#Apollo will be wrinkling his nose appropriately

[ronsenburg]

speaking of sylvain, it’s WIP Wednesday. have two very separate moments (neither of which are kissing) from my self-prompted valentines day kissing fic.

[artificialqueens]

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter nine (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr) | word count: 4417

AN: Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on the last chapter! I appreciate it so, so, much, comments make my heart incredibly full. Thank you writ for being a wonderful beta as always <3

(then)

“Gonna miss you.” Vanessa’s voice is soft from where her head is resting on Brooke’s lap, and it makes Brooke absolutely melt.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Ness.” Brooke runs her fingers through Vanessa’s hair, an action that makes Vanessa snuggle into her and let out a contented sigh. She wishes that she didn’t have to let her go.

“Just a long weekend, though. Then you’ll be back.” Vanessa beams up at her. “I’m excited for it already.”

Brooke can’t help but grin back, because Vanessa’s smile remains the cutest thing in the world to her. “You sap. Me neither. My cousin’s wedding will be over and done with before we know it.”

“Send me hot pictures of you in your fancy dress for the wedding.”

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “Are you kidding? My mom’s probably picked something out already that’ll be appropriate for a church wedding. It’s not going to be hot in the least.”

“You’re always hot to me. Even in your little church dress.” Vanessa wiggles her eyebrows at her and Brooke can’t help but poke her shoulder.

“Shut up.”

Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. “Make me.”

“Have you forgotten I know exactly where you’re ticklish?” Vanessa’s off of Brooke’s lap the second that the words leave her lips.

“Don’t you even think about it!” Vanessa shrieks and moves to Detox’s side of the room, flopping onto her bed.

Brooke rolls off of her bed too, wrapping Vanessa in a hug instead. “I won’t use my powers for evil for now, at least.”

Vanessa pouts up at her from her position. “I still can’t believe you don’t get ticklish.”

“My superpower.” Brooke grins, though it quickly turns into a frown when her alarm clock goes. “Shit. That was the alarm I set to catch my bus.”

Vanessa’s arms tighten around her waist. “Don’t leave.”

“I wish you could come with me, somehow.” Brooke sighs, hugging Vanessa tighter too. Vanessa’s so good at calming her down by just being in her presence, making her feel like things are going to always be okay.

“Me too. Shut that damn beeping off, though.” Vanessa’s voice is muffled into her sweater, face buried in the hug, and Brooke snorts. She lets go, tugs Vanessa along so she can turn off the alarm on her bedside table.

“I gotta go.”

Vanessa stretches on her tiptoes, kisses her. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Brooke snorts. “Please. You’ll miss me more.” Though she can’t deny that she will, even if it’s just for four days. God, they’re already too codependent on each other. Brooke would consider it a problem if she didn’t enjoy it so much.

The bus ride is simultaneously too long and not long enough, knowing that the destination is just bringing her closer to the weekend. Brooke wishes she could just fast forward to Monday, when she’s going to be back at uni and back in her dorm. With Vanessa, with the rest of their friends.

She stumbles off of the bus with suitcase in tow, intent on walking the rest of the way home. She hadn’t wanted to ask anyone from her family to pick her up - it would just have been an awkward car ride, anyway. She’s going to get enough uncomfortable family moments this weekend as it is.

The front door opens when she reaches the entrance, making her raised hand fall down on its own before she can even knock.

“Mom?”

“You’re late. Come set the table, it’s almost dinner.” Her mom snaps the words at her, turning on her heel.

Welcome home, indeed.

The four pale pink walls of Brooke’s childhood bedroom had once acted as her getaway. She would lie on her bed as a kid, her mind dreaming up different scenarios of being a famous ballerina, a knight with a pet dragon, an astronaut. Somewhere where she was powerful, in control of everything around her and also loved. She’d always have her happy ending, get to kiss the princess before her young brain even knew it was considered wrong by some.

The walls are suffocating her now, two days into her stay. The room is a memory of the way she’d try to cry as softly as she could as a kid, trying not to make any noise into her pillow. The way she’d pop painkillers to numb the ache in her muscles from overuse, ballet wearing down her body too fast for someone who hadn’t been fully grown. The way she’d squeeze her eyes shut tight, ignoring the arguments that she could still hear no matter how hard she tried to block them with her dreams of prettier stories than her own.

Being back here feels like the walls are pushing down on her, closing her up in a box that had succeeded in containing her for eighteen years. Except now she’s had a taste of life outside of the box, and she never ever wants to come back.

Her Blackberry beeps and she picks it up from its spot on her pillow, and can’t help but smile when she sees that it’s a text from Vanessa. She can almost imagine the other girl lying on her bed, pink Motorola RAZR phone in both hands as she types faster than Brooke ever could.

VM: my mom got the pics from Christmas developed!!!!

VM: look at my wack ass fam

The picture is absolutely chaotic, everyone in the group smiling, laughing, or, in Vanessa’s case, yelling at the person taking the photo. They’re all in colourful ugly Christmas sweaters, some with Santa hats, some with reindeer ears.

VM: my mami’s the one wearing the fake Santa beard LOL

BLH: Oh my god. You look just like her.

The woman beside Vanessa in the photo really does look like an adult Vanessa, though with hair that is a few shades lighter. She has an arm around Vanessa who looks tiny beside her, their oversized sweaters nearly taking them over.

BLH: Who else is who?

VM: well, there’s julio, my brother, he’s the one wearing the dumbass elf hat. my abuela, then my tía rosa, her husband enrique, my tío pablo and his husband luis, my tía carmen, my cousins maria and isaac and isabella and daniela and alex. and riley my pup!!!

BLH: Your family is huge, omg.

VM: not even all of them. these are just the ones who could make it to christmas dinner

The photo makes Vanessa’s house look so fun, so welcome, so opening and inviting. Brooke zooms in on the photo, looks at their individual faces that look like they’re having a blast.

BLH: Wait, did you say your uncle and his husband?

VM: yeah they’re married!! caused a big drama when tío pablo brought him home the first time but now everyone loves him and their wedding was the best. and my mami wasn’t as mad when i came out to her lol  

BLH: you’re out to her?

VM: yeah!!! a couple years ago i came out she cried for two days then got over it lol

Wow. Brooke’s wondering why they’ve never had this conversation before. Brooke knows that Vanessa senses her discomfort around talking about her own family, and tactfully doesn’t ask her much. Vanessa always talks about her own, though, recounting her constant bickering with her brother and her mom’s trash talking at the wheel.

BLH: Wow. That’s great, though.

VM: ya, she still wants grandkids tho

VM: says riley doesn’t count >:(

BLH: LOL. He is the biggest furriest baby there is.

Brooke pets Henry absentmindedly, burying her fingers into his soft fur as he purrs. He’s curled up on the pillow beside her, Apollo resting on her desk chair. Henry and Apollo are the two things that she doesn’t mind about visiting home. She opens the picture from Vanessa again, looking at all of the happy and smiling faces. Looks at her married uncles. It’s a contrast from the family portraits that line the walls in Brooke’s house, ones of her and her parents sitting stone faced, looking poised. Nothing short of practiced and perfect, matching their vibes during the holidays. Quiet, tense dinners, a cloak for the screaming arguments in the late evenings that her parents would get into after having too much to drink and needing to release their pent up resentment towards each other, only to go back to clipped tones the next day, as if nothing had happened.

The longing in her chest is tangible, a woven rope that makes her want to jump into the picture and have a family like Vanessa’s, one so big and full of life.

Brooke looks at the way that Vanessa’s grandmother’s arm is wrapped around her uncle’s waist and hugging her son close, and the way that Vanessa is curled into her mom’s side. Brooke wonders if Vanessa has mentioned her to her mom, talked about them at Christmas break. If Vanessa used to mention her past girlfriends, giggle about her dates with her mom.

Would her parents be the same way, if she came out to them, equally supportive and loving? Does she have to? Is she fake if she doesn’t?

She doesn’t want to. Facing their inevitable disappointed expressions, echoing the homilies they’ve heard at Mass about how being gay is wrong, how it means you’re a sinner. How you can’t go to heaven and thus can’t be a good person, if you’re gay.

Do her parents believe that? Would her parents hate her?

How could they, though? Would they hate Vanessa too, someone so sweet and funny and smart and utterly wonderful, just because of preconceptions that they have about her?

She wants a family like Vanessa’s, wants it so, so bad. Wants a house that is loud and full of laughter and ugly Christmas sweaters and one where she can bring her girlfriend home to. One where she’d be able to talk to her mom about anything and everything, where her mom would give her advice and actually give her the time of day.

Brooke’s fine on her own, in her room. She is. She just wants more. Wishes that she had it more than anything in the world.

(now)

“Vanessa. Please.”

Brooke bangs her fist on the door one, two, three times, the door an unmoving barrier that won’t budge as she ignores the patients, nurses, doctors, and technicians that pass by in the hall, because nothing else matters right now. She needs to talk and explain things, find out what made Vanessa push her away and look at her with an expression of horror and confusion alike, because she doesn’t know. It’s replaying in her brain a million times over, chipping away at her insides and she can feel her foundations start to crack, on the route to crumbling if she doesn’t find out.

Maybe it was the nickname.

Who was Brooke to even call her ‘Nessa’? A pet name that’s so laden with softness and memories of them from when they were so much younger. Of course Vanessa hadn’t wanted to hear it, they’re different now and they don’t do this and they’ve both moved on. They’re adults, two adults having sex. Nothing more.

She’s so stupid. She’s slipped up and ruined everything.

“Please, just talk to me.” Brooke never begs, she doesn’t. But right now she can’t help it as the words leave her lips sounding desperate and broken, ruining any illusion she’s ever wanted to portray of having her shit together. Any semblance of a carefully constructed persona that she carries around with her around the hospital is melting away, because all she can think of is Vanessa on the other side of the door.

The door doesn’t open.

Maybe it had been the way she’d pulled Vanessa in for a kiss after the consultation meeting. Maybe Vanessa had wanted to tell her that they were done, that she wanted to end whatever she fuck they were doing. And then Brooke had gone and kissed her, made everything worse. Made Vanessa firm in her decision.

She’s a fucking idiot.

Vanessa could probably sense it, all of it. The way that Brooke still fucking feels it, wants more than just sex no matter how much she tries to convince herself that she doesn’t. She hates it.  

Brooke’s tried, the last few days. Attempted to hide her disappointment when Vanessa had to cancel meetings with her when the cardiac units got busy. Held her face back from displaying too much when Yvie had asked her about Vanessa and how they hadn’t seemed to be fighting for the first time in awhile. Brooke’s tried to forget the feeling of Vanessa’s face buried in the crook of her neck, arms gripping onto her like she’s a precious metal, because she’s not Brooke’s to cherish.

This is why she never does these…things. Doesn’t date anymore, stays far away from anyone that could make her feel more than she should. She doesn’t need it, doesn’t need the connection that feels so good, so right in the moment before shattering her into pieces when it ends. It ruins everything.

And now here she is, hung up over an ex from more than a decade ago, someone who’s been happily over it for just as long, leaving Brooke a fucking mess and banging on a door that she knows won’t open.

Stupid.

Brooke watches as her own fist drops from the door, slides down the smooth surface until it’s resting at her side. The telltale numbness that is activated by her brain when she’s feeling too much begins to spread over her heart, her soul. It glazes over the shame, the embarrassment, the rejection, the longing for someone who she shouldn’t be hung up over in the first place. The grey cloud is enough to numb everything, leaving a bulletproof blank slate that is impossible to get through from the outside.

She doesn’t need anything, or anyone. She’s learned that enough.  

And so she turns on her heel, and she leaves.

Brooke does the only thing that she knows how to do when she needs to drown out her thoughts, shut her brain off to avoid the feelings that she doesn’t want to feel - she turns to her work. She takes on more patient referrals than she usually would, filling up her schedule with procedures that require her full attention for hours upon hours.

The work is methodical, routines that she’s followed a thousand times in her career. Cuts from her scalpel, the buzz of the bone saw, beeps sounding throughout the OR as she directs her team, working together like a miniature ecosystem. Patients that survive, others on the brink of death who pull back because Brooke refuses to sit down until they’re stable.

Other patients that die on the table and take a piece of Brooke with them when they go.

If her team notices any changes, they say nothing. She doesn’t care, she’s not here for them.

She’s here for work.

The interns piss her off more than usual, making stupid mistakes that are reflective of any medical student, but right now they’re so careless and messing with Brooke’s work, and so what if she yells at them more than she normally does? It makes her feel better afterwards.

It doesn’t stop her from escaping Nina’s scrutinizing gaze, though, her best friend looking equal parts done and worried as they sit in her office at the end of the day.

“I’ve had three interns email me today about how they can’t work in, and I quote, ‘unsafe work practices’.” Nina looks as if she’s staving off approximately three headaches at once, and Brooke would feel bad if they interns didn’t deserve it.

Brooke takes a sip of the wine that Nina’s poured for her. “Not my fault that they can’t handle the rigorous workload of being on the neuro units.” If they want to work with the best, they need to be the best.

She doesn’t need to put up with interns that forget simple suture techniques, or ones that don’t come prepared with answers to the questions that Brooke throws at them. How else are they going to become surgeons?

“Except this is new, Brooke, and you know it. You’re normally a bitch, but a fair one, which is how you’re good with the interns most of the time. But from what they’ve told me now, it sounds like you’re just being plain mean to them.” Nina tugs her glasses off, puts them on the desk before rubbing her temples.

Brooke shrugs. “They shouldn’t be in surgery if they can’t handle it.”

“No, you’re taking your frustrations out on them. Which I get, but also you’re going to scare all of them away, and the teaching component of this hospital is incredibly vital, and so we need to keep all of these baby doctors without you making them run with their tails between their legs before they can even reach residency.”

Brooke crosses her arms. “They’re shit baby doctors.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it.” Nina looks up at her, really looks up at her, and it makes Brooke shrink in her seat. Nina’s the only one in the hospital who can actually make her do so. “What on earth is up with you?”

Brooke shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.” It doesn’t, she’s dealing. She’s not going to let Vanessa affect her.

Nina sighs. “Brooke…”

“Anyway.” Brooke leans forward in her seat, rests her elbows on Nina’s desk. Ignores Nina’s pointed look at her. “You still haven’t told me about the date with Ryan you had last week. You promised me the details.”

It’s a distraction tactic, a flimsy one at best, but it does the job, Nina’s face lighting up at the mention of her new boyfriend. “Well, he said to dress fancy, but not too fancy, right?”

Brooke nods as she listens to Nina’s excited rambling, the woman at times as easy to redirect as a four year old. The subject is much more palatable than her own fucked up love life - not that she even has one.

The shot of tequila creates a smooth burn down the back of Brooke’s throat, the subsequent salt and lime not enough to drown out the overbearing noise that is forever present at Ralph’s. Brooke gestures to the bartender for another shot as Yvie, Scarlet and other members of the neurosurgery team toast to Plastique.

“Happy birthday, bitch!” Yvie yells the words as she slams down her empty shot glass. “May this be the year that you’re finally not carded.”

“That’ll probably be never. Everyone thinks I’m twelve years old anyway.” Plastique sighs. “Last week an attending asked me if I needed help finding my family - he thought I was a patient’s kid or something.”

Brooke can’t help the laugh that bubbles in her throat, something that Plastique immediately catches. “Don’t you start.”

Brooke has to cover her mouth. “Sorry, it’s just hilarious. We have a tween on the neuro team.” She cant help but fully crack up after making eye contact with Yvie.

Plastique pouts. “That’s Dr. Edwards to you. I’m a resident, damn it.”

“A twelve year old resident? Child prodigies are truly so impressive.” Yvie grins, patting Plastique’s arm.

“You’re all the worst. The absolute worst.”

“And yet,” Yvie shrugs, “you love us.”

Plastique grins. “Can’t deny that. Even if you all are pretty much considered elderly at this point.”

“Careful, or I’m gonna run you over with my walker.” Yvie pokes Plastique’s side, which makes her yelp and poke Yvie right back.

Brooke snorts. She loves her team, or at least, parts of it. She didn’t want to come out tonight, before being dragged out of her apartment by Yvie and Scarlet (a running theme recently, the two of them refusing to let her rest for even five seconds), but now she’s not so upset that she has.

Plastique, the newest member of neurosurgery who had started as a resident only a few months ago, already fits in well with the group. Brooke’s glad that she has friends that are at her level - or rather, close to her level, since she does outrank them all as the head of neurosurgery. Ones who she can discuss difficult cases and current research with, topics that someone who doesn’t work in a hospital would be utterly confused about. It reminds her of undergrad, when her and Vanessa would-

No. Not happening. She’s not thinking about that.

The bartender slides over the other shot that she’s ordered, and Brooke downs it without so much as a wince. The tequila and lime and salt are tangible, existing sensations that help to draw her out of her head, from the clutches of memories and regrets that never seem to leave her alone anymore.

“Slow down, B.” Yvie tilts her head, brow furrowed. “We got here like, ten minutes ago.”

Brooke shrugs. “Getting a head start, that’s all.” She’s gonna need all the alcohol that she can get on her first night out in awhile.

She’s been coming in early, staying late, overworking herself to shut off her mind, though it hasn’t been working as well as she wants it to. Vanessa’s smile. Vanessa’s moans underneath her. The furrow in Vanessa’s brow ever present in their past meetings. The way Vanessa had pushed her away the last time in the conference room. The way Vanessa hadn’t opened the door, effectively letting her know that she wasn’t interested. Wanted it to end.

Brooke gets it, really does. Though her heart fucking doesn’t, replaying the moment over and over again since it happened, the knife in her heart twisting more and more every time.

She needs to get a grip.

The alcohol flowing in her system is no help, making the conversations that are happening around her louder, the lights brighter, sensations that are exacerbating the very thoughts that she wants to drown out.

Scarlet pulls out a cupcake, because, being Scarlet, she had picked one up earlier for Plastique’s birthday. Plastique squeals (‘you got double chocolate!’) , pulling Scarlet into a hug. Brooke lets out a surprised yelp when she tugs the rest of them in, too, nearly falling off of her stool.

She peeks over Yvie’s shoulder while still in the hug before her heart drops in her chest, and she wants to close her eyes so that she doesn’t have to register who has just sit down at the other end of the bar.

Vanessa.

It seems that Brooke can’t come to Ralph’s without seeing her anymore.

Brooke can’t tear her eyes away, unable to pull her gaze from the other surgeon in a tan jumpsuit and with waves cascading down her back. She’s laughing, making enough noise with the cardiothoracic surgeons that Brooke has to wonder how she didn’t spot her as soon as she had walked in.

Vanessa flags down the bartender, batting her eyelids and tilting her head and from the way that the female bartender leans on the counter, flirts back, Brooke knows that it’s going to be on the house.  

The knife in her chest twists a little bit more, hitting a few more veins, making a few more cuts. Not that it matters.

Brooke is a sucker for punishment, a real lover of making herself feel like shit because she can’t help the way that her eyes drag back towards Vanessa every couple minutes. She looks so carefree and happy, joking around with the other cardiac doctors and does she have her arm around the waist of one of them?

Vanessa’s so good at making herself at home, no matter the situation that she’s in. She’d been the same way back when they were in school, and Brooke can see that nothing’s changed. She’s like a flame burning bright, drawing everyone in towards her like moths that are mesmerized by her light. Her smiles light up her entire face, and Brooke has to ignore the incessant pangs in her stomach reminding her that she’s not the one who is causing them.

Vanessa’s fine. Vanessa gets through things, Brooke can see that. She can emerge unscathed and continue to shine, continue to climb up, up, up. She’s not haunted by regrets or things from her past. She knows when to cut off thorns that wrap around her limbs and try to bring her down. Ones like Brooke.

Brooke gets it. Maybe she deserves it. Because Vanessa clearly knows what she wants, and knows that she deserves better. Someone more than Brooke, who can give her love and light and not dysfunction and vicious cycles that only seem to end in destruction.  

Brooke can’t hold Vanessa back anymore. Maybe she’s not meant for it, for anything that can crack her heart open. She had been doing so well, keeping things casual with a few women. No strings attached, no possibility of feelings being developed if she never learned their full names or anything about them. No attachments had meant no chance of those attachments being ripped from her.

Maybe that’s what she should go back to. Maybe it’s the only thing that she deserves now.

There’s no angel whispering in Brooke’s ear to stop her from going to chat up a girl (a nurse? a unit clerk?) towards the end of the night a few hours later, one whom she’s fucked before and is always willing for some time in the on call room. Perhaps there’s a little tug in her chest whispering that this girl isn’t Vanessa, won’t ever live up to Vanessa, but she ignores it. Because Vanessa isn’t hers, never will be hers, not anymore. Not for the last eleven years.

Maybe some quick fucks are all that Brooke is going to get now. She used to be happy with it, encouraged it even, before Vanessa walked into the hospital on her first day and disrupted her carefully crafted life and left her to salvage the broken pieces.

And salvage she will. Brooke can go back to it, because it’s what worked, it’s what she deserves. She doesn’t have Vanessa anymore.

Brooke doesn’t look up as she leaves to see if Vanessa notices her walk by, her hand on the girl’s back guiding her outside to a waiting Uber. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t. She can go back to her routine, back to not caring, not getting invested. Vanessa isn’t her problem anymore.

[minteacutiewrites]

Spring Cleaning

Just a dorky little fic with Apollo and Nayuta, where Nayuta’s just trying to take care of his brother but it backfires a little.

Apollo sighed flopping down in a chair, rolling his shoulders.

Though he wasn’t even halfway finished with cleaning out his new office in Khura’in, the burning itch in his sinuses and the wheeze of his lungs told him otherwise.

The man supposed he should of known better when he took over Dhurke’s law office, the man never seeming to have an affinity for cleanliness, so it wasn’t a surprise to find everything covered in a thick layer of dust.

Apollo coughed a little rubbing his chest, trying to assesses whether or not he need to take a hit off of his inhaler. Taking a couple deep breaths he decided that he’d be fine for the moment.

Now if only he could do something about the crawling itch, buried deep in his sinuses.

Pulling down his face mask Apollo scrubbed at his nose with the heel of his palm, he tried to rid it of the tingling sensation plaguing it but it didn’t seem to want to budge.

It didn’t help that it didn’t seem interested in manifesting into an actual sneeze, just enough to tease some hitching breaths out of him.

Apollo released a frustrated sigh when it seemed like it wasn’t going to amount to anything other than make him miserable.

He rest an arm over his eyes, wrinkling his nose whining,” This suck’s.” He breathed out stuffily, though no one was there to listen.

That was until someone cleared there throat and he realized he wasn’t as alone as he initially believed himself to be.

Apollo flushed pink when he notice Nayuta standing there scrambling to sit up straight,” I’m sorry, how long have you been there.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Nayuta on the other hand didn’t seem to look like he minded waiting much…to be fair Apollo normally had trouble reading him on a good day,” I wasn’t waiting long, I see that you’ve been busy.” He commented.

Apollo grinned,” Yeah, Dhurke wasn’t exactly the greatest house keeper.” He said, seeming to earn a little bit of amusement from the other man.

“I can believe that, but then I suppose that was something he spent time procrastinating on.” Nayuta said, a fond look gracing his face as he enjoyed talking about his father,” Sadly I’m here on business not to reminisce about days that have long past.” Nayuta said, getting serious.

“We’ll have to make time for that later.” Apollo suggested, not getting an agreement from his adoptive brother but not getting a denial to it either,” Anyway I’m assuming this about looking over some old case files?” He asked, figuring it was the obvious choice.

With that him and Nayuta got work as the two of them were trying to rebuild a legal system together. Though Apollo was having a bit of trouble focusing, rubbing the underside of his nose with a finger ever now and again.

Apollo’s pink nose twitched every now and again his breath hitching airily, but still it resulted in nothing.

Nayuta glance up at him raising an eyebrow at this odd behavior,” Apollo is there something bothering you.” He asked.

Making Apollo groan as he was so sure that he was finally going to sneeze before the other man interrupted it,” I’m fine, just allergies.” He said, pinching his pink nose between his fingers rubbing at it,” Dust doesn’t exactly agree with me.”

Nayuta frowned,” If it affects you so badly then why are you taking care of it by yourself.” He scolded the other,” If anything I least expected Datz to be helping you.”

Apollo wasn’t expecting the prosecutor to be so concerned over this,” It’s really not that bad.” He tried waving the concern off,” Beside if I let it build up it’s much worst.” He told him not even wanting to see how Nayuta reacted when he brought up his asthma.

Nayuta got up clearly undeterred by Apollo’s words,” Nonsense, you are fortunate I am here as I know plenty of remedies for such things.” He said, taking various herbs and incense grinding them into a paste.

Apollo couldn’t help but wonder if he just always carried a random assortments of herbal remedies with him at all times.

He figured it wasn’t appropriate to question this as Apollo already felt he knew the answer,” And what exactly is this suppose to do for me?” He asked, snorting scrubbing his abused nostrils.

Nayuta wrinkled his nose in something that vaguely look like disgust, at this action crossing over his face,” If done correctly it’ll help clear out your sinuses.” He explained.

“So it’s like vic’s?” Apollo questioned peeking over at the pasty concoction the monk was blending together.

He was met with confusion,” I have never heard of this so, I don’t understand the comparison.” Nayuta handed the paste over to Apollo,” Put this under your nose breathing in vapors.” He instructed.

Apollo looked a bit skeptical but at this point he was up for anything that would give him a little relief at this point.

Breathing in he coughed, the harsh methanol scent filling his sinuses, opening them but also bringing a more...uncomfortable sensation with them.

The dull buzzing sensation that was teasing the back of his nasal passages, was now filling them causing his breath to snag in deep hitching breaths, his eyes half lidded,” Hih-ihih-ha-…” This time Apollo knew it was for real and he only wished he’d thought to grab a tissue.

Apollo cupped his hands around his nose and mouth nearly bending in half,” Hah-psshiew Hih-hah-gsshiew hur-risshiew.” He pawed at his pink nose desperately but the itch didn’t let up.

Drawing itchy desperately allergic sneezes from his pink tinged nostrils.

He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice Nayuta get up, grabbing the box of tissues from his desk before tucking a couple into Apollo’s hands.

Apollo gratefully buried his nose into the fluffy white folds, releasing a flurry of irritated sneezes,” Hah-issh Hih-gisssh psh psh Hah-AchiIew.” He absentmindedly felt someone put there hand on his shoulder supplying him with more tissues as needed, encouraging him to blow his nose.

It would be comforting if he weren’t so distracted with his own miserable state.

Eventually the fit began to taper off and he was able to catch his breath, only the occasional odd sneeze breaking through. Apollo slumped back in his chair,” Well that w-was Hah-ehshiew…ugh idtedse.”He frowned, hearing the congestion leaking into his voice.

“I apologize, it seems my remedy only made things worse.” Nayuta said, looking disappointed that he was unable to help.

Apollo flushed,” No dod’t feel bad, It actually kidd of helped.” He told him rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly,” I’ve had to sdeeze all bordigg, this is the first tibe all bordigg that I haved’t beed a hitchigg bess.”He explained.

Nayuta still looked skeptically but was satisfied with this response,” I suppose that is not it’s intended use but, if it truly helped it couldn’t be the worst thing.” He said.

“But please next time you decide to do some spring cleaning, allow me to assist you.” Nayuta told him, making Apollo chuckle.

“You’ll be the first person I call.” Apollo said, before returning to his work with the prosecutor.

[magiclwritings]

A Record Breaker || Oliver & Cassio

Up until he’d walked into that room with the rest of the advisers, Cass had been feeling rather melancholy and mopish. The latest batch of his potion hadn’t quite finished before he’d finished his last vial. Supplying both himself and Apollo had proven to be a little more time consuming and trying than he’d anticipated. At the rate the both of them were going ... well he could safely say neither of them would be going without it any time soon. The blond slumped himself down into the chair next to Valor and proceeded to ready himself for notes or anything of the like. But the moment he’d seen Oliver walk through that door he couldn’t promise he’d remember a damn thing. Much less actually enforce it or allow his grumpiness with his potions continue to dominate how he was feeling. The dark haired male was far more distracting and good than any sort of potion. Wow, Cass. Put the breaks on that.

It was no secret that Cassio was growing fond of Oliver. They’d seemed to fall into these sort of feelings almost effortlessly, and happily he might add. It was odd to him. Because things with Oliver were easy. Well not easy but a lot more simple than he’d experienced before. They could both just be. Cass was getting all lost in his thoughts. Those lips and that smile. The messy mop on top his head. The soft jab to the side of his ribs was enough to pull his gaze from the Lion. If only long enough to shoot Valor and appropriate glare and return to his now breathtaking view. He’d felt a twinge of regret not asking Oliver to come with him instead of them coming separate. But were they even to that stage? Did those rules even apply? Cass couldn’t say for sure but he was curious to see what Oliver thought, if he’d be able to work up the courage to ask. His smile cracked a little wider, blush filling his cheek and he had to turn away. If only to save himself the embarrassment of his roommate making kissy noises, and his cheeks were already starting to hurt.  This meeting was about to be one of the longest things he’d ever had to sit through. Not to mention Cassio’s palm had started to itch. And it was an itch he was positive only the Lion’s hand could fix.

And he was right.

While the meeting drug on. Scolding them for not submitting more questionnaires from the students about one thing or another. The only part Cass cared about was that he was now rounding that table, leaving Valor and Noah in his dust to find himself exclusively in Oliver’s company.

“Hey.” He smiled as he stepped in against the other, thigh resting up against the long table and he enjoyed the blue pools he’d come to enjoy and cherish as Oliver’s. He was still so damn breath taking. Does he know how attractive he is? And the way he wrinkles his nose ... “So I was thinking.” He quickly followed up with, hand pressed to the table top now and he leaned in ever so slightly. Merlin, he smells good. “Valor’s going out on some weird date with a mystery man.” He could feel the other raven giving him the evil eye as he’d exited himself with a few of the others. “I was thinking that you might want to come back with me and keep me company.” Cass’ fingers had managed to work their way across the table and to Oliver’s side. To which he lightly tugged on the other’s pant hem while he’d chewed on his lips. It looked like Oliver was truly contemplating what he was going to say.

“I mean I think that sounds like a good idea.” He’d finally, and playfully, conceded. Which only made Cass all the more giddy and Oliver was definetly picking up on. They’d both moved in a little closer before taking one another’s hand, lacing their fingers tight. A knot tugging in Cass’ stomach and he tugged the dark haired man along with him from the room.

A left, another left and a double door left the two in the warm but slowly dimming light. The pair wasted no time in heading directly for the blond’s room. It was times like this that he’d wished he’d gotten his own room. Though he’d have missed Valor and their little tangents. But getting time alone with Oliver wasn’t something he was able to come by often. Them both so busy with class, Oliver and his quidditch and Cass with his extra classes in the evening. But tonight would be different, it already was. Their fingers squeezed together and Cass found himself bumping into Oliver playfully while they’d started to ask about one another’s days, how they’d gotten through and other little bits about what they’d done before they’d found each other’s company. Truth be told it was really one of the only places Cass wanted to be anymore. Don’t tell him that. 

Ravenclaw was never a comfortable house, figuratively and otherwise. Even in Hogwarts itself it didn’t feel homey but with Oliver he was quite certain he could make it so even in the mild of a tundra if he’d had to. But the two proceeded down the main hall and into the library. No one was in there, no one ever was. They all kept to themselves in their rooms. Perhaps Aubrey might make an appearance at some point but for now Cass would graciously take their alone time. 

“Sit, sit.” He told Oliver, motioning to the plush sofa while he’d taken out his phone and set it on the coffee table, his wand drawing up a heatless fire in the hearth. Stupid he knew but it always felt more comfy with one going. “I’ll make us some tea. Find something to play on my phone.” The blond motioned towards the device while he’d started to brew up something calming and sweet in a kettle off in the corner. “I think there’s a playlist literally with your name on it.” Cass turned back, a sheepish smile tugging on his lips and he’d pressed into his shoulder to keep Oliver from seeing just how big that smile was.

Oliver was quick to find exactly what Cass meant in the phone itself. A few more clicks and the volume on the playlist he’d been putting together began to fill the room. The kettle steamed softly from the spell he’d warmed it with and the blond made his way back to Oliver, two mugs in hand down at his side. Cass sat and then Oliver came in close, nearly curling up into his side as he’d made them both a cup. When he’d offered Oliver his cup, Cass sipped his lightly and leaned back, stretching back into the cushion on the sofa and under Oliver’s arm. The warm, fuzzy feelings were coming and coming on strong. It was almost a haze that Cass seemed to slip under when this particular Lion was around. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Oliver spoke, sipping his tea and looking back over his shoulder at Cass. Something that made the blond blush uncontrollably. His fingers tapped his mug and he’d taken a few seconds to consider his answer. He wasn’t truly thinking anything other than how happy he was they both were there. “Mmm...” He started off, rubbing the bottom of his cup against his thigh.” I’m thinking that I’m happy you’re getting to listen to this.” He motioned towards his phone exuding the music. The smile only growing wider as he moved to set his cup on the coffee table, joining Oliver in nearly similar posture. 

“Thinking that I don’t want you to leave tonight.” Cass didn’t mean them sleeping together. But the idea of having a sleep over with Oliver was incredibly enticing. “And maybe if I’m a good boy about it.” A wicked smile pulled on his face and chuckled softly to himself. “Thought you might not mind sharing a bed and blankets with me. But just don’t think you’re getting any of them.” His elbow nudged against the other and he exhaled out loudly. “Bit of a bed hog but I thought you’d be up for a challenge.” But even then Cass didn’t think that quite felt like them. And instead he’d taken to returning their hands together and pulling Oliver back on the sofa with him. 

Their heads wedged comfortably between the cushions and each other’s shoulders. Their bodies effortlessly moving closer and their fingers lightly dragging across each other’s fingers. “I just ...” Cass drew in a deep breath, finding himself settling in and truly enjoying the moment with this man. “I don’t think I can say good-bye tonight.” His head already making the appropriate agreement gesture. “I ... I actually didn’t have the best day.” Why are you telling him this? He’d swallowed hard and shifted in slightly closer to the other. His fingers squeezing onto his hand tighter. His head shook slightly as he’d exhaled. “You ... just seeing you made me feel so much better.” Stop it, Cass. “And I thought maybe we might spend some time practicing for you or whatever you need to get done tonight.” He really would have done anything to get Oliver to say yes to staying. He might have even considered a little more than just a kiss but something told him that waiting for Oliver, waiting for the both of them, might not be such a bad thing either. He could very easily find himself enjoying a slower pace with Oliver, if that was what he wanted.

“Might even make you breakfast too.” He couldn’t stop the smile and he laughed at himself, shaking his head. “Okay that was a fib but I bet I could convince Valor to bring you something when he comes back in the morning.” All of this pleading and Oliver was just smiling. Which made Cass excited and nervous in the same stroke. “Pretty please?” He pleaded, nearing a full on pout if Oliver didn’t say yes.

Please? Please? Please? Please?

After a full five seconds, Oliver looked like he could barely contain himself anymore. The brunette nodded excitedly and brought Cass’ hand up to his lips. The pair pressing to each of his knuckles as he’d eyed the blond. “You’ll have to help with dodging practice though.” That snicker was unmistakable and Cass tugged on his hand, nudging his shoulder into the other. The both of them proceeded to laugh and cuddle in closer to one another. Cass was grateful, very grateful that Oliver didn’t seem to be too perplexed by what he’d asked. Though something told him on the other side of things they weren’t as calm as he’d been putting on which only made him want to show Oliver it’d be okay for the night. 

“You couldn’t dodge me if you tried.” 

“How yeah?”

“Mhmm. Not at all.”

“I think you’re awful cocky and full of yourself.”

“Me? Not me. I just like to tease you.”

“I like you teasing me.”

“Good. I like it too.”

[leilakozma-blog]

Borrowed Vocabularies

For his first major solo exhibition, the British-Kenyan painter Michael Armitage has delved far into the past to create some of his most strikingly contemporary work to date. One of the exhibition’s key pieces, a bold, vividly colourful yet macabre painting, shares its title with Titan’s The Flaying of Marsyas, which ranks among the most famous depictions of the Greek myth. As the myth holds, the satyr of the title befell this gruesome fate by boasting too loudly about his musical talents and, rather ill-advisedly, challenging the god Apollo. Titian’s painting captures the glee that results from punishing those who disrespect the law, its focal point is the motionless body of Marsyas surrounded by a greed-ridden group of creatures. Each leans close to the body to get the chance to peel away an inch skin, gorging themselves on the one who dared to dissent. Michael Armitage’s Flaying of Marsyas builds on Titian’s depiction of this mythical scene. He takes the composition of the original as a template: in the centreground is a figure hung from a tree, surrounded by men pointing their blades at him. However, the main character of the piece is unknown. Armitage shows the sacrifice of an innocent African man, someone who had done nothing to deserve such brutal punishment.

The Chapel, Armitage’s newest exhibition on show at the South London Gallery, features compositions that are just as complex as Titan’s masterpieces. He grants weight to certain motifs, which reveal themselves only under careful scrutiny. But whereas Titian’s compositions contain visual cues that respond to the trends of his era, Armitage’s pieces do not belong to any tradition. He assembles an eccentric visual language from found materials, scraps and fragments he comes across during his laborious research process. He appropriates the signature style of the masters of art history in order to address problems rooted in racism, discrimination and oppression. But his works do not dissect problems in a direct manner. Looking at them would not allow viewers to gain a factual understanding of the devastating effects colonialism on east African culture. His works do not compare to the Black Art movement of the 1970s, to the work of David Hammons, Lorna Simpson or Glenn Ligon. Armitage’s works are influenced by political developments only implicitly. Instead of representing acts of injustice, they recreate the experience of being forced to witness injustice.

For instance, Exorcism revolves around a Tanzanian ritual, during which female members of the community gather together so that the shamans can purge their souls. The painting depicts stretched-out, inanimate bodies, some left lying on the ground, some carried around by the mighty and powerful-looking shamans. Colourful scarves are thrown away, left behind to float in the wind. The women appear alarmingly passive as if they were entirely unguarded and exposed to the will of the priests. There is nothing jovial or vigorous about the piece, unlike the two sources of inspiration from which Armitage draws from. The arrangement of the motifs, the bodies, the position they take up in the landscape and the perspective from which the whole scene is shown takes after the work of the Impressionist painters. The composition pays homage to Edgar Degas’s Young Spartans Exercising, while the colour scheme borrows from Edouard Manet’s Music in the Tuileries Gardens. That, however, is where the similarities end. The scenes and subjects in both these masterpieces are brimming with vitality and youth. By contrast, the women in Exorcism are lifeless, grey silhouettes overshadowed by the daunting, dark figures of the shamans. Although it portrays a sacred tradition, it lacks the tone that would convey the importance of such a ceremony.

Hope centres on the Kenyan youth who have been robbed of their past and future by their elders. Since the 1950s, the country’s unemployment rates have ranked as the highest in the world. The former generation exhausted agricultural jobs, leaving the youth with little to no future prospects. The painting shows an immensely fragile, gnarled figure with seemingly shrunken arms, thighs and hands. The boxy, masculine shoulders hold a disproportionately large head adorned with similarly confused features. The broad but thin lips, the crooked nose and the narrow forehead could belong to a person of any gender or age. The body is distorted as if it had been worn out by violence. A bright red, fleshy, slimy, palpitating cord is hanging loosely from under the soft pale pink cloth of the dress covering the lap and the torso of the figure, the cord is tied to the belly of a young donkey. The mutilated figure is the symbol of the Kenyan youth who are burdened with unfulfillable responsibilities. Armitage’s pieces often fetishise suffering and pain but, in this case, the monstrous features, the crooked posture, the wrinkle-ridden face is that which attracts our curiosity, for all the wrong reasons.

Hope takes tendencies present in most of Armitage’s paintings to new extremes. The expected reaction to such a scene of brutality should be one of horror. Instead, the thick, glowing, flawless layers of paint trigger excitement. Armitage is playing an optical trick of sorts. Most of the pieces on show are beautiful and seductive but because the style and the subject choice are so deeply paradoxical, the viewer is pushed into a perplexing position. Either we play along and embody the sadistic voyeur who takes pleasure in witnessing the suffering of others, or we are left with an unending stream of deeply contradictory visual sensations. Every piece appears gorgeous, but underneath lie scenes of immorality and trauma.

The imperfections of the canvas often resemble wounds, marks left behind by acts of aggression, small holes and scabs. Instead of the traditional linen, Armitage uses the bark of the Lubugo tree. The fabric is sienna-orange in colour, flexible and fairly thick. Its imperfections are the result of the long hours of burning, soaking and beating the tree bark until it reaches the desired levels of elasticity. The Lubugo tree bark is most frequently used to cover the dead during burying ceremonies. For Armitage, it functions as the base on to which he can build his eccentric image worlds. The use of the Lubugo tree bark represents Armitage’s approach to painting at large. The painter hijacks the motifs and formulae of traditional art history in order to address how these contributed to and indirectly sustained the problems that prevail in his country of origin, Kenya. Underneath the lavish brushstrokes and rich coats of oil paint lies a rough and crude material, one that leaves creases and folds on the smooth surface of the canvas.

With a style borrowed from masters such as Manet, Degas, Titian and the like, with subjects taken from social media posts, news coverage, pop culture and indigenous African folklore, Armitage has built an oeuvre from incongruous visual languages. The viewer is confronted with a set of seductive, extremely beautiful, stylistically flawless paintings. They do not depict suffering in the way Western audiences may have grown accustomed to and sceptical towards. Our thirst for sensations is overwhelmed. But regardless of the reactions we can muster, there is a price to pay. Even if we go ahead and do feast our eyes on the scenes of horror, the experience will eventually turn into one of bitter remorse. §

https://tankmagazine.com/tank/2018/01/michael-armitage/