#(not much else to say about the drawing itself other than the texture mixes were a lot of fun- don't usually use clip studios watercolor--)

[thetalkingwave]

Loosey goosey Cheesepie I did for my phone wallpaper a while back~

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

[jackalopedoodles]

Roxanne, Roxannnnnnne~

Please ignore the grease stain, I was eating fries and watching some videos and got jumpscared.

Thoughts and minor spoilers down below!

I fucking love this one and honestly Roxanne is such an endearing character to me for no reason. The self affirmations in the beginning, her being the new Foxy, the only animatronic that actively threatens Gregory? All perfect. 

The mixed version of her is so much fun and I think it’s the one that honestly ended up staying truest to the actual animatronic Roxanne as possible. With the shoulder pads, the hair being pulled back save the green strip and of course the panelling she looks pretty similar, which is the point. Both her arm and leg warmers came out so well, I loved doing them so much too cause it was just a nice little task. Not to mention I HAD to do her little rock on pose from the intro sequence. She’s just such an adorable rock star. I wish I gave her tail maybe a bit more texture especially considering how it looks in the game, but this will do. 

Full wolf ended up looking really pretty. I think it might e the slightly surprised look on her face, or how her hair falls. Just something so pleasing about it. I really feel like she has doubts about herself, either because she’s replacing one of the main four characters or because she’s just an anxious girl, and I just very much think this is the face she’d make when a six year old girl goes running up to her, excited and grinning, telling her shes so pretty and she wants hair just like hers. She just needs a bit of love is all. 

Full human was honestly really fun and I definitely think I broke out of her mold a bit. I was kind of trying to figure out what could be the key thing I can take away to give her less of that “I am copy and pasted for merch designs” look, some little change to make her more human, and it might sound weird to say but like Chica, messing with her hair seemed to do the trick. I’d like to think she’s over the punk rock phase but because she works here she can’t actually drop it, so living in an aesthetic she dislikes only worsens her self image. Letting her finally tie her hair back or take off her makeup or something small like that would do wonders into letting her realize her s elf image is what she creates it to be. 

Chibi wolf definitely isn’t my favorite chibi I’ve done but I  don’t think it’s bad. The cheek is probably more off place here than on the others, and I think if I were to do more with the chibi character I’d probably redraw her a few more times to find something I think suited her more. The rounded and cartoony fangs though in this one make it for me, add in her fun hair strip and it looks really nice. 

Chibi human is probably my favorite out of these, but only barely. I just like her big eyes and determined look, I’d like to think this is what she does in the mirror before shows to try and get herself jazzed up, or maybe what she looked like in the mirror when Gregory passed her in the vents. Just repeating affirmations to herself. Her tiny hands are just really the best here too. And somehow it’s the only other one where I actually included those damn shoulder pads.

As always if you want to see some more smaller notes just check the drawing itself, and if you’d like a photo ID comment or DM me! This wraps up the main four drawing and there’s no guarantee I’ll move on to do anybody else. Though I will say, the Sun and Moon twins are kind of enticing. Maybe I’ll finally draw a character for this damn franchise. 

[clotpole-art]

Retrospective: Illustrated Merlin Alphabet Challenge

Finally finished the Merlin Alphabet Challenge, so here's the artist notes no one asked for! See below the cut for comments on each piece by order of creation. Be warned folks, it's a long post.

Before we begin: credit to @merlin-gifs for the challenge, which can be found here. It's awesome, go do it.

First thing you should know is I did probably 80-90% of these while on phone calls or in Zoom meetings and that's reflected in the simplicity of most pieces -- the compositions aren't complicated, the lines aren't refined, the coloring is slapdash. If you noticed variation in quality of the pieces, that's why!

Second: I tried to focus on trying something new for each drawing. Didn't always happen, but this challenge did succeed in helping me push me out of my own comfort zone.

Without further ado...

A is for Arthur Pendragon

Textures, baby! Brushed metal of his armor, scratchy linen texture of his shirt, wispy softness of hair and skin. I'd recently gotten my tablet out of storage after a year of figuring out where the hell I was going to live and this was one of the first pieces of digital art I spent time on. Glad it was Arthur kicking us off!

B is for the Beginning of the End (1x08)

Fun fact, I did not draw this with my tablet. I drew it with my work computer's touchscreen. It was awful, would not recommend.

C is for Camelot

I wanted to get used to different brushes, so landscape of the castle it was! There are brushes that help with drawing grass; I did not use said brushes and my wrist hurt afterward. That being said, I really enjoyed working on this and it was one of the few pieces I didn't do while multitasking.

D is for Daegal

Also drawn on my work computer's touchscreen, not my tablet. I didn't learn my lesson from B and the experience was even worse. This is my least favorite piece which sucks because it's Daegal so I'm slated to redo this sometime in the near future. Gotta do our boy justice.

E is for Elyan

Oh, I adored drawing this. Elyan often gets shafted in terms of fandom appreciation so I made sure to choose Elyan for this prompt and to participate in the Elyan fest. Plus, I love a good ghost story and figuring out a way to include the druid spectre was fun. Didn't multitask on this piece because Elyan deserved my full attention.

F is for Freya

Ho boy. This piece. I have such mixed feelings on this drawing. Really really didn't like it after I'd decided it was done and very nearly scrapped the whole thing. I had a vision in my head that I just couldn't render into reality and it frustrated me SO MUCH. Looking back, I like it much better than I did when I first created it.

G is for Gwaine

What can I say, he's pretty when he's cold. I didn't stretch too much with this one -- it's my normal drawing style, I was just trying to find a brush that mimicked the softness of pencil.

H is for Hunith

Another one that didn't stray too far from my comfort zone. I was stupid sick and slammed at work, so a motherly Hunith manifested herself. I blame the bad brush choice on the cold medicine.

I is for Isolde

I woke up and chose violence! Tried to vary my figure drawing style a little in this piece but my brain resisted, resulting in... this. Not mad at it, but not happy with it either. Poor Isolde.

J is for Juggling

Ah, this lovely piece was drawn during a particularly vexing meeting at work. Fun fact, there's another version of this line art that's less about Merlin's stress and more about mine.

K is for Knights of Camelot

Continuing the theme of doodling through bad news and shit meetings. Like I said above, normally meeting doodles aren't complex because I'm concentrating on something else. This one was more involved because I didn't want to concentrate on the meeting. I have a few issues with this from a technical standpoint (perspective, my nemesis) but it's still one of my favorites. Tried some funky coloring technique, didn't hate it.

V is for Vibrant Colors

And here is where we said fuck the rules and started going out of alphabetical order! This one was really fun to do and I loved kicking off Albion Party with this as my first submission. The colors were a challenge (as I hoped they would be) and this is the first time I had to do some color tweaking midway though and after finishing the coloring process. Vibrant Arthur, my beloved. This started as a multitask doodle but took dedicated time to finish.

O is for Old Religion

The concept for this one was buzzing in my head for a bit before a quote-prompt solidified it. I adore the thought of more visible, tangible representations of Merlin as the son of the elements, of "magic itself" -- not just sun-gold eyes, but sea-water hair and sandstone-skin. A complement to the vibrant Arthur portrait.

S is for Sorcerers

When I said I wanted to challenge myself, I wasn't kidding. Ho boy, this was fun but frustrating. I wanted to completely illustrate a gif. So I did. Will I do something like this again? Maybe. A while from now.

M is for Morgause

See above -- same illustrated gif style so at least I was able to reuse some drawings. Poor Morgause ended up looking a little wretched here because I was mentally done with this when I was drawing her. Love the concept of tarot cards + Merlin but others are doing it so I won't continue this series.

Z is for Zzzz

This one was specifically done to test out some custom brushes I made in Krita to make abstract background drawing easier for me. I think they turned out well! Plus who doesn't love bb iridescent Aithusa.

L is for Leon, P is for Percival

Quick, minimal doodles of the boys! Mentally, I was going for a Brady's-style retro ensemble cast TV show credits feel. Not mad at it! Some boys look closer to their actors than others (I think my brain broke drawing Percy, my apologies to Tom Hopper).

T is for Tristan

It wasn't until after I posted this that I realized there was more than one Tristan in Merlin. Could have drawn Isolde's bf but I drew Ygraine's dumb jock undead brother instead. Had some fun with dark greys and blacks here regardless.

Q is for Queen Annis

Best royal in Albion, bar none. I tried a different coloring technique here and I kinda like it! may make it my go-to but we'll see. Old habits are hard to break. Also: our queen deserved more badass clothes.

X is for Arthur X Merlin

Oh, be still my shipper heart. Doodled and colored during a meeting. I had hoped to spend more time on it outside of multitasking but alas, work is a bitch. This one is slated for a rework sometime in the future; I adore the concept too much to let it go without creating another version of this that isn't an utter mess.

U is for Uther's Ward

And here's my attempt at forgoing line art. Not fun, do not like.

Y is for Young Warlock

Channeled some pain into this one. Those are the dead eyes of someone who had been told that he'd succeeded when his friend died. That the destiny he'd been expecting to carry on his shoulders into old age was done and dusted before he turned 30. Grief plus the existential dread of the aimless immortal. Oof. One of my favs.

N is for Nimueh, R is for Rising Sun, W is for Will

And we end on this sorry offering. I was away from home for a while without my tablet and I just got tired of waiting. So, pen doodles at the airport. This was a challenge in its own right because 1. pen only and 2. I wasn't able to pull Netflix up for a reference on the fly. Which is why Will's face is obscured and Nimueh looks.... not like Nimueh lol.

In summary: this was a goddamn joy to do. I finished 26 letter prompts in approximately 21 weeks, which exceeded my own unspoken goal of filling one letter per week. I found a good, happy corner of the Merlin fandom after a years-long hiatus away from being a fandom creator. If you did make it this far with me, thanks for reading my inane comments and giving this little project even a moment of your time -- I'm so grateful.

[stopeatingwhales]

about a girl (pt.2) x kurt cobain

hi guys :) so sorry for my inactivity, but i’m here finally lmaoo, this is a part two to my kurt fic that i wrote about a month ago, due to school its been much harder for me to keep up writing as usual, but i will absolutely try my best to finish your guys’ requests soon! anyways, hope you enjoy this <3 Pairing: pre-bleach era kurt x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.167

Requested by anon (the second part was my idea, but i felt like i should still credit the anon for giving me the idea for this x) 

༉‧₊˚✧

The wind exhales short, breezy waves as you lay there, engulfed in your dreams. From the night succeeding to your outstanding performance, you were requited to a favourable hibernation which by admiring you, was needed for not only the sum of a few hours. Your solemn features are painted still, the only movement stimulating from your body is heavy breaths accompanied by a light snore from time to time. I question whether it's righteous of me to allow my eyes to adorn themselves in your serene features, yet I simply cannot stop myself. I find it surreal to witness you in such fragility; for all the pain and sorrow you’ve had to experience in your life, it’s almost like you shouldn’t be sleeping in such a tranquillic state. I wonder if you prefer sleeping than being awake, I wonder if you think it’s a chore to get out of bed. Does the world haunt you? Every click, flash, snap of a camera, does it devastate you? The image you portray to the world is magnificent, yet flawed. It’s almost as if you’re hiding something, yet you don’t care what others think of you, so you do whatever you please. My heart skips a beat every time you shift slightly, cradling your body in the duvet. I advert my stare to your arms, sculpted perfectly in God’s chamber, the lankiness of your bones withering an appearance of discrepancy. You’re not like the rest of them. Your steady breaths softly ease in and out of your flawless torso, your hair so impeccable it looks untouched even when you’re shifting around in your slumber - the hair you willingly dyed and strained with a flavoured drink mix. As I admire you, sleeping beauty, it reminds me of how lucky I am to have you in my life - regardless of where we stand. When you’re awake, you’re the only thing keeping me sane during the day; spending even just a day without you would feel as if I had lost my legs, lost what’s kept me steady for all these draining years. In all my time of knowing and understanding you, have you never not known what to say, for you have such a way with words, it's unfathomable. You carry a sort of intelligence that no one can seem to obtain; you speak words out of a bible and it’s ironic I say that, Mr ‘God is gay’, but it’s true. You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. You’re like a hard candy, sweet and delicate, although the texture is very hard making it a burden to get through to you. I want to taste you on my tongue every morning, if you would like me to be honest. I crave for things as little as your scent even before I’ve risen from the cushion. Your grace must be envied by the heavens; there is and will never be anyone as alluring as you, not that I’m surprised. 

As my eyes continue to wander on him, a sudden stretch of his arms and a small groan echoing out of his vocal chords results in my body almost instantaneously sitting up. I watch him as he blinks his eyes a few times, his vision still not clear enough. “Good morning,” he whispers, his arms thrown to the skies; he’s like a baby, reaching out for their mother in the early hours of daylight, moaning and whining for affection, warming my heart with soreful ease. Quickly taking note of the small clock situated beside him that I was aware of for the many hours I had been trapped in thought, it read a bright and early 11am. My stare continues to linger onto him as I watch him shifting around, the heart situated in my upper chest now beating as fast as drum solos in heavy metal songs. A short silence stood in between both presences; I assume that he hadn’t taken note of my pondering state adjacent to him, though was that idea contradicted by his light greeting. “Did you sleep well?” he chirps, now using both palms to rub his what-seemed-like itchy eyes.

Now what is humorous from this scenario is that he asks this as if it means nothing; a simple conversation starter it may be, though, to me it means so much more hearing those light words roll off his tongue, compared to if someone else had said it, even if it was in the exact same moment living right now. A whiff of bad breath hits my face as I laugh lightly, shaking my head in a sort of admiration towards the man lying down ahead of me. He again blinks a few times, now in attempt to adjust the bright scenery to his view. For a couple seconds the room is frozen, Kurt’s alteration in position to sitting up becoming the only sound ringing through both our ears. As I find my gaze glued onto him once again, I subconsciously repeat the question he asked me, this time directed for him. However, from what I’ve seen, I’m certain he slept wonderfully.

A tired chuckle escaped his mouth. “I asked you first,” he mutters, the morning rasp still prominent in his vocal chords. This makes me smile. The raw, genuinity forwards the idea of realism that this moment was actually happening, coming like a pinch snapping someone out of their daydream, though my thoughts will never be known to understand how I was able to spend time with such a man. “I slept well, though.” he adds, a warm smile playing on his lips. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered, my face now being cradled by my palms. 

I now feel the stare of Kurt burn onto my face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, a hint of annoyance laced in his words. “We could’ve stayed up together,” 

A small chuckle breezes out of my nose. How considerate, how caring must you be to, even when you have performed such an exasperating gig, stay awake with me because of one night of my mind’s continuous ambles? For all I know, Kurt wouldn’t sleep for days if it meant I would be in absolute glee. It’s those sorts of traits in those who are lost which draw you towards them becoming the significant other to stay with for life. It’s that sense of attachment, connection you hold with someone, so strong that you would give up the roof over your head if it meant a smile to be drawn on their face. ”You looked so peaceful in your sleep,” I replied, staring directly into his loveable eyes, the shade of blue brightening as the sunlight melted onto his face. His hair was now a little more messier compared to how it was less than ten minutes ago, and the urge of me running my fingers through his golden locks only seemed to grow even more as time passed on. For a moment I decided to hold back my words, inhaling sharply to gain composure to my fatigued state. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” 

Kurt sighed - knowing that he needed sleep more than anything, though a hint of sadness dwindled in his stomach, his mind conflicted from the idea of me drowning in worry as I tended to do when I couldn’t sleep. Reaching his arm towards the table sat beside him, his fingers got lost in between the opened packet of cigarettes that slept reverently on the white wood, grabbing a random one at choice before placing it in a loose grip between his lips. With the known information that you need a torch to light a cigarette, I threw the one I had on his lap, a small laugh escaping my lips for no apparent reason. Actually no, there was a reason. “Who the fuck smokes first thing in the morning?”

Before he torched the lighter, he stopped, his piercing blue eyes locking in contact with mine. “Me, I do,” 

Another laugh tempted to flee itself from my throat, yet I held it back. If you would’ve said that to me the first night I met you, in that small, cramped room, littered with amps that Krist had dragged me into going in to listen to your material, I would’ve scoffed at your blown attitude towards such a random question. Watching you now as you’re admiring the cancer stick with pure attachment, my mind begins to wander over such a topic. I look at you and see a troubled, young kid who just wants love and affection because he seemingly never got enough from the people who designed his childhood; for you haven’t grown up since then. Perhaps in size and features, yes (and definitely the fact that children do not smoke), but hidden inside you is the same boy that was hidden away all those years ago - following onto your parents’ divorce. You say you’ve never been happy since then, you’ve never been able to think optimistically, and maybe you haven’t. Maybe the smile you give to me isn’t genuine; with continuous assurance I’ll consider it to be. Maybe I’ll never heal those bruises that were once your only source of living, and that’s okay, if you’re able to cope with the imprints. If you’re the Kurt Cobain that prefers smoking than having a normal breakfast, so be it; I’d give up my heart for you, and if anything, you’ve already stolen it. Words merely brush the surface of my adoration for you, and sometimes I believe that I’m just lying to myself, that nothing I’m saying in my head is true. Yet, as every minute, every second passes throughout the day, even in silent, contented situations with ceilings bright as yellow from the smoke like these, everything I say to myself simply strengthens in morality. My sweet, you deserve more than one could wish for. You deserve things that this world cannot give you, yet all you believe is that you are worthless. If only you saw yourself in my eyes, maybe then you’d realise, realise the impact you’ve sincerely doused onto me and my mind, you’ve got the moves to empower a generation and perhaps hundreds more - even if you don’t see that yet. 

“Give me one,” He hands me one, the strong gusts of cloud escaping his mouth creating a want for the rough substance to coat my throat in brutal ways; even if it’s slowly murdering me. It was a murderous addiction, nicotine, yet it kills us all, our addictions; and we are too blinded by the goodness it seemingly overshadows what we force to neglect in our minds - the bad in it all. We become so unbelievably enthralled by the pain we choose to accept it; we believe it is favourable, not disastrous and catastrophic. Drugs are frowned upon dearly, as they should be, but once you’re stuck, it takes more than simple courage to escape out of the deadly grip it chokes you in. Placing the cigarette in between my lips, identical to how he had just done, I reached my arm out to obtain the lighter that was in my clutch merely seconds ago, swiftly lighting it with one hand. As I breathed out the first tar-filled cloud from my cigar, I fixed my gaze onto him once again, sucking in my top lip as I allowed the droplets of ash fall onto my shirt. “I know I always say this,” I began as I studied his features, trying to identify any solemn, unpleasant emotions, noticing that there was none at all for the time being. “You’re going to make it big one day, I’m now for certain you’re going to take over the world,”

His eyes now locked into mine, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he blew out an even bigger gust of smoke. “I don’t want that,” 

Smiling, I took hold of my cigarette and inhaled deeply, holding it in my mouth until my body was unable to carry on without oxygen for longer - not that the air in the room was even oxygen; it was more corrosive chemicals than anything else, yet we’ve become so dependant on a small roll of tobacco to guide us to a path of slow death, its unnoticable. I watched as Kurt’s eyes drifted on to admire the elusive sunlight gleaming through the window, the whiffs of grey contrasting the happiness that was attempting to journey itself into the silent room. No matter how many times I may tell, his belief that he will never be as big as acts like the Sex Pistols will empower over anything I endevour on to phrase. It was inevitable though, whether he dreamt of it or not, that they will be big, bigger than anything they’ve ever seen. The path bridging onto it may cause destruction, heartbreak, and even more addiction, but the future is never in our hands - only until it is close enough for the present to capture it. Time is simply a mantelpiece, the light eventually burns out when there’s not enough coal to keep it going. You continue to refill it as the days go by until you simply cannot any longer, which is what all youths fear and avoid. Surprisingly enough, Kurt wasn’t one of the many crowds in devastating apprehension; he wanted to burn out more than anything else, for there were only small things keeping him going, or perhaps he was waiting for a longer, more agonizing death, hence the many packets of cigarettes vanished in a day.

There was nothing left to say in the room; there was no need for a response - it was only going to result in the same bicker as it resulted in many a time. The room, now physically undergoing a change in colour from the smoke, held a significant ambience, one so serene it left you more relaxed than the aftermath of a crazy high in drug use, though sometimes the relaxation is more pain than anything else. Even when my mind was so consumed in ideation earlier in the morning, my thoughts were louder than ever in this given moment. My mind was mulled over the concept of Kurt and stardom. He would never like it, nor does he even want it. It’s humorous to an extent; how much authenticity can one acclaim, to not even look up to the sugar-coated concept called ‘fame’? You’re not like the others. You don’t want fame, you want to create music. And in all honesty, I wish I lie through my teeth whenever I mumble those encouraging words of how you’re going to make it big; I can’t stand the idea of losing you, but like I said, it's inevitable, one day simple moments like these will just be memories to look back on when you’re old and laughing about your previous attachment to drugs. Maybe you won’t look back on times like these however, maybe you’ll remember the more vivid, buzzing moments like your first gig as Nirvana, and maybe I won’t remember this either, maybe these moments aren’t to be remembered, to be lived in instead. If only you knew how much I loved you, would you be surprised that I haven’t ruined my life because of it. You mean more to me than the stars mean to the night sky, more than a memory means to a person’s mind. It hurts my heart knowing I can’t heal you, though I dream that one day, you’ll wake up, just like you did today, turn to me and say, ‘I’m happy,’ because that’s all I ever dream of you to be.

[fluffynexu]

taste of home

AO3 link

Malavai Quinn tried to avoid the officers’ mess hall when he could. Even though there were only about half a dozen officers that shared the space he preferred to eat in solitude back in his office. But every so often, he needed to restock his ration stash. And of course, there were those rare days when fresh supplies were imported to Balmorra directly from the Empire’s core. Those days he’d let himself indulge a bit and grab some fresh fruit or even stay in the mess’ kitchen long enough to cook something resembling a proper meal. 

He made his way to the officers’ mess and sifted through the various flavor and texture options when Major Bessiker called out to him. 

“Ah, Lieutenant!”

Quinn pulled his hand back before he got anything. “Major,” he replied with a curt nod. 

“Stocking up again?”

“Naturally.”

“You should join us more often.” 

Major Pirrell walked in with a miserable look on his face. “Oh don’t bother, Bessiker. You know how he is. Always too busy.” 

Maintaining a neutral expression Quinn simply looked at Bessiker. “Apologies, but Major Pirrell is correct. I have much to do for the war effort here, and I can improve my productivity by—”

“Don’t be such a shut in, Quinn!” Bessiker said with a warm smile. 

Pirrell merely scoffed while grabbing a cup of caf for the morning.

“Besides,” Bessiker continued, “A crate of fresh food coming in today, straight from Dromund Kaas!”

“Really?” Quinn and Pirrell asked in unison.

Quinn thought for a moment. “But there isn’t a delivery scheduled for another—”

“It’s for a special occasion!” Bessiker practically radiated with joy. Which, given the damn planet they were all stuck on, was quite odd.

Drawing in a deep breath Quinn turned back to the assortment of rations. “Thank you for the offer but—”

“No, no! I insist,” Bessiker pressed on.

Pirrell took a sip from his caf. “Take a hint. The man’s not interested.” 

“Oh but he will be. And so will you! In fact, I’m inviting all the officers in Sobrik for this occasion!” Bessiker smiled and laughed, “Don’t make me turn this into an order, Lieutenant.”

Quinn groaned inwardly but held his head high with respect. “Of course. If you insist, sir.”

“Wait.” Pirrell paused for a moment, no doubt waiting for the effects of the caf to kick in. “All of the officers? Does that include—”

“Colonel Sartius? Yes.”

Pirrell groaned loudly, rolling his eyes. “Well now I’m not—”

“For the love of the Emperor, you can handle one eve—”

Quinn cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, Majors.” With his rations in hand Quinn left the two to continue with their bickering.

~

It was nearly 34:00, local time, when Quinn returned to the officers’ mess. It seemed that he was the first to arrive aside from Major Bessiker who was pulling foodstuffs out of a delivery crate.

Quinn gave a quiet cough. “I assume the others will be joining us soon?”

“Lieutenant!” Bessiker motioned Quinn toward the crate. “Give me a hand won’t you?”

“Of course.” Quinn began rummaging through the various items: fresh zinjer, coolumbers, a jar of cranonut oil, a package of two-striped skal fish, napani leaves, cerulean river blossoms, totomo fronds, churtuma powder, and a 10kg bag of Kaasi rice just to name a few. Each item he held with a sort of reverence, looking over the packaging and reading the labels. Sure enough, everything in the crate came from high end food companies on Dromund Kaas, the kinds that would often supply restaurants with Sith clientele. 

Quinn eventually pulled out a stack of thin boxes wrapped in light, ornate cloth. “What are these?”

“Those are mirbans, for dessert. There should be more than enough for everyone to take a box.”

“Mirbans? But Bloom Feast isn’t until much later in the Kaasi year.”

Bessiker waved him off. “Yes, yes. That’s true, but that particular steamery is one of a handful that makes mirbans all year round. And trust me lieutenant, I had some the last time I was on leave and it was simply divine.”

“I see…” Quinn placed the various chilis, fresh and dried, on the nearby counter. “If I may ask, what is the occasion for celebration?”

“My son!” Bessiker exclaimed, “He just got accepted to the Sith Academy on Korriban!”

Quinn paused for a moment before hauling out the heavy bag of rice. “That’s quite an accomplishment. My cong—”

Pirrell burst into the mess with Captains Ilun and Rollo flanking him. “So what are we here for? What’s all this? And—wait…” Pirrell pointed at the full counter. “Are those bottles of—?”

“Kaasake?” Bessiker answered with a smile. “Yes they are. Top quality too. These were not cheap.”

“Hmm. Those might make this evening with Colonel Sartius bearable…”

Rollo and Ilun remained poised and professional, but at another glance Quinn could tell that they were trying not to laugh, as if they were in a joke no one else in the room knew. 

“I told the Colonels to arrive a bit later than the rest of you,” Bessiker said motioning to the fresh imports from Dromund Kaas. “So that we may prepare the meal prior to their arrival.”    

Pirrell rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh while Rollo and Ilun simply went into the kitchen.

“What are we cooking anyway, Major?” Rollo asked. 

“I’m surprised Ilun hasn’t told you, considering how close the two of you are.” 

There was a slight blush on the Captains’ cheeks before Ilun cleared his throat. “R-right. It, uh, it’s a simple variation of river rice. I’ll pull up the recipe from grand-chef Iorra.” 

“Simple? With chef Iorra? Pah!” Pirrell exclaimed. “Is that what all this is for? What, instant rice and a meat paste not good enough for you, Bessiker?” 

Quinn frowned at the abominable description Pirrell gave for river rice and shook his head.

Despite Pirrell’s tiresome mood, Bessiker remained positively chipper. “Not for tonight! You see, my son, my dear Hiran, got accepted into the Sith Academy on Korriban! Therefore, we shall celebrate and feast in his honor! Yes, even here on Balmorra.” 

Ilun gave a quiet applause at Bessiker’s declaration while Pirrell just shrugged. 

“Now I assume all of you have passed the basic competency portion of food preparation and safety during your academy days. So here’s what everyone will be in charge of.”

~

The Colonels, Eben and Sartius, arrived just as the meal was finished and plated. And the river rice, simply put, was exquisite to behold. A generous scoop of light blue rice surrounded by the fish, fried nuts mixed with ashobies, coolumer slices, half an egg, and flavorful chili paste all sitting on top of a totomo frond on the plate.

Quinn’s stomach grumbled as Bessiker greeted with a deep bow. “Ah, Colonels. I’m so grateful the two of you could make it.”

Eben and Sartius sat down without a word. Quinn and the other officers shuffled around to set the table with the food, silverware, and cups. The Majors took their seats, followed by the Captains, and finally Quinn sat down as well. 

Bessiker engaged in polite conversation with the Colonels as Quinn automatically filled everyone’s small, ceramic cups full of warm kaasake in hierarchical order. Once the kaasake was distributed Major Bessiker stood to give a toast.

“I must thank you all for joining me in this wondrous occasion. As you all know by now, my son has been accepted into the Korriban Sith Academy. May he rise above their ranks and serve our Empire well!” Bessiker raised his cup high, prompting the others to do the same. “For the Empire!”

“For the Empire!” they all repeated and drank the warm wine. 

Bessiker sat back down and the meal officially started when the Colonels took their bites. As the Colonels congratulated Bessiker for his son’s accomplishments and the Majors started eating as well. Then the Captains ate which meant that Quinn was now free to enjoy the food. 

Quinn took slow bites, enjoying the harmony of flavors of the spices and the textures of the fish, rice, and nuts. As he ate the other officers would absentmindedly hold out their empty cups to him from time to time, an automatic and unspoken cue for him to refill their kaasake. To which Quinn obliged readily as per custom since they all out ranked him.

Everyone, even Colonel Sartius and Major Pirrell, seemed to be having a decent time. Afterall, it wasn’t common to have food this fresh and exquisite on Balmorra. Rollo and Ilun mostly kept to themselves, their hands occasionally intertwining as they’d whisper and laugh to themselves. 

“So tell me, Captain,” Eben said to Rollo, “how long has it been since you arrived here?”

Rollo looked up, seemingly caught a bit off guard. “It’s been a fortnight, sir. Er… in local time.”

Eben nodded and then everyone began conversing about their time on Balmorra. Quinn sank into his seat, putting more fish and rice into his mouth. Listening to his peers he realized that they all arrived on Balmorra after him, by years in most cases. All of a sudden, the fish became too mushy, the rice’s hue looked sickly, and the fragrant chili paste became too pungent. Not wanting to rudely waste such a splendid meal, he made an effort to finish his plate so he could return to his quarters.

“You know, Bessiker,” Pirrell said while finishing another cup of kaasake, clearly drunk and bored. “I had a Sith for a lover.”

“Pfft, yeah right,” Rollo laughed under his breath with Ilun.

Pirrell stared down at the Captains and continued, “It’s true!”

“Oh? What was their name?” asked Sartius with a smirk. 

“Her name was Nalatea. A beautiful red Sith and a proper Lord.” Pirrell swung his cup at Quinn, obtaining a refill. “Have any of you met a red Sith in person?”

Bessiker shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Me neither,” Ilun added.

“You see them all the time on the holos but…” Eben said. “In person? No.”

A wide, slimy grin plastered itself on Pirrell’s face. “Well let me tell you all. They really are… beautifully exotic.” 

Quinn’e eye twitched. He wasn’t sure why but Pirrell’s comment made him uncomfortable. 

“Is it true then?” Sartius asked. 

“Is what true?” Pirrell replied.

“You know,” Sartius continued, making vague hand gestures. “In the bedroom…”

“Oh, ha, well…” Pirrell quickly drank the remainder of his cup. “I’d assume so… The thing is—”

Bessiker chuckled, “I knew it. This was just a Lord you had an infatuation over. There was no way a Sith would even consider—”

Pirrell slammed the cup down with enough force that would’ve sprayed the kaasake if he hadn’t emptied it just beforehand. “I’ll have you all know that there were plenty of moments where we could’ve—”

“So then why didn’t you?” Sartius asked. 

“It was her damned beasts!” Pirrell sighed. “She had wrats. About fifty—”

“She had fifty wrats?!” Rollo exclaimed.

“No! Worse. She had fifty-seven… or was it fifty-eight?” 

Quinn paused at the absolute absurd amount of rodents this Sith owned, not to mention the logistic nightmare of caring for all of them. 

“And I’m convinced that each and every one of her precious pets hated me,” Pirrell spat with venom.

“I… can’t imagine why,” Quinn said dryly, recalling an old Sith belief that wrats could judge a person’s character. 

Bessiker cleared his throat. “Yes, well. We all live and serve at their expense.” The group mumbled in agreement before he continued. “What about the rest of you? Any interesting interactions with a Sith, not necessarily sexual or… almost sexual in Pirrell’s case.”

The Captains openly laughed with Ilun leaning into Rollo as Pirrell just frowned and ate more food.

“What about you, Lieutenant?” Bessiker asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet this evening.”

Everyone turned to look at him and he opened his mouth to answer. “I—”

“I’m pretty sure he’s always like this,” Pirrell commented. 

Quinn sank back in his seat. His mind wandered to that fateful meeting with Darth Baras all those years ago. Looking around he knew that they would all be promoted and reassigned to more favorable stations. Which, the thought of officers like Pirrell succeeding where he could not made his heart sink with dread and envy.

“If I may, sirs,” Quinn sighed, “I… have much to do for Sobrik’s aerial defense inspection in the morning.” He rose and gave a deep bow. “Thank you for a pleasant evening and my congratulations to your son, Major.”

The other officers looked at him a bit oddly, but didn’t seem to care that he was departing.

As he was about to leave Bessiker called out, “Oh don’t forget your box of mirbans! And feel free to take one of the extra kaasake bottles as well!”

~

Quinn made it back to his quarters. Sitting on his bed he placed the bottle on the nightstand next to him and smoothed over the decorated, flimsi-thin cloth that wrapped the box. He unwrapped and slowly opened the box. There were twelve mirbans, expertly handcrafted by the look of their floral design coming in a range of soft colors.

He picked up one of the mirbans looking it over. All of a sudden, he was a child again, back with his parents and sister helping to make the different colored mirban dough in their kitchen that was far too small for the four of them. 

“No sisi! I wanna do it!” Malavai would cry out as a young child.

“I’m the oldest!” his sister, Primella, would declare, “I get to mix it first!”

Their parents would give a light-hearted laugh as they managed to produce uneven, lumpy mirbans. But it didn’t matter. It always tasted good.

With a deep sigh Quinn placed the mirban back in the box, nearly putting it away. But something brewed in the pit of his stomach as he recalled the last interaction with his sister. 

Balmorra. That’s where Baras was sending him. Quite frankly, it sounded awful, but it was better than death. He would need to leave in approximately fifteen minutes if he was going to catch his ship at the spaceport. 

Someone knocked on his door. He opened it to find Primella staring him down with crossed arms. 

“S-sisi? What—?”

She shoved past him and closed the door. “How could you do this?!”

“Do what?” “Don’t play dumb with me you little shit,” she huffed. “Did you know that mom left in the middle of your court martial trial?”

Quinn frowned. “Yes… I noticed.”

“Ok, well did you also know that she’s moving to Ziost?” “What?”

“Yeah. Word about your insubordination and mutiny got out and—”

“It was not—”

“Will you shut up and listen!” She was trembling and Quinn remained quiet as she continued. “All of mom’s friends and coworkers found out. She was practically ostracized for having a traitorous son! So now she has to move to Ziost and hope that the people there don’t know about your fuck up.”

Quinn clenched his fists as his nostrils flared. “Prim, I am not a—”

“No! Traitor or no, I am still you sisi! And you—!” she sighed. Her shoulders sagged and she tried to discreetly wipe away a stray tear. 

“…Sisi,” Quinn began quietly, “what I did, I did it for the good of the Empire. And quite frankly, I’d do it all over again.”

She scoffed.

“It’s like father used to tell us—”

“Father’s dead, Malavai. He died a war hero. You were supposed to carry on that legacy! We both were…”

“I’m sorry?”

“Reon called off the wedding.” She smiled bitterly at him. “Thanks for that too, kimu.” 

Quinn swallowed, his mouth dry and unable to form words.

“Do you even care? About us? Me and mom?” Her voice began to rise with each and every word. “Did you, for once, think about what this would mean for our family?!”

“Of course I—” His eyes fought back tears as he took several deep breaths. “Look, what’s done is done. Nothing I say or do will change anything now… so if you’re done yelling at me, I have a ship to catch.”

Primella glared at him and remained completely still for a minute. He could practically hear the gears whirring in her head when she finally spoke. “Fine. I need to go anyway.” 

With that his sister walked out of his room and out of his life.

Quinn tossed the box lid aside and unceremoniously grabbed the mirbans, shoving them all into his mouth one after another. He forced them down despite the lump in his throat with the bottle of kaasake. Tears began to sting his eyes as he finished off the box and bottle. 

The simple truth was, he’d never be able to go back home. 

Quinn was going to die on this miserable planet. He tossed away the empty box and bottle into the appropriate trash containers and collapsed into bed. He didn’t want any more reminders taunting him of a time that was and a home he’d never see again.

=========================

glossary(?) in order of appearance:

zinjer - ginger

coolumber - cucumber

cranonut - coconut

skal fish - scad fish

napani - pandan

cerulean river blossom - butterfly pea flower

totomo - banana

churtuma - turmuric

mirban - songpyeon

steamery - think, bakery is for baked foods. steamery is for steamed foods! :D

kaasake - sake

river rice - nasi lemak

ashobies - anchovies

sisi - imperial term for Older Sister

kimu - imperial term for Younger Brother

AN in tags of OP

[hinac0lada]

make it with you

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: kageyama tobio/reader 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: another song inspired fic. ben&ben rly out here doing the best. hearts out for best boy hehe. this is another attempt at fluff so,, feedback would be nice. <3 [ graphic by me not exactly proud of it hnnng ]

kageyama treasures every moment he has with you. he thinks every second, minute and hour counts. time wasn’t very forgiving, after all. he likes that you can see pass through him and accept him. in spite of the rough exterior you’ve come across before forming a friendship with the hotheaded setter, you personally think that being close to karasuno’s genius player was a notable achievement in itself.

kageyama has become somewhat comfortable around you. he tends to sputter his words, which was unlike the milk lover boy. he’s less awkward and more open with his thoughts around you. he likes how you keep him company - something he wouldn’t dare admit out loud; for he suspects his team mates would never let him live it down, especially a certain short carrot-colored haired teen.

even with that said, time wasn’t going to be generous with him if he continues this charade of growing infatuation with his senior.

morning classes were always dull. the raven haired teen doesn’t have the urge to dwell on about the slow ticks of the clock plastered on the wall atop the chalkboard. time goes at a normal pace. a relatively slow one at that. nothing is indefinite. it’s just how things are.

he sticks to a routine he’s developed as days have come by. after classes he changes into his gym uniform, does training in the gym, back to academics and repeat. fair matches come by and go as they prepare for nationals. he’s not nervous (well, maybe a little). he anticipates the day it were to come.

he doesn’t doubt his skills. he doesn’t doubt his team mates will lead them to victory. he doesn’t doubt hinata, either. he knows he’s done his fair share of growth.

it was just enough for him.

everything he’s ever done didn’t come without a barrier blocking him from achieving his goal. his rigid endeavours come with a blend of synergy and control. it tears him to maintain balance between the two attributes. enrolling in karasuno taught him differently than the way he was treated in junior high.

he made friends along the way. friends who saw through his previous arrogant demeanor and desire to surpass the very best.

he’s learned unity.

he appears to have a weird thing for whenever he has spare time or when he does something outside of the volleyball club. during lunch break, he manages to always catch you alone near the vending machines, scribbling away in a little notebook you carry around with you. neither of you acknowledged the other at first, seeing as how he only aims to get a carton of milk to quench his thirst.

the first time you spoke to him was when you required critique from someone for your project. it was due your next class, so you asked the person closest to you, even if you didn’t know who he was.

“excuse me, could i spare some time from you for a moment?” you called out to the ravenette, who glances your way with a confused expression. he gets closer all the while still sipping on the same carton of milk he always buys on the vending machine. “uh, hey?” 

“sorry, but could i get your opinion on this? it’s important,” you ask sheepishly, turning your notebook around with a mini-canvas on top. you’ve used your notebook as some kind of surface to draw on for your work. the taller teen gazes upon the canvas painted with vibrant colors mixing with one another in a delicate manner. it was a fine piece, even though he didn’t really get the meaning behind it. the oil paints overlapped each other, creating a rough yet nice texture for the imagery you’ve chosen to depict on the media. “it’s.. good.” he awkwardly stammers.

“huh? is that all you’re going to say?” your lips was pulled into a small frown, dejected at the dry comment he stated. “tell me more! maybe there’s something wrong with it - or maybe yet, something’s missing from this? should i add some other details or─ ”

“h-hey, no need for that!” he interrupts with a small scowl. he didn’t mean to have that kind of expression, but you were fussing over nothing. “it.. it looks great. i think you just need to fix that part over here,” he points to one messy part of the painting. “it looks all bundled up and confusing.” you beam at this, grinning at the puzzled and stiff teen. “aha! thanks so much, milk boy! i owe you for this!” and with that, you scurried off to the main building.

kageyama was left in a trance. what had transpired left him puzzled, a bit flustered and something else he couldn’t fathom. 

he did feel a bit irked at the name milk boy. 

───── 

“no, that’s wrong kageyama-kun. it’s supposed to say ‘enormity’, not ‘ennourmity’.” you scold him lightly as you corrected his mistake on spelling. he isn’t that good at english, so he turned to you for help. he’d rather ask you to assist him than beg tsukishima to tutor him again.

it’s been a couple of weeks since you first interacted. somehow, you’ve gotten close with your underclassman. with the promise of owing the setter for (not much, in his opinion) his helpful incite, you brought some pork buns as a treat. since then, you’ve practically hung out during lunch break. it appears as though you don’t hang out outside of these breaks, but why question a good thing?

“ah, i see. sorry.” was his nonchalant reply. you pout, reaching for his ears and tug them lightly but harsh enough. he makes a surprised noise of protest, narrowing his eyes at you. “oi, what was that for?” he holds up his thumb and index finger to numb the little burning itch on his right ear.

“you always seem so bland! show some emotion will you?” you giggle at his baffled expression. he rolls his eyes at this. “i’m not bland, dumbass. i do show emotions, in case you didn’t know─” 

“yeah, you only show emotions whenever you’re angry, bakageyama!” you duck your head as he attempts to swing his arm at you. you stick your tongue out at him, scampering away when he gives chase. it was fun teasing the first year. he seems so tense and so awkward. he needs to loosen up a little.

“HAHAHAH─ okay, okay! i give, i give!!” you squeal as you’ve been backed into a corner, his hand still has that strong grip on your head. you attempt to move his hand - slapping it even, but he wouldn’t budge.”bakageyama-kun, is that any way to treat your senior?”

“for a senior, you sure do act childish,” before lifting his hand, he manages to mess your hair up from its initial neat state, making you groan at him. he returns to where you both sat, picking up his things and stuffing them back into his bag. “ha? where you going kageyama-kun?” you inquire as you brush some array strands of hair back down with your fingers.

“i have practice next. you should get back too, [last name]-senpai,” he hands you your bag, walking past you. “oh. well, ask me again if you need help anytime soon!” he nods in affirmation, waving a goodbye as went on your separate ways. he stops by the vending machine, only to discover there weren’t any milk boxes left. he sighs in dejection, opting to trudge along the steps to the gym to change into his gym clothes.

setting his bag down, he feels something rectangular and hard through his bundle of clothes. taking it out, he discovers it was a milk carton with a sticky note on it.

‘remember to work on your english more, kage-kun!   - your smart senpai, [name] :P’

he didn’t know when you’d sneak this inside his bag without him knowing, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

─────

kageyama swings by your usual spot, looking even more tired than usual. he says it was nothing, focusing on completing his needed lesson for the day. you try to tell him you could tutor him another time, but he insists it was not a problem. it’s hard to constantly look out for him when he looks like he’s about to pass out.

“kageyama-kun, i really suggest you should take it easy. i mean, look at you! are you even getting enough sleep? are you eating well?” your concern over him makes his heart flutter, but he couldn’t focus on that when his vision started getting all fuzzy. “it’s nothing i─” he cuts himself off with a yawn, tears slightly forming at the corner of his eyes. he must not realize his own fatigue, yet he doesn’t want to listen.

“i still have practice..”

“no, you don’t.”

you decide to stop the work you previously helped him on, cleaning up your things and packing them inside your respective bags. he watches you silently, fighting the urge to pass out. he’s been pushing himself a little too hard. he practiced with hinata the other night to work on their new quick that he must’ve not known how much time has passed. he usually does this though, so he doesn’t understand why he feels much more tired and sleepy.

he doesn’t know how and he feels too drowsy to question why he ended up in the school clinic with you by his side. he promptly passed out on the bed as you got there. you’d have to stop by the gym to tell them of kageyama’s absence. honestly, this boy can be too much for you sometimes.

despite knowing you have your own club to get to, something in you doesn’t want to leave his side. but you’d get scolded if you skipped out. 

you went back to your usual spot near the vending machine, popping in a few coins and purchasing your selected drinks. smiling, you skipped back to the clinic, placing kageyama’s favorite drink on the table on the opposite side of the bed. you pulled out another sticky note, writing a short message and sticking it on the small carton.

sighing, you picked up your things, stopping by the door to give the sleeping male one last glance before heading to your club.

‘don’t go passing out during your matches, okay? - your caring senpai, [name] >:)’

─────

“you know, you’re the first person i ever let watch while i do my work,” you give him a small smile as he pays close attention on your canvas. you both had free time today, so you hung out at a nearby park. he’s bought some snacks along while you brought your art supplies with you. he watches you intently as you recreate the image in front of you; grassy field, trees blending in the background on the left side while the sun was nearing dawn. it was beautiful picture.

“oh.” he says dumbfounded. you don’t give a sign of acknowledgement as you went silent, intent on finishing this piece.

“you’re the first person i can be.. more open to,” he pauses. “i mean, like.. i can tell you anything without being judged for it. and i’m grateful.”

you focus on the painting breaks, glancing at him beside you. you smile at his words. he can be sweet when he wants to be, in his own way at least.

“and i’m honored.” you gaze returns to the canvas.

minutes after you finished, you set it aside to dry. you placed your dirty paint brushes in a plastic, mentally reminding yourself to clean them when you get home before finally focusing on the male in front of you. you made small talk. it didn’t matter which topic it lead to, talking with kageyama was nice. he wasn’t as dull as you thought he was, and he didn’t think you were too annoying.

as you ate your favorite snack, he mutters something underneath his breath, the tips of his ears glowing a light red. “hm? what is it?” you lean closer to him, wanting to know what he was going to say.

“.. i said thanks. for those milk cartons you’ve bought for me the past few days.” he mumbles as he avoids your gaze. he had been wanting to thank you for a while. even though he did so already, he still felt flustered. it appears he’s learned the term of having a crush shortly after spending a hefty amount of time with you.

he's adorable, you think. it was probably rare to see him like this. you chuckle at him, unwrapping your snack to finish the rest of it.

“it’s not a problem at all, kageyama-kun.”

─────

karasuno wins the game by two sets. kageyama glances at the stands above, eyes scanning the crowd for a specific [h.c] haired female. you promised you’d watch his game. and you did. his eyes met yours, navy blue clashing with [e.c] irises. you beam from the stands, waving your arms wildly at their victory.

“great job, kageyama-kun!! i knew you had it in you!” the third years share a knowing look. nishinoya and tanaka pat his back albeit a bit too hard in pride with a few teasing comments. his other fellow first years snicker at his flabbergasted expression that was quickly replaced by his usual scowl. 

despite being teased by his team and gaining even more snarky remarks from tsukishima, you coming to watch him play was more than a victory for him.

kageyama, while rummaging through the bag he uses to store spare clothes and his uniforms, feels yet another soft and hard materials from his belongings. he pulls out a small carton of milk along with a plastic filled with his favorite snacks.

‘good luck on your game today! i know you’ll do great! - your loving senpai, [name] <3′

to him, you were more than enough.

[moomingitz]

I'm not sure if you have played the Nuts & Bolts Banjo-Kazooie game but what are your thoughts on the character designs in it?

Unlike a lot of people who obviously have never even touched it, I actually have played and finished it. So I think I can say I have an actual informed and unbiased opinion of the game and the aspects of it, and not just say, “Muh childhood! I feel so betrayed! :’C “.

For characters who returned in, Nuts & Bolts, I’m gonna have their designs from the first and second games side-by-side with their designs from the latter game for comparison sake. Gotta start with the two main titular characters, of course.

Banjo and Kazooie

If these two embody all of the positive aspects of the first two game’s art direction, well then their character designs in Nuts & Bolts embody all of the negative aspects of that game’s art direction.

I get what they were trying to do by making Banjo and Kazooie look more blocky. They wanted to imitate the polygonal look of the N64 games. But with all of the textures and detail this game has unlike the N64 games, it just doesn’t really work here. The appeal of their character designs was the rounded cartoonish style and googly eyes. Banjo especially is not the most flattering to look at. Ugh, his eyes! Kazooie looks better, but she doesn’t really look like a breegul anymore and looks more like a cartoon goose, and the feather detailing is making me think of Viva Pinata more than an organic bird.

It’s not like the art direction is automatically bad, because besides one other character, the other character designs in N&B aren’t half bad. I would say some of the designs themselves, when divorced from the blocky aesthetic, are actually improvements over the older designs. But for some reason the two main characters got the worst of it. While the in-game models actually look better than the more detailed promotional stock models, these two still look off in the game itself.

Bottles

They made him look really cute here. I like how they not only gave him that suit and tie to help him better fit his role as Showdown Town’s info guy, but he now has claws like an actual mole. It’s nice to see his model in Smash kept them.

Mumbo

I don’t like it. Something about it just looks off. It’s probably the more blocky look for his head and the overalls, but N&B Mumbo looks like the douchey Jock Chad type you wanted to avoid in high school.

Gruntilda

It’s pretty cool. Seeing how Grunty had been reduced to a skeletal head by the end of Tooie, I always thought eventually having to resort to using an artificial body was the only appropriate next step. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s done that, too. She put her spirit into a mech in the GBA game(which took place in between the first and second game).

Humba

This is one of the redesigns in Nuts & Bolts where I think it was an improvement over the original one. Humba now has a design with more character and thought put into it, instead of just looking like someone wearing a cheap sexy “Native American” costume.

But, the crux of this redesign is how Humba doesn’t even look like the same character anymore, and for some reason she even looks younger compared to her original Tooie design. I seriously thought she was a different character when I first saw her Nuts & Bolts redesign. Maybe they could at the very least change her facial structure to resemble her old one and give her back the dark brown hair she originally had. I think that would help make a difference.

Klungo

For most of the part I like this one. I like how his coat looks all tattered up, and the stitches in his skin show you all of the abuse he’s had to endure from Grunty; or maybe they came from accidents in the lab. His head structure however, I don’t know. I like the more rounded look of the N64 one more. At least it’s not this.

Jinjos

This one I’m mixed on. I like the spotty details on their N&B design, I actually prefer to draw their snouts more like this, and they no longer look like they’re trying to set me on fire with their stare. However, the Jinjo’s eyes in this game make them look like they’re sick.

However, the game’s more jagged aesthetics works perfectly for the Minjos.

King Jingaling

I like it for most of the part. The new outfit definitely fits him. Remove the Bingo motiff and it would make for a good new permanent wardrobe.

Captain Blubber

It’s Captain Blubber, but with more detail and some minor changes with his outfit. Not much else to say, really. His eyes are all baggy now for some reason. I guess it was from all of the, well, blubbering he does.

Boggy

I like the outfit they gave him. But the face, man. It’s the same problem I mentioned about Banjo’s design in this game.

Jolly Roger/Dodger

Out of all the redesigns in Nuts & Bolts, I think this is the best one. It’s not only a vast improvement over the old one(not like I thought it was bad to begin with of course) and a fun looking redesign, but it makes me wonder what the hell happened between Tooie and Nuts & Bolts for someone like Jolly to go from being mayor, to some shady dude selling Jiggies and pirated video games on the black market.

Also, I think Jolly has the best alternate outfits in the game, too.

I do wonder why his skin pigmentation went from an olive green to a pale lime green, though. But even that could be explained with how some frogs can change their skin color as a method of camouflage; that would only be fitting with Jolly going around doing illegal stuff.

Mr. Fit

It’s Mr. Fit, but with more detail and being more in line with the game’s more blocky art direction. It strangely works in this character’s case. I actually think he looks better in Nuts & Bolts.

LOG

I don’t care how much y’all want to keep crying about how LOG “ruined” your childhood, he looks cool! It’s a simple design, but still a clever and well done one. This is actually how I would imagine an all powerful God of video games if there was one. His head is not only a TV, but the fact his face is PONG is a nice touch; he even plays a game of PONG with himself in one of his idle animations. He even has cute little computer mice, too!

Piddles

I like the color palette and she reminds me of Halloween. But, what the hell is going on with her body!? I guess they wanted to make it look like her front torso was tall and imposing in a more stylistic sense(judging from her concept art), but it just looks like she has a long giraffe neck if anything.

Trophy Thomas

He looks more like a “furry” character, but you know what? It mostly works for the type of character he is: A douchey egotist, who thinks he’s such hot shit that he placed a giant statue of himself on top of his house. He even has hipster looking thick rimmed glasses. Also, it’s nice to see a male anthro character have “hair” for a change, instead of it just being a female specific design element.

This is one of those cases where the character’s in-game model looks better than the detailed promotional one.

Change up his head shape some and I can see his character design easily transferring over to the first two game’s more round and cartoony style.

Pikelet

He’s a cop, so he’s a pig. Can’t say much else, really. It serves it’s purpose.

[themockingcrows]

Whisper Just For Me: Ch. 16: Beyond

All good things must come to an end. Sometimes, though, the end is just the beginning. CW: Major character death This chapter is available on AO3!

((The end of the fic! Thank you so much for reading, it’s really meant a lot to me. And I’m so sorry the ending took so long to get out! Between the surgeries, recovery time, mental health and school, things have been hectic to say the least. If you stuck around, you’ve got my love forever. <3 Ryn, over and out.))

     By the time the cast came off and you’d started doing physical therapy at home, you felt it was time to try explaining to Dave all the things you had found. Life had returned to normal more or less, with Jade and her research keeping Dave’s returning strength and habits dialed in to where they could be tracked again. Everything was looking positive, and you couldn’t be happier. Your family was whole again, and life was good.

     Now to rip the bandaid off, you supposed. Now when it was private and quiet, when Jade wasn’t around and it would just be the two of you.

     With Dave zipping around the room rustling papers one day, you decided it was time. If he passed on… well. You had confidence you’d see him again somehow. Your beliefs had expanded over time to well beyond what they were before, and with it came a sense of serenity in things. If you could find Dave again after all that had happened, if fate itself seemed intent on making sure that you could be reunited somehow, then surely it made sense that it would keep going even longer afterwards into the unknown.

     You knelt down carefully, still babying your formerly broken leg as it got stronger, and rummaged under your bed for the things you’d brought back from Dave’s Bro. The raglan shirt, the different drawings, the picture of the smuppet, the photograph of Dave on the sofa. With a deep sense of inner peace, you set them all out on the floor and sat back on your ass to look them over when you felt the warmth near your shoulder.

     “Do you see all these clearly?” you asked, wanting to be sure.

     … Yes …

     “...Do you want to touch them?” you asked, offering control of your arms again. “I don’t mind. They’re… they’re yours, after all.”

     Did Dave recognize them, or not? He seemed intrigued, if nothing else. He didn’t take control of your arms, but remained near your head and shoulders, hovering and staring intently at the different things as if he were a mongoose staring down a snake. You reached for the picture of him on the couch and smiled.

     “You still look this good, I hope you know. Just more red.”

     Dave was silent, but he smiled. Okay. He could recognize himself at least. Or he couldn’t and he could take a compliment when he heard one. Sometimes it was a little hard to tell how Dave’s brain worked, but it was generally positive so whatever. 

     Setting the picture down, you pulled up the image of the smuppet and ran a thumb over the surface of the polaroid as if imagining the texture of the fabric, trying to pretend you could feel it, could smell it. Trying to practically will it into existing in the same room.

     “Your uh. ...Your brother said this was one of your favorite toys growing up,” you explained, smile faltering a bit. The warmth went chilly for the briefest of seconds, wavering, before it warmed again. Dave was reaching for the picture with his transparent fingers, imitating the stroking motion you’d done right beforehand.

     ...I remember…

     Okay. That was a start. He remembered and was still there. Good.

     You felt a chill in your stomach that made you want to put everything away, suddenly. A deep instinctive urge to hide, to keep things safe, to buckle down and ignore everything around you for a while. To keep Dave safe.

     Safe from what? If he moved on… then it was what he was meant to do. He’d be at peace. You’d meet again. And that was all theoretical anyway, stop panicking! Ease up, Egbert, it’s a picture of a smuppet.

     You reach for the shirt next and hold it after displaying the pattern on the front, grinning at Dave again despite the growing panic in the back of your chest.

     “Your shirt’s kinda dorky, but apparently you liked it a lot? You liked videogames too, and music… I think Jade has some of the songs you used to like to listen to, we’ll have to ask her to play them later.” You’d been avoiding them for some reason since getting Dave back, just letting things go back to how they’d once been instead of adding even more new things into the mix. Too much too fast was bad, you assumed. ...Yet here you were, discussing an entire short life in one go.

     ...Better than yours…

     “Hey, my clothes are great thank you.”

     As if to make a point, Dave darted away to the drawers and opened them, tossing out socks and shorts left and right while you protested, before rattling things in the closet and darting back in a red haze like a flash. 

     “Okay, okay, geeze. Either way, we’ve got this now. Do you want me to set it out somewhere for you? Or.. like. I don’t know, should I wear it when you’re in charge sometime?”

     Would it be weird to wear your dead boyfriend’s shirt that he used to wear when he was alive if you never knew him when he was alive to begin with? Something in your head said that was probably kind of weird, but then again you’ve been wrong before so… who knew anymore. Things were complicated when you were dating a ghost.

     A lot of societal rules and standards either didn’t apply or needed to be invented on the spot.

     Dave did a lazy turn in the air like an otter before rustling the other items like a breeze to catch your attention once more, apparently enthralled by his own work. You picked up the cartoony image with a smirk, having to hold it sideways at an angle to read it properly as if it were some secret code and not the oldest shitpost you’d ever seen in your fucking life.

     “You made this, huh? What’s it of? Like, who are these guys?”

     ...Sweet Bro… Hella Jeff… Geromy…

     Instinctively, you’re aware of who each of them probably are, and you’re pleased when a quick verification with Dave proved you were correct on the first shot. It was brilliant really. Strange, surreal, silly, and nonsensical in just the right way to make you wish there was an entire book of these drawings. If Dave had lived, maybe there would have been and that’s the only way you’d have known him: as an adoring fan among many to an older man with a talent for drawing funny cartoons. ...If you could even classify these guys as cartoons.

     They kind of defied description in the way a jpeg artifact tended to bounce around on shitty video clips that dropped pixels faster than you could drop yourself down the stairs on roller skates with a running start.

     The more realistic art, the sketches, you hesitated on most. Finally, you picked one up and cleared your throat uncomfortably. 

     “This uh. ...You know who this is, yeah?”

     Dave was quiet again, and you had to look over your shoulder to try judging if this was a bad idea or not. He was still, quiet, staring. His face was hard to decipher, mostly because it seemed to be fading in and out from the red mass to the wispy figure you knew and loved. 

     ...Bro…

     “Right,” you said, clearing your throat again. It felt like you had heartburn, a cold sweat on your brow and acid roiling in your stomach. “We uhm. Jade and I met him. We talked a lot about things. About you. He’s the one who gave us most of these things. We heard about when you were a baby, and when you were a teen.”

     There came the unsteady lump of panic again. Where had the serenity gone? The sense of peace and calm that said this was a good idea earlier? Long gone.

     “We also uhm. ...We learned how you died, Dave. Do.. do you remember?”

     Stupid question. Dave looked tense, uncertain, and even more wavery than before. Of course he didn’t remember, that was one of the main reasons he was still around, wasn’t it?

     “It…”

     Were you ready for this? You could feel tears in your eyes. It was now or never.

     “It was your heart, Dave. You had a heart problem, and passed away really fast outside. Nobody knew it was coming or that anything was wrong. Your… Your Bro’s sorry. He’s eaten alive about it, wishes he’d never pushed you as hard as he did in the heat. He misses you. He-”

     The red light was brilliant to your eyes, bright enough that you needed to shield your vision for a moment with a hand, peeking between your fingers to try finding the source. Dave. It had to be Dave. Where was he? Where was he in this sea of red? The warmth that had been radiating off of him dissipated till it was cool and comforting instead. Soothing as a balm to fevered flesh, soft and gentle as touch.

     When the light faded, Dave was standing to your side. Physically standing, not floating, looking solid as anything. His face was pale with a splash of freckles, hair ruffled as if wind had been playing through it, red eyes bright as rubies. He was wearing the same shirt you’d brought out from under the bed, making you double take back to it to make sure it wasn’t in fact the same shirt. Black jeans smoothed down skinny legs with the baggy ends threadbare in the back where his tennis shoes had been scuffing them to Hell and back. His chest wasn’t rising or falling, but he had color to his cheeks, and a smile on his lips.

     You scrambled to your feet once you registered what the fuck had happened, or… at least were trying to understand what the fuck was happening. 

     “Dave? Dave what’s going on. I don’t like this,” you say, before even registering what came out of your mouth. Your skin felt soothed, your body felt light, even the residual ache in your leg was gone. Peace was in the air, but you felt like you were having trouble breathing, leading to the conclusion that you were, in fact, panicking.

     This was a panic attack.

     “Dave? Say something, Dave, what’s happening.”

     You knew what was happening. You reminded him how he died. He knew now. He remembered. He remembered everything, remembered his former life, remembered himself and his world and time. Remembered his Bro.

     “...John,” Dave said, his voice just as solid as it felt when he talked inside your head, but the rush of blood in your ears was making it harder to hear over the whooshing. You needed air. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, you didn’t want this.

     Except you did. You didn’t want to be selfish and keep Dave in limbo forever. You didn’t want to keep him hidden in your pocket till your own death, leaving him potentially trapped. This was the right thing to do. In your heart of hearts you knew this was the right thing to do.

     “John,” he said again. “Thank you. For everything. For every single second,” Dave said to you. He reached out with his too solid hands and clasped yours with both of his, giving them a squeeze. He was cool to the touch, like weather worn fleshy marble. When you didn’t squeeze back, he released your hands in favor of hugging you tight around the middle, nuzzling his face against the side of your neck like a cat seeking somewhere warm to perch and snuggle.

     “Why are you thanking me for that?” you asked. Fuck, you were crying. You could feel the snot running down your throat already, the tears stinging your eyes. “I love you, Dave. I only did what I’ve done because I love you.”

     “...I love you too, John Egbert” he said, and you knew in your heart of hearts that he meant it.

     Finally remembering that you could lift your arms, you clung tight to him, digging your fingers into the fabric of his shirt as if it would anchor him in place and keep him from going anywhere. You hiccuped for breath, head spinning. Too much was happening at once.

     “Am I going to see you again?” you asked. “You’d know better than me, right? I will, won’t I?”

     “John..” Dave said softly, not answering the question. It wasn’t helping the panic or the sadness ripping your heart in half.

     “Tell me!” you demanded. “This isn’t the end, is it? This isn’t happily ever after, I don’t accept it. We’ll be together again, right?”

     “Wait for me, John,” he said softly against your ear. The panic died as if it had never been there, so suddenly that your knees tried to give way. Dave held you tight and kept you upright, kept you from falling to the ground. In that brief moment, Dave was the rock and tether that you’d been for so long.

     “How long do I have to wait?” you asked, clenching your eyes shut to focus on everything you could while you could. His smell, the way his skin felt under his shirt, the way his hair felt against your neck. Things you had gotten hints of all this time, whispers of, but never anything this solid.

     It wasn’t fair.

     Why were you able to get everything you wanted right as it was leaving?

     “How long,” you croaked again, but Dave either didn’t have an answer or couldn’t answer. Instead, he looked towards the door of your room, watching it open on its own to display the hall to the living room. You could hear music playing distantly, and warmth of a summer that wasn’t there was coming in with the soft afternoon light. “Please. Please tell me. Dave, please, how long…”

     “You’ll know,” Dave finally said, giving another hard squeeze around your middle, hesitating leaving. Did he want to stay? Or was it just a residual tug of want? Who would give up their ever after just to stick around in someone’s necklace in an incorporeal state forever?

     Nobody. Not even you, not even for Dave, and you knew it even if you hated it.

     “When I come for you, I’ll have to whisper so you know it’s me,” he said quietly by your ear again. Only loud enough for you to hear, trying to burn the words into your memory. You’d know his voice when it was softer than when it was louder, it was true. He’d been a ghost so long, that whispery, barely there tone was what you expected every time you woke up or went to sleep.

     How were you could to live without that. 

     “Yeah. I’ll listen for you. I’ll listen for you every day,” you said. You didn’t need to promise. It’d be instinct by now, holding out hope that he’d come back.

     When Dave released your middle, he reached his hands up to clasp either side of your face so he could kiss you properly. Your teeth got in the way briefly, clicking together with his smaller straighter ones, but it didn’t deter him in the slightest from deepening the kiss almost immediately. You held your breath to make it last, taking a deep breath when he finally pulled back and took a step away.

     “I love you, John.” He said it again as if willing you to remember it. “I always will. Listen for me.”

     He turned and walked to the hall, towards the living room. The door suddenly slammed behind him, prompting you to unfreeze from position and rush forwards, yanking it open to the proper season and lighting that was meant to be there again.

     No Dave.

     Dave was gone.

     Your pendant was cool on your neck, the air of peace and nearly Heavenly compassion was in the room. Your house was cleansed and clear of all spirits, and rested empty and lifeless for the first time in decades. Everything was peaceful, except for the storm in your chest. You made your way to bed with the raglan shirt pressed to your chest and cried harder than you thought you ever had in your life. It was the same place Jade found you later. It was the same place you stayed for the better part of a week, grieving what you had.

     Love hurt, and life wasn’t fair, but you knew one thing at least: you loved Dave Strider, and you were waiting to hear his voice again. ...You also knew this wasn’t what he would have wanted.

     Life would have to go on, even if it felt like it shouldn’t.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

      Your name was John Egbert.

     You had been a leader in the field of parapsychology and the paranormal in general. Along with Jade Harley, you had made many advancements in the field of science along with your own research into spirits and their habits. You had worked together to make devices to track spirits voices, making the inaudible audible to the naked ear, you’d helped come up with ideas to further make the invisible visible. 

     You lived a good life. The classes at colleges you taught lectures at were always full to the brim with curious people, and the true believers were always excited to shake your hand. It was charming, really. An honor.

     Every day your routine had been the same, for decades now. Wake up, hold your pendant, and check for a voice. Always before bed, hold your pendant, check for a voice. There had been no voice, and so many times you’d wanted to give up listening, but you couldn’t help yourself.

     New loves had come and gone, nothing staying for very long. You were happy with your life, though. It was a fulfilling life full of good times and smiles and laughter. You hoped Dave could see some of what was happening to you, even if the machinery never picked anything up around you that had the same signature Dave used to have. No red mists, no impish blondes darting around rustling your papers. Just normal poltergeists and spirits stuck in their routines, the rare intelligent haunting that you could help find the light the same way you’d found Dave’s for him.

     You didn’t regret freeing him. 

     ...But fuck did you miss him.

     Your name was John Egbert not long ago.

     You’d gone to bed with an upset stomach and some tingling in your arms, deciding it was a leftover of the flu you’d had recently instead of anything to worry about. Early to bed, early to rise. Jade had a meeting planned in the morning, some new developments were underway to fine tune the audio scanner with some new technology that had recently been invented, something that would halve the size of the current devices and amplify their power by at least twofold. Couldn’t miss that.

     You lay down, clasped your pendant, and said Dave’s name like a prayer to ward away the boogeyman.

     Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray my ghost my soul to keep.

     Your chest felt kind of funny when you lay down and it felt harder to breathe, but nothing too dramatic. More flu shenanigans. Something felt.. ...Something felt... strange though.

     Your name was John Egbert.

     And then it wasn’t.

     You were laying still and watching the ceiling before sitting up, feeling ten times better than how you’d lain down earlier.

     “...John...”

     You froze and looked around.

     “Dave?” It had to be, that voice was familiar to you even after all this time. 

     “...John…”

     You got out of bed at a jump and paused, frowning. When had you last been able to do that? It’d been ages. Slowly, you looked back towards the bed where John Egbert lay still as if sleeping. 

     Your name used to be John Egbert, but you suppose it still is. You’re kind of new to this being dead thing. Were there two John Egbert’s now? The dead one and the more lively dead one? Was the soul still considered the same entity right now? So many questions from your research clouded your mind that your first instinct was to call Jade to discuss it with her, before you felt the touch to your shoulder. Spinning around, startled, you nearly slapped Dave in the face with a flailing arm.

     He smirked a bit.

     “John.”

     “Dave? ...Dave. Dave,” you said, voice breaking briefly before it came out as a croak. Ghosts could cry apparently. You didn’t feel the unpleasant sensation of breathlessness, but you could feel tears on your cheeks before laughing. “You asshole, you made me wait so fucking long.”

     “You were busy, thought I’d come back later when you could use a break,” Dave said, reaching up to grasp either side of your face, kissing you before you could think too hard on it.

     “Dave I’m. I mean I. But I. ….Oh God, Jade’s going to- Oh. ...Dave, oh my God I’m dead. Dave I died,” you said, staggering through the sudden wash of sorrow as it hit you. There was still so much to do, one life wasn’t enough for everything you had planned. “I never finished writing that piano piece, and Jade’s.. Fuck…”

     He held you as you processed things, letting your mind catch up. Letting you calm down. There was nothing but time now, wasn’t there? Or.. wait.

     “Am I… am I going to stay here as a ghost?” you asked, worrying. Were you going to be separated again? Was it your turn to exist in flux?

     “No. You get to come to the chill place, if you want. It’s pretty sweet. Bro was pretty shocked when he turned up too, but he wasn’t as up on shit as you are.”

     “If I want? I get to choose?”

     “For a bit. If you’ve got business left, I mean,” Dave said. “Like with Jade. ...Your Dad’s excited to see you again, too.”

     “Dad,” you said quietly. You’d been so focused on listening for Dave that you hadn’t even considered how big of a family reunion you were in for when you finally met your maker. Your Nana, your Dad, your aunt and uncle, your grandfather you’d never met. Hell, even Sassacre probably. 

     “How long do I have?” you ask, giving another look to the John on the bed. He seemed peaceful, relaxed. It’d been quick and painless.

     “Long as you need to finish up business,” Dave said. “...Should I amscray while you take care of shit o-”

     “Dave, if you disappear now of all times I’m going to figure out how to haunt people and haunt you till you die again.”

     “Okay, okay, shit, chill. I was just offerin’.” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets with a smile. “Want some company while you do errands?”

     “Yeah. I’d like that.”

 - - - - - - - - - - - - -

     Your name is Jade Harley, and man do your joints hurt, but the flowers aren’t going to tend themselves are they.

     You heft some of the potting soil into the pot and gently stroke it over the previously exposed roots of the flowering plant as if you were tucking in a baby. Next came the water, a steady shower from above till the soil was damp, and then came the time to heft everything to the other table.

     John’s funeral had been a month ago, and while you were still sad… you also knew better than to fret. For one, your research had calmed your thoughts to the beyond years ago already. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed. For another, getting to know more about Dave had been an adventure in your youth that shaped the entire world from scratch.

     For yet another, you got a personal goodbye from the John you used to know in your younger years, hand in hand with a pretty young blonde man you knew from a photograph and images on screens from early developed machines of your own creation.

     Sometimes, you could swear you still were being watched by the pair of them, but you were too lazy to go find your equipment to double check. What would you even be double checking? If he was having ghost makeouts or something?

     You wipe your brow and look over your work with a smile. The funeral home had given some depressing little potted plant, and a sickly looking tree sapling as a memorial. This was better by miles.

     “You see, John?” you said aloud to your guardian angel. “Perfect.”

     If you were John Egbert, you’d have to agree. It was a handsome plant in a handsome pot, and it would blossom like crazy because Jade was the one who’d tended it.

     But you’re not John Egbert.

     You are Jade Harley, and John Egbert’s story has ended, arm in arm with the spirit he’d been chasing for so long and finally caught.

[loca-over-luca]

coup de grâce

lucas taps his foot nervously as he looks at the clock on the kitchen wall. eliott will be home any minute now and lucas has to make sure that everything is set up by the time he arrives. and it has to be perfect.

he rests his head on his arms as he watches the seconds tick by slowly. he'd gotten off work late last night, needing to drop by the grocery store first for that black food coloring he forgot to buy a few days ago which resulted in him coming home at an even later time and then he started to prepare for what he had planned the next day. lucas set the alarm for 4am, even though it would mean just getting a couple of hours of sleep, to get an early start. he had worked tirelessly since then, determined to make the best birthday surprise for his boyfriend.

--

he had the bright idea one morning to make a cake for eliott. but not just an ordinary cake, mind you. that just won't do. lucas decided to make a fondant cake for his boyfriend, complete with fondant decorations on top. oh, and the fondant will be made from scratch.

“wouldn't that be so cute?” he gushed after telling manon his idea. manon looked at him incredulously for a few minutes and after determining that lucas was, indeed, serious about his grand plans for eliott's birthday surprise, a look of concern flashed across her face.

“uhm lucas? why don't you just buy pre-made fondant? it will be much easier and that way, you can concentrate on the actual cake itself and make sure it's actually edible?” she suggested.

“have you no faith in me, mademoiselle demissy? i don't have to worry about the cake itself because i'm sure it is going to be absolutely delicious. with you giving me the recipe and all, right?” lucas said, widening his bright blue eyes comically, in an attempt to wheedle his way into manon's soft heart as well as her closely-guarded recipe book that she refused to let anyone see. 'these are recipes from my grandmother and i refuse to have them besmirched by your so-called attempts at baking', she once said.

“don't look at me like that. those cute puppy dog eyes might work on everyone else but not me. i won't give you my grandmother's recipe for her famous blueberry shortcake,” manon scoffed, avoiding eye contact. lucas widened his eyes some more - he hasn't blinked in more than a minute already and his eyes are most definitely getting drier by the second but hey, he's determined - and even thew in a pout for good measure.

“please?” he whispered softly, a last ditch effort to completely melt manon's already weak defenses.

“fine! i will give you a recipe but it's gonna be one of mine, not my grandmother's. i still don't trust you after you butchered her pot roast the last time you invited us to  dinner.”

lucas hugged her gratefully, ignoring the jibe about his previous cooking attempt, while manon rolled her eyes at his antics.

“okay but seriously, lucas. i think it would be best to just buy the fondant.”

“pre-made fondant tastes like shit. if i do the homemade one, out of marshmallows, it's going to taste so much better. how hard can it be anyway? it’s just sugar,” lucas answered confidently. he proceeded to tell manon about his design plans for the cake, grabbing his notebook and drew what he has in mind, all the while muttering ‘this is going to be so cute’ and ‘eliott’s gonna die when he sees them’.

“there! see? did i mention how cute it’s going to be? oh, he's gonna be so surprised alright. am i the best boyfriend or what?” lucas exclaimed happily, showing her his indecipherable drawing and manon can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“whatever you say, lucas.”

fast forward a couple of weeks later and lucas was half-dying and wished he listened to manon.

'why didn’t i just buy a cake from the bakery down the street? they have cute cakes right? why did i think i can do this all by myself?' he thought miserably as he looked at the sticky goop on the countertop.

lucas successfully baked the cake. that was the easy part. he just followed the detailed instructions manon wrote  - along with very specific notes to him like 'lucas, turn off your phone right the fuck now or else the eggs might get overbeaten' and 'don't forget to sift the powdered ingredients, lucas. and by sift i mean "put (a fine, loose, or powdery substance) through a sieve so as to remove lumps or large particles." ' he was very grateful for her help but he couldn't help but scoff at that particular note. 'i am not a child, manon. i know what sift means,' he thought as he googled what a sieve looked like. lucas panicked a little when he saw what it is, unsure if he has one. thankfully, manon also added 'yes you have one, it's in the 2nd drawer to the left of the oven'. really, if he doesn't think of manon as his sister and if he was, you know, not gay, then he would've married her in an instant.

as he closed the oven door and set the timer, the smell of blueberries and vanilla wafting through the air, he set to the task of making the icing on his cake. well, not literally since the frosting he did buy from the store (what? he likes the taste and he knows eliott likes it too based on ...past experiences with it).

lucas followed the instructions he saw online as religiously as he did manon's cake recipe. he melted the marshmallows bit by bit in the microwave until it's a smooth white goo. he added all the powdered sugar he measured earlier to the mixing bowl along with the shortening - ‘not butter!’ - and the melted marshmallows.

he'd been alternating between adding more shortening (if the mixture was becoming too clumpy) and more sugar (when it appeared to be too soft) for the past half an hour already, powdered sugar all over the kitchen and himself but his fondant is still not cooperating. lucas was this close to punching something so he decided that if he needed to vent out his frustrations, might as well do it while being productive.

he sprinkled more powdered sugar on the countertop, greased his hands and poured the marshmallow mixture onto the counter. he proceeded to knead the still-too soft fondant, making sure to incorporate as much sugar as he can with each turn. after another half-hour of wrestling the fondant, he finally tempered it to the right texture and consistency he wanted.

lucas clapped excitedly, coughing as he inhaled a bit as powdered sugar as a result. finally, the fun part can begin. he'd been most excited to making the raccoon and hedgehog pieces he'll put on top of the cake, looking forward to the way eliott will react upon seeing them. knowing his boyfriend, lucas can already see him melting into a puddle of goo at the cuteness.

after a couple of hours of concentrating on making the cake toppers, lucas was beat. his hands were cramped, his neck stiff and his shirt was sticking to his sweaty back. but lucas was happy. he just had to have the eyes of the raccoon just right that’s why it took him longer than necessary in making it, and he was proud to say that it was indeed cute and looked even a little bit like eliott.

lucas smiled as he looked at the works of art he made, satisfied at the way they look. 'they fit together, just like eliott and me,' he thought. 'god, when did i turn into such a sap?'

lucas looked at the time and his smile was immediately wiped off his face. 'it can't be that late already?!'

“fuuuuuck,” lucas muttered in panic as he hastily worked to put the whole cake together - from frosting the whole thing to covering it with the fondant, pasting each letter of 'happy birthday eliott' around the sides up to the final step of placing the raccoon and hedgehog pieces on top. it might not look as perfect as the cakes he saw online but, whatever, it's the thought and the love that lucas put into it that counts anyway.

lucas took a few pictures with his phone, sending one to manon and getting a response immediately.

'holy shit, you actually did it. that looks good lucas! not bad for a first timer <3'

'do you still doubt me, demissy?'

'never again, lallemant. seriously though, great job. :)'

lucas set his phone down and put the cake in the living room table for safekeeping while he cleaned up the kitchen. by the time he was done, lucas had about 20 minutes left before eliott normally arrives home.

"time management skills are on point today," he cheered tiredly, trudging towards the living room to get the cake. he planned to place it on the countertop where eliott can immediately see it upon entering their apartment. just as he did that, a fondant letter fell down to the floor. lucas looked absently at the letter ‘H’ by his foot, the full realization not sinking until a few seconds later. he at his creation and his heart dropped to his feet. the remaining letters of the birthday greeting he painstakingly pasted letter by letter were sliding down and the fondant he covered the cake with looked like it was melting right off. lucas looked at the living room where he left it and saw that there was still a bit of sunlight streaming from the window and with the summer coming in, he did not take into consideration how the temperature in paris right now would affect his cake.

he looked around frantically, trying to find what he can do or use to remedy the situation. his eyes fell on the refrigerator, humming innocently by his left. lucas knew that he was not supposed to place a fully covered fondant cake in the fridge, that much he knew thank you very much, but he doesn’t have any other choice. 

‘just a couple of minutes. just to firm it up a bit,’ he decided. lucas carefully placed the cake inside, breathing a sigh of relief as he diverted yet another crisis.

he slumped onto a kitchen stool, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. lucas looked at the clock again and saw that it's nearly 4pm. he’d been working nonstop for 12 hours straight. ‘wow, i didn’t even do that while i was in uni,’ lucas thought. he pictured eliott walking down their street, humming along with whatever music he's listening to, no idea of the surprise waiting for him at home - and that alone made it all worth it. lucas rested his head on his arms tiredly, watching the seconds tick by slowly. 

‘just a couple of minutes and then i’ll take it out again.’

---

“lucas?”

lucas jolts awake at the sound of his name being called, almost falling off the stool in his surprise. he looks at the clock and saw that 15 minutes had already passed by. 

he runs towards the refrigerator and quickly pulls the cake out.

‘please, please, please don't fall apart. at least let eliott see you first okay?’ lucas pleads as he places it on the counter.

“lucas?” eliott calls for him again while entering the kitchen.

“surprise!”

eliott looks at him, then at the cake and back to lucas again, mouth hanging open in shock.

“is this why you haven't been answering my texts the whole day?” eliott asks, walking slowly towards lucas.

“yeah, i worked on it the whole day. all by myself, i might add,” lucas announces proudly. he turns back towards the cake and sees the letter 'E' slowly sliding off. he casually places himself in front of it and discreetly puts it back in place behind his back.

“you did that for me?” eliott looks at the raccoon and hedgehog on top of the cake and a fond smile graces his lips.

lucas nods as eliott shifts his gaze to him. “i really appreciate what you did, don’t get me wrong, baby. the raccoon and hedgehog on top? they should definitely be placed in the louvre. but lucas, you didn't have to do all this. we could have just bought a cake and you wouldn't have had to tire yourself out the whole day.”

“i wanted to,” lucas replies firmly. he knows eliott what is not saying. ‘you didn’t have to do this for me. i don’t deserve this.’  after all this time, eliott still thinks that he doesn't deserve anything, that he doesn't deserve what they have and lucas has taken it upon himself to always, always, prove eliott wrong on that account. 

“i wanted to do something special for your birthday and what could be more special than a one-of-a-kind lucas lallemant creation?”

eliott laughs delightedly at his response, which is what lucas was hoping for. he laughed with his boyfriend, throwing his arms over eliott's shoulders and hugging him as closely as he could.

“i love you, baby. happy birthday,” he whispers in eliott's ear.

[acaseforpencils]

Tips and Tricks: Watercolors Edition.

It always surprises me that more current cartoonists don’t use watercolors. I know that Will McPhail and Carolita Johnson use them, but watercolors haven’t really popped up much in the dozens upon dozens of interviews I’ve conducted over the past several years. Of course they show up more in interviews I’ve done with cover illustrators (Barry Blitt, John Cuneo, etc.), but I think a lot more cartoonists would find a whole world of opportunities in watercolor, if they were to experiment with them a bit. I’ve been painting a lot of watercolor pet portraits recently, and thinking of (and using!) some tips and tricks that I have found useful over the years, but that haven’t come up in any of the interviews that I’ve conducted on this blog, so I thought I would take the time to share them!

Here is some of my more recent work: 

You can find more of my art on my Instagram, here. 

-Watercolor has a similar look to ink wash, but is less permanent. You put down a layer of ink wash and you’re stuck with it. But if you use watercolor, you can take a wet rag and practically erase it! Plus, if you don’t feel confident doing linework with a brush, you can still use ink or a pen for that. Look at this landscape that I did a few years back. The shadowy sand was done by putting down opaque watercolor, letting it dry, and then scrubbing most of it away!

-If you have discovered the joys of lifting up watercolor mistakes, but have gone about it a bit over zealously, and caused your paper to pill up (but haven’t fully dug a hole through the fibers), I have discovered that the Cliceraser, a Japanese tool that Roz Chast recommended in her Case as an ink eraser, is your savior. If your paper is still wet, blast it with a hairdryer until it’s fully dry, and then gently sand off any errant paper fiber until it’s smooth enough to paint on again. Now, this would not work on printer paper (you shouldn’t be using watercolor on there anyways—I generally work on heavy cotton watercolor block), but this has helped me on more occasions than I care to admit. It is basically a grainy eraser. I haven’t tried using sandpaper, but I think the Cliceraser is more gentle, and would allow for more precision.

Image from Roz's Case

-Frank Cotham uses water-soluble crayons, which have a very unique look to them, but I’ve discovered that they can sometimes cause an unwanted glow in photographs. Say you spent ages painting a landscape, and thought it would be a great idea to use water-soluble  crayons to paint the leaves. Everything looks uniform and tied together, but when you try to capture an image for your portfolio, you discover that your subtle fall foliage is garishly glaring. Devastation. Use water-soluble crayons with caution, especially when you're doing mixed media, and perhaps take photos of your work as you go along, to make sure that what you see through the camera matches what you see in front of you (or at least to ensure that you won’t be faced with any horrifying realizations at the last second).

-Speaking of water solubility, a very versatile tool that hasn’t been mentioned in any Case interview is one of my favorites, and one that I think would make a lot of cartoonists’ lives a lot easier: watercolor pencils. They blend really well with regular watercolor paint, and work great for detail work, for building up an area quickly, and for outlines (though I sometimes like to have graphite peeking through in a painting, using it for initial sketches can be helpful, especially when using light tones, because you can seamlessly blend your lines into your painting).

A lot of cartoonists will use gouache straight out of the tube for highlights, but that can require extreme precision, and sometimes, watercolor paper will eat up the paint! However, if you use a very sharp white watercolor pencil instead, the highlights won’t get absorbed. If you’re feeling fancy (or using grainy paper), you can trace over the watercolor pencil with white gouache. 

Watercolor pencils can also be used for building up an area quickly. I find that if I’m using a thick cotton paper, it can be hard to get colors dark enough, so sometimes I’ll just lay down some watercolor pencil in whatever color is best suited for the task at hand, and then go over that with watercolor paint, which can lead to some interesting textures. I do that often with rocks.

-My rock painting leads me to my next tip, which is if you struggle with drawing something, that’s all the more reason to draw it. I used to struggle with painting rocks, so I sat down and said, “I’m going to paint a very rock-heavy painting,” (well, the painting itself is very light). Did I regret this decision greatly while painting all of those rocks? Yes! But I am now able to paint rocks fairly easily, so it ended up being worth the agony. This applies to many things in life besides watercolors, of course!

-Another tip (which also applies to the above rock painting) is to use the paint’s texture to your advantage. There are some really interesting paints with high levels of mineral separation, that can create beautiful grainy effects. You can do a light wash of a grainy paint over a flat wash of paint, and end up with a fascinating texture with minimal effort. This is an especially great technique for painting dirt. 

-Try to use shadows effectively rather than accurately. With portraiture, as with cartooning, you are telling a story. Such as writers use various devices (metaphors, etc.) to tell their tales, we do the same thing with how we use tones. If I’m painting a dog, I want all of the information in the image to go towards showing the dog. Part of this can be using background tones. In my average pet painting, I’m not going to try to make a meticulously true to life shadow, but rather use shading to either convey space or make the dog stand out from the background. If I am painting a pet with light fur, I am generally going to paint a more expressive background in darker tones that contrast with their fur. If I’m painting a chocolate lab, I will do a light shadow to convey that they are occupying space of some sort, but that won't cause them to blend into a dark background. I always want to make sure that the darkest (or sometimes lightest, if everything else is rather dark) color on the page is on the part of the painting that I want you to see first. Cartoonists do the same thing, but in a way that leads the viewer’s eye to the joke.

-If buying a whole set of watercolors is cost-prohibitive, I recommend buying a cheap set, and then buying a nicer tube here or there as you are able. That’s what I did. A lot of high quality companies also offer smaller sized tubes, that are often significantly cheaper than the large sizes with scary prices. Coupons are also your best friend. I’ve used a coupon on almost every single tube of paint I have ever bought. Plus if you work mostly in black and white, you only need two tubes! 

I hope this was helpful! I know people of many different levels of ability and knowledge read this blog, and it’s fun to be able to have artists share what they know, because the more we help others learn, the more wonderful art we get to enjoy! If anyone else has any tips or tricks, be sure to stick them in the comments! Also, if you’d like to follow my art, I have a fairly new-ish art Instagram here. Oh, and If you’d like to support the blog there is a Patreon and a Ko-Fi (essentially a PayPal account). And if you are hankering for some more art supplies on your social medias, consider following Case on Instagram and Twitter! Have a nice week!

[mysticsparklewings]

Fairy Enchanting‪

A bit later than I expected, but here we have the art that I used for the examples on my Commission Sheet! (Unoriginal title is unoriginal and also a pun based on "very enchanting") When I started thinking about putting together a commission sheet in the first place (which was something I wanted to do for the new year, as before I was just using a lengthy pricelist), I knew that I wanted to make a piece of art specifically for it and track my progress as I went, so that I would have an example for each stage in the process I take commissions for. And for the art, I more or less wanted to "go all out" since it's supposed to be an example, and I figure the example needs to be as close to top-notch as possible. Admittedly, I probably could've done even more than this, but me being me I procrastinated and ended up having less time to work on this that I initially expected, so... In deciding what the drawing would be, I also decided to return to my roots a little, and a do fairy as an homage to back when I used to do Winx art all the time. Likewise, as Enchantix to this day is my favorite transformation from the show, I drew heavy inspiration from it, and I'm sure that's so obvious that if you know the show I probably didn't have to point it out to you. Anyway. I actually didn't start completely from scratch with the sketch; I re-used this pose from a previous sketch I did that never saw a full-finished piece. I liked that other sketch okay, but it didn't feel like a "finish me" project. I did have to alter the feet because the original sketch was made with feet for ballet slippers (bigger heels, more rounded/curved toes, etc.) and much later on in the process I ended up angling the leg on the left more outward, as that felt more natural for the direction I was taking this new sketch in. In sketching all the bits that make this sketch otherwise unique from the old one, as I mentioned, I was taking heavy inspiration from Enchantix. One of my favorite parts of the transformation has always been the leg-wrap/barefoot sandals, for reasons I can't explain. So those were a must. I also really like how the Enchantix outfits tend to be short dresses that are more form-fitting at the top and more flowy and soft at the bottom. Here, I decided to bring the ribbony look on the leg wraps up into the bodice, and to frame the collar/shoulder area I used a sleeve & choker style similar to what I did for the dress for Ink Dance, which itself was based on a dress I actually own and love to pieces despite never getting a chance to wear it because of how fancy it is. The main difference for both of the drawing versions is that I skipped the lace overlay that connects the sleeves and choker, mostly because both pieces are traditional and drawing lace/mesh traditionally, especially when it's so teeny, is a nightmare I do not want to engage with. And the choker part fits nicely, as in Enchantix each fairy has a necklace (usually a choker) that holds their fairy dust bottle. I'm not sure if this fairy has one or not, but she very well could! Enchantix usually has long gloves, but I altered these to be shorter and fingerless (more like Magic Winx or Believix gloves) since this fairy is also based partially on myself, and I'd be more likely to wear that kind than the full-length formal gloves. And for the hair, as is maybe obvious, I was primarily inspired by Stella's for her Enchantix, since I've always loved that part of the transformation sequence for her's. Also, even though it doesn't look that way on my commission sheet, IRL I drew only one wing and left it separate, off to the side, to make positioning and flipping it easier. Once the sketch was done, I did try inking it traditionally/by hand once, and I just really wasn't happy with how it turned out. And I also realized I had drawn the skirt billowing/ruffling in completely the wrong direction anyway; It was moving to the left when it should've been moving to the right like the hair. So I had to take time out to fix that. As opposed to wasting more paper trying to ink traditionally after that fiasco, I instead went with what had been my gut instinct anyway; I scanned the sketch in and did the lines in Photoshop. Well, most of the lines. I was a dumb-dumb and when I did the lines for the wings, 1. it took forever because they're large curves everywhere and 2. I used a slightly bigger brush than for all the other lines, as I had mistakenly thought I was going to be re-sizing them significantly and the lines would be altered to for me when I did that. When I realized that wasn't the case, I did not want to have to redraw most of those curves again and risk not being able to get the right a second time. So I ended up booting a copy of the wings I'd already done into Paint Tool Sai and made use of the linework layers to redo the wings without having to draw the same line fifty times. Then I booted that back into Photoshop and adjusted the wings to be angled/aligned with the rest of the lines as I saw necessary. It was also at this point that I played around with positioning the leg on the left more outward than what it was on the sketch and ended up going with the position you see here. I could have then gone back and added weight to the lines in some places, but at this stage, I was already thinking that I wanted to print the lines out and use my digital lines to hopefully get cleaner traditional ones, as opposed to just printing the lines off outright. (Mostly because I wanted to use some super thick mixed media paper that I would bet serious money will not go through my printer.) That's what I ended up doing, and I have to say that attempt went a lot more smoothly than me trying to ink from the original sketch. And once I had the initial lines done, then I went back and thickened them in certain places. And I should probably mention here that the wings were a little tricky to figure out how to handle traditionally, as that's not something I've had to do very often. I ended up using my clear stardust gelly roll when I did the normal inking, and then, later on, I used colored pencils to go back over the outlines before coloring them in. After doing some tests, I started coloring with markers for the hair and skin, and a little colored pencil for some blush. I tried to get a little more bold with the shading than I usually do, which I'm sure still looks pretty tame compared to most. But I'd rather the shading be too light than too dark. Originally, I thought I was going to do all or mostly all of the coloring with alcohol markers. (Sidenote: is it just me or does it seem like there’s a lot of alcohol marker related stuff going on in the art world lately??) But then I did some testing with the lines I originally inked and didn’t like, and was reminded why I normally don’t use alcohol markers for gradients like the one on the skirt...frankly, I’m not very good at them...yet. Even though the test went better than expected, I still wasn’t happy with it. Then I tried a few more tests with watercolor, and that didn’t fare much better. Watercolor would’ve worked if the gradient wasn’t also supposed to be shaded, I think, but trying to shade it without using another supply wasn’t working. That left me with good ol' tried and true colored pencils. But colored pencils are relatively slow and textured, and I didn't really want that for the skin. The texture would've worked for the hair, but I didn't want to make the time investment for it either. And so I ended up sticking to my mixed media instincts and I used the colored pencil exclusively where I had to (on the dress so I could get the gradient for the skirt right) and then I used alcohol markers everywhere else, shading and all. With the alcohol marker doing most of the work, then I came back and added additional shading/highlights with the colored pencils as needed to everything except the skin. I added blush, but otherwise, I was quite pleased with how the skin turned out and didn't want to touch it for the risk of ruining it. The dress is supposed to be black/really dark gray, but I did brighten it up a bit with some of the blues from the skirt gradient as opposed to pulling out specific grays, so it definitely looks/feels more navy in the final product. Although my relatively dark/saturated color choices for her outfit made figuring out what to then do with the wings more challenging. I didn't want the wings to be the exact same colors as the rest of the drawing, because then they'd blend in too easily and be too distracting from the rest of the piece. But at the same time, I wanted them to match/look like they belong. (Again, similar to how the wings are in Enchantix) After some back-and-forth testing and a LOT of color sampling, I decided to color the wings in with alcohol markers in colors that were similar to her clothes but overall lighter/more pastel and outline them and the sections inside the wings again in colored pencil. Most of the colored pencil is slightly darker than the marker colors I picked, but I went with purple for the black/gray rims of the wings because I thought a dark gray or black would be too harsh. I'd already decided I wanted to do a slightly more complex background digitally, but even with that in mind, the traditional drawing still felt like it was missing one more thing after that. Namely, the wings didn't seem special enough. I realize that sounds a little weird; I was just talking about how I didn't want the wings to be too distracting, but I think there is a delicate balance to having them be special in the way fairy wings should be while still not overpowering everything else. And I'm not sure I achieved that, but I at least tried to. Though not a perfect solution, I ended up adding some metallic watercolor on top of the "true" (less purple-y) blue and pink sections on the wings.  You can't really tell here on the scan, and what little you can appears to be the wrong color, but in person, both colors now how a lovely pink or blue sheen to them when you move the picture in the light. (The metallic paints, in this case, are very opalescent, so they're almost completely transparent when you see the flat color despite still have a really pretty metallic sheen in the light.) After that, I felt there wasn't much more I could do traditionally, so I scanned it and moved on to that background. At this point, I was kinda pressed for time because me being me, I had unintentionally put making my commission sheet off to the last minute. I really wanted to have it finished before the ball dropped on New Years' Eve ("new year, new me" and all that jazz), and I still hadn't finished my example art by sunset time the day of. So I had to keep things moving. Early on, I'd had the idea to either digitally make a slightly more complex (but not too complex; I wanted to keep at least a little of the sanity I have left) background or perhaps make a special watercolor piece to use as the background. Unfortunately, I just didn't have the time for that anymore if I wanted to have the commission sheet finished by my self-imposed deadline. (And if we're splitting hairs, in theory, I could still go back and change the background if I wanted to, for reasons I'm about to go over, so of all the things to get rush-cut that's really not so bad.) What I ended up doing instead was taking some of the left side of my Starfall Mountains painting (I was looking for a background-type thing I'd already done/made that would suit this drawing or that I could quickly tailor to make it work, and I'm just as surprised as anyone else that this frustrating tiny painting ended up being the one I liked best of my options) and I blew it up to comfortable cover the background here, flipped it around so the colors would flow a bit better, and used the hue/saturation slider to make it more of teal color for a little more contrast. But of course, there was still just one more thing missing, even after all that. After a little tinkering, I decided I didn't like trying to making the wings transparent (I could do it, I just didn't like the way it looked in this case), so I went in and added a touch of sparkles digitally to both tie them more into the piece as a whole and to give them a little more pizzazz. And finally, blessedly after all of that, the artwork was finished, I was very happy with it, and I could move on to making the actual commission sheet.   I have to say, for as rushed as it was towards the end, I do really like how it turned out. More particularly I like just how blended both digital and traditional art ended up being here. To me, this is the next step beyond what I was able to do for mixing digital and traditional art with my Doodle Moon piece, and if I weren't currently in the middle of a tablet crisis, I'd really want to do more with this concept of going back and forth between the two on one artwork. However because of the tablet situation, the thought of really trying to do that right now kinda fills me with dread, so we're gonna have to wait a little while on that. I do also really like the anatomy/proportions in this. Which is not something I normally feel comfortable saying.   It's not the best art I've ever made or anything, but looking at it makes me happy. It's good to see it finished and it's good to think of where a lot of the ideas for it came from. (Re: Nostalgia for my life a few years ago) I'm not sure if I will since it kinda counts but also kinda doesn't(?), but I'm tempted to put this and some of my old Enchantix drawings up on the "Draw This Again" template, just to show how far I've come. I'm still thinking about it, we'll see. Speaking of "we'll see," I got word that the sketchbooks from the contest I made Designiest Design for back in October are finally in, which means the prize packs should be sent out anytime now! I'm excited to see how the sketchbooks turned out and get my hands on the Powder Pack and see how said powders work! I was admittedly starting to wonder how that was coming along, so that was some good news and a nice surprise I'd really been needing here lately. Rest assured, there will almost definitely be an art piece talking about that stuff once I have it in my hands! 

____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[icarus-imagines]

Goro Akechi X Bullied!Male!Reader

Hi, you're a really good writer, could you write an Goro Akechi x bullied male reader where reader is a grade lower Akechi but friends with him, and actually has a crush on the detective, but ends up ends up putting a request on thr ohansite for help, cause he feels like he'd just be a nuisssance, but Akechi catches him putting the request on the phansite. If you think Akechi would actually react to that happening

Word Count: 2,993

Category: Persona 5

Hopefully I did everything you requested. Thank you for such a wonderful request.~

-Mod Icarus ଘ(੭ºัᴗºั)━☆ﾟ

~A Crow Watching Everything Before Him Unfold~

"Stop."

That voice. That voice that had plagued your mind rings in your ears and the finger that had raised on the computer mouse to press send stopped in mid-action. You didn't know if you should turn around or continue with what you had intended to do. Your brain was telling you that you had already gotten this far. After so many weeks of being tormented you deserved to deliver justice onto the one who had caused you so much misery and dismay.

Yet, you couldn't.

The voice that had stopped you on your mission to eradicate said tormentor, belonged to the one person you couldn't bring yourself to go up against. Of course, he would stop you. Of course, he would be the one to discover what you had conducted. This orchestra you had created, with you as the conductor, was quickly crumbling with his intervention.

You wanted to feel resentment, some sort of negative emotion against Goro, but you were weak against him. Any attack you could deliver towards him would deplete his health, but he would rise high above it. He was strong. Someone with high walls that could put on a mask of secret facades. Unlike you, you could not do such a thing. You had no mask, no armor to protect yourself.

And this is why you had become a punching bag.

As you sat therein, in the school library in a random chair with a provided computer, you contemplated on if you should turn towards him. If you should meet his gaze or ignore that he had ever spoken and click send. You were choosing on whether or not you should play your cards carefully or go all in and bet everything that you were you.

As always your resolve was one filled with cracks. You broke right there and you bet he could see it when you swiveled your head slowly to look at him. The deep breath you had inhaled almost got lodged in your throat when you peered up at his high stature.

You looked like a mess and you knew it. He probably knew it too, but he showed no signs of disgust at such a thing. With his perfect, immaculate clothes and perfect posture. No strand of syrup colored hair was out of place even though it was shaggy and should be hard to keep since it was longer than most males liked it to be.

The inside of your mouth feels dry and you wished to get a drink of water, but doing something like that right now would be the most idiotic thing. So trying to form words, you feel should be like a suitable response to his single worded demand you come up with something that is as equally idiotic as you want a drink of water.

"Why."

What you offer him sounds, unlike a question. Yet at the same time, it does not sound like a statement. You truly do not know what it is, but the expression he offers you makes your stomach twist in a painful way. You regret saying such a thing, but what were you supposed to say? What was the right response to what he was asking? Well...there was no other response. Nothing you would say could convey what you were feeling. Convey what you were thinking as this painstakingly long moment that kept ticking on by.

He does not say anything for a moment and you fear what you said has caused him to be repulsed. But despite thinking so he actually takes a step forward. WIth the closer distance of him being only a foot away, you can see that pained expression on his face become more clear. His lips, that usually always held a small, albeit fake sometimes, grin, had now morphed into a strong straight line. Dark mocha orbs were filled with discontent and this caused his whole visage to become one of a solemn omen.

"You never told me."

His voice that was usually so gentle with you, so lighthearted has become heavy. It is a heavy weight upon your shoulders when he speaks to you like that. Yet you feel no remorse. For some reason, even you cannot explain his words cause your body to become filled with unfiltered rage. You are suddenly angry at him and you are glad nobody else is in the school's library otherwise they would have to witness you both becoming unhinged.

"Why would I need to?" you almost spit out. "Shouldn't you have noticed? Everybody else noticed."

Your nasty mood seems to affect him and his gloomy expression quickly becomes one of mixed guilt and exasperation. He brings himself forward, a hand coming to rest itself on the edge of the desk and he leans on it. He towers over you and as you raise your head you feel tiny. You honestly feel scared at what he will deliver onto you. But what he says is different from which you had first anticipated.

"Of course I noticed, you fool," he speaks through gritted teeth.

His words strike you as him committing wrongdoing. He was a detective, he abided by the laws of the world. But he also had his own moral code that he went under. And from his face, it looked like he had broken a moral law. He had executed a transgression and it made you wonder what law he had broken to become so disgruntled.

"Then why...," tears begin to sting in your (E/c) eyes as you speak, "...Why did you not do anything? You are telling me you noticed and you did nothing to stop it? If you noticed then wh-"

He stops you from going on. "I did do something. Believe me."

You glare at him in what is akin to disdain. "Well, whatever you did obviously made no difference."

"Can't you see I know that?" His words spill with venom. "There is only so much I can do that is legal."

You pause, mouth open to deliver a rude comment, but you are filled immediately with clouded confusion. Closing your mouth you stare at him for a second before rethinking your next words. "Legal...," you start slowly. "What do you mean by that?"

You have a feeling you may know what he means, but for somebody like Goro to cross a line such as that irks you as terribly wrong. For him to break the law would be like a fish trying to walk on land. It was impossible to imagine, but at the same time, it may not be impossible to do if they tried hard enough.

There is a grin on his face you have never seen before. It is a foreign one and it makes a shiver wrack through the entirety of your spin, nerves inside of it almost short-circuiting. Was it horrible to say that you were attracted to the look displayed on such a perfect face? To see something so forbidden looking on someone that should be docile. You could feel yourself falling for him again. Falling for a part of him you never knew existed until right then.

"If I had it my way," Goro mumbles lowly. His phrasing is so different from his usual self. You wonder why he is talking so low, making his voice so deep. A part of you does not want to know why and only wants more of it to be delivered. Your prayers are answered when he continues on, leaning down closer as you sit there defenseless. "Let's just leave it at us both knowing that there would be absolutely no one to bother you anymore if I confronted them how I truly wished to."

The chuckle that tumbles out of his mouth is something you find similar to an antagonist of a story. It is immensely deep and you swear you feel your face becoming hot. What this the face, the demeanor, the personality of which you had come to crush on? Was this boy the true person you had found yourself yearning after?

Yes.

It had to be. If he was not, you would have felt sickened by his change of character. Yet here you were. Sitting there enjoying it. You were actually thrilled about it and while you should have been scared about your attraction to him you were instead not the least bit unsettled.

"So, you knew," you say, hand slipping away from the computer mouse to rest in your lap. Your hands rub together feeling somewhat helpless beneath him. This new Goro, that was there the whole time and you didn't know it, was an intimidating person. 'What else do you know?"

"More than you would like," Goro simply exclaims. His eyes run away from yours and latch onto the computer screen, the Phansite that belong to the Phantom Thieves that proclaimed they could change people's hearts open to view. "Way more than you would like."

You look back at the screen and see your unposted message, the glaring 'send' button there with it. Though you had wished to earlier, you cannot bring yourself to do it now after everything you had learned. Hand momentarily returning to the mouse you delete the message and watch as it erases your confession. Turning you peer through your (H/c) hair to see another unique expression flit across your crushes face.

Complete satisfaction.

You could not fathom why he would have something like this, but you didn't care. All you cared about was knowing what he said he knew.

"And...," you begin, drawing his eyes over to your own. You want to stop speaking and stare into those eyes forever, but doing so would just embarrass you. "What do you know about me?"

"Quite a lot. You are what I would call a completely open book," he explains. He takes the chair behind him and sits next to you. His legs brush your own and you want to pull away in embarrassment. Just like he had said he justifies his statement by gripping your knee in one of his hands. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, the gloved texture a bit strange.

It is supposed to be a calming, affectionate gesture and while it does come off that way you can feel an edge on it. You almost feel trapped, like you are under his mercy and control. And if you had known better you would have stood up and left. But you do not. You stay and witness everything unraveling.

"You may think you have been hiding yourself well, but it was obvious really," his thumb rubs your cheek, and you know for sure the heat radiating off of your skin can be easily felt. Just knowing that must be making the heat rise at that very moment. "Did you really think I didn't catch onto what you were doing? You must have thought yourself clever, thinking I had no idea how you felt."

You want to gasp, but his gloved thumb travels to press onto your bottom lip, the pressure upon that part of you has your heart racing. The hand grabbing your knee travels to rest and grope at your thigh and you are struggling on whether you want him to travel further out to stay put. Either one will give you what you want.

"What do you think I feel?" You ask, eyes slightly shaking in anticipation when he moves impossibly closer.

"I can show you if you would like?" What he says is not a question and it is obvious when it comes true not a second later.

His face comes near and before you can even think about hesitating his lips meet yours and you have to put a hand on the chair's armrest to stabilize yourself. It's like a firework has set off, staring at your lips and leaving them tingly. It travels to every single limb of your body, to the ends of your fingers, to the ends of your toes, and you feel it reside in the pit of your belly. It's like tiny firework poppers are tumbling around in there and for a second, you wonder if he can hear it. If he can feel the excitement spilling through every pore in your body, igniting and being set off by his very doing.

You think he will pull away, but his assault continues. For a second you wonder what it would be like to be in bed with him and though that thought is dirty the fireworks lead you on. If making out with Goro was like fireworks it was quite possible that doing something more would be like a forest fire.

You feel his tongue swipe across your lip and the hand he has cupping your face move to tangle itself into your hair. You want to taste his tongue, know what it feels like meeting yours but it is almost as if he knows what you want. This irks you when he pulls away from you, licking his lips in a display that had your hormones growing crazy.

You watch as he slowly comes forward and you lean in hoping he comes back to your lips, but he swerves off the path confusing you greatly. His hand in your hair and the one atop your thigh both make an experimental squeeze, measuring out their dominance and hold over you. You can only sit there as he maneuvers your head to look up, neck exposed out in the open for him.

He watches as your Adam's apple bombs in obvious nervousness before he places a kiss on it. Your hand reaches out in instinct, grasping onto his clothes, surely messing up their perfectionist look. It is tantalizing torture not seeing what he is doing, but you can definitely feel it. It is hard not to feel his lips moving across your skin, the heated flesh reacting quickly to his slow movements. It is a haze of deliriousness when he begins to assault it. Tongue wet, it slides over your jugular big tendon ligament since it was so easily exposed at this compromising angle. Hot against the skin, you can only reach another hand out to grasp at his shoulder as he bites those tender areas. It gets progressively worse when he moved downwards and begins to nip ever so lightly at your collarbones when he moves away from the collar of your white button-up shirt.

Fears begins to rise wondering just how far he will go to display his somewhat twisted affection for you, but it is quickly resolved when he gives one last nip below a collarbone and separates from your body. You are left wondering what he will do next, nerves seemingly physically shaking with the excitement that rises with the thought of it all.

"Is that enough?" He pretty much states The crazily marred look in his eye goes unnoticed by you as you try to nod. "Good."

His hands pull away from you without warning and he stands up quickly. Stepping away his gloved hands go on to fix his clothes and put his tie back in place. A hand combs through his hair and when he turns to you he looks exactly how he was when he had first arrived.

Unblemished.

Immaculate.

Perfection.

"That should suffice, should it not?" The grin he wears sends your heart soaring. "Now I should advise you to not go on that Phansite anymore. If you have any problems with the bullying come to me. I will deal with it personally, you have my word."

Like a black crow, one of secrecy and deceit, he exits through the school's library doors, disappearing from your sight. He leaves you there sprawled on the computer chair all alone. With (H/c) hair an utter mess and shirt splayed open you didn't care if anybody came in and saw you this way. With lips bruised, neck and collarbone abused you actually thought it amusing to think about what somebody would say if they confronted you.

If you had known being bullied would lead you to something like discovering detective Goro Akechi's hidden Persona you would have insisted on being taunted much earlier than this. A cruel thought really, but this senpai of yours was worth all the torment that you had been through.

Sitting there with only yourself as a company you came to realize Goro was the true bully. He had known about everything that had happened to you and even though he said he had done something, he could have done more. The reveal of his true personality was an obvious indicator that he was capable of more than people thought he was. It would have not surprised you if the bully had been a random person to come and toy with you. A plan set up by Goro to make it out like he was some knight in shining armor. This was all wrong though.

Goro was not some knight in shining armor.

Goro was the villain, the antagonist in disguise.

A crow watching everything before him unfold.

~The End~

[artificialqueens]

Five Times People Caught Adore & Bianca: Behind the Scenes (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt

Companion to the full Five Times People Caught Adore & Bianca, explaining what the two of them were *really* up to when they were discovered.

Read the original stories: Season six, Courtney Act, Michelle Visage, Shangela, Alyssa Edwards

A/N: As the situations and explanations grew continuously more ridiculous, the explanations had to be almost completely mundane.  Let me know if you’d like to see me write these for Courtney and Michelle’s chapters.  Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

Black and White Drama - Season Six

Walking back into the workroom, Bianca took one look at the confab taking place in the corner and made a neat 90-degree turn to her alcove instead.  While she wouldn’t mind talking with Darienne and DeLa, the last thing she wanted to deal with was the oncoming bout of drama Laganja was doubtless going to stir up.

The rhinestoned evening gloves went back into their mesh bag, followed by her bracelet and heavy earrings, then her wig separated back into sections (most definitely not thrown into a pile like some of the other queens).  Rubbing the indent on her shoulder, she unclipped the oversized sculpted bow, leaving her in just the bodice and ballgown skirt.

A quick glance around didn’t produce anyone who could help her out of the gown.  All of the other girls were still across the room focused on the lipsync surprise.  Adore was the only other one in the process of de-dragging, but it looked like she was too busy untucking to bother.

Bianca pulled the stuffing out of her bra cups before sucking in and twisting her arms to reach for the hooks and zipper.  The bodice came undone with a bit of effort and she started in on the skirt.  After hours on stage and in the lounge, she would be more than happy to have its weight off her padded hips.

The zipper slid down a couple of inches before getting stuck, and she rolled her eyes.  Of course.

Turning her back to the mirror, she could see where the zipper was hung up on the crinoline hoop.  She lifted the entire skirt far enough to slide her fingers under the catch, hoping to work it loose by feel.  It seemed to be snagged on several layers of fabric, which meant she was probably going to need help to avoid ripping any seams.

“Well shit,” she muttered, hiking up the skirt again to give it another try.  

She repeated the process again; this time when the zipper came back up, it caught on part of her corset lacing.  Giving a frustrated tug only resulted in pulling the lacing further, cord caught between the zipper teeth and hoop casing.  The sudden constriction surprised her into to dropping the skirt, its momentum yanking things even tighter.

Bianca gritted her teeth and made another attempt at getting free, but everything was too tangled at that point.  

“Ah…” Her voice came out thin and breathy.  Cursing silently, she leaned out to see if Laganja was done with her moment.

Nope.  Maybe Satan was actually here today.

Instead of wasting air to yell, she grabbed the nearest small object (a box of bobby pins) and lobbed it across room.  It bounced off Adore’s back and she jumped in surprise, looking left and right, but didn’t turn around.

The next thing to hand was a large sequined flower, which tangled itself in Adore’s wig.  She finally looked in her direction in confusion before responding to the urgent ‘come here’ gestures, tights halfway down her legs.

”Why’s your neck all blotchy and stuff?”

Even in her current predicament, Bianca had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.  

“ ‘M stuck,” she gritted out, pointing at her lower back and trying to stay calm.  Never let a bitch see you sweat.  “Can’t breathe.”

Adore immediately reached for a pair of scissors, but Bianca shook her head.  Comprehension dawned (thankfully) and Adore stepped behind her, trying to untangle the snag but only succeeding in making it worse still.  Bianca groaned, then grabbed her arm and lifted the front of the skirt.

”Hoop’s caught…underneath.”  

Adore dropped to her knees in front of her, frowning before sticking her head under the skirt, pushing aside layers of tulle until her hands met at the bottom of Bianca’s corset.  

Bianca's ears were starting to ring, and she dropped the skirt to grab Adore’s shoulders for support, breathing in shallow pants.  Sweat dripped from her hairline, and she really hoped that the skirt wouldn’t require a repair job.  

”Oh god, hurry up,” she forced out.  There was no way she was going to create reality tv drama by passing out on camera - particularly when the operators were all too busy filming in the corner to notice.  So much for safety on set.

“Think I’ve got it?” Adore’s voice was muffled by tulle and organza.  Whatever she did next loosened things enough for Bianca to draw in a little more air.

”Yes, almost there…I can feel it.  Watch the teeth,” she added as Adore tugged on the zipper.

“Chill, girl,” came the response from somewhere near her right hip, “I know how to use one.”

The tension in her corset eased all at once, and she heaved a huge breath.   Considering how little she knew about dress construction, Bianca had to give Adore credit for persistence (and not calling the other girls over to laugh).      

Right as the skirt came loose accompanied by a wave of relief (or maybe that was the blood rushing back into her midsection?), Laganja, DeLa, Darienne, and Joslyn tumbled to the floor less than ten feet away with a loud exclamation.  

Bianca really didn’t want to ask.

********

My name is Adore Delano and I’m a messy slut  - Shangela

The door swung shut after Katya, who called out something in Russian and was off in a cloud of blonde hair and eyeball-printed polyester, following Violet, Detox, and Alyssa.

Bianca added a couple more pins to make sure her wig was secure and gave it a last blast of hairspray, eyeing the arrangement of curls with a critical eye.  Beside her, Adore was frowning into the mirror as she dug into her bag of lipsticks.  Several tubes were laid out alongside opened lip liners, but she tossed the last one down with a groan.

”Something wrong?”  Bianca spoke around the bobby pin between her teeth.

”None of these are right.“

Once she could see the other side of Adore’s face, Bianca paused to take in the whole picture.  A series of roughly oval shaped blotches of lipstick covered the side of her neck, in no apparent pattern.  Combined with her red-smeared mouth, she looked like a vampire movie gone wrong.

”Crime scene realness?”

Adore slumped even further in her chair.  

“See, I had this idea for photos.  Like how I’m always saying I’m a messy slut?”

”…right.”  She raised an intrigued eyebrow, not sure where this was going.

”I wanted to make it look like the morning after.  You know, one of those nights you wake up after and don’t remember what happened until you look in the mirror?”

Bianca considered her glum expression in silence for a minute before giving into the urge to try and make her smile instead.  

“Want me to give it a shot?”

Receiving a shrug in response, she grabbed a makeup wipe and reached for a lip liner.  Unfortunately, a few minutes of experimenting with different colors and products left them with only marginally better results.

“None of it looks real enough,” she admitted reluctantly.  “Too bad Katya isn’t here, she’d probably bite your neck for free if you asked.”

Adore paused in scrubbing her neck clean for the fifth time.

”I dunno if the lipstick would show up anyway.  Guess I’ll have to do something else.”

Bianca hated the look of defeat, no matter the cause.  The colors all went on well enough, but it seemed impossible to reproduce the distinctive lip-print texture.  

“Hang on.  What if - let me see -”

She reached out to steady Adore’s chin, dusting her neck with loose powder to create an even surface.  Applying a fresh layer of lipstick, she leaned in and quickly pressed her lips to the freshly powdered skin, ignoring the bitter taste of makeup mixed with remover.

Adore eyed the results in the mirror and perked up. “Huh.”  

”Not bad, actually.”  Bianca had to admit it looked far better than their best attempts at drawing.

”Looks real.  I mean it is real, just it shows up pretty well.”

Bianca nodded and scrutinized her own face, checking for smudges.

“You know…”

”What?”

”Wanna do the rest?”

“Seriously, queen?"  Bianca fixed her eyes on Adore’s best hopefully innocent expression in the mirror.  "The things I do for you.”

Several coats of lipstick later, Adore’s neck was decorated with enough red lip prints that it resembled a Valentine’s Day card.

”That good?”  At this rate, she would have to redo her lip liner.  Again.  

”It needs more, but I dunno how to make it scream ‘messy slut’ to the camera.”

”I thought that would be obvious without the makeup.”

”Fuck all the way off. Although,” Adore tilted her head in a way that usually spelled trouble, “what about hickeys?”

“For real?  I swear I’m gonna go get Katya.”    

“Please B?  Just pretend I’m-“

“Finish that sentence and I really will cut up your wigs.”  

Bianca gave her a dead eye stare, receiving only a pleading pout in response.  

"Fine.  Up,” she pointed at the vanity table, “if I’m doing this right, I can’t lean down that far.”

“You’re the best, B!”

With one more long-suffering huff, she picked a spot over Adore’s collarbone and pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto the skin.  Deliberately not thinking about what it would look like if anyone walked in, Bianca bit down carefully.

Half a second later, she reeled backwards, stars exploding behind her eyes.

“What the fuck?"  Bianca gingerly touched the bridge of her nose where it had collided with Adore’s shoulder when she flinched.

"Sorry!"  Adore sounded simultaneously apologetic and trying to fight off giggles.  "That tickled bad.  Promise I won’t do it again.”

Gripping Adore’s arms firmly to anchor herself, Bianca leaned back in.

“Try not to break my nose this time?”

“Can’t help it, it’s a big target.”

“You’re lucky I love you, bitch, because this is just weird.”

********

The Naked Truth - Alyssa Edwards

Bianca didn’t so much wake up as be bludgeoned into consciousness by the headache.  She might have been able to ignore her throbbing temples if they hadn’t been accompanied by the feeling of her brain sloshing around inside of her head.  Her chest felt horribly heavy, and the sheets might as well be a sauna.

There was a reason she liked to stick to wine.  This felt like the mother of all hard alcohol hangovers.

Opening her eyes didn’t help much, because all she could see was a mass of dark hair that seemed to be covering her entire face.  Last night was a slightly blank spot, and Bianca closed her eyes again and tried very hard not to move.

Did she pass out before de-dragging?  It didn’t happen often these days, but it was always a possibility.  That might explain why she was having trouble breathing, except the constriction stretched unevenly from just under her collarbone on the right down across both hips.  

A low groan directly into her ear made her flinch hard enough that her head started spinning.  

Shit.

What was most definitely not a corset resolved itself into an arm and leg rather effectively pinning her in place, at least until the hangover wore off enough that she could pry the limbs off.  

Bianca tried to turn her head to see who might be sharing her bed, feeling stubble brushing against her cheek.

At least it probably wasn’t a woman.  That would be even more awkward.

Whoever it was had their face pressed against her shoulder, breath fanning hot over her throat.  Another groan that sounded more alert was followed by lips pressing purposefully up the side of her neck and the hand starting to slide teasingly across her ribs.

Great.  A morning sex person.  After whatever night she’d had, that was firmly off the table.

Bianca glanced down her own body and silently thanked whatever deity watched over drag queens as the MEOW tattooed on the hand currently roaming her torso swam into focus.

Identity panic resolved, Bianca set about trying to get free.

”Ahh-“ The name caught in her dry throat, and she tried again.

”Adore.”

”Mmmmm….whuh?”  Adore nuzzled the skin behind her ear.

”Do you mind?”

The fingers stopped mid-caress, and Bianca relaxed when the lips pulled away from her neck.  She’d tease Adore about mistaking her for trade after the hangover wore off.  

“Sorry.”

Her sense of relief vanished as she suddenly became aware of two things.  

One, Adore was naked.  That in itself wasn’t an unusual state of being, although she always wore at least underwear to bed if they were sharing.  

Two, and more distressingly, Bianca realized that she was too.

Frozen in place, she met sleepy green eyes with a look of dawning panic as Adore pushed herself up on one arm and raised the other hand to her face.  Glancing down their bare bodies, she voiced Bianca’s sentiments perfectly.

”Oh fuck.”

****

Being a drag queen meant viewing your sisters in various states of undress with the same disinterest as when they were clothed.  The ABCD shared dressing rooms often enough that most of the time, no one even bothered to go into the bathroom to tuck, and Adore was notoriously unselfconscious about standing around in a skimpy thong or nothing at all.  

A drunk Adore was handsy and flirtatious, and being drunk with Bianca tended to erase their already barely existent sense of personal space.  They’d fallen asleep together countless times over the years in any number of locations (tour buses, taxis, Courtney’s living room floor), to the point that waking up tangled around each other was the closest thing to normal.

None of that made waking up naked in bed together any less awkward.

Bianca yanked the sheets around her waist as Adore scrambled back with what was probably an identical expression of shock.

”Ummmm.”

Adore frowned around the pillow she had clutched to her chest.  One eye still had a mostly intact winged liner and streaks of dried melted mascara ran down her other cheek.  Bianca turned to her own reflection in the mirror above the desk, cringing when it revealed actual raccoon-like eyes from the mess of dark eyeshadow smeared up her forehead.

They stared at each other for a few seconds longer, until Bianca thought she could keep her voice steady.

“Do you remember last night?”

“Uhhh…we did a show.  At that club?"  Adore moved the pillow to her lap and tilted her head in thought.

”…yeah.  After that,“ Bianca groaned.  "Also, where the hell are our clothes?”

“Oh.  Here?” She leaned across to the other bed, lifting a pile of pleather and mesh that squelched unappealingly, water dripping onto the carpet.  “Think yours is over there?”

The sequined mini dress she’d worn to perform in was laid on a towel across the table next to the sections of her wig, tights draped over the back of one of the chairs.  She lifted the dress, ignoring the cold air hitting sensitive body parts.

“B?"  Adore had come around the bed and was standing on the other side of the table, wringing water into the wastebasket. “What are you doing?”

Bianca raised her head from sniffing at the dress fabric.  “Smells like bleach.”

“Is it cum?”

“For fuck’s sake Delano, how much cum would it take to soak an entire dress?  I’m not that much of a whore.  And it looks like water.”

“…actually, mine does too.  And I am that slut.”

“Not helpful.”

Her heels were underneath the chair, one on its side and slightly damp.  The other was upright with a small puddle of water still inside, the smell even stronger than her dress.

Sitting back down on the bed, Bianca felt more pieces slide together in her brain with an almost audible click.

“Alyssa bought us shots.  We walked back after, pretty sure we weren’t breaking any public decency laws.”

“Being naked is natural.  People are uptight.”

“Still not helping."  

"Ummmm.” Adore paused with her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth.  On anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous.

“Hey, I remember!  There were hot guys in the pool.”

“…chlorine.”

“Oh.  Oh!  Right.”

“Bet you went in fully dressed.”

Adore fumbled on the other nightstand for her phone, scrolling to the camera roll, then burst out laughing.

Bianca snatched it from her unresisting fingers and blinked in surprise.  The last photo was a selfie, with a grinning Adore in a sopping wet wig, makeup running down her face.  Next to her, a much less amused and equally waterlogged Bianca, normal pouf of curls hanging limp across her shoulder and eyelashes missing.

“I’m not going to ask how I ended up in the pool, but I’m willing to bet it’s your fault.”

“Hey!  That’s not fair.”

“It’s usually your fault.”

“…true.”

Someone knocked on the door, startling them both.  Bianca checked the clock - 10:30 am.  Probably one of the other queens wondering where they were.

Alyssa’s voice came through the door, loud and clear, and she sighed.  Shifting, she checked for something to put on, but other than the still-wet drag, there didn’t seem to be anything else to hand.  The knocking became more insistent, and Bianca called back a reply.

She looked at Adore, who shrugged and stood up to start digging in her suitcase.

“Great,” Bianca muttered, grabbing a pillow off the bed.  “the Haus of Edwards is going to have a field day over this.”

[wannawrite]

I - SCENE TWO 💘

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day6 masterlist!

group: day6

member: young k

genre: unspecified

A/N: italics = english / emphasised words in korean / thoughts. you should be able to tell from the context of the story so idt ill go into that much :3 

Coincidentally 2 years ago from the depressing journey to the party, Younghyun had never felt more lonely in his entire life.

As the school bell rang peskily from a distance, with its shrill, silvery soprano, his dull, tear speckled eyes could only follow the footsteps of those who were already starting to talk in raised voices, those who actually had friends to eat with them during recess.

The cacophony of noises that had emerged from the earlier silence in the classroom was needlessly to say, irritating. It was scarily ironic how Younghyun's loneliness seemed to be amplified amidst the chatter, in spite of the amount of people that made up this area.

Time passed by Younghyun's watching eyes cruelly, and bullets of jealousy seemed to thrust through his heart with every footstep that got further away from him. In a matter of seconds, everyone had already torn through the exit of the class and dispersed out into the canteen, the field; all the places that was no short of foreign to him.

He was the only one new here. He was the only one that didn't have friends in the class.

He didn't want it that way.

He longed to hook himself to the ends of conversations with witty jokes, just as the other kids did, and fill the hollow of his bottomless heart with human presence. He longed to have a friend.

A friend, not friends. He wasn't asking for much.

Amidst the stillness that hung awkwardly in the classroom, Younghyun paced aimlessly around the area; the only thing remotely moving at all being himself, and the golden particles that floated through the window from the sun, descending gingerly on the sides of people's desks like fireflies in the day. He moved around a little, dragging the soles of his shoes against the floor which made a funny rustling sound, but also made him feel a little less lonely.

He sighed.

Years ago, he was feeling homesick in Toronto, and now that he was back 'home', he'd do anything just to wish himself back to the other side of the world.

This place no longer felt like 'home' anymore; in fact, nowhere did.

Younghyun watched the golden particles litter the plastic cover of his textbook, with a slight hint of sorrow in their seemingly gentle movements-and just then, he saw himself in those particles.

Floating around aimlessly, just trying to find somewhere that felt like home.

Just then, as his imagination flew free from his body, a voice resembling the likes of the school bell cut short his trip down memory lane.

"Student Kang Younghyun! You are not allowed to be in the classroom block during recess hours! Come out now!" the teacher-on-patrol yelled irritatingly, her old, faltering voice cracking between every syllable. Slightly shocked, Younghyun whirled around on his heel to face his dear, dear history teacher; only to find that her shadow had vanished in the blink of an eye.

With the newfound knowledge that there was no one else to watch over him, he rolled his eyes as he made his way to his desk, feeling an unusually petulant annoyance spark in him when the scenario replayed itself in his head. Of course it's so easy for you to call me out, stupid teacher, he thought bitterly, you've never had the classroom as your only companion before.

As he continued to think up a flurry of very undesirable curses that he'd die to hurl at the teacher, Younghyun felt a hard, slightly rough texture graze against the tip of his shoes.

It was his guitar, leaning against the leg of his table and looking at him expectantly.

He hesitated for a bit before going along with his heart to pick it back up again, and for the first time in this school, he smiled softly.

"Guess it's only you and me then."

___________________________________

It was a windy day. Younghyun had made himself comfortable, sitting on a bench adjacent to the school garden, away from the hubbub and cacophony of the canteen. He was admiring the autumn trees swaying in the distance, with their welcoming coats of orange and golden yellow; occasional reds in their gradient if he was lucky enough to see them.

As bits of leaves emerged from the clutch of the branches, cascading obediently under the guidance of the wind and joining the stack piled up below the bark of the tree, a certain scale he had learnt in music class secretly blended in with the warm hues-E major.

Younghyun felt a funny mix of warmth and excitement spread throughout his veins as he unzipped the cover of the guitar excitedly, and brought it into the crevice of his embrace; he had always loved how the curves of the instrument moulded perfectly into his body, bringing him the feeling of being touched, the feeling of being loved.

He dared himself to slot his fingers in between the strings of the guitar, and gave it a loose, thoughtless strum in E major-letting the resonance of the melody echo warmly, which was the utmost beauty of acoustic guitars.

The strings were so rough with their occasional malice, but felt so much like home.

The only sense of home he had felt...

Since...

Coming back to Seoul...

Younghyun's thoughts unfurled in sync with the slow movements of his fingers, as he languidly dragged his hands across the strings again once more, having a newfound desire to re-explore the instrument.

"Oh, sh-Ah, I'm not supposed to swear! Heck!"

At the familiar ringing of the whimsical American accent he hadn't heard much-not since coming back home, at least-Younghyun could barely stifle a snort as he turned his head, trying his best to not show any traces of amusement on his face.

He caught sight of a walking figure and scanned their side profile briefly, realising how all his features endearingly weaved themselves into existence. They consisted of a grey cardigan blotted with folds, golden rimmed glasses, and hair resembling curled pieces of flavoured tteokbokki that barely fitted into the crevice of his ear.

They were the lightest shade of soft strawberry pink, unequivocally resembling his scent as a strong, but sweet whiff of strawberries hit a disoriented Younghyun.

The guy had approached him, and as Younghyun felt the ends of his hair bristle like a winter tree, he redirected his eyes to the numerous folds in the guy's hood, wanting nothing more but to plunge into one of them and disappear from any form of human contact.

Younghyun looked down to avoid his gaze.

The oversized grey cardigan was touching his arms.

"I'm in your class, right?" the guy talked in unusually decent Korean, getting Younghyun to look back up again as his small, excited eyes raised like ridges out of the sea. There was a flicker of dullness in his shine as his speech faltered slightly, like he wanted to say something but decided against it. "Sorry for suddenly approaching you, b-but I don't think I have anyone with the same interests as I do, and well, I'm not the best at socialising, and that guitar looks pretty cool. That's all."

Younghyun allowed himself a small giggle, in hindsight better than the stifled snort from earlier, and after a few perplexed glances the guy caught onto Younghyun's smile, realising how awkwardly he had halted the conversation.

"Sorry, I haven't introduced myself yet." he chuckled, somehow discernible with the quieter voice he had taken to, "I'm Park Jaehyung, and I'm a transfer student here." He had unintentionally lowered his voice at transfer student, and Younghyun related.

"Kang Younghyun." he started to break into a half-smile, meeting Jaehyung's gaze with a softened, understanding look. He too, understood the struggles of fitting in here like a broken puzzle piece, possibly more than anyone else. "I'm a transfer student  too," he said with gusto, "-maybe we'll get along well."

With the newfound meaning of transfer student, the other boy returned Younghyun's grin happily, as if he had made not just words but everything better with the tap of his wand.

"So, transfer student," Jaehyung remarked, an evident smirk on his face as he thoroughly relished in the use of the word, and in the process drawing out a few laughs from Younghyun, "What sort of music do you like?"

"Honestly, anything. I normally listen to rock because I'm an emotional lit kid these days, but I guess British pop and what not is cool too. I got so many good songs in my playlist, you don't even know..." Younghyun rambled on quickly about the thing he had loved the most as a kid, and the thing that had brought him to where he was today. "How about you?" he asked subsequently, eager to know what the other listened to too, and Jaehyung laughed at the excitement that flickered in his eyes; just the simple mention of music could really work wonders.

"Same, but these days I listen to...quite a bit of R&B and acoustic folk." he replied, the gentle raise of his eyebrows establishing a faint hint of happiness. Then, out of nowhere and plain curiosity, he flicked a finger at the guitar in Younghyun's hands. "Can you play that?"

Younghyun nodded before shrugging again; he wasn't very confident in his skills, but he considered himself passable. "Yeah, kinda, I guess. I'm not that great, but I love doing this." He didn't even try to restrain a smile as his eyes dipped back down to the guitar, looking at it with a simple adoration.

It seemed to be infectious, as it had caught onto Jaehyung; who was, in turn, admiring the other's passion, and feeling exactly the same way about music as he did. With a more evident excitement, he exclaimed, "Oh, that's so cool! I play the guitar too! What's, um, a song you've liked to play recently?"

Younghyun's eyebrows knitted in confusion. He twirled his index over the surface of his chin, not knowing exactly how to answer; recently, he had been singing lots of songs to fill the bottomless in his heart, but he couldn't really pinpoint a favourite. Eventually, for the sole purpose of giving Jaehyung an answer, he just decided to pick one of his all time favourites that he had ceased to hum a single note from-not ever since he left Toronto.

He didn't really like talking about that song much. It was his very feelings of loss, or some would say, outright petulance before leaving his friends there.

"I like The Man Who Can't Be Moved." Younghyun answered blatantly, wary for the slight voice crack in the last word-he wanted to remain his composure in front of Jaehyung, at least just for their first meeting. He tilted his head down, not daring to make eye contact with the other person as he tentatively clipped his hands to the fretboard; but just then, he had second thoughts about it.

Did I come off rude? Do I look nervous? Oh crap, he's going to think I'm weird-

"Can I hear it?"

Younghyun froze, pupils positioning in the exact core of his eyes.

"W-What?"

"Um, can I hear it? T-That is, if-um, if it's okay..." Jaehyung repeated the question again, eyes drifting to Younghyun's; seeing the horror in his gaze had triggered a subtle tentativeness in his voice. Nevertheless, Younghyun nodded vigorously in reply, whilst racking his brains for some good excuse to justify his actions.

"Of course you can." he responded shyly, diffident smile baring the bunny teeth hiding in his mouth, "It's just-it's just-" Younghyun paused for a while, trying to gather his thoughts as he skimmed a finger through the strands in his hair, "This song means a lot to me."

He looked up at Jaehyung meekly, who got the message, and smiled back understandingly with all his heart and spirit. Holding the hems of his grey cardigan to the abrupt crinkle in his eyes, he said with confidence, "I bet you'll be able to sing this song well."

Younghyun shrugged, lips bridging into a small bump. "Hopefully it's good."

Ignoring the facade that he had looked after faithfully for most of the conversation, his eyes turned to his beloved guitar once again as he fumbled through the strings for a key, a key that he had once remembered from the top of his head.

But soon enough, as he found that something, the voice that escaped from his lips was one filled with the cracks and potholes of youth; a youth of falling from fences and music well spent in Toronto, and instantly, his fingers found their home again.

Going back to the corner, where I first saw you

Gonna camp in my sleeping bag, I'm not gonna move

Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand

Saying, "If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?"

Some try to hand me money, they don't understand

I'm not broke, I'm just a broken-hearted man

I know it makes no sense, but what else can I do

How can I move on when I'm still in love with you

Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me

And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be

Thinkin' maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet

And you'll see me waiting for you on our corner of the street

So I'm not moving, I'm not moving

Younghyun, carried gingerly by the tether of his euphoria, let it disappear gradually as he held the last note, just for a little longer. The lyrics had brought back some beautiful memories, that he really didn't wish to dampen with the selfishness that human emotions would always bring; they had hit a little too close to home for comfort.

On the contrary, Jaehyung had an eager, but somehow composed smile lingering on his face; like he had something beneath that enthusiasm but refused to show it. "You're really good at singing," he awed quietly, small giggles dovetailed to his speech and establishing a subtle amazement, "-and really, really good at English."

Upon hearing the last line, Younghyun couldn't help but laugh in good humour, slightly amused by the surprise that contorted his soft, demure features. "I lived in Toronto for 4 years. I'm not that great at English, but I'd consider myself fluent."

Jaehyung's mouth fell open in shock. "Wait, you can speak English? The way you say Toronto is very...accentuated."

"Yeah man! You have a pretty evident American accent, I can tell you do too."  Complying to Jaehyung's question, Younghyun gave him a rightfully English answer, and his smile only got even wider when Jaehyung's eyes lit up like the Christmas trees back in his apartment overseas.

"Ooh, ooh, wait, hold up, my dude! I literally don't know ANYONE who can speak fluent English. We're literally, like friends now, oh my gosh." Jaehyung started to rave, lips puckered in excitement as he spoke his first language with less stiffness than he did in Korean, "My Korean compared to the locals here is absolutely terrible. Like okay, I'm fluent and all, but I just can't find the words to say to properly express myself, namsayin? Ugh, it's soooo difficult to just get one sentence across to the teachers, and it's so agonising as well whenever they lecture me about it, jeez."  Realising how his speech had been no more than an indiscernible string of gibberish, Jaehyung paused before tittering gently to break the silence, unequivocally shy about his habit of rambling off like a bullet train. "S-Sorry, I got too excited." he said again, back to the quiet boy that the formalities of the Korean language forced onto him.

Younghyun waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine. We can speak in English if you're more comfortable with it."  he quipped. "Plus, I think I prefer seeing you like this,"  he said with the small hint of a knowing smirk, and instantly Jaehyung's features relaxed, figure further unfurling into the bench.

"Thanks man. Never heard anything more relieving ever since coming here." he remarked, letting loose a few awkward laughs before adding hesitantly, "By the way, I think you could just call me Jae. It's something that I'm more used to, and it sounds less weird in English."

"Sounds cool. Jae Park, Jae Park. Damn, my homie, whatcha doin with all your swag?"  Younghyun called in the most terribly exaggerated accent that resembled Jae's way of talking, and both of them doubled over even harder than before. However, Younghyun had done so in slight embarrassment-why did he think it was okay to do something so cringeworthy?

However, as he moulded his face into his palms, he peered through the crevices between his fingers and decided Jae's happiness was worth it.

The freedom in his eyes, the way that his voice flowed in English like the rapids of a river; it evidently showed that he felt at home speaking with such informality, with such slack in his voice. It was as if the sleeves in his cardigan that hung loose had unfolded its 'wings' and flew from a cage that had once threatened to, and did imprison him.

And, for the second time in foreign ground, Younghyun felt a fleeting upturning of his lips, something that he could barely press down."Best friends?" he had asked, but had said it more like a declaration as he jabbed his pinky into Jae's face maliciously; startling the older boy whilst painting creases in his eyes. Still, being too happy over his new friend, Jae took it in good nature as he unhesitantly twined his pinky around Younghyun's.

"For sure, my brother from another mother."  he declared with conviction, just as the recess bell struck to signify the start of something new. "Let's get it."

_____________________________________

a/n: whenever jae and younghyun talk, i will not italicise it anymore unless its in korean. basically italics will be implemented in the language used less often in the chapter?? so eg. the chapter mainly features yk talking in korean to sungjin, then if jae suddenly talks i will have to italicise it for their english convo lol. but if theres a scene in the chapter thats only showing jae and yk i will not italicise it, assuming that u alrdy kno that theyre speaking in eng aight:)

sorry for being so inactive TTTTTT

[neon-bones-and-broken-smiles]

She doesn’t come here when the others do, when the sun blazes and the sea is gentle. She arrives when the night draws its curtains over the sky and the rocks turn impassive and brutal, when the stars hide in fear behind storm clouds and the sun runs from the moon.

Sometimes, she just stands and stares, boots planted in the sand and eyes unreadable as she watches the waves wash ever closer and the heavens for stars she often will not see.

Tonight, the stars are bright, shimmering in a dark blue deeper than the shifting sea. She will take that as a warning, perhaps of the coming storm, or perhaps of something darker and far more terrifying.

Even if it is the latter, she will not be afraid. Even on the days when she comes and screams into the roaring wind and the crashing sea, or cries and lets her tears mix with the rainwater as it streams down her body and into the sea, she is not afraid of what will be.

A gull screams, wheeling high and near-invisible in the gloom. A dog barks and a baby wails, commonplace sounds that I have heard a thousand times before.

Her boots dangle over the water, heels thudding gently against the sea-splashed rock. She stares into the depths of the sea for a long moment, then reaches for her shoe. She tugs it off and sets it beside her on the rock. Something flashes silver in her hand as she holds it above the boot; the jagged shapes of her keys and then the smooth shape of her phone.

She puts the other boot beside the first and shrugs out of her jacket, folding the leather with the same level of precision she does just about everything else.

She leaves these things in a dark pile beside her, and stares once again for a moment at the shifting water.

Then she slips off the rock. The waves swallow her whole, the darkness consuming her in a way that could almost be cause for alarm if it weren’t for the calm on her face before she jumped.

This, too, is something I have seen many times before. She will surface soon enough and collect her possessions, and then she will leave, drops of seawater marking her path for as long as the sky will let them.

I do not see her again for many nights, much more time than has ever elapsed before. I was beginning to wonder if it was her time to move on, as I have seen happen to so many.

But she is here, standing just above the high-tide mark. She is barefoot and tousle-haired, her loose shirt ruffled by the breeze blowing down from the North.

She doesn’t shiver.

She doesn’t do anything, not until time has stretched like a strand of seaweed caught between rocks and is ready to intervene. Then, she takes a slow, unsteady step forward, the sole of her foot coated in sand. She pauses for a beat, one foot on the wet sand just abandoned by the tide and the other still in the dry sand never touched by the sea. When she moves again, it is still an unsteady, jerky walk that carries her down the slope of the sand dunes and across. Her footprints stand out against the smooth of the sand and then kick up tiny sprays of white foam.

She is waist-deep in salty water and struggling to stay on her feet when she stops. The water streaming down her face is just as salty, and she tips her head back and stares at the stars with something that isn’t quite anger.

“Why?” she asks, a whisper at first, and then louder and louder until she’s screaming above the sympathetic roar of the waves. “WHY DID YOU TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME?!”

The stars do not answer, and neither does the sea. Even the wind falls silent, cowed by the sheer desperate hopelessness rolling off her in waves more powerful than those of the water.

It is almost a full moon cycle before she returns, and even then she doesn’t come too near the water. She stands far above the high-tide line and watches the waves surge towards her in a desperate attempt at begging her to return to their depths, clamouring and splashing but never quite reaching.

She stands, and she stares, and she remains unmoved. After time stretches thin she turns on her heel, kicking sand into the sea in place of herself, and walks away, shoulders hunched inside her jacket.

I do not know if she will return again. Her last visit seemed too final, like a last goodbye before death. But she is there the next day, hair loose and blowing in the wind. Her hands are shoved deep in the pocket of her coat, her feet encased in waterproof boots. She walks past the high-tide line with little hesitation and strides until she reaches the sea. The tide has only just begun to return and it takes her a time before the water is lapping around her feet like a dog excited to see its master.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, freeing one hand to reach down towards the waves. To anyone close enough to make out it would perhaps been an unbelievable sight when the water takes on the shape of a white horse, prancing and tossing its mane.

“Hello, Theodore,” she says, the smile suddenly gracing her face clear in her voice as she runs her fingers through the horse’s mane.

The horse snorts and nudges at her leg, pushing her one step forward into the eager sea.

“Theo,” she protests, but she’s laughing. “I’m sorry,” she adds, tipping her head back to peer at the sky and the winking stars. “You were right. I’m sorry.”

There is a rumbling, then, a deep shudder as though the earth itself is laughing. The horse snorts, too, nudging at the back of her legs in play.

She shakes her head, the expression on her face caught between despair and joy and still staring at the sky. “Shh,” she says, and bats at the horse. “Stop.”

But the earth still shudders and the horse still prances, the waves creeping ever forward and now washing almost at the tops of her boots. The sea may hold affection but it doesn’t bend its will for anybody, and the sky is no better.

She turns and walks out of the sea, then, and sheds her coat, the heavy material flying only a short way when it is tossed and scuffing the dry sand. The boots follow, landing with dull thuds one after another, and then the jumper she is wearing.

“Forgive me,” she calls, to whoever is listening. “Forgive me. You were right. The world is harsher than I believed and stranger than I dreamed. I do not want to stay here anymore.”

The rumbling stops.

For a moment, silence overcomes her and me and even the roaring sea. The stars seem to be talking loudest, tonight, and yet they are quiet as always.

Finally, finally, the sea speaks, a deep, crashing voice like the waves themselves just began to make sense. “You renounce your soul back into the sea?”

“I renounce my human soul,” she counters, walking forward until she is calf-deep once again.

A wave rears its head in front of her, the peak nearly swallowing her.

“You wish to return to your position.”

“I wish for my life back,” she says. “I didn’t ask for this any more than I asked for my part in the sea. You asked me to choose. This is my choice.”

“Very well.”

And with a great roar, the wave crashes over her. When it rejoins the smaller waves so does she. She is no longer the solid form of a human, of the people that spend their time here when the sun tames the sea and the sky. Instead she is something not-quite-real, something seen through the veil between this world and the next, something caught a glimpse of but never quite caught.

“Come on, Theo,” she calls, her voice a shimmering thing with the texture of waterfalls. “Let’s go home.”