little. “I, uh. I’m not sure,” he said carefully. “I mean, I guess it’s going to depend on the time.”

Eliott gave a small nod. “Yeah, right. More like, in the morning? I’m waiting for a really important parcel and I had cleared my schedule tomorrow to be able to be there when it’s delivered, but it got delayed. Not to be mean but I’d rather have it in your hands rather than literally anywhere else.”

“No problem, I’ll be there,” Lucas nodded, and he ran a hand through his messy hair. “I’ve got the rest of the week off anyway.”

“Awesome,” Eliott said, leaning back from the doorframe. “Thanks a bunch.”

Thanks a bunch. That was an Idriss thing to say, not an Eliott thing to say, and the worst part was that he was practically sure that the way Lucas’ brows furrowed a little bit meant that he was very much aware of that. He was going to strangle Idriss. That was all his fault anyway.

“It’s fine, let’s see if I manage to get it and then you’ll thank me,” his neighbor snorted.

Eliott huffed a laugh and started walking away when Lucas called him. For some reason, he liked the way he said his name, and he internally rolled his eyes at the cheesiness. He scooted around nonetheless.

“There’s still some coffee left,” Lucas said, and this time he was looking at him straight in the eye.

“Make it beers, make it my place, and make it Friday and I’m all in,” Eliott replied nonchalantly, his lips curving into a smirk just as the elevator dinged.

Lucas’ eyes traveled to his right, and Eliott couldn’t refrain himself from following where they had landed. One of the three guys he had seen in the hall the day Lucas had moved in was walking out of the elevator — the person he had been waiting before Eliott turned up, surely. He took it as his cue to leave, and before he could even think it through, he found himself giving Lucas a wink, before jumping up the stairs to his own flat.

[ot3]

COLORING WITH COLORED PENCILS: A GUIDE OF QUESTIONABLE AUTHORITY

Robbie asked me to make a guide to colored pencil coloring so im doing this for her. PLEASE KNOW i have not had any formal Training with colored pencils so this is all picked up from observation. Take it with a grain of salt.This is the pic I worked on, in one of its middle stages.

Here it is with a bunch of unnecessary and extraneous color on top at the end, as i show the way you can continue to modulate color with layering.

 Anyway. Lets go.

When I’m drawing in colored pencil, I always start sketching immediately with color. I’m sure plenty of people don’t but for me part of the appeal of colored pencil is that you can only go forward, never back. You’re going to want to know what your general color palette is going to be when you start. I’m drawing jester, so she’s fucking blue babey!

i start off my sketch with the Lightest blue pencil i own. it’s barely visible on the paper. A HEAVY RULE IS NEVER PRESS THAT HARD. at all. ever. until you get to the part where you’re SURE. At this stage feel free to keep in construction lines, if you mess up, just draw a new part. obviously this is neither coherent nor tidy and thats fine.

After that I took a slightly darker pencil and defined my sketch better.

Now here i added some undertones to my original sketch, and put in the basic shadows. I took the blue pencil i used for the sketch and marked in where i wanted the larger shadow shapes to be. Then i went in with a green pencil and added in areas of green on the hair and horns, just because I wanted some green Nuance to the colors i added on top. For her cheeks, nose, ears, and lips, i worked with a purple, because i wanted a warm flush underneath a blue skin tone. Once again this should all be very light!

Then I just went in and on top of everything I had already done added in a very light base color. Remember, never go darker with your base than you want your highlights because it’s VERY difficult to lighten a color.

Next I went in again with an even darker pencil and started refining the shadow shapes more, making the areas I wanted dark Darker and using some more colors that I wanted to be present in the mix. There’s no solid guide to picking colors, other than ‘learning and studying color theory’, so my recommendation is to play around and as long as you ifll something in lightly, you can almost always modulate it a ton later.

Another layer of base tone and im refining the outside lines of some of the shapes. I’m tossing in some darker ad different blues here and there for effect. This is the awkward middle stage where everything looks terrible. 

Here’s where stuff starts looking like something!! With a dark blue I went in and started refining shadows, lines, and the lips more. the base tone hasn’t change but it already looks much smoother and more even by virtue of the details around it being fixed. At this point these are the strokes that are going to start showing, so keep in mind the direction of your strokes here! 

Here’s where I start putting in much more weight behind the strokes. Here I went in and started filling the hair with a midtone to fill in the gaps and smooth it all out. I lost the detail of the shadow on the bottom layer mostly in this step. Once you do this it becomes much harder to control the way your colors look so make sure you feel like you know what color you want to use before you wholly commit. once you really start going at it and filling stuff in, you can’t really lay out a smooth color surface the way you did earlier and additional detail will have to be done in a slightly hatchier method than before

Here I did the same thing on the rest of the drawing - take your midtone and fill in. This really isnt using more than one color of pencil to fill in these gaps at any one part, but because we have the underlying colors it gives us nice variation once it all gets smoothed together.

This picture blurred as fuck lol oops. Anyway. Try to avoid using solid black unless absolutely necessary. Here i’ve got some on the hair and horns because I felt like my contrast wasn’t good enough but it sticks out like a sore thumb because of how it doesnt fit In with the heavy saturation of the other colors. I added some more detail and tossed some other colors, namely green nd pink, into the eyes. This amount of color looks fine but it’s a bit flat.

Even once you’ve blended everything in to the desired amount of coverage, you can still do a lot to modulate your color. For the purposes of making an example, I’m going to really exaggerate the color I put on top.

Here we go. I put more pink on her nose, ears, and cheeks to give the warm tone back into here skin. Then I put a bunch of green on top of everything and tossed some red outlining on the right side. Red and green are about as different as two colors can get (that’s a fun color theory fact for you guys paying attention at home) and so you can see a real range of how the color on top looks an gets effected by the color underneath.

The green on the horns,face, hair, and cloak is all exactly the same green, with the difference in hue depending on how thick you lay it on and the color of the pigment underneath

here i just added some yellow and red around here for fun because i was enjoying coloring. the end.

once again this is 1. not hard rules and 2. mostly to just show what you can do with pencils and that you shouldnt limit yourself

[bigskydreaming]

Blech. I’ve pretty much officially finished writing, editing and revising this standalone epic fantasy novel I started years and years ago and only just recently got around to finishing. Which is good, for sure, but also....blech. LOL. Because now I have no more excuses for putting off making a decision about the cover.

Like I always intended to self-pub this particular novel for personal reasons, and I can make my own covers just fine. I’ve done epic fantasy covers before for other clients that turned out well, even working with stock art and photomanipulation, its totally possible to make something that hits all the genre expectations and sells the right tone and feel to readers who come across it. BUT I’ve always loved the illustrated covers of a lot of fantasy novels I grew up with, and always kinda wanted something similar for this particular work, even though I have other fantasy projects I wouldn’t care as much about that one way or the other.

And so years ago when I first started the book and was only about a third of the way in, but still had a solid sense of the world and story and where it was all going, I happened to stumble across a fantasy artist whose work was like...exactly the right tone and aesthetic I’d always been picturing for that novel’s setting and vibe. And he was a freelancer, and open to commissions at the time, and you never know with freelancers if they’ll still be taking commissions a year or two down the line or if they’ve gone to work for like, a video game company or studio or something like that by that point, so even though the book was nowhere near done I hopped on that and commissioned an illustration from him to be used for the cover at some future point when I was ready for it. I just needed the illustration, I was fine doing typography and all that myself when the time came.

And I mean, I’ve literally been on the other side of the author/artist interaction tons of times, lol, so like, I know from my own experiences where its helpful to give an artist or a designer room to breathe and exercise their own creativity, make use of their own particular skillset and interpret the story elements you tell them are most important to see conveyed in the final cover, in like...their own way, like what feels best to them, what they’re most inspired to do with the foundational info you give them to build off of. 

Like I mean, visual design is its own skillset, and often completely separate from the kind of visualization most authors do of their own work while writing it....and with self-pubbed authors especially, as artists or designers you often run into authors who get really hung up on relatively minor details that they feel really need to be on the cover in some capacity and in really specific ways. Which is often to the detriment of the cover in the long run because like....what looks right in your head as a writer, totally familiar with your own world and story and its every minutiae and the implications and context of every single element....is not always going to come across the same way to readers who happen across your cover while browsing. Because they literally have ZERO context for what they’re looking at, and thus it really needs to stand on its own two feet and sell itself, not....loop back around to some hidden significance that will really only resonate with readers who end up buying the book and only once they reach this one scene in chapter 27 or whatever, you know?

So I really didn’t want to do that with this artist. I was only commissioning him because I loved what I’d seen of his work and the style he seemed to default to naturally was the perfect fit for what I wanted, IMO, so I was more than willing to let him take the broader strokes of the setting/themes/storyline in whatever direction inspired him most, as long as he hit within the general framework I provided him.

BUT, that said, for all that I tried to give him as much creative freedom to work with as possible, there are of course always a FEW things that as the commissioning party, are really important to see in the final product, and so yeah, I did have a couple of areas/elements that I did stress were really important to strike the right tone with, or it could make or break the whole illustration.

Specifically, I was concerned that he hit the right feel with the main character. My protag for this novel is a woman, and the one area his portfolio samples didn’t have a ton of variety with and thus had me slightly worried about what visual tropes he might default to...was female characters. He had tons of gorgeous settings, fantasy creatures, architecture, knights and sorcerers and monsters, but not a ton of women in the samples I saw. He did have some, for sure, and like there was nothing super concerning about the way he’d drawn/painted them....there were some priestesses, sorceresses, that kinda thing, and their anatomy and wardrobes weren’t like....glaringly cheesecake-y or anything like a lot of fantasy artists’ portfolios....so I knew he COULD get the character right, the way I hoped he would, I just wasn’t SURE. Like, I wasn’t concerned about specific details, beyond like....not outrageously contradicting the character description and scenes I gave him to work off of, I wasn’t worried about nitpicking minutiae. But my protag is a warrior-magic user archetype, and warrior women is like, the one female archetype he didn’t have any samples of, and I was more concerned about him defaulting to like....the old fantasy standby’s of ridiculously impossible and unnatural poses for warrior women, not to mention totally impractical armor, that sort of thing. 

Not to put too fine a point on it, but this was the ONE thing I stressed, lol. I didn’t really care about the finer details of her armor like in terms of decoration or filigree or even color schemes, I honestly could just adjust my own descriptions in the book to match what he came up with if need be. Stuff like that, so not a big deal to me. ALL I was concerned about was like....she not fall into those trope traps that ensnare so many women on fantasy covers, like....just make her look like she’s a fucking warrior who knows what the hell she’s doing, and I’ll be fine with everything else, you know? I even sent him some covers of published fantasy novels to use as comparison comps, like ‘this is the kind of feel or vibe I’d ideally like to see her capture, something like these women in these covers here’ as well as ‘this is what I really really DON”T want to see, like, I shouldn’t have a better sense of how good a contortionist she is than whether or not I believe she can swing a sword.’

Soooooo.....what happened?

Did he prioritize as I’d really really hoped he would and strongly expressed my desire for him to, and take care to at least avoid the more obvious problems, even if the end result was’t 100% what I was hoping for? Nooooooope. She might as well be mid-yoga pose. Sigh. Like, the guy has a damn near perfect grasp of anatomy and proportions on every other human figure I saw in the many samples I looked through before commissioning him, but somehow, despite this being of utmost importance to me and the ONLY thing about the entire project I stressed about and made sure to emphasize, lol, he ended up painting her in this weird bent at the waist position that throws her lower body proportions off entirely and like, her hip is angled or arched in this weird way that’s incredibly distracting and off, and like also, of course her armor is....pointless, in all the specific ways that happened to be the ONLY details about her armor I was concerned with. Y’know. Like. Its effectiveness. As armor.

And the absolutely obnoxious thing about it all, is that everything else about the illustration? Absolutely gorgeous. Everything I’d hoped for, even as I deliberately tried not to build up too specific an image in my mind ahead of time. Hell, BETTER than anything I’d have come up with on my own, and totally validating my impulse to have someone with different skillsets than my own do this instead of just making a cover out of stock art the way I usually do with my other projects. He absolutely captured the specific MOOD I was aiming for with the setting and general atmosphere, like, the very reason I’d been drawn to his style in the first place, he totally nailed that. Couldn’t have asked for a better fit to the general ambiance of the piece. The colors were just the right shade of otherworldly, a great mix of light and darkness that sold the gloom of the surrounding environs without drowning in dark palettes that make it hard to pick out individual details and differentiate between figures. So on and so on.

EVERY SINGLE OTHER THING ABOUT THE DAMN ILLUSTRATION IS PERFECT LOL.

Except for the only fucking part I was worried about in the first place, lmaaaaaaaaaao whyyyyyyy.

And I mean, because his style was a combo of illustration and painting, there was never gonna be a ton of room for revisions or tweaks to the final piece, I knew and understood that going in. He showed me what he had when he was done with the initial pencilwork, before he painted over it, but with the understanding that it could still change from that point, if he needed to shift things around because of the way the colors and lighting and shadows were all coming out once painted. And the pencil work lacked the finer details that he added into his painting in the final stages, so like, I did see a rough draft before he started painting, and could ask for tweaks or adjustments at that point...except at that point, I didn’t NEED to! LOL. In the rougher sketch, her general position was just shifted enough from what it ended up being that like, it wasn’t my ideal pose for her but nothing I’d say I actually had a problem with, like her upper body was elevated just enough and at just the right angle compared to what he ended up with that at that point, there was no unnatural hip thrust or any of that stuff, and there was only a rough sense of what would come to be the final armor. So I mean, TECHNICALLY I had an opportunity to pump the brakes and be like whoa wait dude, this isn’t what we discussed, can I get you to go back to the drawing board just in this one specific area right here and maybe even just take another look at those comps I sent you, see what I mean about what I’m trying to avoid and how that’s kinda sneaking in here anyway....except, I didn’t think I had to say anything at that point lol, because it all looked on track??

I mean, its not like I think he deliberately misled me with that initial draft or anything, nothing as dramatic as that. I’m fairly certain that like most artists and designers will tell you, in the process of like, the actual drawing/painting/designing, you have to make adjustments as you go to account for the little unforseen speedbumps where you were juuuuuust off enough in your prediction of how this would look when working in your ultimate medium, that you have to like...keep nudging your initial outline little by little as you go to account for the slight shift in direction...with gradually that adding up to a fairly significant departure in the end. Ultimately, I think we ended up with what we ended up with because he was good with focusing on my specific concerns when drafting in pencil and just mapping out a general intent, but the closer he got to finishing up his piece, the less and less focused he was on the stuff I prioritized rather than his own innate prioritizations and so he just kinda figured ‘is it really gonna be THAT big a deal?’ instead of sacrificing a direction or angle that played into what he thought was a more important design element. Stuff like that. Like, you know me, I’m def not saying that makes it A-Ok in my book, lol, I just mean to say I honestly don’t think it was...a willful, conscious effort on his part to leave me with something as far removed from what I was hoping for as what I got.

So again I say blech. Its just super frustrating and obnoxious and I’ve been trying to decide what to do with it for like, months now. Because again, EVERYTHING ELSE is perfect and gorgeous and like, yes, good, this is what I wanted, what I was hoping for. Like, I literally could not come up with a design using my own go-to mediums that would come anywhere close to capturing the general feel and tone and mood of the story and its setting better than the overall vibe of his piece.

Its just the protag, front and center, is absolutely driving me fucking nuts. And I keep going back and forth endlessly because I’m like is it really THAT bad and noticeable or am I hyper-fixating because I specifically tried to avoid this end result and ended up with at least a version of it anyway? And then I’m like psst, remember how much fucking money you spent on this, like yeah thats long gone and doesn’t change your current situation one way or another so it doesn’t really matter except oh yeah its totally gonna fucking haunt you if you don’t use this lol and all that money was spent for nothing lmfao you dumbass. And then I’m like, just to weigh my options, what would I design for this cover myself, if I ended up scrapping this and making my own from scratch, do I at least have anything in mind that’s for sure not any worse than my dissatisfaction with this? Except lol I literally can not seem to come up with ANYTHING, like, total blank, because again there’s just enough that I LIKE about the piece that its like, now that I’ve seen THOSE aspects of it, I’m not gonna be content with any cover that doesn’t contain them and I just literally have no way of replicating those effects via my own design medium.

Ugh. So its really annoying, and I keep going around and around and around in circles and making no progress on what to do about it and like...ugh. I hate being so anal about shit like this, especially when I am usually pretty good about dodging the hyper-fixation tendencies on this front specifically.....but I just got whammied but good by the way all of this unfolded and came together and now I feel stuck and lmao I’m really not fond of the fact that I’m really fucking proud of this book and how it came out in terms of the writing and story but like, covers ARE actually a pretty big deal as they’re literally a reader’s first impression, and I feel like no matter which route I go, a big part of me is gonna be doomed to be like NO YOU FUCKING IDIOT THAT WAS THE WRONG CHOICE, UGH WTF DUDE, TURN AROUND, UNDO, UNDO, U’LL REGRET THIIIIIIIS.

ANYWAY! That’s my much ado about nothing. I was kinda hoping that hashing it all out in a post and working my way through it as I wrote it all down would like....magically reveal the Right Decision to me and everything would click and be so obvious by the time I got to this point in the post, but alas.

Fix-It Machine broke. This accomplished nothing. UGH. RUDE.

[dustofinsanity]

𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑒

ㅤㅤ

Taekwoon / Reader ㅤㅤㅤ Painter AU ㅤㅤㅤ Words count: 4.5k

Summary: He saw through your eyes, he saw who was hidding behind the come-hither look and you loved the way he was looking at you. But, after a moment, it wasn’t enough.

Content/Warning: Romance, angst (a bit), “dirty” job, suggestive content.

Saying you were a lucky young woman would've been false. Of course, you had a lot of money, a wonderful apartment, a big and luxurious car and a tone of branded clothing. You ate in fancy restaurants and knew important people. But the way you made your living wasn't the best and, even if your friends, if we could call them like that, told you, you were a strong woman or that they loved you, you knew they were lying. You knew you disgusted them.

After all, you were just an escort girl. The kind of woman who sold her body for VIP parties or moments of simple pleasure. Even if you weren't ashamed about what you did, it wasn't a source of pride either.

You stopped your black Chevrolet Camaro in front of one of your favorite Itaewon pubs and waved at some people who were drinking outside.

"It's rare to see you here on friday nights." A tall tatooed man told you, wrapping his arm around your waist, while you kissed his cheek. "Don't tell me no one wanted you at the Octagon, I won't believe you."

"What can I say? Even a whore like me can have standards." You shrugged taking a sip of his beer.

"You're not a whore, Y/n." A young woman frowned. "You're just..."

"A whore." You chuckled. "Don't worry, it's okay. I'm not a good girl and I don't wanna be."

You greeted them and walked into the pub, waved at other people before sitting at the counter and ordering a whisky at the bartender who, as always, told you, you were gorgeous in your black and silver short dress. And yes, you were!

Legs crossed, a cigarette in a hand and your drink in the other, you were looking at the clients. There were so different from the men you were dating, if we could say you were dating them. Your clients were ridiculously rich and, sometimes, far older than you. But, luckily, most of them just wanted your company, nothing else. They wanted to be seen with a wonderful and astounding young lady at their arm during fancy parties. But, some of them wanted more and, even if you didn't really enjoy it, you gave them what they wanted. It was your job, after all.

Blowing a large cloud of smoke, you turned to the barman but froze, amazed by a paint you could see. Slowly, you stood up and came closer to the canvas, mouth half open. You couldn't say why but this paint shoot you through the heart.

"Do you like art?" A man sitting at the table next to you asked.

"Kind of..." You breathed while you couldn't take your eyes off the canvas. "She's so sad..." You added in a whisper, touching the face of the painted girl with your fingertips.

"She's smiling." He said, frowning lightly at you, his head tilted.

"Her eyes..." You whispered before shaking your head, taking back control on your mind, and looked at the stranger.

Even if he wasn't your "type", looking a little too poor for you, he was breathtaking. Wearing a large and half open white linen shirt, a pair of black ripped jeans and a black borsalino, he was simple and very attrative at the same time. You were a bit surprised by his pink hair but it gave an original touch to his style. Noticing the pens and sketch pad in front of him, you understood he was an artist and even guessed he was the one who painted the canvas.

"Take a seat, Y/n." He invited you, showing the second chair of his table with his slender hand.

"Do you know me?" You asked, tilting your head while you sat in front of him, a smirk on your lips as you put out your cigarette.

"Everyone know you, here." He shrugged lighlty, taking a sip of his wine.

"I never saw you before."

"I never let you see me."

His answer caught you off guard, he was so different from the guys you tried to seduce, he was so calm, so distant and so indifferent. So intriguing.

"Well, now you let me see you, can I know your name?" You smiled, putting your chin in your hands, highlighting your perfect feminine attributes.

"People know me as Leo."

"I see, you're playing hard to get." You chuckled, leaning back on your chair, crossing your arms on your chest. "Or maybe you have highest standards. I-"

"Standards are meaningless." Leo cut you off, a smirk stretching on his lips as he took another sip of wine. "I just don't like the way you see me. I'm not one of your clients, Y/n, and I don't want to be one of them."

"Well, what about if I was yours?"

Leo raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. Looking straight into your eyes, he leaned forward, his mouth against his long intertwined hands. At this moment, you knew you piqued his curiosity, and, smirking arrogantly, you took a sip of your whisky.

"I don't take requests and I don't paint for individual customers."

"I'll buy whatever you paint. I have money."

"I don't want your money." He winced lightly, letting you know that your money, or rather the way you were earning it, disgusted him. "I want you."

"And you don't want to be a client?" You smirked. "Yeah, of course. 700 000 won the night."

Leo sighed, losing patience, while he rubbed his forehead. You irritated him and it was a first for you since every man loved you, or at least, loved what you could give him.

"What do you want from me?" You asked sensually, caressing his forearm with your fingertips.

"Nothing you can give." He replied coldly as he stood up, taking his stuff and leaving the pub, leaving you alone at the table, eyes and mouth wide open.

Who's that man?

Back in your luxurious apartment, you clapped your hand to turn all the lights on and threw your branded bag on the huge and expensive couch installed in the middle of your spacious living room. You couldn't stop thinking about this Leo, the harsh way he was talking, his cold eyes. Never has any man been like this with you. And you couldn't deny it, you found it very... interesting.

The night after, instead of hanging out at the Octagon, your favorite hunting ground, you went back at the pub but didn't see the young man. You asked the bartender if he knew where his strange client lived or had at least a clue but the only thing he could tell you was he heard that Leo lived in Dobong district. Which didn't help you.

You spent a big part of the previous night looking for some information about the artist on internet but he didn't talk a lot about him and didn't hold a lot of exhibitions, maybe two of three by year, not more. He didn't talk a lot about him and this fact interested you even more. Maybe he had something to hide.

You thanked the bartender and got back in your car with the firm intention to find Leo on the same night. You drove to Dobong district. You thought that, if you said his name or describe him in some convenient stores, you could get few informations.

But nothing.

No one knew him and, around 3am, you sat in front of an old warehouse, your hand on your head. Leo was like a ghost: people saw him sometimes but didn't know him or where he lived.

"Fucking ghost!" You were ranting about the mysterious man when you heard someone stop in front of you.

"What are you doing here?"

This voice! You raised your head, eyes wide open and saw Leo, a paper bag in his arms, raising an eyebrow as he was looking at you. You were so surprised that you opened your mouth but no words came from.

"Why are you sitting in front of my house?" He asked, taking his key out of his pocket.

"Your... Your house?" You repeated, looking at the warehouse. "Are you living-"

"Yes, I do." He cut you off. "Why are you here?"

"I was looking for you." You replied, standing up and brushing the back of your jeans. "You're playing hard to get but you're even harder to find."

"And why were you looking for me?"

"I... I want you to apologize!"

"You're a bad liar, Y/n." Leo smirked as he opened the front door of the warehouse.

"I... Okay!" You sighed, raising your hands in defeat. "You intrigue me. Happy?!"

You heard him chuckle while he entered his house, letting the door open. You popped your head in the old building when a strong but kind of pleasent scent of paint mixed with pure alcohol hit you.

You stepped in the warehouse and saw that Leo turned it into a giant painting workshop with a place which was probably his studio at the first floor. There was a lot of canvases almost everywhere and a little place that looked like a small stage with a couch and sheets. Even if it was far from different from where you lived, from where you were used to spend your spare time, this place amazed you and you couldn't stop watching all around.

You jumped a little when Leo showed up in front of you, a bottle of wine in his hand, his cold eyes analyzing every of your moves and reactions. A smirk stretched on his lips and, without saying anything, he walked towards a canvas he was painting. Silently, you came closer to him and looked over his shoulder, noticing the girl he was drawing looked like the one you saw at the pub. You wanted to know who she was because you were sure to know her but stayed quiet, stepping back and looking at the other canvas.

Leo was painting a lot of things: portraits, landscapes, still-life, animals, etc... And you were more and more astounded by all the details. Even if art wasn't a thing you were passionate about, Leo's works brought you to another world. It was like you could perfectly see yourself in these wonderful places or talking with those painted strangers.

"I thought you didn't paint for individual customers." You smirked, watching some portraits.

"I don't." Leo replied without looking at you, mixing three colors on his palette. "I don't know these people. There are just passers-by I remember. Will you stay here for long?"

"I'm still waiting for you to apology."

"I won't, I did nothing wrong. If you can't stand when someone doesn't fall for you, it's not my fault."

You sighed, trying to hold back your anger, and came back closer to him, putting your hands on his large shoulders and slidded them in his baroque half opened shirt. He was perfectly build, not too much, not too little, simply perfect.

"What do you want from me that I can't give you?" You asked, lowering your head to his, your lips close to his ear.

"You." He answered without moving or looking at you.

"That's good, I can." You smirked as you turned around him and sat astride his lap, your hands rubbing the back of his neck.

Leo sighed and put his palette and brush on the little table next to him. Once again, you saw you irritated him but, instead of pushing you away, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him which caught you off guard.

"Not like that." He whispered, his lips almost touching yours. "I want you, I really do, but not the way you think."

"How?" You breathed, eyes wide open, heart racing.

"I searched for a muse, a source of inspiration for years and I saw you. I knew you were the one I was looking for when I saw your reaction to my paint in the pub. Do you know why you could see the girl was sad?" You shook your head quietly, swallowing. "Because she's like you. You can fool everyone you want, Y/n, but you can't fool me. I can see behind your charming smile."

"I have a charming smile?" You joked, trying to ease the wave of feelings that hit you.

"The most charming and beautiful I've ever seen." Leo smiled while his thumb ran over your lips delicately. "Be my muse, Y/n. I don't ask for anything else."

Nodding slightly, you put a sweet kiss on his lips, saying that was the way you made a deal.

Your relationship with Leo was really one of a kind and it was the first time you acted like that with a man. Weeks passed by, you started to gradually stop your dirty job, making few extra shifts at the pub you met the artist, and spent most of your time with him. You went back to your apartment maybe one or two times a week but only to check your mail and take some new clothes which ended up on Leo's bedroom floor.

To be honest, it felt like you lived together. You shared your meals, hung out together, split the housework and even slept together, in each other arms, just sleep no sex. You surprised yourself being very domesticated with Leo, hugging him really often, kissing him quickly sometimes, that made him smirk, and strolling in his warehouse wearing your underwear only, a glass of wine in your hand, nodding your head to the music he always listened to.

During one of your long pillow talk, Leo told you his real name was Jung Taekwoon and he lost his parents few years ago. He was very honest with you, saying he was one of the most well paid artists of Seoul but he'd rather give most of his money to charities than keep it for himself. He was an outsider and didn't want to live like others.

And he amazed you day by day.

The more you stayed with Taekwoon, the more you needed to be with him, to be in his arms, to be the only woman he was looking at like the way he did. For the first time, you found yourself beautiful in someone else's eyes. For the first time, you felt you were desired for what you really were even if Leo never touched you the way you were used to with your former clients. Yes, for the first time, you knew you were loved.

But, it wasn't the same love you felt for Leo.

Taekwoon saw you as his muse, only his muse, while you saw him as your savior, the one who showed you you were more beautiful and worthy than you thought. He was the first man you sincerely loved, the only one you really wanted. But yeah, you were just his muse, his source of inspiration, his broken angel that had fallen from Heaven, his perfection. Nothing else.

And it killed you.

Dancing in his workshop, carried away by the music that your friend listened to 24/7, you were enjoying your simple life when your eyes landed on him. When he was painting, he seemed to be in his own world and you always found him ethereal when he was so focused on his work. But, this night, you wanted to hang out.

Tiptoeing over him, you crawled onto his lap and, wrapping your arms around his neck, burred your face against his collar bone.

"Bored?" He smirked, sliding his left hand on your lower back, tracing little circle on it. He put his brush when he felt you nod and cupped your face, making you look at him. "Do you want to hang out?"

"Yeah but I know you won't like the place I want to go." You pouted, lowering your eyes.

"Big club?" You shook your head slightly. "A lot of people?" You shrugged. "I can't say no to you."

"Really?" You raised your head, eyes sparkling. "I promise, it's not a big club but-”

"It's okay, my love." He whispered, letting you kiss him tenderly, pulling you closer before feeling your hips grind a little on him. "Go get ready." He breathed, trying to hold back his excitement.

You smiled against his lips as you left a light growl escape from your lips and ran to his studio while he chuckled a bit, amused by your cute but racy behavior.

You drove to the Cake Shop, an undergroud club of Itaewon where you were known as one of the most popular regular. It was a place you spent a lot of time before starting your escort girl life. You still came sometimes but it wasn't a hunting ground, just a club you were going when you wanted to stay alone but surrounded by people. But you hadn't come for almost half a year.

When the bouncer saw you come to the front door, he opened wide his eyes, not believing you were back at the Cake Shop after months without news. You greeted him with a delightful smile and kissed his cheek, pushing slihghtly under his chin to close his mouth.

"It's been a while." The bouncer smiled before looking at your stunning shape. "Still gorgeous, Y/n."

"Thank you, oppa. Do you think we can come in?" You asked, wrapping Taekwoon's arms around your waist. "I want to show him the best club of Itaewon."

"Of course, you can." He said, opening the front door, and pat Leo's shoulder. "You're such a lucky man."

Your friend nodded with a smirk and followed you inside, frowning a little since he wasn't used to clubs, big or small. You chuckled when you saw his face and squeezed his hand in yours, smiling at him lovingly. He kissed your head and walked to the counter, intertwining your fingers.

Settled between his thighs, sipping your vodka-redbull, you were dancing discreetly when Taekwoon noticed it and, whispering in your ear, told you to go on the dancefloor.

"I don't think you'd love to see me dancing." You winced, raising your eyebrows as you took another sip of your drink.

"I love seeing you dancing."

"When I'm at yours, Leo. When I'm alone."

He licked his lips a little, frowning again. It was true that, every time he saw you dance was when you were in his workshop, he never saw you dancing surrounded by people, especially men. But he also knew you really wanted to enjoy this night and he couldn't force you to stay with him all the time.

"Have fun." He smiled at you, pushing you slightly.

You thanked him, pecked his mouth and ran to the dancefloor, a large smile on your lips as an idea came to your mind. A bad idea, yes, but an idea, though.

Leo understood what you wanted to say when you told him he wouldn't like to see you dancing in the dancefloor. It wasn't the way you moved, he loved all your moves, they were fascinating for him, but he wasn't a fan of the men who were dancing with you. They were a little too close to you, their hands touched your hips or thighs a little too much, you smiled a little too friendly while your hips waved a little too sensually. Everything was a little too something.

He surprised himself, growling, when a stranger leaned his face close to yours but he didn't move, faking a smile when you looked at him. His reaction disappointed you and, teeth clenched, you left the dancefloor, walking furiously outside.

Confused about your reaction, Taekwoon paid for the drinks and followed you, asking the bouncer in which direction you went. As soon as the bouncer told him you took a dark and narrow street, Taekwoon ran over you and found you sat on the floor, your face down in your hands, a cigarette stuck between your fingers. He could hear you cry as he came closer and it broke his heart to see you like that, so fragile.

"Let's go home, my love." He murmured, croutching in front of you.

"Why?" You growled weakly as you raised your head. "Did you get another wonderful idea of painting?! Does it inspire you to see me like that?!"

"What are you saying? I hate seeing you like that."

"It's your fault!" You shouted, pushing him and making him fall as you stood up. "You don't give a fuck about what I think, about my feelings! You only see me as your fucking muse! Guess what! I don't want to be that shit anymore! I want to be more than your muse!" You didn't even notice you had started crying while you were yelling at him.

"Y/n, I-"

"Shut up!" You cut him off, making him open his eyes wide. "You saved me, Taekwoon! I was just a fucking whore when we met! But since I'm with you, I stopped what I was doing before! I try to be a good woman! I try to make you proud of me! But you don't see what I do! You don't see how much I need you! How much I love you!"

Leo stood up suddenly and brutally pressed his hands on the wall behind you, on each side of your head, catching you off guard. His eyes were full of anger. You already saw him mad, and, even if he had never shouted at you or been violent to you, you knew how scary he could be.

"Don't push me." Taekwoon growled, looking straight into your eyes, his face just inches away from yours.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Leo. I... I won't-"

"Never again." He added harshly, making you flinch a little and close your eyes. "Don't do that. Don't be afraid of me."

"I'm so... I'm sorry, I didn't want to up... to upset you." You breathed, shaking like a leaf. "I'll... I'll keep being your-"

Taekwoon abruptly locked his lips on yours, slidding a hand behind your head while the other reached your lower back and pulled you closer to him. You pressed your hands against his shoulders but he growled against your lips, reminding you not to push him. Never again.

A moan escaped from your lips when Leo slidded his thigh between yours, deepening the kiss as he pressed you against the wall. Few seconds later, Leo pulled away and, gasping for air, he put his forehead against yours, smiling a little when you pecked his lips shyly.

"I saw, Y/n." He whispered, raising his mouth to your forehead, keeping you in his arms. "I saw everything you did but I wasn't sure about the situation, about us and my feelings. You were my muse and I didn't think I could see you differently. But when I saw you with these men." He smirked when he heard you swallow. "You did this on purpose, right?" You nodded. "Congratulations, my love, your plan worked."

"I'm sorry about what I said, Leo. I still want to be your muse."

"You're so much more than that." He murmured, cupping your face and kissing you again.

After the night at the Cake Shop, things became really different. You sold your luxurious apartment and almost all your clothes. The only thing you couldn't give up was your car, but Taekwoon liked it too so it wasn't a problem if you kept your dear Chevrolet Camaro. You also completely moved on from your past life and, even if you kept contact with some of your former clients with who you became friends, you didn't want to hear about the escort girl world ever again. Moreover, your extra shifts at the pub you met Taekwoon turned into a real job and you were bartending during the day.

Even if it was far from your past, you loved your new life, you loved it so much and you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

You were serving drinks in the pub when the front door opened and Taekwoon came behind you, putting his hands on your hips.

"Hi, my muse." He whispered in your neck, kissing it lovingly.

"Hi, handsome." You chuckled and kissed his cheek before getting back to the counter. "Why are you here?"

"I had to show you something." He smiled, pulling out a magazine he had in the back of his jeans.

"Oh my God, it's out!" You shouted, taking the book from his hand, flipping through it and finding the interview he gave. "Wow! The pictures are beautiful!"

"Can you just read this part?" Leo asked, pointing at a part of the interview.

You nodded and started to read, opening gradually wide your eyes. The journalist asked your boyfriend if he could talk about his personnal life a little and, for the first time, Taekwoon agreed, making public your relationship.

"I am actually dating someone, an amazing and strong woman I met in a pub. She is a former escort girl with a sad story. Her mother abandoned her when she was a teenager. She had to do a lot of devaluing things but, when I saw her for the first time, I knew who she really was. She is the kind of girl you only meet once in a life. We started our relationship as friends even if she almost lived with me. We spent a lot of time together and were really close. But things changed some months ago and we started dating. She was my muse and now, she is much more than that. It might sound a little cheesy but I really can't imagine my life without her. When she is reading this, I will ask her to share the rest of her life with me."

Tears running along your cheeks, you raised your head slowly and looked at Leo who was holding a little velvet box in his hand. Without saying anything, he opened it and showed you a wonderful golden ring with a discreet heart shaped diamond. You saw him smirk shyly and, jumping over the counter, you wrapped your arms around his neck, nodding and smiling.

You pulled away, wiping your cheeks, and let Taekwoon put the ring on your finger. Crying tears of joy, you touched the magnificent jewell carefully when Leo cupped your face in his hands and kissed you tenderly.

"Proposing through an interview..." You chuckled against his lips. "You're really an outsider, Leo."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ⁓•⁓ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ Thank you for reading! 💜 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ⁓•⁓

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

I’m trying not to go to bed too early, because the other night I kept waking up and lying awake unable to fall asleep, so I’m gonna chatter a bit about the three Fae AU designs I’ve done for three of the Fey girls

The first two sketches I did, of Maya and Mia, were back in November. Maya’s was first:

(cut because lots of big pictures)

[link for “official” design, December]

There’s..... a few similar things. The way the necklace became floating orbs is the same, and her hair being a foggy mess, and the pointed ears and pointed teeth. I played with the shape of their noses and whether I wanted that to be a less-human feature, and I wasn’t sold on that, so that (for now?) got scrapped. I forgot the magatama in the final drawing but honestly you could probably assume that’s there. 

I hadn’t figured out her mouth yet. That’s one of the key features for Maya, imo. When I decided that I wasn’t just going to have a “standard” fae look and instead design each character individually, I did so because I wanted their appearances to reflect something about their canon characterization. For Maya, the thing I picked and ran with is that she likes to eat. It’s far from the most important thing about her, but it got me to that otherworldly, horror concept of her chesire smile and overlarge mouth. 

Her hair tendrils and the parts on the sides being things she can control was kind of a whim, but I took it from Pokemon things, like how Mimikyu has that kind of shadow arm that can emerge from beneath the constume, or Cofagrigus’ arms. That sort of thing. I just thought it was neat. 

You’ll also notice that she only has the one pair of eyes in this first draft. That’s because I added them to her after I drew her sister:

[link for ”official” design, January]

Mia had lots of eyes from the start. Even when I drew this, I was picturing a third row of eyes beneath the largest ones, too. You see that in the final design she has just one, because I couldn’t make the full row look quite right to me. That concept, her three rows of red eyes, is meant to resemble Godot’s mask, which has the three glowing red bars. Otherwise, Mia’s design didn’t see the overhaul that Maya did. Her hair became a little fuzzier, too, and that’s really it.

Maya then got her second set of eyes as a similarity to Mia.

When it came to the final, with color, designs, I wasn’t always settled on purple for Maya’s skin. First I tested out orange, which I plucked directly from the color of her magatama in her sprites, I think.

But Maya just really really feels like a purple girl to me, so purple I went with. Orange went to Mia, because Mia doesn’t feel purple. 

And their ears changed shape not really for any real reason, but Maya’s I was looking at the mitamah design when I drew it, and I think her ears have the same number of bumps as a mitamah. Mia’s don’t, because I was like, fuck it. Whatever. Also, though I didn’t do the full bust drawing of Mia, she has claws, too. All of the fae have claws, and red eyes, and everything else can be different. 

Then there’s Dahlia. I genuinely don’t have any concept sketches for her. I leapt right into it.

[link to “official” design, January]

Her horns go where her braids go, and her ears are shaped sort of like all those little butterflies that flutter around her. I dismissed the idea of pink skin pretty quickly, like yeah, she’s pink, but I thought I could come up with something more. I’m visualizing it -- not sure how well I made it work in the drawing -- as being like porcelain, like a porcelain doll. That Maya and Mia’s skin is different colors, but still looks more like skin, as opposed to Dahlia’s, which is weirdly smooth and a little shiny. Kinda leaning into the nickname that Phoenix gives her.

Then, for her hair, I tossed around the idea of having it pretty much just be red fire, drawing from her final sprites when she’s being exorcised. Fire, and phoenixes. And then I thought, what if I made it the opposite of that, and had her hair be a bit thinned and clumped together like it’s wet -- again, not sure how well I made it work in the drawing -- a la drowning, a la her faking her death off of Dusky Bridge into the river.

Lastly, there’s her eyes. They’re meant to resemble a gemstone -- again, hearkening back to when she took the dive off the bridge after extorting a diamond from her own stepfather. I almost had her eyes be white, again like a diamond, but also like that one very angry sprite she has where her eyes go straight white. But while I liked that idea, I couldn’t justify to myself the exception from my rule of “all the fae have red eyes, only.” In the first sketch, her eyes were a different shape, too.

but I didn’t like that as much.

She’s got the extra set of eyes too, which has now become a “Fey family” thing in my head. In the actual fic for this AU, in chapter 6, Phoenix says that Maya didn’t always have the second smaller pair of eyes, that they were new (after Bridge). I imagine them as being almost a marker of the power of that particular fae -- that Maya hadn’t always applied herself so much to strengthening her magic, and so she only has the one pair. That would then mean that Mia is way too super powerful but......I dunno. Don’t take this as canon yet. 

I will say, that for the power levels of the fae woman -- while canonically, Dahlia and Iris have no spiritual power, it’s different here. Dahlia is one of the stronger ones -- the power rankings as I have them roughed out in my head go

Mia > Dahlia > Pearl > Maya > Iris

Pearl and Maya is a tricky one, in that Pearl has more innate, inborn, natural power, but when Maya starts applying herself, after her mother’s death and foiling the last of Morgan and Dahlia’s plots, she is stronger than Pearl in her magic. And this is all trilogy-era. By the time we get to Maya’s next appearance, in Khura’in... she’s stronger than Mia ever was. You do not want to fuck with Maya, ever (see: her vs de Killer) but especially not in the next-gen era. I will have to be very careful plotting to make sure she doesn’t break SoJ from the outset.

And I....think that’s everything. I think that’s -- wait. One last thing.

The hair. I talked about Dahlia’s hair, but you’ll notice it’s different than Maya and Mia’s. Why?

It’s a pun. I swear to you, it’s just a fucking pun on Misty’s name, that Maya and Mia have misty, foggy, wispy hair. 

There. Now I think that’s most of what I wanted to say for design thoughts on these three. I intend to design Pearl and Iris (even if she ends up just being a palette-swap) at some point, so I’ll probably end up talking about them once I’m done, too.

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 3 - Opportunities

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU,

Length: approx. 5k words

Chapter 3 - Opportunities 

            “…A preschool job?” Taehyung asked, looking up at his friend. Jimin had come straight over to his apartment from work, hurrying in and prying Taehyung away from a sketch that he was very invested in. Before Taehyung could even ask what Jimin was doing, he was given the piece of paper with all the information on it regarding the position.

            “Yeah. My boss just gave me the information before I left. I think you should totally look into applying.” Jimin said, sitting beside his friend. “The pay is pretty good, and it’s not hard. You’re just doing art projects with a bunch of little kids.” Taehyung sighed, passing the paper back to his friend and running a hand through his hair.

            “I don’t know, Jimin.” He said. “I’m not really good with kids.”

            “What do you mean? You always get along great with your cousins.”

            “Okay, then let me rephrase,” Taehyung said. “I’m not really good with kids who I can’t play wrestle and backflip onto the couch.” Jimin nodded, leaning back in the seat. “Besides, I’m trying to be a famous artist, not a school teacher.”

            “But it’s a job until you become a famous artist,” Jimin assured. “Besides, it could be fun. You need a change in scenery.” Taehyung sighed, getting up and walking back to his desk, plopping himself in his seat. “I need a day or two to make some samples for the guy. Will you at least tell me you’ll think about it?” Taehyung, running a hand down his face, focused his eyes on Jimin. Jimin smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with the same whimsical aura that they always had, an aura that always assured Taehyung that things would smooth over in the long run. Taehyung had put a lot of his trust in Jimin since he decided to pursue art when they were in high school, waiting for the bus stop one early Monday morning as they dreaded the idea of being up so early for school. Taehyung groaned, knowing it was only a matter of time before he gave in to his best friend.

            “Okay, okay, okay. I’ll think about it.” Taehyung finally said. Jimin grinned, getting up off the couch.

            “Okay, awesome. I’ll let you know when the flyers are done and I’ll give you one so you can call them.” Taehyung nodded, swiveling around in his chair as he looked back at his sketches that were stopped halfway through. Jimin yawned a bit. “Do you mind if I stay here tonight? I’m too tired to drive all the way home.”

            “I guess so,” Taehyung said. He heard footsteps heading towards his bedroom, and he looked over. “Why are you heading towards my room? There’s a perfectly good couch.” Jimin turned back around as he shrugged off his suit jacket, folding it over his shoulder as he loosened his tie.

            “You’re going to be up all night with that light on and I’m not losing sleep because of your pencil scratching and constant grumblings-.”

            “Artistic grumblings,” Taehyung said, grinning playfully. Jimin chuckled.

            “…Artistic grumblings…either way, I’m not letting it keep me awake. When you’re done, come to kick me out on the couch. Unless you want to join me~.” He teased, and both of them laughed.

            “I’ll probably crash right here,” Taehyung said, patting his desk. “Just like always.” Jimin smiled a bit. “Goodnight.” He said, before swiveling once again to face his desk. Jimin watched as he picked up a pencil and began to draw again. He stood for a moment, just staring, before finally heading into the bedroom. When Taehyung was alone in his living room, he leaned back in his seat, pulling out his phone and quickly being bombarded with tons of Instagram notifications. He had uploaded a picture about an hour ago, before he really got into his work, of the sketching that he planned to do all night. He opened the app up, wondering what his followers were saying about his brainstorming stage. The comments were not what he expected.

            Oppa, post a picture of your face~! ^.^ I’m sure you’re looking extra handsome today.

            Don’t work too hard, you don’t want to get rings under those beautiful eyes, Oppa~ <3

            I’m not really a big art fan, but I just think you’re so handsome, Oppa, I’ll follow you always!  uwu

            There were almost 100 similar comments, only a handful of them curious about what he was creating in the picture. He continued to scroll, hoping that he would find just one of those handfuls so that he could work tonight with a smile on his face. Through the seas of appearance-based comments, he finally found one. One that had nothing to do with his appearance, but his work. @MissSunshine43 wrote:

            How do you always find ways to get inspired? I’m jealous. >.<

            Taehyung chuckled a bit, tapping the heart beside the message and allowing it to pop up in bright red. He had to admit, curiosity got the better of him, and he tapped onto the profile of MissSunshine43. The profile itself was not what he was expecting. The page was bright and colorful, and it looked like a school classroom. Pictures that contained children had their faces covered by cute emojis, and as he scrolled, he saw all the different things that this school did. Different themed days for holidays, different events involving parents, and different types of work students had completed. A small smile formed on his lips as he continued to scroll, more and more curious with every picture that he saw. He didn’t need to see the kid’s faces to know that he was having fun with whatever they were doing. When a new set of pictures loaded, he clicked on the one picture of a female face. She was sitting around 4 kids, on top of a big, white tarp. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, hints of colored paint showing in her locks. Her hands as well as the hands of the emoji-faced students around her were holding up hands that were coated in different colored finger paints. The teacher had spots of red paint on her cheeks, with a small smile stretched between them. Sliding to the next picture, Taehyung saw a completed picture that was decorated with colored swirls, hearts, handprints, and crudely scribbled names most likely written by the students. In the middle, it read: Thank you for another fun year! 2018-2019. The picture was nothing stunning, but it seemed to suit the class it was for. Taehyung read the caption underneath:

            Finally got to crack open the paints this year! Our teacher did a good job again, yeah? OwO

            Taehyung’s finger ran along his phone screen as he examined the photo for a few more minutes. He thought back to what Jimin told him about the preschool job that would soon be up for grabs. Sighing, he leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes, his hand lazily tapping on his phone a few times, then blinked, lifting his phone back up to his view. The photo he had just been looking at, one that was around a year old, had a big red heart on the side of it. His eyes widened, and he quickly turned his phone off and slammed his phone down, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair.

            “Aaaah, fuck, now I look like a stalker.” He grumbled to himself. Taehyung sat like that for a moment, running his hands through his hair multiple times. Despite the constant reminder that he was an actual idiot running through his mind, he looked back at his phone, which lit up again with the notification of an Instagram interaction covering the background he had of him and Jimin posing dramatically in suits for one of Jimin’s important business events. Simply flipping over the phone so the case was exposed, he sighed. “A preschool, hm?” he mumbled to himself.

-------------------------------

            Two days later, you were sitting at your desk, eating some lunch with Hoseok. He was helping you prepare for when the students returned from lunch, as this week’s focus was on different people in a community. So far, they had learned about the jobs of police officers, firefighters, and medical staff such as doctors and nurses. Today would be focused on teachers, and next week, after introducing a few more community workers, the students would be able to dress up as their favorite, and they would have a big celebration day. You were most excited about that and had lined up a few people that you knew in each profession who were willing to come and talk to the students about their job and what it was like. Videos and stories could only do so much, which is what you had been doing, so having real people come in would be a treat that kids were looking forward to.

            “I wonder what all the kids are going to choose to dress up as.” Hoseok hummed, looking at you. You glanced up, popping a piece of leftover chicken into your mouth that you had packed from yesterday’s dinner.

            “I have a feeling I know what a few of them are going to be.” You said, smiling. “Which reminds me, I need to go put up that flyer on the bulletin board by the front door for the parents to see.” You got up, setting your boxed lunch down onto the table, and picking up the colorful flyer with clipart pictures of different community helpers that the students were learning about. Hoseok continued getting today’s teaching activity ready while you headed out to the bulletin board. It was already covered in work made by the kids, as well as notifications for parents on school events, local community events, and anything else that they may need to know. It was a pretty crowded board of stuff. “I should get rid of all of the old news, huh?” you hummed, pursing your lips. You scanned the cluttered board, picking off a few events that had since come to pass. You began reorganizing the board, making sure that it was visually pleasing to the average eye despite all that was being displayed was various pieces of colored paper with lots of sentences written in Black Comic Sans.

            “Yoooohooo~.” You heard a voice calling and turned to see Seokjin approaching you. He was grinning as he waved a thin piece of paper in his hands. “Just the pretty lady that I wanted to see.”

            “Hello, Mr. Kim.” You said, a bundle of old and crumpled papers now in your hands. “What’s that?”

            “The job application for the new art teacher~.” Seokjin grinned. You felt yourself grimace slightly, but you tried to remain subtle about it. Unsure if it worked on your boss – it probably didn’t – you watched as he stepped close and showed you the colorful paper. The name Bright Star Preschool centered the page in bright pink letters and an eloquently simple font. All the information necessary was written on the flyer as well, placed so creatively inside a giant-sized palette as replacements for the colors that would normally be seen on one. A paintbrush sat beside the over-sized palette, and on the bottom of the flyer held a contact phone number. It didn’t seem like such a massively elaborate project, and yet, somehow, you could tell it was done by professionals. “Doesn’t it look great? Namjoon’s workers know what they’re doing.” Seokjin walked to the board, lifting up the stapler that was waiting for use on the floor. As he stapled the paper onto the board, a content grin remained on his handsome face. “I’m excited to start interviewing.”

            “Yessir…” you said softly. Seokjin looked at you, patting your head gently.

            “I’m going to upload the flyer to our social media accounts, and I’m sure we’ll start getting calls soon, so get your interview face ready because you’re going to be incredibly busy.”

            “Yessir.” You said, nodding your head.

            “And grow your vocabulary, okay?” he teased, patting your shoulder. You watched as he headed back to his office, his hands behind his back as he strolled down the colorful halls in absolute bliss. Suddenly, the man stopped in his tracks and turned to you. You could see the excitement radiating off of his entire body, and towards you. It was like he was trying to push that aura in your direction and have it absorbed into you, but unfortunately for him, it wouldn’t work. “Oh, this Friday night I want to get that dinner I keep promising you. Okay? You’re not allowed to say no.”

            “Yes-.” Seokjin’s eyes widened a bit, and you smiled a bit. “I’ll be there.”

            “That’s my girl.” Seokjin slapped his hands together. “Get back to work.” He waved you off before once again turning on his heel and heading down the hallway. You watched him for a moment before Hoseok stuck his head out of the classroom door.

            “You almost done? We need to go get the kids soon.” He saw your hands were still full of crumpled up papers and he walked over to you, gently taking them from you. “Head inside and finish eating your lunch, okay? I’ll go throw these out.” He offered you a grin that you just had to return, it was so genuine.

            “Alright.” You said. Hoseok turned to face the bulletin board, finishing what you started as you headed into the classroom. You plopped your body down on the chair, every muscle you didn’t even know you had tensed up finally relaxing into the comfort of the seat. Your eyes scanned the classroom, currently empty, though you could hear the scattered conversations of students as they went through their daily routines, talking to Hoseok, talking to each other, and even talking to themselves. You had no idea what they were saying or what they meant, but it was music to your ears just hearing the scattered little voices. As you leaned forward, you continued to eat the leftovers, though they had unfortunately gotten even colder than they were when you opened them up only 30 minutes before.

The idea that five days a week, right after the students returned from lunch, 30 minutes would be taken away from your time with the kids. You already gave up 45 minutes to Yoongi three days a week when he came down from his full-time job at the high school to provide the students with needed physical activity, but Yoongi was here way before you were, so it wasn’t a big adjustment. Hoseok had gotten his job as your teacher’s assistant right after you were hired, per your request. But this new art teacher was just something you didn’t want to deal with. What if they were stuck up? Didn’t flow well with the kids? They might not share the same work ethic as you did, how would you keep the peace between your time and theirs? These ideas ran through your mind, and you felt a headache coming on that was even bigger than the daily ones you found yourself getting simply by being in this profession. Your eyes wandered to the clock, and you stuffed one more bite into your mouth before closing your lunch and sticking it back into your work.

It was time to get the kids from lunch, and you were never one to be late.

As Seokjin heard the sound of chattering children returning from the cafeteria, he was just finishing with getting the flyers out onto social media. With the final click of a button, he leaned back in his seat. Ever since he had made the decision, he felt bad for the way it made you feel. However, he could sugar coat it all he wanted, if you were to distracted by the mundane arts and crafts, everyone suffers. Especially the children. He knew you would get over it in time, and he knew including you in the process would take a little, if any, tension off your shoulders. He saw you pass by through the square window in his door, your head turned as you kept a finger to your lips in hopes to encourage silence from the children as you passed by his office. A smile stayed on his face as his eyes fell back down to the flyer still plastered on his social media.

“That Jimin kid really did a good job.” He mumbled to himself. “Let’s see how long it takes for us to start getting some calls.” He hummed, leaned back in his seat and putting his hands behind his head.

-------------------------------

“You want me to call now!?” Taehyung shouted. His phone was resting in between his cheek and his shoulder since one of his hands was tightly gripping a piece of sketch paper while the other was lodged firmly in his pants pocket.

“Yeah!” Jimin said. “I’ve been following the school’s social media, and they just posted the flyers about an hour or so ago!”

“Shouldn’t I wait a few days or something before I call? I’ll look desperate, won’t I?”

“Taehyung, this is a job inquiry, not a first date.” Jimin groaned. Taehyung could hear his friend’s annoyance through the phone. “Just call and say you know me and that you heard about the job. Namjoon-Hyung said the guy is really nice and the school is great.”

“How would he know?”

“His son goes there,” Jimin responded simply.

“That’ll explain it.” Taehyung sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll call now.” He said.

“Awesome! Call me back right after; I want to know how it goes! I’ll text you the number.” Jimin was quick to hang up the phone before Taehyung could even open his mouth to say goodbye. Glancing down at the phone, it wasn’t long before he saw a notification pop up, Jiminie as well as a phone number written in the little blurb. He stared at the phone for a moment, lips strung together in an extremely tight straight line. He knew the minute he did this; there was absolutely no going back. He would have to go in for an interview, at the very least. At the very most, he had to work as a preschool teacher for god knows how long. As he paced the back of his couch, he stared at the phone number, occasionally having to tap the phone with his thumb to ensure the screen would not go dark. As he paced, he thought back to the Instagram account he had come across recently. He thought about the smiling woman with the colorful paint all over her, and the students that he knew were smiling behind the emojis that covered their identities.

Was it going to be like that when he went? If so, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Taehyung sighed, pressing the phone number link as the screen went black. When a faint ringing tone was heard, Taehyung placed the phone to his ear. He chewed on his bottom lip, reluctantly halting his pacing and instead resorting to just slightly bouncing in one place. Finally, after what felt like forever, a voice spoke on the other side.

“Bright Star Preschool, this is President Kim Seokjin speaking.” The voice hummed. Taehyung froze for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he did this, having to act professionally. Well, he did, but the resulted in a shattered champagne glass and hundreds of eyes staring at him in shock and fear. “…Hello?” The voice hummed, and Taehyung blinked, realizing that he must have just barely been breathing.

“Y-yes, hi. Uhm, well. I heard from my friend that your school was looking for an…art teacher?” Taehyung bit his lip, scratching his mess of black hair. “He was the one who made the flyers for you.”

“Aaaaaaah, Park Jimin! Yes, he’s so talented!” Seokjin said. “I’m so glad you’re interested, you’re the first call we’ve gotten since I just put the flyers up a few hours ago.” Seokjin was silent for a moment. “Listen, Mr. Kim. Our school day is just about finishing up for today. I don’t want to inconvenience you with asking you to come to the school right away, so will you be able to come in for an interview sometime next week? You’ll be meeting the main teacher in the classroom as well.”

“Next week? Taehyung asked. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Great!” Seokjin cheered. “Do me a favor, please. Give me your email and I’ll send over a form for you to fill out and send back to me. Just put what days work best for you and I’ll get back to you.”

“O-okay…” This was all happening so fast, but next thing Taehyung knew, he was reading out his business email to the man across the phone. Seokjin laughed a bit.

“Awesome, I’ll send it over right now. Thanks for calling, I’m so excited to meet you.”

“Me too, Sir. Have a good day.” He said. Seokjin was first to hang up, allowing for a dead dial tone to ring through Taehyung’s ears. He sat down on his couch, laying his head back on the couch. “What days work best for me? I’m unemployed, all days work best for me.” He mumbled to himself. Before he had to sit and think of his busy schedule, he called Jimin back. It only rang for a second before Jimin picked up.

“What happened?” Jimin asked.

“I have an interview next week,” Taehyung said.

---------------------------------------------

“Bye, Mr. Hobi! Bye, Teacher!” Yuna cheered, waving to you as she walked hand-in-hand with her mother. You and Hoseok waved to the little girl as she clung to her mother, eyes wide as she talked about the fun day she had. A smile formed on your face, watching the eyes of the mother. She looked happy knowing that her daughter had completed yet another good day at school. Kids were being picked up left and right, a sea of loud goodbyes coming from all different angles. You smiled, waving them off as the children exited the preschool. It had been a long day of teaching about teachers, which is a lot harder than it sounds when you’re surrounded by kids who kept giggling at the fact that the same word was said twice in one sentence over and over again.

As the final handful of kids began to left, you were left with just one. Kai, also known as Hyuka by his friends. The youngest boy in the class with a big personality. He sat on one of the steps, his hands clutching his backpack as he kicked his legs. H didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that he was the last student in school, as Hoseok almost immediately crouched down with him and began talking to him about his excitement for next week’s party. Kai grinned as she shared the fireman costume that his father was planning to buy for him just for the occasion.

“Dad said I have to use it for Halloween too, but that’s okay. Dad has lots of parties.”

“That sounds so fun.” Hoseok grinned. “What do you do at those parties?” As the boys talked, your eyes wandered to the bulletin that Hoseok had finished reorganizing. The colored papers were placed in a way that was much more visually appealing to the eye than the cluttered mess that was there before. Looking closer, you saw BRIGHT STAR PRESCHOOL along with a painter’s set of supplies sitting right in the middle of the board, being the first to take the attention of anyone that looked there. You walked over while Hoseok was occupied, hoping to take it down and place it somewhere on the board. Suddenly, you heard Kai shriek.

“Daddy!” When you turned over, you saw Hoseok stand up and wave to the man that squatted down to lift Kai into his arms. As he stood up, you saw Kai fix his father’s glasses, which had gotten slightly crooked from the impact. Kim Namjoon. “Daddy I want to tell you about my day!”

“During dinner, okay?” he smiled. “I want to hear all about it.” Namjoon’s dragon-shaped eyes fell in your direction, and you felt your cheeks heat up just slightly. Those eyes, especially when behind those thick-rimmed glasses, always knew how to make you just slightly flustered. Namjoon set his son down. “Talk with Mr. Hobi for a minute while I talk to your teacher.” He said, patting his son on the head. Next thing you know, this six-foot-tall man was walking in your direction, hands stuffed in his suit pockets. A small smile formed on his face. “Sorry, I’m late. Jungkook called, said he couldn’t’ babysit tonight.”

“No worries.” You assured. “He was only here alone for less than ten minutes.” You offered him a kind smile. “I’m sure he’s excited to tell you about the past few days. He’s been talking to me about you every chance he gets.” Namjoon chuckled a bit, scratching his head sheepishly.

“I know, I know. But my workload is definitely lighter, so I’ll be picking him up myself again.” Namjoon shifted a bit, letting out a shaky sigh. “So, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” You noticed Namjoon’s piercing dragon eyes turn round and soft, as a small, yet genuine smile formed on his face. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” You said gently. “I’m sure Kai would love that.” Namjoon chuckled a bit. A moment of awkward silence washed over you, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see Hoseok giving you a glance. When your eyes met, he offered you a playful thumbs up, before quickly turning back to Kai, who was still chatting on as if Hoseok never turned away from him. When you looked back to Namjoon, he was also staring right at you. You had to admit, it made you even more flustered to have all these men staring at you.

“I…had a lot of fun at that art show last weekend.” He said gently. “Did you?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I did. Thank you for inviting me.” He smiled down at you, and you had to reach up and play with the tips of your hair, needing for your hands to do something other than just lay dormant at your sides.

“Of course. I hope you’ll let me invite you to more places in the future.” He said happily. You sighed softly, looking at him.

“Namjoon, I don’t want my boss to make you feel like you have to-.”

“He’s not,” Namjoon assured. “I genuinely mean that I want to take you out again.” You couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I’ll…think about it. These next few weeks are going to be hectic planning for the rest of the community week and the party and everything.” Namjoon simply nodded in understanding. You felt the beginnings of another awkward silence falling over the both of you again, and your eyes wandered to the bulletin board behind you. Namjoon’s gaze followed yours, most likely hoping that whatever he would lay his eyes on would lead to even more conversational topics with you. He motioned to the flyer sitting dead center of the board.

“Seokjin-Hyung hasn’t stopped talking about the art teacher job he’s opened up.” He said, looking down at you. While he expected to see yet another smile form on your face at the idea of a new coworker, instead he was met with a slight frown on your face. “You don’t look too happy.”

“It’s not that. It’s…just a long story.” You admitted, your hand continuing to comb through your locks. Namjoon nodded.

“Maybe you can tell me over dinner?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. You looked up at him, chuckling a bit in amusement, and Namjoon followed suit.

“That was smooth. But like I said, I’ll keep you updated. Now, take your son home.” You motioned to the little boy, who was now looking in his father’s direction much like how Hoseok was still staring in yours. “I think he’s getting impatient.”

“Right…” Namjoon hummed, not wanting to end the conversation though he knew he eventually had to. “I’ll call you.” He looked at you. You offered a forced smile, nodding.

“Get home safe.” You said simply, nodding your head. You watched as Namjoon returned to his son’s side, scooping him up into his arms as the boy squealed in delight. Kai waved to you and Hoseok, saying a giddy goodbye as Namjoon headed out of the preschool gates and to the car that was parked outside on the street. You rested against the wall, crossing your arms as you watched Namjoon get his child situated into the backseat. As he opened the driver’s side of the door, he turned to offer you one last kind glance, before slipping into his car and driving off.

“Did he ask you out again?” Hoseok asked, standing beside you. When he saw you nod, he simply sighed. “Aaaah, what did you say?”

“Don’t be jealous, Hobi.” You teased, turning on your heel and heading back into the classroom to gather your things.

“I’m not jealous!” Hoseok pouted, following quick behind you. “I’m just curious.”

“Don’t be. I don’t intend to do anything with him. His son is my student, I don’t want him to be overwhelmed if his dad and his teacher started dating out of nowhere, it’s not appropriate.”

“He won’t be your student forever.” Hoseok pointed out, grabbing his bag. You glared at him, and Hoseok could only smile. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, don’t just say it, then.” You said simply. Collecting your things, you headed out of the room and to Seokjin’s office to confirm with him that you were ready to leave for the day. Hoseok hurried behind you, calling out multiple apologies to you as you pretended you couldn’t hear them, despite only being a few steps ahead of him. As you walked down the hallway, your eyes fell towards a window that exposed the street outside the school, where Namjoon’s car had just been moments ago. You sighed, quickening your pace to the office.

You had no time for love, even if you wanted to. You needed to worry about this new art teacher that was going to ruin everything you had worked so hard to perfect all these years.

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[thegreatpikminzx789]

In the Deepest Darkness | Etrian Odyssey II Untold: The Fafnir Knight Fanfiction | A Dangerous Fear

So remember my EO Prompt I had with @theshatteredrose​ with the CtS guild? Yeah, figured I'd give it an actual story, since it's going to be part of the timeline of EO stories that I have in store. This is just one chapter out of five for this particular story, since this will be a full-fledged story on my Wattpad and Archive of Our Own accounts, and will take place after the Gungnir Guild defeats Ur-Child.

Plus I needed to post more on my Tumblr, it’s barely had any use since I had it...

Thank goodness I read through CtS before continuing to write this... Anyways, here ya go.

Summary: The Gungnir Guild had just defeated the labyrinth's most dangerous creature, and had just entered town. Before the guild can even settle on their hard earned victory, a Ronin runs past them in order to get deeper into Lagaard. Although explorers running around at night wasn't unusual, something felt off about the Ronin more than just his appearance... The Highlander and Fafnir Knight advance to find the Ronin and ask him a couple of questions.

Story based on a CtS Prompt from @theshatteredrose​. Be warned as it contains spoilers from Etrian Odyssey 2 Untold's final DLC.

"Another day in the labyrinth completed... God, that Ur-Child was such a pain in the ass to fight." Flavio complained, feeling incredibly worn out after the guild had defeated the strongest monster in the labyrinth. Fafnir turned to his best friend and patted his shoulder.

"No kidding... Seems like the Overlord had his reasons for sealing it away while he did." Fafnir admitted, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.

"Regardless, now that the damned thing is dead, and we can relax for the night. Right Arianna?" Chloe asked the Sovereign, as she nodded her head an clasped her hands together.

"Yes, exactly. We also need to replenish our supplies for our next trip into the labyrinth, so I'm kinda glad we managed to defeat the Ur-Child at a reasonable time."

"Agreed. But first, let's head back to the inn and-"

"Pardon me!"

"Huh-?!"

"Wha?!"

A male Ronin accidentally bumped into the Highlander and Fafnir Knight, as he continued to move forward, running at a pace Korey thought he would not see from a worried explorer. "...The fuck? Was that a Ronin just now?" Korey inquired, scratching his head as he had to wonder why the Ronin had ran past them.

"It almost looked like he was in a rush. Or he was likely fleeing from something. Either way, someone's gotta check up on him." Bertrand continued, looking at Fafnir, silently asking him what they should do. Fafnir seemed to understood him and faced where the Ronin went.

"Korey, you and I will ask the Ronin. Everyone else can wait here. Better make sure we don't overwhelm him with out numbers." Fafnir announced, as the Highlander nodded.

"Alright, we'll be right back." The brown haired Highlander addressed, as Fafnir and Korey ran in the direction the Ronin went. Although they've been through Lagaard many times before, trying to think of where he could have went was quite a different story.

They eventually found him, resting near the stairs to the bar. When the Ronin heard footsteps, he quickly took out his weapon and pointed at the duo who was approaching him. "Don't come any fucking closer!"

The knight and highlander stopped where they were. Korey noticed that the Ronin had taken severe damage, thankfully, wasn't to the point where he was bleeding, but it was quite obvious just from looking at him. "Your injured, aren't you?"

The Ronin's expression changed when Korey asked him. He thought it wouldn't be obvious if he ran faster, but he was quite breathless from the running he did. The Ronin tried to open his mouth to ask them a question, but the Highlander seemed to respond faster than he can ask.

"I'm Korey, and this is Fafnir, the leader of the Gungnir Guild. We saw you run by us just now, and we wanted to make sure you were alright..." Gungnir Guild... Weren't they the ones who took down that mechanical being in Heaven's Keep?

The Ronin lowered his weapon, laying back against the wall behind him. "Is it alright for us to come closer?" Fafnir inquired.

"...Yes."

Gaining the Ronin's trust, the knight and highlander approached him to look at his injuries. "...The name's Shen, by the way. Lynus has told me about the two of you before. I apologize for not recognizing you by name." He uttered, just enough that Korey and Fafnir would hear.

"It's fine, Shen. Though may I ask, how did you receive these injuries? These don't look recognizable from any FOEs we've encountered."

Shen looked at the Fafnir Knight, who had inquired him. "I've... uh, how do I explain this..." He started, trying to find the right words. The silence between the three of them was understandable, as Korey nor Fafnir wanted to rush the Ronin on his words.

"...Have you ever found that there was more to the labyrinth than just the thirtieth floor?"

More than just the thirtieth floor...? That was honestly baffling to both Korey and Fafnir. What did he even mean by that?

"I don't recall hearing anything of the sort, cause we were fighting Ur-Child just a couple of hours ago..." Korey replied, as Fafnir concurred with the Highlander. There was no possible way they would've missed stairs to this new floor Shen was speaking of.

"Well, there were rumors that there is a thirty-first floor that has no monsters whatsoever. Just a bunch of mysterious F.O.E's that move randomly." Shen articulated, getting surprised looks from the Knight and Highlander.

"No normal enemies? A floor literally filled with only random moving F.O.E's already sounds problematic, but the fact that there's no normal enemies is very worrying... How is such a thing even possible?" Fafnir was rather perplexed by this as much as Shen and Korey was.

"Exactly what I wonder, as well. But, when I was entering the final room, I found something that I would only describe as... pure malice and darkness. Here."

The Ronin took out a piece of paper and handed it to the Highlander, who motioned Fafnir to come look at it with him. Unfolding the huge amount of paper that was folded, something on the paper caused Fafnir and Korey to freeze in place. There, on the large sheet of taped paper...

...Well, how can he even describe it? It was still just a sketch, yet Shen managed to capture the image of what was residing within that floor, despite it showing signs of being drawn in a rush. Colored as well, despite the map making tools having a limited color palette.

"Wha-what even is this thing...? The ultimate evolution of the Ruler of Heaven?"

"The power of ruin and reckoning?"

Korey and Fafnir were honestly perplexed by the sheer fact that it looks so indescribable, and the sketch was not helping matters. Folding the paper away, Korey uttered to the Ronin before him. "Could it be connected to the Overlord's creations, somehow?"

"It could be, but I can't confirm this, as you guys dealt with him on your trip through Yggdrasil... And though I'm not sure what it's officially called, I decided to give it the name 'Ur-Devil'."

Silence befell the Knight and Highlander. This was truly some heavy news that Shen was dropping on them. Mere words weren't enough to describe the anger and confusion both Fafnir and Korey had been building up within them.

"So you're telling me that the Ur-Child, the one we have defeated, was not enough for the Overlord, and he decided to make another one?!" Shen simply shrugged in response to the Highlander's question. After all, the Overlord was dead, so it was kinda too late to ask him in person.

"Even then, that... thing, is too dangerous to let it live. But it's too powerful to battle it. It seems to be contained within that floor, but for how long? It might eventually break out, and just my guild alone might not survive the fight against it, and-"

Shen was stopped mid-sentence by Fafnir placing his hand on the Ronin's shoulder. He looked at the Fafnir Knight with worry on his face, something he hadn't had in some time. Fafnir took a deep breath, and decided that now was not the time to panic and question things.

"Relax, Shen. If we have faced the Ur-Child, we will be capable of defeating this Ur-Devil. But we'll require twice the preparation from when we entered to fight Ur-Child. Perhaps you can fight alongside us to ensure your guild's safety."

Fighting alongside the Gungnir Guild? Without his fellow guildmates? Shen only got more worried when Fafnir even mentioned that they will fight it, regardless of his warnings.

"F-Fafnir, are you sure about this? This Ur-Devil seems like it'd be an even tougher opponent than the Ur-Child! Are you really sure-"

"Yes, I'm sure. We may lose our lives, but the protection of Lagaard- no, the world, is what we're striving for. If we don't stop it, no one in the world may be capable of standing up to it. Isn't that right, Highlander?"

Both Fafnir and Shen looked towards the Highlander, who had been lost in thought for a bit before noticing that he was the center of attention. Regardless, Korey knew a threat as big as that must be eradicated, no matter how long it takes...

"...Yes. Where I came from, my Yggdrasil had a very similar threat that was willing to cause massive chaos to my world, and potentially more worlds had I fallen in battle against it. This Ur-Devil... Although it brings back painful similarities to the foe I despise, it must not be allowed to live. You even said it yourself, Shen. I'm willing to sacrifice everything to protect the world I love so much."

He couldn't believe it. Even though he had literally met the greatest known warriors in the Gungnir Guild, being asked to defeat the very foe that brought him into this predicament. It was weird, but if he had declined it, and his guild would find the very same floor he investigated...

"Korey... Fafnir..."

Shen fell silent again, giving some thought to his next move. Surely, he will be working along with the two famous warriors of the Gungnir Guild, but would he really risk it all? Was he really willing to die to protect those he cared and loved for...?

"...Alright, if you insist. We will prepare for it within a few days. I'll let you know when I am ready."

Korey and Fafnir couldn't hold back a smile, relieved that they'll be working together to defeat the Ur-Devil. "Thanks, Shen. Now, why don't you see Lynus about those injuries?"

Oh yeah. He was so busy conversing with the two that he had forgotten his own injuries. Didn't help that it still hurt as he pushed himself away from the wall, but pain was better than bleeding out where he stood in that floor he mentioned.

"...Fine. I suppose I'll see you later then." Shen breathed, as he began walking to the inn.

"Hey Shen..."

The Ronin looked back, as the Highlander continued to speak. "Make sure your guild doesn't know about the Ur-Devil. Wouldn't want them to risk their lives trying to defeat it. The less casualties, the better."

Not tell his own guildmates...? He already navigated the floor, and mapped it out of sheer safety, but... No, Korey was right. Better to have less casualties than having an entire guild wiped from history.

"That... is going to be very hard to do, but I'll try." Shen responded, continuing to make his way back to the inn.

"Man, things just keep piling up, don't they? This Ur-Devil seems like it won't stop til all of Lagaard knows its name." Fafnir sighed, scratching his head. Korey turned to face Fafnir, as he sighed as well.

"No kidding... And I thought the Yggdrasil Core would've been the most concerning of all things, much less, Ur-Child. But regardless, now that we know what happened, let's head back to our guild."

Fafnir nodded, as they wasted no time in running back to their guild, who had been chatting among themselves, until Arianna turned around and saw them return.

"Sir Fafnir, Sir Korey, you're back. How was the Ronin? Did you find out what happened to him?"

"Well you see..." Fafnir started, as he and Korey alternated sharing what they were told by Shen to the Guild. Korey even took out the piece of paper he got from Shen and unfolded it, showing it to the rest of the guild. Everyone was surprised at what its appearance, despite being sketched in a rush.

"So you mean to tell me, that the Overlord didn't make not one, not two, but THREE creations in an attempt at this 'eternal life' crap?" Bertrand spoke up as soon as Fafnir and Korey ended their explanation. The Highlander could only nod his head in response.

"My thoughts exactly, Bertrand. It's quite ridiculous how the Overlord still manages to befuddle us, even after we defeated him." Korey concurred, as he began to refold the paper once more.

"But, why? Why must there be something that's so dangerous that it has to be contained on a different floor...?" Ricky inquired, despite her perplexed face.

"Perhaps it was just needed. After all, this Ur-Devil crap reeks of similarities to Ur-Child." The War Magus attempted to answer the Millennium Girl's question.

"It must be... Though, we did manage to defeat his two previous creations, so I'm confident we can take out the Overlord's strongest creation." Fafnir confidently spoke, until Flavio sighed in annoyance.

"I dunno, Fafnir... This feels like it's putting way too much pressure on us." Flavio commented.

"Despite that pressure, we must press on. This will likely be our last mission together, so we must make it count by all means. Not just for us, or Shen, but for the world." Arianna chimed in, as Ricky seemed to face Flavio as well.

"Arianna's right. Despite the difficulty we're faced with, ignoring it will only bring about the deaths of casual explorers who might get TOO curious about that floor. Just like the Yggdrasil Core back in Etria: we simply can't ignore the dangers it may put to the world if it does escape."

Korey didn't even WANT to imagine what would become of Lagaard and the world should Ur-Devil escape from it's containment. It's name literally reeks of 'ragnarok'. The end of the world. He took a deep breath, and a face of determination appeared on the Highlander's face.

"Alright... Fafnir, Ricky, Bertrand, Flavio, Chloe, Arianna, let's give it all we've got when we are prepared to face it in battle. We'll show this Ur-Devil who the greatest guild in all of Lagaard can really do, and we'll protect my homeland and the world!"

"Yes. We must do it for the world's sake. I'll stand by you til the very end, Korey." Ricky's face beamed, despite the pressure of losing her life after a thousand years of sleep.

"Personally, I'm feeling rather nervous. But you guys are gonna need a Protector by your side. And I'll stick with you until the end." Bertrand concurred, as he smirked at Korey and Fafnir.

"This doesn't feel right, and I won't lie when trying to face something we don't know feels disastrous... But we aren't gonna let it get to us. Count me in, Korey and Fafnir." Flavio commented, despite being worried a few minutes earlier.

"Count Chloe in as well. Might as help somewhat with healing you guys." Chloe declared.

"Sir Fafnir, Sir Korey, Sir Flavio, Sir Bertrand, Miss Chloe, and Miss Ricky... I will lend you my support to the best of my ability. Together, we'll end this devil and bring peace to the world!" Arianna was the last one to give her support to the guild. And Fafnir couldn't be any prouder.

"Thanks, everyone... Let's head to the inn and prepare for that fateful day." Fafnir declared, determined with their final mission in mind.

Followed by an 'okay' from everyone, the Gungnir Guild began to head back to the inn, their original destination before Shen diverged their attention. They had to be prepared for it, even if they may have some restless nights. But they couldn't let it overwhelm them before their fateful battle. It wouldn't be allowed.

Fear can be a dangerous enemy...

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter four: $80

on ao3 1 | 2 | 3

fun fact i actually finished this like.....tuesday at 4 am cause i died for a bit between like 10-1 and then couldnt sleep. i have edited it since then tho so i promise its not too much of a disaster!

warnings: implied past self harm, discussions of mental health, depression/depressive episodes, some suicidal thoughts. let me know if anything else needs to be tagged

enjoy!

From: Evan To: Connor      Just go t home      Hope things ar eok with yoru family

Connor stares at the texts for a few moments before he falls back onto his bed.

Who knows how his family is.

Actually, he knows. A fucking mess. That’s what his family is.

He can hear Zoe practicing in the room next to him, forgoing headphones and using her amp because she wants to piss him off more. Larry had slunk back to his office, and Connor was sure he did as soon as the opportunity presented itself. His mom is in the kitchen, probably aggressively cleaning dishes like a sparkling plate will fix her shattered family.

Connor stares at the ceiling.

Why did he think he could do any of this?

He lifts his phone and looks at the screen again. Evan is trying. Which is just ridiculous. Evan is trying with this family. What the fuck.

From: Connor To: Evan      cool      they never are but thanks i guess

He tosses his phone to the side and debates doing homework. There’s not really much of a debate — he’s not going to do it — but the fact that he considered it is probably worth something.

It’s not that late yet, which is frustrating. He wants to go to bed, but he’s also too high strung for that. Usually he’d be exhausted but—

Connor studies his ceiling.

He’d been angry. So angry. Burning and explosive. He had been on the edge of his rope and about to break— and then he’d been doused in a shock of cold water. He’d been standing outside the bathroom, insides blistering and turning to ash, and then he’d heard Evan’s unnatural breathing and all of that had just stopped. The fire was gone and he was left with only mild panic that made his mouth taste like metal and an icy chill of not knowing what to do or how to help.

Somehow, sitting on the floor of him and Zoe’s painfully childish bathroom with Evan had been the most real part of the night. It felt the most solid, most tangible. Handing Evan one of those silly cups his mom kept buying, their fingers brushing as Evan took it with shaking hands, that was the most grounded he had felt in days.

Fucking weird.

There’s a knock on his doorframe.

Connor sits up to see Cynthia standing there. “Oh. Hi.”

She smiles, sadly because that’s the only way she smiles nowadays, and takes a step into his room. “Did Evan leave?”

“Uh…yeah. It’s not like he could hide in my closet or anything.” They both look toward the disaster that is Connor’s closet. The doors won’t shut and clothes are piled up on the floor. There was a time where Connor liked things to be neat and orderly. Now he doesn’t have the energy. “He wasn’t feeling great.”

She makes a concerned noise.

“He, uh, gets sick really easily. He’ll probably be fine tomorrow.” Connor curses in his head. Better jot that down so he can tell Evan that Cynthia now thinks that his immune system is shitty. Because she’s probably going to shove all sorts of vitamins and health drinks at him the next time she sees him. If there’s a next time.

God there better not be a next time.

Cynthia sighs. “I’m sorry about tonight, sweetie.”

Connor shrugs and swings his legs off the side of the bed. “It’s not like it was going to be any different than usual.”

The expression on her face is so pained that Connor has to look away. He can’t even be mad at her. He’s pissed at Zoe for her snippy comments. He’s mad at Larry because he’s always mad at Larry. He’s upset with his mom— the most he can be upset with her for is for not trying harder to stop things from getting out of hand. But when has she ever been able to stop it once it started?

Mostly Connor is just mad at himself.

The only reason Evan was here was because he gets paid twenty dollars a week. It’s not like he has any other obligation to be here. Or to hang around Connor. If there was ever a chance that Evan would actually like Connor, that just went out the fucking window.

“Are you hungry?” Cynthia asks, softly. Not as forced as usual. Not as pressing. “You didn’t eat much.”

“I’m fine,” Connor mutters. He tugs off his sweatshirt and throws it on his desk chair. He tries not to notice her eyes going to his arms and then flicking away. “I’ll grab something if I can’t sleep.”

She sighs again. She does that a lot. Sighing. “Okay. Okay, just…” She steps forward and brushes hair away from Connor’s eyes. “Apologize to Evan for us, okay?”

“Why?” Connor asks bitterly. “Because we can be better?”

Cynthia doesn’t say anything. She just stands on her toes and presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek. “Sleep well, honey.”

Connor stands in the center of his room after she leaves. He hates not having a door. It’s like his entire life is out in the open for his entire family to see and judge. Which is some bullshit.

He looks around his room, open and exposed, and thinks that he should clean. Or something. He’s living in a dump.

Connor picks up a sweatshirt and stuffs a few books onto an overflowing bookshelf. Under papers from junior year that he just needs to throw out when he gets the chance, he finds a watercolor sketchbook.

He pauses with four old plastic water bottles in arm to flip through the sketchbook. It’s old as hell, he doesn’t even remember the last time he used watercolors. Or did any art that wasn’t just shitty sketches in his notebook when he didn’t feel like paying attention.

He looks over his shoulder at the light in the hallway.

Connor isn’t entirely sure where his watercolors are. Probably somewhere under the trash and clothing covering his floor. He looks from the watercolor sketchbook to his bed.

He dumps the water bottles in the space between his wall and his bed and starts digging. It takes him almost twenty five minutes to find his watercolor palette. It’s old and dusty, the red is cracked and the purple is almost gone because he always really liked using purple for some reason, but it’s usable.

It takes him a little longer to find brushes. He’s definitely missing some, but fuck it, he never actually knew what the different brushes were for. He just used whatever ones he felt like.

He washes out an old mug that was on his desk from god knows when in the bathroom and fills it with clean water, grabbing a roll of paper towels from the hallway closet. Then he pushes the clothes on his floor into a pile against the wall so he can sit on the floor, because there is no way in hell that he’s cleaning off his desk for this. He fishes his earbuds out of his backpack and plugs them into his phone, turning on some random music that he’ll let fade to into background noise and pulls his hair up into a really messy ponytail.  

Connor can’t remember the last time he actually paid attention to art. He doodles a sketch that’s kind of messy but fine enough because it’s not like anyone is going to see this and then just goes for it. He doesn’t exactly remember how to do this, but he’s never been one for doing things the right way. There’s a reason he stopped taking art classes after freshman year. There’s something weirdly calming about the way the water spreads on the page and something familiar in the brushstrokes. Even when he fucks up and uses way too much water and he knows that the paper is going to be wavy and warped.

He puts down the paintbrush to skip a song on his phone. He has another text from Evan.

From: Evan To: Connor      Im sorr y      YOu should nt feel that way abou tyour family

Connor rolls his eyes. Evan really does try.

From: Connor To: Evan      its whatever, im used to it      mom says sorry about tonight. shes embarrassed      but seriously dont worry about it

He skips through the songs until he finds one that feels right, slower and almost more gentle, he really needs to pick up better watercolors because he’s going to need that purple, before putting his phone back down on the floor next to him.

All things considered, this isn’t the worst piece Connor’s ever done. He studies it as he takes a sip from his mug.

He yanks the mug away from his mouth, gagging. He rubs his mouth with a grimace.

That was paint water.

Connor doesn’t really leave his room much over the next two days. He eats because his mom wants him to, he doesn’t talk to Zoe, and he argues with Larry and wishes he had a door to slam.

Then he sits on his floor and fills pages and pages of his sketchbook with shitty watercolor paintings.

He splashes colors across the pages, sometimes not even trying to create a coherent image. He just needs something to do.

He’s almost out of purple.

Connor waits by Evan’s locker Monday morning, folding and unfolding the twenty dollar bill in his pocket. Zoe needed to be early today for some band thing, so that means Connor is early which just sucks.

This school seriously needs a color palette that isn’t drab and depressing. Connor wears almost exclusively black, but fuck, tone down the gray.

“Oh! Hey, you’re…already here.”

Connor looks up from his phone. “Zoe,” he says. “Band shit. Fuck if I know.”

Evan nods slowly and then reaches for his lock.

“Wait.” Connor grabs Evan’s wrist.

Evan freezes, wide eyes darting to Connor. “W-what?”

Connor leans a little closer. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he whispers. Evan furrows his eyebrows. “My family is the fucking worst, you shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.”

“I-it’s fine!” Evan stutters. “I don’t— no this is. This is okay.” He slowly pulls his arm out of Connor’s grip.

Connor clenches his jaw and leans against the next locker. Evan doesn’t say anything as he opens his locker and starts taking out books. An unfairly loud part of Connor’s brain wonders if Evan is only doing this because he’s scared.

It’s not that far fetched.

“B-besides,” Evan adds, “Jared is— he’s already asking too many questions and if we just stopped now—”

Connor frowns. “He is?”

Evan gives him an exasperated look. “He hasn’t texted me about non homework things in forever and he’s just been sending me ‘is it a sex thing’ for a week.”

“Wow I hate him,” Connor says before he can stop himself.

Evan laughs in surprise.

“He’s a douche!”

Evan ducks his head. “He’s not the worst person ever, b-but he can be…himself.”

“And that’s pretty bad,” Connor mutters.  

Evan pauses and then closes his locker. “Do— are you still okay with…with telling him?”

Connor shrugs. “Sounds like we have no choice.”

Evan tugs on the hem of his shirt. “Are you…free today?”

“I literally have no life or friends, Hansen,” Connor reminds him. “I’m always free.”

“Okay, right, okay.” Evan takes a short breath. “Can we— today?”

Connor stuffs his hands in his pockets. He hasn’t gotten harassed by Kleinman about this yet, but if they wait, the chances of that happening increase significantly. And if it’ll get Jared off Evan’s back— “Yeah sure. Where?”

“My place?” Evan asks. Connor pulls open the door to the stairwell. “I-if that works?”

“Sure thing.” Connor’s voice echoes uncomfortably loud for this conversation. “Better than being at home anyway.”

Evan glances back over his shoulder at Connor. “Are things…bad?” He says it slowly, like he’s not sure what word to choose.

“They’ve been worse,” Connor admits. “But it’s not a party.”

Evan stops at the stairs where Connor has to keep going down to get to chorus. “I’ll— I’ll text you? About the time?”

Connor nods. “Sounds good, Hansen. See you then.” He steps forward and hands Evan the twenty that has been floating around in his pocket for too long. “Forgot to pay you back for food last week,” he says when Evan’s eyes dart toward people walking past.

Evan gives him a half smile and takes the bill. “I-I told you it was fine. I can pay sometimes.”

Connor shrugs and turns toward the stairs. “Too late.”

—«·»—

From: Evan To: Connor      Im s o s rry just ignore him or block him he grabbed my phon e      Serious ly blockign him mihgt be the best opti n

From: Connor To: Evan      ??????

Connor probably shouldn’t be texting in class, but the class is astronomy and also when has Connor ever given a fuck. He stares at Evan’s messages, trying to decode them while he waits for the lunch bell.

It turns out he doesn’t have to wait that long to figure out what they mean.

From: (522) 101-5414 To: nerd, emo      sup fuckers

Connor doesn’t even have to ask who it is, he just tries not to groan and texts Evan.

From: Connor To: Evan      seriously??

From: Evan To: Connor      Im sorry !!!      Hes being a  d ick      Also does like 3 work?

Connor huffs and glances to the clock. That’ll give him about an hour to kill after school before he can show up at Evan’s. Whatever, he’ll figure something out.

From: Connor To: Evan      thats fine      tell kleinman if hes being a dick i will hurt him

Evan’s response is almost immediate.

From: Evan To: Connor      I wouldnt blame you but ma y be dotn hurt the one pe rson whos gonna knw about us

Connor snorts and puts away his phone. He’ll do his best, but only because Evan asked.

—«·»—

Connor texts Evan as he walks up to the house. The door is open before he can even knock. Evan looks slightly panicked, but also somewhat relieved. Connor lowers his hand from where he was about to knock.

“He here?”

Evan nods and grabs Connor’s sleeve, tugging him inside.

Connor takes off his boots while Evan rambles on about Jared being in his room and talking about something, summer camp? Maybe? And then there’s a tangent about cars? Connor isn’t sure but he puts down his boots, straightens, and puts a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Breathe,” he interrupts. “You’re going to pass out and you really don’t want to leave Kleinman and I alone together.”

Evan takes a slow breath. “Right. Right. He’s… Come on.”

He shows Connor up the stairs, gesturing vaguely to a bathroom as he moves toward his room. Connor didn’t really notice how small Evan’s house is the last time he was here, but now he feels too large in it, like he’s taking up too much space. But it’s also comforting in a weird way, less empty space for thoughts to echo.

Jared spins around in Evan’s desk chair when Evan opens the door. “Man of the hour!” Jared announces, opening his arms in Connor’s direction.

Connor flips him off.

“Okay, rude. I can work with rude.”

“Jared,” Evan says warningly.

“I know, I know.” Jared spins back and forth a little in the chair. For some reason, Connor thinks giving him a chair that turns may have been a bad idea. “If I’m an ass you won’t give me pizza.”

Connor scoffs. “You bribed him?”

Evan shrugs helplessly. “I just— can we not talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees. “I was promised juicy deets on whatever the fuck this is.” He motions between Connor and Evan. “Cause uh,” he laughs, “guys, what the shit?”

“We aren’t friends,” Connor says flatly.

Evan twists the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock.” Jared grabs the arms of the chair and leans forward. “Wait this is a sex thing, isn’t it! Evan you said—”

“It’s not a sex thing!” Evan shouts. “It’s a—” He looks to Connor with wide eyes. “A…fake friend…thing?”

“Excuse me?”

Connor explains before Evan can flounder any more. “I give Evan twenty bucks a week to pretend to be my friend.”

Jared stares at them.

Evan shifts uncomfortably next to Connor. Connor kind of wants to leave, but Evan wants to do this, so…

Jared snorts. “Are you fucking serious?”

Evan cringes. “Y-yes?”

“This is—”

“We know, Kleinman,” Connor snaps. “But we need your help.”

Evan looks at Connor in surprise. ‘We do?’ he mouths to Connor. Connor nods. Spur of the moment thought, but he literally can’t keep dealing with Zoe bugging him about Evan. Who gives a shit if they never hung out together around school, even if that is a lie. He needs some sort of proof so she shuts up.

Jared spins slowly in his chair. “How so?”

“Evan said we emailed each other,” Connor says. “But my dad checks my email. So this email account would have to be ‘secret’.”

Jared raises his eyebrows. “That’s—”

“We know, Jared!” Evan interrupts. “C-can you just—” He glances toward Connor. “We need…emails from over the summer?” Connor nods. “Can you just, like, show me how to fake the timestamps o-or something?”

“Oh yeah, that’s super easy,” Jared says. He leans down and unzips the backpack leaning against the desk and pulls out a laptop. He opens the laptop and types something out. “Secret email account is very—”

Connor grits his teeth. “Just do it, Kleinman.”

“Yeah, yeah. Watch the monkey dance,” Jared mutters to himself. “That’s super fun.” He pauses. “If Evan gets twenty bucks a week for this, what do I get?”

“The gift of life.”

Evan shoots Connor a look.

“Awesome.” Jared types for another moment. “You know,” he says, “twenty bucks seems pretty cheap.”

“Are you trying to be difficult?” Connor grumbles.

“Always.”

“I-it’s fine,” Evan stutters. “Re-really, Jared?”

“I’m just saying,” Jared says with a shrug. “You should totally charge more for more complicated stuff. Twenty for faking friendship, forty for hanging out, sixty for being around the family.”

“What?!”

Connor glances to Evan out of the corner of his eye. Evan is protesting, but it’s not the worst idea. Especially after the dinner that Evan suffered through. Connor is going to have to ‘borrow’ more money from his parents’ wallets, but hey, at least it’s not for weed.

“I really fucking hate that I’m saying this,” Jared and Evan look over to Connor, “but that’s not a terrible plan.”

Jared smirks. “Nice.”

Evan gapes. “W-what?”

“If you spend a few hours dealing with my shitty family, that probably is worth more than saying hi to me in the hallway.” Connor crosses his arms. “I should probably pay you more when you have to deal with more bullshit.”

“N-no, that isn’t— you don’t have to—”

“Let him give you money, Evan.” Jared types rapidly on his laptop. “I’m making you two up a fucking price chart for reference.”

“Jared—”

“One condition,” Connor says. “If we’re doing this it’s only ten dollars a week, if that’s okay,” he directs the last part to Evan. “I’m not a goddamn millionaire.”

“Annoying but valid,” Jared says. “The weekly flat rate is ten dollars then, nonnegotiable.”

Evan sinks down into the other chair that someone had pulled up to the desk.

“I think the first step up is hanging out outside of school.” Jared glances to Connor.

Connor nods. “Three for outside, five for my house.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Evan asks weakly.

“Nope,” Jared says, popping the ‘p’. “If hanging out involves the fam, I say it’s an instant five more.”

“How about two added on to the location fee,” Connor argues.

Jared scoffs. “That’s three dollars, man.”

“Try to remember we’re high schoolers,” Connor says flatly.

Evan wimpers.

Jared pats Evan’s arm. “Okay. Extended family is another three. No arguing that one, extended family is bullshit. Twenty bucks flat for a sleepover. Like on top of the weekly ten.”

Evan’s eyes go wide. “What?! No!”

Jared looks to Connor.

Connor shrugs. “Fine.” He doesn’t think that will be relevant but whatever. If it gets written down it’s not the end of the world.

Jared smiles to himself and starts to type quickly.

“W-what are you doing?” Evan asks, leaning closer to try and get a look at the screen.

Jared elbows Evan away. “Shh I’m working.”

Connor raises his eyebrows.

“Aaaaaand…done.” Jared spins his laptop to show Connor.

Connor squints at the list Jared has made on the document.

 This is the Worst Plan I’ve Ever Heard But Have Fun You Friendless Losers created by Jared Kleinman

$10 — weekly flat rate no matter what

—

Casual Shit:

$3 — hanging out outside of school $5 — hanging out at the Murphys’ (+$2 to location fee if it involves other Murphys) (+$3 more if it involves any extended family) $20 — sleepover

—

Romance Shit:

$25 — date $5 — hug $15 — kiss $200 — Full Boyfriend Package™

(FFBP™ decreases all things in this section by $10, except for dates, which drop to $20. No, you do not get paid for hugs, hugs are just free now. Congrats, you just paid two hundred fucking dollars for a free hug)

 Connor rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking hilarious,” he deadpans.

Evan pales as he reads it once Jared has turned the screen toward him. “Uh…”

Jared snorts. “It’s called a joke, dude. Learn to take it.”

“J-just delete it,” Evan stammers. “That’s not— we were supposed to make emails.”

“Okay.” Jared highlights the romance section and deletes it. “It’s gone.”

Evan sighs. “Thank you.”

Jared does a keyboard shortcut. “And it’s back!”

“Jared!”

“Gone! And back!”

Evan’s ears turn pink. “S-seriously?”

Jared just wiggles his eyebrows and deletes it again. When he starts to hit undo, Connor leans forward and grabs the laptop out of his hands.

“Dude!”

“We aren’t fucking five,” Connor says. “Can you help us with these emails before my sister tries to call a fucking private detective on me or are you just going to be a dickhead?”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who’s helping you out,” Jared says. But he holds out his hand for the laptop, and when Connor gives it back, he spins around, puts the laptop on the desk, and opens a new tab.

Him and Connor set up a new email account and then Jared has Evan open up his own email. As Jared sets up faked emails that Evan and Connor will fill with mindless shit, Connor looks around Evan’s room.

There’s a window with two small succulents sitting on its windowsill. There are pictures scattered around the room in mismatched frames, a lot of Evan and a woman he assumes is his mother, more than a few of Evan and Jared when they were younger but less and less as they get older until there’s none, and one small picture of Evan with a man that looks vaguely like him that sits on the corner of Evan’s desk, a stack of books obscuring it slightly.

Connor remembers Evan saying something about his dad and looks away.

Evan’s room is much smaller than Connor’s. It’s cozier and cleaner, but still untidy. The books in Evan’s shelves are piled up and tipping over, there are a few sweatshirts draped around the room, and there’s a terrifying looking pile of papers on his nightstand.

“Yo,” Jared says, holding out his laptop to Connor. “Work out what you want these to say with Evan so I can finish this. While you do that I’m going to find some snacks.”

“We’re out,” Evan answers almost immediately from where he’s bent over his laptop.

“I’m going out to buy snacks,” Jared corrects. “See you in a bit, losers.”

Connor stares at the blank form that Jared has pulled up on the screen. How many of these things is he going to have to do and is this going to turn into a school assignment?

“It’s probably easier if one of us starts,” Evan murmurs. “And then we just go back and forth and respond to whatever the other says.”

“Like actual emails.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, just faster.”

“Sure. Let’s keep the things that can mark when this shit got sent to a minimum, okay?” Connor’s summer is a blur. He spent probably too much of it high and another big majority of it just doing nothing. Looking back at it, it all just blends together into a mess of shitty and shittier.

Evan nods. “Mhm. I’ll start if you want.”

“Go wild.”

As Evan types, Connor clicks through the other tabs Jared has open. One for the email account, a few google searches, a coding thing Connor doesn’t understand, and the price list. Jared put the romance section back.

Connor makes a note on the document that just says ‘youre a dick’ and clicks back to the dauntingly blank form.

An hour later, Evan has finished his sixth email, Connor is typing out a shitty response, and Jared has shown up with enough chips to feed a small nation. They figure out how to space the emails they’ve already written and Jared gets to work on finishing up the ones they’ve got written.

“Should we do the whole summer?” Evan asks.

Connor shrugs. “I don’t care, Zoe will probably buy it with one or two.”

Jared spins back and forth as he adds all the timestamps. “Someone order a pizza, I’m dying.”

Evan checks the time. “Jared it’s only—”

“Yeah? And?”

“You just ate like an entire bag of chips.”

Jared looks up at Evan. “When has that ever stopped me from eating an entire pizza?”

Evan shakes his head. “W-whatever. The usual?”

Jared shoots him a finger gun as he types with one hand.

“I’ll go with,” Connor says. He follows Evan down to the kitchen to see another twenty dollar bill in the center of the table. “Want me to call it in?” he asks.

Evan nods. “Jared always gets a supreme. If he doesn’t finish he just brings it home.”

Fair, Connor would do the same if he cared more about eating. He can only handle so much of his mom’s cooking. Connor places the call and then waits with Evan at the table. “Does your mom have you get takeout a lot?” he asks, looking at the bill.

Evan follows his gaze. “Uh… I-I mean…yeah. She works all day at the hospital, she’s a nurse, a-and then takes night classes at the college,” he gestures vaguely toward the street and Connor assumes he means the community college that people who are ambitious like Alana Beck go to to take summer classes so they look more impressive to admissions, “so…she doesn’t really have ti-time to cook and I’m— I’m not very good at it,” Evan mumbles. “I can do…ramen? Um…mac n cheese. Instant stuff. Other than that I can make like…pasta and grilled cheese and that’s…sort of it. But she doesn’t have a lot of time to go to the grocery store and I, uh, don’t like going so. Takeout is…easier.”

Connor nods. “I get that. You can’t go wrong with ramen noodles. One day we’ll both be living off them,” he jokes.

Evan looks to him in surprise. He smiles a little. “Y-yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Connor suddenly realizes that he talked about the future casually. About college casually, because he can remember one time when he was little and sick and Larry made ramen noodles for him and Connor had decided that they were the best thing ever and Larry had ruffled his hair and said that he’d get sick of them when they were all he ate in college. It’s uncomfortable. It settles wrong inside him. Because outside of the context of that one quip, the future doesn’t feel real. It feels like some untouchable abstract concept.

Thinking about it makes his stomach turn and makes dark thoughts creep in from the corners of his mind.

He shakes them away and listens to Evan talk about how he’s ruined soup before. It’s better than thinking about a future that hardly exists, one that he’s ready to cut the string on at almost any given moment in time.

Evan buries his face in his hands as he tells Connor about the time Jared tried to make eggs in the microwave and almost set fire to the house. Connor laughs and pretends he’s okay.

When the pizza arrives, Connor pays the delivery person while Evan goes and gets Jared. It’s too early for dinner, but Jared doesn’t care and eats two slices before going upstairs to grab his laptop and then eats another. Evan eats breadsticks and lets Jared carry most of the conversation, about half of which is about how weird Connor eats his pizza.

Evan makes Connor take a slice of pizza back, because he ends up missing dinner at home, and Connor just rolls his eyes and takes the plastic tupperware and promises to give it back at some point. Evan shakes his head and tells him not to, because they have too much and they can never find lids that match. Connor figures he’ll just slip it back into a cabinet the next time he comes over.

Next time. Connor doesn’t think in next times. Weird.