#I SHOULD BE DRAWING IN PREP FOR ART FIGHT FUCK

[kit-kat-jo]

i compiled my favorite murder drones lines so you can pick up some insanely weird vocal stims too! i mean… wow look at this silly compilation

[aria-greenhoodie]

The previously dormant Undertale demon within me is suddenly and inexplicably restless… anyway my top two favs be upon ye! The Pap and the Ton….

Click for Quality!

[system-of-a-feather]

Re-establishing Baseline Plan

Since moving, I've (completely understandably and expectedly) had my baseline kinda fucked (did not help by with financial stress + job incompatibility + ear infection + really bad post ear infection cold + probable norovirus in literally one month) and so I've been really overloaded, stressed, and just in a place of mostly survival mode where most of my energy is focused on maintaining my mental and physical state in the easiest manners possible

I have been holding up well all things considered and have set up for a probably more compatible job + my fiance has managed to get a job again that he feels will probably work out well for him and I have at least like a week off between jobs to reorientate myself

So to take a good and active effort to make the best of this time, I want to make a plan to set myself up for success. I actually do this every so often when I really need to pick myself up (historically Lucille would usually do it but pros of being basically fully integrated is that I am Lucille as well as me) and I figured it would be a neat thing to display and demonstrate here cause I'd end up making it *anyways* so why not share with the class

If anyone likes this, yall can borrow it ^^

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Question One: What current coping skills and hobbies am I currently doing and trying with my time? Are they affective and would I like to change them?

Art, Drawing, Character Design, Art Fight Prep, Story Planning and Writing

This is one of the easiest and most reliable positive coping mechanisms and has gotten me through the majority of the month mostly on it's own. Compared to other coping mechanisms, this one is almost always something I can drag myself to do or at least ask someone to supervise me to make sure I do it when I feel I need some sort of self care. It serves greatly as an alternative when I find that I am doing maladaptive coping that I would rather not do and when in doubt, it has access to some level of social engagement should I feel I need that. With that being said, having relied largely on this for a month, this is suffering diminishing returns and starting to lead to general lack of inspiration and so diversification from this coping mechanism would be ideal

Weekend Gym Trips

This is actually a really good way for me to release energy, give myself space and time to think, and just feel better moving and existing in my body. It also mandates time for me to listen to music and serves a meditative purpose. That said, I have only been doing this on Saturdays and only once on Sunday and I would like to expand that to be at least 3 times a week or at least more spaced out.

Reading Semi Regularly

This is a new habit and coping I picked up and its actually really good! It provides a unique sense of calm when I need it. Unfortunately I've started to drop off the past week due to general stress and illness, so I think its important to return to this. Perhaps set a general goal of "every other day" rather than every day to lessen the pressure.

Video Games

This was helpful but lately I have been not motivated to play anything and I believe its been burnt out. I think it would be good to resume this but it is currently impractical to force at the moment until overall wellness has returned.

TV with Boy

This is helpful but unforunately nothing seems to interest either of us to watch right now. (cri life is hard /lh)

Board Games with Boy

This is a new one and has actually been very nice. That said, it isn't always available and dependent on my fiance's ability to have the energy, time and interest to play them, particularly since I know he is less interested in board games than me. It is good to maintain the interest and offer, but not a coping skill to become reliant on.

Question Two: What sorts of things that I am currently not doing do I know tend to define behaviors, habits, hobbies, and interests that are done when I am out of survival mode and genuinely enjoying life?

Regular Birding, Particularly with Peers

Interest in watching anything on my own, youtube, TV shows, etc

Engagement in Music, Particularly my Musical Instruments

Engagement in Exploration and just independent travels without individuals

Engagement and interest in occasionally reaching out to Buddhist environments

Producing art work for the story that is more developed and inspired rather than "quick" or "reference" focused - actually focusing on the creative and artistic expression rather than the practical expression

Increased social circle communication irl beyond my online bestie, fiance, and online friend group chat; reaching out to individuals and developing new irl friendships

Question Three: Which of those hobbies do I think could be the most reasonable and easy to meet sooner than later (even better if I can make steps to start that right now / today)? In what ways could I make steps to make those first changes and help set myself up for success on expanding my engagement with life beyond survival mode?

Interest in watching anything on my own, youtube, TV shows, etc

While I am not extensively motivated in any manner to watch anything in particular, I am starting to randomly get a lot of bleach related stuff on my youtube and I have been meaning to watch TYBW arc. I have been postponing it because of arbitrary "I wanna read the manga first" and just general other excuses, but realistically those are putting up barriers that I may not get to at this rate and currently I could just use something I'm somewhat interested in to give me some independent relaxing engagement. I think I can set the goal of actually watching Bleach TYBW at least an episode a day starting either today or tomorrow and see if that can bring a momentum and habit into actually being able to watch things that interest me on my own.

Engagement in Music, Particularly my Musical Instruments

I can probably actually take my violin back out. The guitar would probably be better but for whatever reason I feel that my brain thinks that would require more - for a lack of better word - work, so I think I can at least try to find time this week to at least play a little bit of my violin.

Regular Birding, Particularly with Peers + "increased social irl connection [...]"

I can reach out and text my new irl birding connections to see if they are interested; if not I can at least plan to take a birding trip later

Engagement in Buddhist Stuff

I know there is an area I've been thinking of visiting that has free english services on Tuesday, I can make plans to go there that day, particularly since my Fiance should be working for the first day then anyways.

Question Four: What are additional goals and check points that we would like to try to bring us closer to the life style that we know tends to support a thriving mental state and life satisfaction rather than one of survival?

Independent Travels

During the time I have, I can keep in mind this goal and if I have down time think of potentially interesting and alternative places to go to explore; additionally I can plan birding trips to places I have not yet checked out.

Increased Social IRL Connection

It is dependent on if my now-ex-coworker still is interested, but I can follow up and see if we want to still play board games; if not I think potential more ways to reach out will be more viable to plan once a higher level of baseline is established; potentially see if there are any in person DnD groups around that I could make a habit of going to or any martial art dojos that we can afford

More Inspired Art

I think this is something that will come with time between lessening the burn out of my current art-as-a-coping mechanism goal as well as actually engaging in more media and independent interests as to gain more inspiration.

Question Five: Summarize the Key Points and Plans Discussed in This into a Bullet Points of Take Aways

Modifying Current Coping:

Diversify and lean off of using art as a main coping mechanism; give that one a break

Attempt to go to the gym more frequently or at least space it out more throughout the week

Continue reading; lessen the ideal to every other day in case demand pressure is adversely affecting it

Keep an open interest in playing board games with fiance

Changes I Want To Make Soon:

Start watching Bleach TYBW w/ at least one episode a day

Bring out my violin and try to at least play with it for one hour this week

Reach out to new bird peers to see if they want to plan a birding trip sometime, if not then plan one independently

Make plans to go to that place on Tuesday for the open Buddhist service

Changes to Keep an Eye Out For:

Opportunities to go somewhere new randomly for no particular reason or goal in mind other than to just see whats around us

Spoons and time availability to see out places to expand our irl social circles

Inspiration for art in general

Question Six: Set for Regular Follow Ups to Check Progress

Isn't tumblr's queue / schedule function super neat for this

[dogtoling]

i forgot about this meme until literally earlier today but i do it every year so i wanted to do it now too even though im not done with art this year. but i will forget this again

TEXT IN PICTURE under cut

DODO'S SUMMARY OF ART 2023 I forgot about this meme until now despite doing this EVERY YEAR

January was cool and my New Years' resolution was to learn to do more backgrounds. It didn't happen

Looks like I was doing a lot of OC stuff in February or something

Literally what the fuck was I doing in March

Ok I should give myself more credit. I drew a background in April

May feels like it was 2 weeks ago and I did nothing

June is Art Fight prep month so I'm cutting myself some slack it's all refs

In July I did 69 Art Fight attacks. And like 12 Ask Oc answers somehow

I did an actual background in August. OMG! Then quit coloring for the rest of the year

Sorry guys I spent the whole September playing Minecraft

What do you mean October was two months ago I just drew this

Drew an abum cover in November after putting it off for ~5 months +

Drew one thing in December that wasn't a ref. Honestly what a miracle

OVERALL RATING: 3 out of 5 Stars

(It's like, Ok Scoob)

"Didn't draw anything" fuck off actual bullshit, I have 30+ pages of art on Toyhouse from THIS YEAR

Did a lot of fun OC stuff I'm happy with

I want to experiment with art more next year so art doesn't get stale

Didn't improve much but I don't care because I had fun

Did comics. Comics are good

Sufficient amounts of Minecraft were played this year

TO THE LEFT: I don't have an organic way to include my Minecraft model but I'm showing you ANYWAY !

BOTTOM RIGHT CORNER: I did a lot of not necessarily visual art related stuff this year. The amount of OC thought bordered on unhealthy

HERES TO 2024 !

-

Thanks for reading.

[captain-alex-grayson]

Nobody has permission to use my art. Don't repost it. Don't save it. Don't fucking cross post it. Do not fucking use my art. Unless I give explicit consent nobody can use my art. Anyways...

Just a painting of Dante that I did. Used a screenshot I took when I inevitably went down during the Vergil boss fight. I was testing out my new Cotman Watercolors. I got the smaller travel case bc I was on a budget. I also used Windsor and Newton titanium white and lamp black to mix the greys. As well as zenacolor watercolor pencils for ya boi's hair.

Basically I can't draw realistic people, I do a lot of tracing to help with that. I used Canson tracing paper and a pencil to trace over my screenshot of Dante after flipping the image. Then I went over the tracing and added as much graphite as possible. I taped the tracing down graphite side to watercolor paper. Then, I traced over the image again to do a carbon transfer. I did it this way instead of scribbling over the tracing bc scribbling like that can leave indents that can't be hidden should I need to use my watercolor pencils. When I thought I had traced well enough I removed the tracing sheet and set it aside, still haven't decided if I'm going to reuse it. I taped my border down (first time ever doing that bc it never occurred to me that I really don't need to fill a whole 9x12 page). Then I went over what I had transferred to my paper; basically drawing Dante yet again. After making that sketch and adjusting for things that didn't completely transfer I used my General's kneaded eraser to gently lighten the sketch to prep for painting over. I worked left to right since I have known myself to fuck up and smear my paint. It took me 20 minutes to mix as close to his skin tone as possible and I believe I made at least 7 different shades of grey. I was going to do more shading and little details but quickly realized if I didn't chill on the details, I would start to fucking hate my painting. I used Strathmore 400 series watercolor paper, I don't remember what kind of press the paper is but I do know it's not cold press. I used a set of watercolor brushes that I got for Christmas (all the packaging is written in Japanese) and two really really tiny 0000 and 000 cotman round watercolor brushes.

I will say the Windsor and Newton colors carry a lot of pigment so less is very much more. I was constantly replacing my water and diluting my colors.

[thethingything]

okay it's only a few days until Art Fight and I keep fucking forgetting to finish the prep stuff we were meant to do so I guess I should try and do that.

I need to:

finish and upload another ref

finish our team card

update our profile

pick some characters to draw and maybe start planning out some attacks

double check that the descriptions and permissions are correct for the characters we've already uploaded

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[jacespunkdad]

so i’m rereading hunger games as i’ve mentioned before and here’s a compiled list of little details that i think should be included if they remake it into a series or something

honestly the movies were really great and naturally there’s stuff that needs to be cut for it to fit in a 2 hour window but...if there was more time...here’s what i want 

- first of all it needs to be rated higher (r or ma). the punch of these books have did not hit as hard in the movies because the violence had to be toned down. and to be fair i wouldn’t have been allowed to see them if they were rated r in 2012 HOWEVER. i think it’s necessary

- casting should actually fit the ages of the characters i know there’s laws for working with actors underage but having the leads be in their 20s literally defeated the whole point lmao

- also katniss and gale aren’t white and neither is haymitch i don’t think actually so can we fix that. love the original actors to death they did a great job but i think actors with olive skin and gray eyes will do just as good a job

- we need madge. she is an icon and deserves respect

- we need avoxes!! they technically were in the movies but they were mentioned once and then they were always just vibing in the background. we need to have the redheaded avox and there should be a flashback scene where you see katniss and gale witnessing her get caught in the woods (i forget her name atm)

- katniss’s mom’s battle with depression, let’s talk about it! barely mentioned in the movies

- also katniss’s dad! they literally showed a picture of him once in the first movie and never talked about him ever again which is not fair because he seemed like a very lovely man. i want to see clips of him singing and teaching young katniss how to hunt! justice for mr everdeen rip king

- katniss thinks about her and gale’s adventures in the woods (TM) during the games and i wanna see some of them on screen. mainly the one where they buy lady i love that one

- on the subject of parents more of peeta’s dad! idgaf about his abusive mom i know she’s technically more important to the immediate story but if she gets a scene he deserves one too. peeta definitely gets all his good genes from him

- cinna is clearly a gay icon and he needs to have a boyfriend. give him a bf

- portia has the EXACT SAME ENERGY. give her a gf. also can portia have lines please in the movies she was just. there

- more of katniss’s prep team!!! would honestly die for them. they should’ve had more than 3 scenes they provide perfect comedy relief

- katniss and peeta constantly having matching outfits during the prep for the first games another great comedic moment

- peeta’s prosthetic leg! representation matters

- also district 4 tributes should’ve been hanging out with cato and co. everyone forgets district 4 is a career district (and that finnick was a career) all the time and it makes me upset

- and prim was just? at school. while her sister is fighting to death. i want a scene where they flash to her sitting in a god damn cafeteria watching the games like WHAT 

- gale’s family!! 

- the movie did a good job showing the ptsd but they can do more showing peeta and haymitch’s struggles with it besides just katniss

- district 8 was always starting shit and i think that needs to be addressed HAHA

- bonnie and twill! i genuinely thought i made them up or that they were from a different series until i finally got to their part

- also we just need more district 12 stuff all the district 12 action in catching fire was cut out basically

- for instance the detail that the head peacekeeper would take advantage of starving girls by essentially whoring them out to him for money or food? let’s talk about that because holy shit

- there’s so many scenes of katniss and peeta doing domestic things together without even realizing it and it makes me so happy i love them. the cheese buns! peeta drawing pictures for katniss’s family book! taking walks around town! his art! 

- and i specifically want the scene where katniss comes home to the peacekeepers waiting for her and haymitch and peeta are just casually sitting in the den playing chess and effortlessly roasting her in their efforts to cover for her and also stealing her candy. love that scene so much 

- also right before that katniss legit jumped out of a 25 FOOT TREE???? HELLO???? idk how they’d film that honestly but i wanna see it 

- district 12 gets so ugly and bad after thread shows up and they didn’t really show it at all i wish they had it’s so horrific to read about

- darius!! he should’ve been in the movies. the scene where he shows up as an avox fucked me up SO BAD when i was a kid

- the whole plot line about the capitol using a green screen every time they report on district 13 was so interesting and such a twist and i remember going :O when i read the first time i wish it had been included

- haymitch’s games!!! genuinely one of my favorite backstories i’ve ever read in any series ever. they need to show it especially considering that he was against 47 competitors instead of the normal 23 like that’s nuts

- katniss, peeta, and haymitch “training” for the quarter quell. i want a montage

- just cinna’s line “portia and i spent a lot of hours looking at fires.” there’s so many moments of subtle humor in the books that got taken away and i think they help balance out the story so well

i’m about halfway through catching fire so i will update with more thoughts. thank u for coming to my ted talk

[bitchfitch]

Lavi art fight resource

hrrrg. cat boy. causes problems on purpose and loves his wizard. is sometimes a lion

an excerpt bc i pulled one for the others and id feel weird not doing it for him (its fjord in the pictures, not anta)

The second to last match ended in a draw as the gathered crowds cheered the two young mages and their familiars on. 

Team one, comprised of the superstar evocationist, Anta, and his lion familiar Lavi, had broken through the conjured hoards of beasts with sheer and near unimaginable brute strength. They cleared the hoard the fastest, though points were deducted for their near complete lack of teamwork and frequent communication failures. 

Team Two, the summonor Fjord and his crow familiar Rook, took only a few moments longer, but worked in near perfect tandem, as was the goal of this competition. 

In the small waiting room between matches Lavi's deep amethyst mane caught gold streaks from the sunlight that dripped through the window he was dosing beneath. He stretched splaying his massive paws as he cracked a glimmering red eye open to watch his master pace about like a caged animal. 

Lavi knew Anta could probably use a hug, but they were trying to conserve magic between matches so Lavi had to stay a lion. It did hurt to watch Anta tie himself up in knots like this, both in the sense that Anta was his friend so Of course Lavi didn't like seeing him in distress, and in the much more physical sense that Anta was accidentally letting so much negative energy seep through their connection that Lavi was starting to get a headache from it.

"They're cheating," Anta declared, his shaggy black hair a mess from the wind and him running his fingers through it as he pulled his thoughts together, "That's the only reason Fjord could have ever made it this far. They Are Cheating," 

"A little more elaboration would be nice, darling," Lavi sighed as he stood plodding over to Anta and plopping down in his path. If Anta didn't chill out Lavi was going to have to break out the big guns.

"Fjord is No where near as good of a caster as me, and Rook is nowhere near as powerful as you. They shouldn't be winning!" Anta huffed tapping his foot as one hand strayed to pet the massive feline before him. his fingers brushing over the smooth golden fur on Lavi's snout then forehead before tangling with the hair at the base of his mane, 

"They're winning because they work better together," Lavi sighed,leaning into the touch for a moment before headbutting Anta's hip just enough to knock him back a step "Litteraly the only critique we ever get is that we don't communicate well," 

"But we do! We do, we always get what ever need done, done. We've never failed an assignment, We're the better duo, Lavi" Anta took the hint and sat down on the old wood floor, pulling his show jacket off and tossing it up onto one of the tables before lying down,

"I'm not denying that we're better, we are, but… We work well together despite each other. I never know what you're planning before it happens and I just have to roll with it. You don't know what I'm doing, so you just keep pushing power through. It works, but Barely,"  Lavi settled down on top of him with a sigh, careful to make sure he wasn't putting too much weight on Anta, 

"I still think they're cheating," Anta says after a moment, his hands going to braid a section of Lavi's mane. 

"Then look for evidence during the last match. but do you really think Rook would let Fjord cheat?" Lavi closed his eyes again, ready to get a little more nap time in before they had to be on the field.

"Rook can't tell Fjord no anymore than you can tell me no. And I absolutely believe Fjord would cheat," Anta said with the up most conviction.

Round three began with the announcement of the trial, a simple test of connection.

Lavi and Rook would be facing off in a game of capture the flag, completely separated from their casters and unable to hear or see them. Fjord and Anta would however be able to see the entire field and could pass spells to their familiars as needed.

This should be easy, Anta reasoned with himself, he and Lavi were used to this lack of direct communication while Fjord and Rook weren't. They could win this and take the competition. 

The countdown began and Fjord was already starting to try and focus, his spell book open on his lap with one of his own sigils already prepped. 

Anta couldn't say he knew what it did, Fjord's sigils were always such a jumbled mess that trying to parse them out was fools errand. 

The game began with a thunder clap. Lavi didn't wait for Anta, and was already storming through the maze that filled the field. the low shield overtop the whole thing kept Lavi from jumping the hedges, but an admittedly over powered blast of fire sent through him by Anta was more than enough to deal with the lush greenery standing between them and their goal. 

Cloaked in flame Lavi ran on, as Rook began laying the protection wards Fjord was sending his way, before darting down the path that Lavi was coming up. 

Anta grit his teeth as the pool cracked open across the path right before Lavi made the final turn. Unable to stop in time Lavi skidded into the water, firmly putting out the fire. He launched up after Rook, his jaws snapping at thin air as the bird darted out of his grasp and back towards his own flag. 

Anta tried a different approach, Lavi was going to go at this head first like he did everything, and Rook was going to stay on the defensive until the last moment, so a quick invisibility spell cast over Lavi should be more than enough to let him stalk closer. 

One of the wards Fjord had passed through earlier cracked that plan open a second later. Lavi stood from where he had been stalking, a second away from launching up to grab Rook. There was a moment between the two familiars before Lavi shrugged, shaking out his mane before turning and heading back into the maze. 

A new strategy. Anta loaded a ventriloquist spell, if it worked it should fill the maze with duplicated sounds, making it impossible to tell which way Lavi was coming from. Then another spell to silence Lavi's footsteps, and a final one to amplify his speed. Lavi could probably see Rook's flag, this would be more than enough to give him the cover and boost he needed to grab it.

It wasn't. 

Before Lavi had even made it around the corner Rook was laying another trap in his path. 

Anta watched as Lavi was caught up in the snare, his massive body crashing down as his legs were pulled out from under him.

His chest ached with a sympathy pain, but his heart thundered with excitement. There. That was it. There was no Possible way for Rook to have been able to guess with that much certainty which path Lavi would be coming down. Fjord had already used his illusion dispell, and they could both still hear the rumblings of a hundred phantom lions.

Fjord and Rook were cheating, they had to be, some communication relay if Anta had to guess. 

And there was a very easy way to prove it.

Lavi was going to Eat That Stupid Fucking Bird. Screw the flag! This was personal now. First off, the water had been So Uncalled for, what type of fairy dunked their friend like that? and now all the damned snares that kept catching Lavi off guard were driving him Mad. 

Anta was also to blame for this, he needed to chill out on the high power spells, because while Lavi could handle them, channeling all that power was starting to make him feel fuzzy around the edges. He wasn't reacting as fast as he should be and it would only take one good hit to dematerialize him if he had to guess. 

He felt a spell well up in his chest, something burning and offensive that he didn't fully recognize. Whatever, this felt strong. He crouched and watched the air for the black soot stain the was Rook. Anta didn't hand out spells earlier than was 100 percent necessary, so Lavi didn't have to wait long.

As soon as Rook was in sight Lavi lunged as hard and fast as he could, the trigger on the spell was tripped as his fangs clacked together around air, Rook having managed to dodge just out of his grasp.

A blast, of pure hot magic tore out of Lavi, nailing Rook dead on and knocking them both back down to earth with a heady thump from Lavi and a fluttering crash from Rook. 

Lavi stood first, his legs shaky and his vision blurred as a sickness racked him. A deep ache in his very blood that even he could recognize as magic poisoning. Anta had pushed everything he had through Lavi, and if Lavi had been any weaker it wouldn't have just banished him back to the fae relm, it would have killed him.

The realization hit Lavi like a letter alerting a newly made widow to the tragic news, and the competition was forgotten as he sought out Rook.

He was still, a mass of scorched black feathers that shuddered and cracked with too much magic.

Rook would have been banished if it actually was as bad as it looked. Lavi told himslef that as he gently picked up his friend betwen his teeth and ran for the emergency exit he and Rook had been queued into before the match started.

The school's healer was already there, taking Rook from Lavi with steady hands even as Lavi stumbled. The crowd that had been watching murmured as Fjord ran onto the field to follow after the healer as she hurried away. Worry clear on his young face as he demanded to know what was happening. Lavi couldn't hear the answer.

Anta was at his side a moment later, a bruise already starting to darken over his left eye.

"Lavi?" Anta knelt down to look his woozy friend in the eye, "Hey, Lavi?" he sounded so scared, his voice tight as tears welled in his grey eyes,

Lavi didn't have the capacity to answer, instead he just rested his heavy head on Anta's shoulder, leaning into his master as he let himself drift off. 

Lavi woke back in their dorm room, with Anta sat at his desk accross from Lavi's bed. His eyes were red and puffy, his thin face pale and stricken and he poured over text books, 

"Anta?" Lavi asked as he stretched, still woozy but feeling much better than he had imeaditly after the game, "You don't look to hot," 

Anta jolted at the sound of Lavi's voice, turning before throwing himself at the lion, wrapping his thin arms around Lavi's neck and burying his face in the thick hair of his mane. 

"I'm so Sorry," he sobbed, "I- I thought I had proof. but I was wrong and-" 

"Shh, sh, Hey, it's ok, we all make mistakes, Darling,"  Lavi tried to comfort him as best he could, but he never knew what to do when humans cried, "What happened though?" 

"I thought- I thought they were using a communication relay of some kind, and I thought I had proof. So I- I overloaded a spell and told Fjord what I was doing. If they had been using the spell Fjord would have been able to warn Rook, but I was wrong and- Lavi I'm So Fucking Sorry," 

"Is Rook ok?" Lavi asked quietly, Anta shakimg his head and sobbing harder was all Lavi needed for an answer, 

"The Healer said I broke his connection back to his real body, but since his mind was here, when his vessle died He-" 

"Oh," What was there left to say? Rook was gone, not banished temporarily, but dead. Fully and truly, and it was Anta's fault.

Anta sobbed, "I was so scared you weren't going to wake up, I didn't mean to hurt either of you-" 

"I know, Anta," 

Anta never really calmed, but the tears stopped eventually as he threw himself back into his research. Necromancy wasn't Anta's specialty, and Lavi knew that even if it was, there was no other to bring Rook back from. The energy that made up his soul would have been returned to the fey world the moment he died to allow it to dissipate back into their home lands.

Lavi was pretty certain Anta knew how this worked. But it was an admirable show of denial that he still he searched for a solution to his mistake. 

The pounding on the door made them both jump as Fjord's voice cut through the quiet "Anta,  Get Out Here Now,"

Lavi was on his feet before Anta, he already saw where this was going, and he couldn't let it happen.

"Lavi this is a direct command. Lay down in your bed and stay there until I get back," Anta stood like a man going to his execution as Lavi moved to follow his orders without a will driving him, 

The pounding continued.

"Anta, Please, no. Just give him time to calm down," Lavi could feel the panic rising even as he could do nothing about it, "Please just use that big brain of yours to think this through-" 

Anta ignored him as he stepped up to the door, with a final sigh he spoke over his shoulder, "Be good while I'm gone, ok? and thank you, for everything." and with that last statement he left. the door clicking shut behind him as the shouting started. 

Lavi could do nothing as panic turned to grief.

He could do nothing as he felt his connection to Anta sever. 

He could do nothing as he found himself back in his cavernous home. Once again alone.

[whiskey-bumblebee]

Hi I don’t know if u write nsfw if u do can you write about going to the theater with pale and he can’t sit still (obviously) so u gotta calm him down in that way he likes 😉

Squeaky Seats

Oh I do write n s f w, I very much do ;)

Pairing: Pale/Reader

Word Count: ~1400

A/N: smut! I’m gonna try make the consent as strong and clear as humanly possible but there won’t be verbal consent because public sex

Pale’s been excited for weeks, ever since he bought the tickets. They were for one of your favorite ballets, the one you’d dreamed of dancing in when you were little. 

There was something so romantic about it; the costumes, the music, the crystals, the way that everything seemed almost robotic in its perfection.

You’d been working on your makeup for what seemed like forever to Pale, he kept coming into the bathroom and trying to steal kisses, only to have you laugh and swat him away in the hope that he wouldn’t knock one of the many cosmetics off the narrow vanity.

“Alright Pale,” You called from the bathroom. “Time to get into your suit, it’s just about time to go.”

“Does that mean you’re done?”

He poked his head around the bathroom door.

You smiled brightly at him, face glittering in ways he wondered if he could replicate on his own. “Almost.”

“It looks really pretty. Don’t wear panties.”

He winked as he ducked out of the room, leaving you to finish off your lipstick. Laughing to yourself, you chased him out of the room. 

“Pale, wait.”

He groaned as you stepped into the bedroom. “What’s a guy to do when his girl looks this good, huh? I wanna kiss you but I don’t wanna displace anything,” He gestured to his face.

“Just be gentle.”

“Gentle, right,” He chuckled. “C’mere then.”

You smiled and pressed your lips to his, softly. His hand cupped the back of your neck and you could tell he was holding back. You appreciated it.

Slowly, you pulled away. “You gonna help me get into my dress?”

He groaned again. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me look like a beggar, next to you. You want me to pick out a necklace?” 

He pressed his lips to your neck from behind as you shimmied into the black velvet. Tenderly stroking the back of his hand over your back, he fastened the hook and eye before moving to the zip.

“Also, uh. The ballet goes pretty late tonight, and... It’s long, you know? So uh, if I get a little handsy, is that okay?”

He kissed your exposed upper back. You turned around to face him and stroked his cheek.

“Of course. As long as you don’t mind if I suck you off,” You smirked.

He hummed and leaned in to kiss you again. “Baby’s got a dirty mouth tonight, huh?”

You nodded. “But that’s okay?”

He kissed you, less restrained than last time, but still careful. As he pulled away, he nodded. 

“I won the lottery, huh? Pretty, smart, and asks nicely if I wanna have her lips around my cock. I’ll give you the thumbs up, alright?”

You hummed in affirmation. “And I’ll draw yes on your thigh.”

He nodded and hummed to himself as he searched through one of your drawers. “You feeling diamonds or pearls?”

“I’m feeling diamonds,” You smiled as Pale brought you the two options, one draped over each hand. 

“And one of these days I’ll ask ya about a matching ring,” Pale winked.

Pale’s leg bounced to the beat of the music, quick, a fight scene. His seat squeaked lightly with each movement, but he’d treated you to a box, rather than the tiered seats, so you didn’t think anyone could hear it.

It was, however, starting to irritate you a little bit. You could tell Pale was just anxious, thinking of the orchestra and conductor, knowing every coming note and hoping they’d hit them all perfectly.

You leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Pale, sweetheart, are we getting to that point in the show?”

He nodded, nodded again. Searching his eyes, you tried to remind him of the sign you’d agreed on earlier.

His eyebrows lifted in acknowledgement and he rested his fist on his knee, a thumbs up. There was something sexy about the way that he kept his eyes trained on the stage. If anyone were to glance at the box, all they’d see would be a woman admiring her man, and a man admiring the art.

You gently lowered yourself to the floor as Pale unzipped his dress pants. Your mouth started watering as his cock pushed past the fly. 

Cautiously, you gave his hard cock a few strokes, sizing it up and swiping your tongue around your mouth. He was big, there was no getting past that, so the prep was all but mandatory.

You kissed all over his shaft, let him shiver in the red velour seat. Your breath was hot on his cock as he squeezed the armrest. 

“Please,” He whispered. “C’mon, be nice.”

Without any further warning, you took a deep breath and let his cock sink into your throat. His fist flew to his mouth, and you couldn’t help but smile as you saw him pressing his teeth into his hand. His other hand lightly rested on your shoulder, guiding your pace.

You bobbed up and down, alternating your speed and how much of his cock you fit in your mouth. From experience, you knew Pale preferred it if you didn’t use your hands, so you always saw it as a challenge, tried to get all the way to the base without gagging or needing to breathe. 

As your nose neared his stomach, you noticed that he’d shaved most of his hair down there. Your heart beat a little harder, knowing he must have wanted the night to go exactly like this. It was sweet, that he’d done it without a fuss, thinking of your comfort even a day or two in advance.

You moaned softly around his cock, the music much louder than the sound. Pale probably didn’t hear it, but from the way his hips reflexively pressed towards your face, you could tell he’d felt it.

He mouthed an apology and stroked his thumb over your ear. His lips were pressed tightly together as his cock throbbed in your mouth. You guided his hand to your hair and encouraged him to set the pace. You loved the way his cock felt in your mouth, the way it tasted, but your jaw was starting to hurt.

He was still gentle, careful not to thrust too far into the back of your throat, but now that he was in control of the speed, you could tell he was starting to unravel. He tapped the back of your head rapidly, and you made eye contact with him, doing your best to nod without disrupting his erratic rhythm. You knew what that meant, another sign the two of you had agreed on, though this one was much older.

His tap meant he only had a moment or two left before he came, and if you didn’t want him to come down your throat, you should move. Your nod meant you wanted to swallow every bit of his spend. The way you looked, nodding with your lips stretched around his cock sent him over the edge, and his head tipped back, meeting the back of the seat as a choked moan struggled to make its way past his fist.

He was so far down your throat that you couldn’t really taste it, instead you just felt the warmth. You’d never tire of that feeling, knowing he was satisfied. 

Tenderly, he stroked your shoulders as he came down. You eased off his cock and stretched your jaw from side to side. 

You adjusted your dress and hair, then sat back down in your seat.

Pale tucked his cock back into his pants with a soft sigh and leaned over the armrest to whisper in your ear.

“I love you. You’re perfect.”

You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder. He held your hand and brushed his thumb over your knuckles. Somewhat awkwardly, he lifted his hips on one side and pulled something out of his pocket. You squinted in the dark and had to hold back a laugh when you recognized what it was.

Lovingly, you stroked his chest and accepted a mint. He kissed the side of your head and settled his arm around you. Adoration floated freely between the two of you as you watched the rest of the show. 

(pale’s suit, sorry the picture is so enormous lol)

[ericsonclan]

Remembering Faces

Summary: Clementine sees Louis drawing something at the picnic tables and walks over to find the reason behind his actions is a somber one.

Read on A03:

Clementine made her way out to the front yard on her crutches. Willy was in the midst of reworking her prosthetic, so it was back to crutches for the next few days. It was pretty quiet out front. Aasim was on watch. Violet pushed AJ in the tire swing. Omar and Ruby must be working in the greenhouse. And Louis sat at one of the picnic tables, a look of concentration on his face as he sketched on a plain piece of paper. Curious to see what he was up to, Clementine made her way over to him, her crutches swinging lightly as she moved quickly across the lawn. “Looks like your artistic talents go beyond music,”

Louis looked up at the compliment, giving his girlfriend a small smile. “Hey, Clem. Crutches treating you alright?”

“Well enough,” Clementine leaned them against the table before plopping down next to him. “What are you drawing?”

Louis’ arm was covering his work. Reluctantly, he pulled the paper back to reveal a picture of a tall, chestnut-haired boy.

Clementine squinted at it a second before her eyes widened in recognition. “Is that Mitch?”

“Yeah. The best likeness I can get of him anyway,” Louis looked down at the paper in disappointment. “I wanted to capture something on paper, you know, before the memories fade. But I can’t draw him right,”

“I could tell it was him,”

Louis’ shook his head. “That’s not enough. I want to be able to take out this drawing to show someone someday and say, ‘That’s Mitch’. Have all the little details right, like the way he used to smile every time Willy said something stupid or how his hair always used to get into his eyes when he was busy concentrating on something. Stuff like that,” Louis shifted the piece of paper to the side and Clementine saw that there were several underneath it. Those pages held portraits of Brody, Tenn, Marlon and the twins.

Clementine looked over at Louis with concern. She could tell that this was bothering him in a deeper sense than artistic inability. This was his only shot at remembering what his friends looked like. Remembering his family. She laid a hand on top of Louis’, causing him to look over at her. “Would you like me to try too? I’m sure it wouldn’t be perfect, but maybe I can help get some other details right. With practice I’m sure we’ll both get better,”

Louis’ expression softened at her offer. “Thanks. I appreciate it,” He handed her a fresh sheet of paper and the two of them got to work.

After a while, A.J. came over to check on what they were doing. He wanted to join in, so Louis handed him a piece of paper and a box of crayons since he and Clem were using all the pencils. Violet sat next to A.J. and across from Louis, commenting that for all she knew their drawings were perfect, but she couldn’t see shit so she’d never know. She and Louis soon fell into conversation, reminiscing about their fallen friends. Brody, Mitch and Tenn were all spoken of fondly. Marlon and the twins were skirted over, though kind, soft-spoken words were offered toward each of them. Clementine listened in, enjoying seeing their faces light up at the memories and wishing she’d had longer with those they’d lost.

Violet, despite protests on her part, eventually was convinced by Louis to give drawing a try. She hunched over her paper, eyes narrowed in concentration as she tried her best to draw both Minnie and Sophie. A.J. had drawn Tenn and proudly showed the picture to Clem and Louis before a thoughtful expression came across his face and he declared he was going to check on Willy, running off without another word. Clementine considered pursuing him but decided against it. A.J. deserved some space to think. She would bring it up later though, at a time where they could talk alone for as long as needed.

She turned back to Louis who was up to his third sketch of Marlon. His tongue stuck slightly out of his mouth as he was fully engrossed in getting the color right on Marlon’s eyes. Clementine glanced at her own drawings. They were sketchy and ephemeral at best. Her relationships with Marlon and Brody had been so short, barely two days. The memories of them were complex and deep-seated. She’d tried to capture Brody’s kindness and the hope in her eyes when she’d talked about travelling. For Marlon she’d focused on her earlier memories of him, as the open-handed, giving leader of this group of kids. She wanted to draw him as Louis’ best friend, not what he’d become at the very end.

Her relationships with Mitch and Tenn had lasted longer. Both of their deaths still stung despite the myriad of losses she’d experienced. She’d done her best to replicate the bomb Mitch had worked on and how his brows had furrowed in annoyance as he worked so desperately to get it working so he could protect the school. They’d barely just warmed up to each other by the time he was gone. Clementine wished they’d had longer together. And Tenn… his expression still haunted her, the look of shock as he turned back to see A.J. and realized what he’d done before the life drained from his eyes. Had there been another way to save him and Louis, one she simply couldn’t see? Clementine would never know.

Eventually Ruby and Omar finished with dinner prep and everyone was called to eat. The papers and art supplies were tucked away as they ate their nightly stew and continued to reminisce of days gone by. Everyone laughed at stories of Louis’ and Marlon’s escapades and delighted in recalling all the dumbass stunts Mitch had pulled with knives and other makeshift weapons over the years. Ruby got a little teary-eyed remembering some of her favorite times with Brody and Violet spoke softly and fondly of Tenn, Sophie, and occasionally Minnie. The truths of their friends’ final moments and deaths felt so divorced from who they’d been in life. It was good to talk of happier times even though the memories refreshed dulled aches within their hearts.

After dinner Louis tenderly took Clementine’s hand in his own. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her cheek before whispering in her ear. “Do you have time to stop by the music room? There’s something I want to share with you,”

Clementine nodded. Gathering her crutches, she followed Louis whose arms were full of art supplies. They made their way into the admin building, the soft rustle of dead leaves the only sound besides their footsteps in the empty rooms. Louis held the door open for Clementine before moving to put the art supplies away and grab something from one of the shelves. Clementine headed straight for the couch. Sitting down, she watched Louis as he used a chair to reach one of the highest shelves, pulling a small box down then walking over to join her on the couch. Prying off the lid, Louis revealed a series of drawings within, portraits of children and teens Clementine didn’t recognize.

“These were all drawn by Sophie,” Louis picked up one of the drawings, holding it out to Clementine. She took it in her own hands. It was a portrait of a young boy with large, thick-rimmed glasses upon his face. “She drew them throughout the years whenever we lost one of the kids. It was her way of honoring them, keeping a piece of them with of us so we’d always remember them,” Louis tapped on the drawing Clementine held. “That was Dewey. We lost him on the first night that walkers attacked the school. He was in the same room as me and Marlon, in the bunk across from us,” He pulled out another drawing, this one a portrait of a Latina girl who looked to be in her mid-teens. “Therissa was one of the strongest kids back when all this began. She helped figure out how to hunt and would always keep a level head whenever arguments broke out. She got bit while out hunting one day. Mitch had to-” Louis paused, his voice tightening. “He was the last one with her,”

Clementine took Louis’ hand in her own, gently rubbing her thumb along its side. It was sweet to see how much Louis cared but saddening at the same time. He had trauma just like her, pain she couldn’t touch. Silently, she reached into the box, pulling out another picture. A pale, thin boy stared back at her, his eyes issuing a challenge.

“That was Justin,” Louis’ tone grew somber. “He got a bunch of kids killed a few years back when they went way out past the school. Got into a huge fight with Marlon and somehow had the fucking nerve to blame it all on him. Some of the other kids agreed and left with Justin the next morning. We lost seven kids in two days. But Sophie still drew him and all the others that left. She said they should still be remembered in spite of all that,” There was a shuffling sound beside Louis and Clementine realized that he had placed all the portraits they’d drawn today beside him. “I figure if kids like that got a place in here, then Minnie and Marlon deserve one too,” He tucked the papers at the bottom of the stack before placing the lid back on the box.

“I’m glad you have them to remember everyone by,” Clementine murmured.

Louis nodded. “Tenn and Brody cleared out so much of Sophie’s art in the days following her and Minnie’s, well, disappearance. Most of it got buried at their graves. But I figured Sophie would want us to hold onto these. I just wish…” Louis sniffled, the tears he’d been holding back spilling out. “I wish I could draw the rest of them right. To finish Sophie’s work. Give her a portrait just as good as all the ones she made,”

Clementine leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Louis’ waist. She could feel the heat of his tears as he sobbed against her shoulder. Her own eyes prickled with unshed tears. She remembered the wrinkled, worn-out photo she’d carried of Lee for the year and a half after she lost him. How much joy and pain she felt whenever she looked upon it. The wrenching twist in her gut when she realized it had been lost. The fear over the passing years as certain details of him were lost to her, the permanence of his death sinking in more and more.

She carried all those she’d met and lost in those years on the road within her, the good and the bad. It was the same for Louis. Even within the safety of these walls, the Ericson kids had lost so many of their own. And those lives stuck with him just as much, the ghosts of his past, their memories a blessing as well as a burden.

Eventually the tears stopped. Louis continued to rest his head upon her shoulder. She could feel his heart beat against her. The rhythm was comforting. Grounding. Clementine felt her heart aching in a different way. There was a purity to it, the overwhelming love she felt for Louis filling her heart beyond its former limits. “Thank you. For sharing all this with me,”

“Thanks for listening,”

They pulled apart slowly. Clementine swept a hand across Louis’ cheek, brushing away the residual tears. “Ready to sleep?”

“Yeah. Let me just put these back,” Louis stood up, the box within his hands. He tucked it away where it had gone before, safe on the highest shelf. Then he scooted the chair back into place and came back to the couch, offering Clementine his hands.

She took them and came to a shaky balance on her foot, fingers clinging to Louis’ shirt till he had safely positioned the crutches under each arm. They made their way out of the room slowly, taking their time.

“Hey, Clem?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you,”

A happy thrill ran through her at the words. Clementine looked up at Louis, basking in the warmth she saw within his eyes. “I love you too,”

The rest of their walk was silent, grounded in unspoken understanding.

[joiesomer]

who: somer, jeff ( @xjefferxx​ )

where: a resort hotel

when: jan 10

notes/triggers: nsfw, fun times after the question

Jeff was in a dream if you asked him in this moment. He was with the man that held his heart, they were in love and engaged. He was letting Somer sleep as he went to stand by the window with just a blanket over his shoulders. It was very pretty where they were staying. Turning back to the bed, he smiled like a fool to see Somer sleeping as he was.

Maybe Jeff thought Somer was sleeping. The redhead wasn't, though. His eyes were half-lidded, watching Jeff silhouetted by the windows. Nothing was more gorgeous, he thought, than his fiancé, nude, with the lights of the city behind him. Mostly the nude part.

Jeff tilted his head some. He couldn't tell if Somer was still sleeping but he didn't mind if he wasn't. The sheet did little to hide what was all his and the look of him was perfect. "You're perfect, you know? Like a work of art as you lie there."

Drowsily, Somer replied, "You're pretty perfect yourself. All tall and elegant."

Jeff blushed then. "Hmm, so you are awake." Walking back over, he kissed Somer's forehead then his lips as he laid back down with him. Fingers sliding over Somer's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too," Somer whispered. He shifted himself away a bit so he could keep looking at Jeff. He brushed his fingertips through the dark chest hair, enjoying just gentle touches.

Jeff giggled. "Hmm that tickles but I like it." Turning to just look at him more. It was like they were in their own universe as they laid in that bed. "I was thinking, when it gets warmer, I want to take you to our beach house ... "

"I love the beach." Somer looked pensive, and sighed a bit. "I miss going ... we used to go in the summer, but then when we got older we didn't go as much ... "

Jeff took his hand, kissing his knuckles softly. "Hmm well we'll start going then. We'll go a bunch in the summer time."

"Wh-when we get married -- gosh that sounds so weird! -- can it be in the warm?"

Jeff grinned. "It sounds weird and amazing ... yes, of course. We can get married in California or Hawaii, wherever you want, my gingerbread."

"I was thinking season actually." Somer took his hand back so he could keep brushing his hands over Jeff's chest.

"So we get married in the summer?" Jeff smiling as he shivered under Somer's light touch to his skin.

The redhead laughed softly, fingertip drawing down along Jeff's breastbone. "Maybe spring. Just not now in the cold and the snow and the wind."

Jeff giggled. "Spring works too, but I won't lie, listing seasons and all I can think about is you and your brother and your cousins." Resting his forehead to Somer's, his arms wrapped his waist and rolled to have his fiancé lay on him. "There now you can touch and I can hold you."

"Should I have said months instead?" Somer leaned down to kiss Jeff's nose.

Jeff wiggled his nose. "Might be easier, yeah. But I won't lie, I'd love to get married in you ... I mean during summer." He winked. It was a bad joke but he felt the need to make it.

"Jeff!" Somer objected, laughing. "That was awful." He poked his fiancé in the side.

Jeff laughed. "Hey no tickling, meanie." He still laughed then, kissing him soundly on the lips.

"If you are going to commit violence against the English language you will get tickled."

"Yes, mister author." Jeff chuckled, kissing his chin then. "You know what could be a good book? A book about us, our love story."

Somer thought about that. "You think so? It's not very dramatic, really. It's just me being awful to myself. It's not like, oh, Val and Kat. Theirs is a romantic story."

"Hmm I think it's good because it's true. I mean, yeah Val and Kat, their story is something else. It's got a lot of past to it but ours is one of innocence turned into like than love." Jeff running his fingers through Somer's hair then.

The redhead laughed softly. "Innocence? You say that like I've forgotten what our first kiss was like. There wasn't anything about that that was innocent."

"Our first kiss was innocent and amazing. We kissed under a tree and under the stars ... " Jeff wiggling his brow to him. "it was sweet."

"Sweet, yes." Somer smirked at Jeff. "It was not innocent."

"How was it not innocent?" Jeff giving him a confused look as he kissed his nose.

"I seem to remember there being some tongue involved. And being pinned against said tree," Somer said slyly.

"Tongue doesn't mean it wasn't innocent. It was still, we just kissed and made out some. I didn't do that, maybe you pinned me." Jeff smirking as he was now just playing with the other boy.

"I didn't say who was pinned." Somer poked Jeff in the side, smiling. "It was not innocent."

"You gonna fight me on, Rainling?" Jeff chuckled, catching his hand and pulling him close to steal a teasing kiss from his lips.

Somer kissed back, then whispered, "Thought I was."

"Hmm bring it," he whispered back, kissing him again. They were in their little love bubble and Jeff didn't plan to leave it until they had to.

The redhead deliberately squirmed, rubbing himself on Jeff. Softly, with a wicked light in his eyes, he whispered, "No part of you has been innocent regarding me since you told me you didn't bite. Especially not the part I can feel now."

Jeff moaned softly. "Hmm you wanted me the moment we first spoke ... well actually for longer then that, but you know, you pinning me to the tree, I could feel things I just hand to touch." His hand skating down to stroke Somer for a moment.

"Nono," Somer scolded gently, shifting his hips away. "See? Not innocent.

"You're my fiancé now ... I'm allowed to touch." Pulling him back in close, rolling his body against Somer's as he kissed his neck. "You ruined me," he whispered.

Somer scoffed, and again, but melted down against Jeff anyway. "How -- mmmm -- how did I do that?"

"Because you made me think I can have the world and I can because of you. You made me sappy and lovestruck more than ever." He was teasing as he moved back up to kiss his lips.

Between kisses, Somer mumbled, "You've always been sappy. S'bastian said ... do that again, please ..."

"Sebastian is full of it." Jeff doing what he had done before again, this time, sucking along the way to his lips.

"Like a bro-- oooh, fuck, blondie ... " Somer writhed, sliding sideways.

Jeff hummed some. "Shh this is seduction time," he whispered, licking his neck. "Hmm taste as sweet as summer."

"Jeff -- Jeff please -- "

Jeff pulled back, caressing his cheek. "How do you want me, my love?"

Somer licked his lips, looking down into those beloved dark eyes. "Seduce me again," he breathed.

Jeff grinned, rolling Somer onto his back. He started at his jaw, pinning Somer's hands over his head on the bed. Working his lips down his jaw, he started on his neck, nipping and sucking.

Somer gave a low, blissful moan. "Blondie," he breathed. "what you do to me ... " He swore he could feel his blood headed south.

"You do it to me too." Jeff whispered there, kissing down his neck and along his collarbone.

"Not on -- on purpose." Somer moaned again, fingers flexing.

"Hmm so on purpose ... some times." Licking over his nipple and kissing along his defined abs. "Hmm I need to tell you more how good you look naked, cuz damn."

"'m list'n'n'," Somer mumbled, his accent getting thicker.

"You have the build of a god, my own little greek god that I get to cover in kisses and marks from my lips." Jeff mumbling against his hip as he was fully under the sheet now.

Somer kicked the sheet off so he could see the top of Jeff's head, blond strands falling everywhere. "Look." He moaned, then twitched and shivered hard, forgetting what he was going to say.

Jeff pulled up, looking to him. "What am I looking at, my love? At your amazing abs, your beautiful eyes or your sexy cock?"

That made Somer giggle, craning his neck. "That is not a /sexy/ part, Jeff."

"Oh yes it is, it's the sexiest part, I like watching how it twitches when I kiss it." Jeff kissing his hips than the head of his cock.

This giggle was cut off by a moan. "Blondie ... tease."

Jeff licked at the tip, then worked back up, kissing his hips again. He loved to hear him moan and see him squirm like he was.

"Jeff," Somer whimpered. "C'mon ... " He tried to move so Jeff's mouth was back at his cock.

"Oh calling me Jeff now ... does that mean you're needy, my love?" Licking up his cock.

The redhead moaned again, fingers sinking into the pillow before he reached down to pet Jeff's hair. "'m always needing y-you ... "

"I'm always needing you too." Jeff kissing his way back up, grabbing a condom as he kissed him softly. "Do I need to prep you or are you still open?" He whispered against his lips.

Somer kissed him back hard, wrapping his arms around Jeff's neck. "Waiting for you, blondie."

Jeff slipped the condom on, lining up and slowly pushing in with a soft moan. He moved slowly, kissing the parts Somer liked to be kissed as he moved in and out of him.

Somer lost his words, clinging to Jeff and moaning.

Jeff took his time with each thrust into him and back out. It had been more than sex for so long but still, he always felt the need to take his time with each movement.

The slowness of the way Jeff was making love to him made Somer moan continually. It was like he could feel each individual nerve light up. He rocked up into each stroke, fingers clenching in Jeff's hair. "Blondie," he groaned.

Jeff kissed him softly. "Yes, gingerbread," he whispered, finding a bit better of a rhythm for them. He was still taking his time but he was also building their pleasure together. He wanted to bring them both as close as he could to their pure bliss.

Words went away. Somer felt so good, like he could burst into stars at any moment. He didn't want Jeff to break away from kissing him, even for a second. Pulling the blond even closer, he nipped gently at his lip, then kissed him slow and soft.

Jeff gladly kissed him, even moaning when his lip was nibbled as it was. He grinned a bit, kissing him back just as deep and letting himself melt into him more. His hips shifting to rub past his prostate, wanting to give him more pleasure.

It was always the same with Jeff -- Somer became so absorbed in the trading of pleasure, in the way the blond's mouth tasted and the way his hands felt. And then his orgasm surprised him, and he plastered himself against Jeff, muffling whimpers against his shoulder.

Jeff always seemed to be right there with him when he felt Somer cum. He did as well, holding him close and just kissing him or his skin as he did. He'd moan the other boy's name as well, just wanting to hold him ever so close.

Feeling Jeff come, Somer relaxed, melting limply into his fiancé's arms. "Love you," he whispered, with a loopy smile, "love you."

[calucadu]

Another hole in the wall

I'm so happy to have done this in collaboration with the lovely @anakitoart! ❤

Check her incredible drawing out here! You should also consider following her on Tumblr, her art Tumblr and Twitter! She's such a sweetie!!

Another hole in the wall, a Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia One Shot.

Summary: Bakugou’s never tried a glory hole before, until now.

Pairings: Bakugou/Kirishima.

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou

Rating: Explicit

Read on AO3

Or read below the cut

Bakugou’s never done this before. Sure, he’s done other things, and they’ve all been a lot of fun, but this is him stepping out of his comfort zone. He impatiently taps his fingers over the dark screen of his phone, hoping to master the courage to do it. With a sigh, he tries to reason with himself. It’s not too different from all the other stuff he’s done. It really isn’t. 

It should be easier than it seems. He doesn’t even have to add a profile picture, and even if he wanted to, they aren’t allowed to show their face. So, it’s one less thing. But Bakugou likes his face. He thinks the sharp lines of his jaw and other features are what make him handsome. It certainly isn’t his personality what gets him laid, and he knows that. He’s not particularly good with words, or people. And it had never really mattered that much to him until he realised he was alone and that that’s how he was going to die if he didn’t at least make an effort.

So he’s gone down this rabbit hole of trying to meet new people through the internet. It’s harder not only because of his difficult personality, but because he’s looking for one person in particular.

It had been years ago, and Bakugou still can’t shake the memories of how happy that person had made him. He’d been shaped by him, all his preferences in men and in sex, they were all thanks to that boy he’d met. His first kiss, his first sexual encounter. His first beer under the stars, holding hands and groping under clothes. It had been the best time of his life.

He’d tried to find him again, but he couldn’t remember his name and he could barely remember his face. He’d discarded that useless information at the beginning, not knowing it was going to be crucial for him later on. He’d never been good with names, he hadn’t bothered trying to get close to people. That’s why that boy was special. He didn’t care about all those things, he just saw Bakugou as Bakugou, and liked him for who he was. And when the blond realised what he felt was love, it was too late. The boy was gone; they were far away from each other again.

And it was all Bakugou’s fault.

He searches for him wherever he goes, without noticing. Every smile that flashes makes him think of his; every person with red hair makes him do a double take. He doesn’t remember much else about the boy, except that he did have a pretty little scar over one eye, and the sharpest teeth Bakugou’s ever seen.

He’s tried to forget him, but the memory of him never fades. He’s tried everything to get over him, from alcohol to other people to bed, but nothing has worked.

When everything else failed, he tried looking for him online, but without a name it’s hard to get a result on the internet. 

Bakugou’s almost given up. He wants to try other people until the taste of his first love leaves him forever. And he’s doing great on that front… except that he’s stood up six dates in the last month. He agreed to go out with them, but then he remembered they’re not him and he erased the app and bit the pillow to stop himself from screaming as tears rolled down his cheeks, a deep hatred for himself and his feelings in his chest.

This time he swears it’s different. There’s no face to face, it’s just sex. He can do sex. He can’t do dates or talking to people but taking his clothes off and letting others use him, that he actually enjoys.

But he’s still finding it hard to set up a profile. Maybe he’s afraid he’s going to do like he always does, and ditch another poor fellow that doesn’t deserve it. He tries to reason with himself that it’ll be fun and new. When that doesn’t work, he convinces himself to open the app by telling himself it’ll end in sex, and sex is a good motivator. 

It’s called ‘The Glory Hole App’. Bakugou’s never tried a glory hole before, but he has watched a lot of porn about it. It’s always been something he wanted to try, something he’d always click on when he saw the thumbnail. Plus he likes the idea of anonymous sex. He wants to be abused by a faceless stranger. That way he can picture it’s his first love fucking him into the mattress and when he opens his eyes he doesn’t have to be disappointed to not see it’s someone else. 

That’s why this app might be the thing for him.

He’s already downloaded the app and everything. He just has to click on it and set the profile up and look for someone who’d be keen to fuck him stupid. It shows you people in the same district as you and you can speak to them and arrange dates in the various different glory holes the country has.

When he finally manages to master up the courage to open the app, he’s a bit confused as to how it works. There are too many menus and options and pop-ups flashing up. It wants Bakugou to start setting up a profile so he does. He opts for a photo he took the other day to use as his profile pic. It doesn’t show his face but it’s him biting his shirt to pull it up enough to expose his abs and stomach. The viewer can also see his bed to one side, so it’s sort of inviting people in like that.

He lists his interests and ticks the right boxes, asking to only be paired up with men, and preferably tops. Immediately a notification with a few suggested people for him pops up, and he clicks on it, going over a large amount of penises he doesn’t think are tremendously impressive. Some of them have photos like his, exposed stomach and sculpted abs. One does catch his eye, however, and he decides to go to his gallery and look at more of his pictures. 

The profile belongs to RedRiot, and by what Bakugou can see of the man, he’s very hot. ‘Likes: meat, tough guys and making you whimper 😉’ His description reads. Suppressing a snort, the blond decides to message him: ‘Hmm I doubt you’re really are up to par with that description of yours.’

He feels a bit giddy after hitting the enter button. He’s never felt like this while on the other dating apps, but then again, this one is different. 

He really wants to be answered by this man, but a few minutes later he still hasn’t received a response. Feeling dejected, Bakugou drops his phone on his bed and starts doing the dishes he left soaking that morning.

An hour later he decides to pick his mobile up again, and he’s pleasantly surprised to see RedRiot’s answered him.

‘I really do like making guys like you whimper 😏’ The first message says. The next one, which pops up the moment Bakugou opens the chat reads: ‘Especially guys like you, who think they’re tough.’

“Fuck, who is this dude?” The blond laughs, licking his lower lip. “Who does he think he’s messing with?”

‘Like you could make me whimper.’ He texts back, proud of himself. A bubble with the word ‘writing’ appears next to RedRiot’s name and Bakugou’s tummy does a leap. A second later a little chirp forces his eyes to read the other’s message: ‘Why don’t we meet up so we can find out?’

‘Bold move’, Bakugou thinks, smirking as he quickly texts him back: ‘Tell me when.’

‘Whenever you’re free, baby. There’s one close to the station, if that works for you.’

Bakugou scoffs. ‘Friday afternoon?’

‘Working, could it be night?’

‘You’re on, big guy. You better not disappoint.’

Waiting until Friday is agonising. He continues to text RedRiot during the week, finding out things about the man. He learns that he’s a firefighter and that he has two big dogs named Red and Riot. He’s a fan of Crimson Riot, a TV series that was on when they were both kids. Getting to know him makes it feel less nervous. It’s not so much like he’s going to let a stranger fuck him, just a faceless acquaintance. An acquaintance that he’d actually like to meet.

As their date comes closer, they both sound more and more excited to meet each other and most of the blond’s worries dissipate.

‘I reserved booth #3, hope to see you ready 😉’ Bakugou wakes up on Friday morning to RedRiot’s message and he smirks, feeling his insides warm up.

Throughout the day the blond is nervous, finding himself making stupid mistakes he wouldn’t normally make. Sighing, he tries to concentrate, knowing fully well it’s just how nervous he is at the prospect of being fucked by a hot – and incredibly cute – man.

After dinner, he goes to his room to prepare himself for his big night. He’s giddy, biting his lips and trying to fight off an aroused smirk. Tracing a finger over the bottle of lube, he takes his trousers off and lies on his bed, ready to play with himself. He hopes the small pumps he gives his eager dick help relieve himself from the stress and nervousness of his blind date later that night. 

Inhaling a deep breath, he throws his head back and closes his eyes, letting his left hand roam down to his arse. Giving a cheek a light squeeze that excites him, he proceeds to circle his rim with the digit. Groaning, he thrusts his hips up, trying to reach a rhythm he’s comfortable with as he teases himself with one hand while he fists his dick with the other.

He turns around to raise his bottom up, pressing his face against the pillow. Coating his finger in a considerable amount of lube, he inserts it inside of himself, suppressing a whimper by biting on the soft cushion.

Sparks of pleasure make his body tingle and he bites on the padding harder, closing his eyes and rutting against air, trying to feel the friction against his dick more. Feeling his toes curl, he quickly releases his leaking cock, knowing he only needs to tease himself, not cum over and over before the hunky stranger gets a chance to play with him.

He takes his time to prep himself well. He spends over half an hour stretching himself open, playing with his fingers and edging himself on as he looks at the pictures of his… well, he supposes it’s his date. He’s never been this excited about a date before, or about sex. He coats his hole in lube some more before putting a cute studded plug inside of himself. He then quickly gets dressed and ready, without worrying too much about his clothes and appearance since he’s not going to be seen by the other.

The ride to the place is nerve-wrecking. His stomach seems like it’s doing somersaults and he can’t stop his foot from tapping the floor impatiently. Bakugou keeps getting his phone out of his pocket to check the time and the place and also the app, to see if he has new messages from the stranger. He’s scared he’s going to get dumped or cancelled on. But the last message he received stays the same, and it’s RedRiot telling him how eager he is to wreck him. Looking at it makes him smile and blush, which he responds to by clicking his tongue.

He eventually gets to his stop and he steps off the train, looking around to see if he can see the place. He knows it won’t be publicly announced or anything, but maybe he can spot an indicator or something. 

Since he’s lost he just uses his phone’s GPS to take him there. He reaches a pretty shady looking place, but the sign over it clearly says ‘Another Hole in the Wall.’ From the outside it looks like a bar, but there are numerous warnings over the tinted glass on the doors that only people over 18 can enter.

Once inside, he walks over to the counter where a bored man is playing on his phone. He barely looks up at Bakugou when the blond clears his throat and asks about his booth reservation.

He finally puts his mobile down and he turns to the computer. The sound of his mouse clicking is the only thing that can be heard until he starts speaking again. “Did you use the app to make an appointment?”

“Yeah.”

“Screen name, please.”

“King of Explodokills. Every word separated with an underscore.”

“Hmmm,” the man tries to stifle a snort. After a few more clicking sounds. “Is your partner RedRiot?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you the one receiving or giving?” 

“Receiving.” Bakugou mutters, his eyes narrowing as he goes along with the other man’s choice of words. His gaze falls on the floor and he feels warmth in his cheeks.

“Have you ever done this before?” The man asks as he gets out of his chair and grabs a set of keys. 

“No.” Bakugou answers, trying to appear calm. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and his palms are sweating, but he tries to hide this by wiping them discreetly against his trousers.

“Okay then, let’s go.”

Bakugou is led through a large corridor until they reach booth #3. He’s not only scared; he’s also excited. It’s something new and exhilarating, but not necessarily bad. He’ll see how he feels about it after getting fucked by the anonymous stranger.

The man smiles politely at him as he opens the door, turning the light on. He lets the blond enter first, and he’s faced with a table with black padding for him to lie on and a hole with flaps. The room is tiny and white , but the neon lighting it has makes it look violet and sky blue.

“I’ll explain how this goes. You lie down on this table and fit half your body through the hole. I’ll strap your legs in on the other side.”

“Okay.” The blond responds. It sounds easy enough.

“There’s a button under the table.” He crouches and shows it to Bakugou “It’s to call for help, whether you’re stuck, in pain, or being mistreated. Press it if you need to and someone will come to aid you.”

“Thanks.” He grunts, taking his shirt off.

“That’s all! Have fun!” The man waves goodbye as he open and closes the door, leaving Bakugou alone to his doom.

The blond’s not sure he will. His heart is thumping heavily inside of his chest as he undresses. He’s apprehensive and nervous, but he swallows hard and finally gets his underwear off. He sits on the padding, debating whether or not to take the plug out. He opts to leave it in and he lies down, shifting his body down slowly and inserting his legs through the hole. The flaps tickle his skin as they move along it and Bakugou lifts them up over his groin just as they go over his dick to protect it. 

He’s finally feeling comfortable as he lies on the padding when suddenly he hears the door open and a familiar voice attracts his attention. “Hey, it’s me again.” The man from before says. “I’m going to strap you in, don’t freak out.”

He grabs Bakugou’s left leg and lifts it up. The blond feels cool leather being bound to his ankle. “Your partner’s at the door. He looks pretty excited. I told him you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I did not!” He snarls back, his fists automatically clenching against the table.

“Sure.” He hoists up the other leg and straps him in. He tugs at his lower limbs to make sure they’re properly secured and then he claps his hands together. “Well, you’re all set here. I’ll get him to come in, then.”

Bakugou’s heart starts beating heavily again. He breathes in through his mouth to calm himself down, but it doesn’t seem to work. He’s bubbling with the need for something – he doesn’t know what – but he desperately wants to satisfy it.

He tries to relax and close his eyes, letting his head rest against the comfortable padding. He opens them again and looks at the ceiling as he waits, trying to find a pattern in the dirt stains on the white wall. He thinks about all the other people that have been there, just where he is right now, waiting or being fucked into the table, and that sort of makes him feel a little bit more at ease.

Suddenly he hears the door click open and he automatically tries to see who it is. He can’t, of course, since there’s a wall separating them. He did it on instinct since he feels very much vulnerable.

“Fuck that’s a nice arse.” A silky and smooth voice mutters. “Can’t wait to make a mess out of you.”

The blond’s first thought is ‘fuck, he sounds hot!’ as he tries to imagine what he looks like. He’s not very imaginative, though; he can’t even think of a face. A low chuckle forces him to concentrate on the man on the other side of the wall again. He hears a belt being unbuckled and his tummy contracts in excitement. Breathing irregularly and with his heart beating fast, he squirms impatiently in his seat.

“Oh, and you left the butt plug in, that’s a nice touch. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to remove this.”

“Yeah.” Bakugou whispers, his voice husky, tainted with lust. He nods as he says it, a small smile creeping up his face due to his excitement. 

“You sound eager.” The man chuckles, and the blond feels warm hands against his cheeks. He nearly screams as nails drag over his skin. Instead he squirms against his restraints, the leather shackles rattling as his legs shake in them.

“Fuck, just seeing you like this makes me hard. And, oh, look at you! You really are keen!” The deep voice mutters, sounding aroused. The man presses a finger on the head of his dick, then quickly letting it go to watch it bounce up and down in its half-mast stage. Breathing through his nose, Bakugou clenches his teeth and waits for the stranger to fondle him in any way. It’s almost painful when the man’s fist circles his cock. 

Gasping, the blond opens his eyes wide, a nice warm tingly sensation spreading from his groin to his heart. He spasms uncontrollably as the stranger plays with his cock and balls, one hand stroking his shaft from base to head and the other fondling his scrotum tenderly. A groan gets caught in his throat and Bakugou contracts his body in pleasure.

The blond feels himself grow as he’s teased. The stranger’s hands are like magic and he flutters his eyes closed, letting a deep sigh leave his mouth. The hand on his balls stops moving in a circular motion and leaves his body altogether. Bakugou’s pissed off about this, and he’s about to retort with a snarky comment when the man starts pumping his dick harder, making the other completely unable of using his mouth.

The stranger’s fingertips ghost over Bakugou’s rim and the blond almost bucks his hips against the table. They haven’t even started yet, why is he so excited and impatient?

The next thing he feels is the butt plug being slowly pulled out of his hole. He breathes in deeply as he fights the need to whimper. He clenches his teeth and tries to fight his legs shaking when the other man gropes at his exposed skin. The plug finally comes out with a sloppy plopping sound that resonates in his ears. 

“Fuck, I want to be in you so bad…” The stranger mutters huskily, inserting one of his warm fingers inside of Bakugou’s lubed up hole. The blond inhales sharply, trying to arch his back against the table and the restraints, but finding it impossible to.

He hears a low chuckle behind him. “Why won’t you talk? I wanna hear your sweet voice.”

“Shut up and just fuck me already!” Bakugou snarls, trying to push his arse back against the hand.

The man howls in laughter. “Eager little thing you are, aren’t ya! I like it.”

But this time he takes the blond’s advice and shoves another finger in, twisting them upwards and bending them slightly.

“You did a good job.” The other purrs, moving his digits agilely. It nearly forces a moan out of Bakugou. “You stretched yourself out pretty well.”

The blond wants to snarl at him, but he can only muster up a small grunt as he feels the fingers spreading him apart. He closes his eyes and inhales sharply, a warm feeling travelling through his body.

“Oh, do you like this?” The man whispers, trying to insert another. This third digit squeezes in and makes Bakugou’s hole burn with want.

“You fucking arsehole!” The blond pants, struggling to inch his behind forward, trying to get the other to touch him more, like he needs, desperately.

“You really do have such a lovely arse.” The other mutters, ignoring him completely. He slowly takes his fingers out and Bakugou makes a strange noise, like an abandoned puppy. He aches to have those thick digits inside him again, spreading him further and igniting the fire of desire that he craves.

But the other man has decided he wants to play with him, and he trails his hands over his soft cheeks, humming to himself. It’s a song the blond thinks he recognises, but whatever part of his brain that was concentrating on remembering where he’d heard it before stops working when the stranger slaps him with his open palm.

Bakugou’s breath hitches in his throat and he throws his head back, a loud thumping noise resonating in the small room he’s in as it collides against the table. Tears spring to his eyes but he closes them to not let them wander down his cheeks. It’s not pain, it’s the desire to feel the other man, to taste him, to be wrecked by him.

He hears fumbling on the other side of the hole and then he’s smacked again. His cock bobs up and down, rocked by the spanking. Then another and another, and the blond has to close his eyes tightly and clench his teeth so the little noises begging to come out of him don’t betray him.

“Let your voice out already~!” The man whispers, his palm ghosting over Bakugou’s cheek. The blond’s breath hitches again because he can feel the warmth emanating from the other’s hand and it feels like the anticipation is going to kill him. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

His voice sounds so raw, so animalistic that it makes Bakugou’s dick even harder. He likes how dominant he’s being with him. 

The man lowers his hand and rests it against the blond’s arse, giving the cheek a soft squeeze before it quickly disappears again. Surprised, Bakugou opens his eyes wide and lets out a little gasp. A few seconds later, he feels the palm slapping him with much more force than before and he thrusts his hips up, squirming against the restraints.

“Don’t pull too hard,” the voice on the other side chuckles “or you might just set yourself free by accident.”

“Not gonna happen.” Bakugou grunts.

“Mmhmm.” Is the only response he gets before he stops feeling the other’s hands on his skin. His tummy quivers in excitement, but a part of him is terrified, thinking he’s scared the stranger off.

Not even a few seconds later, he hears a weight drop. He feels breath against his lubed up rim, and a wet warmth crawls up his left arse cheek. A shiver goes down his spine and his toes curl in unexpected pleasure.

The mouth stops its adventure, pausing before it takes a large bite of Bakugou’s skin. The blond squeaks uncharacteristically, his hands balling into fists and hitting the table beneath him.

“Oh.” The stranger mutters, pulling his mouth and sharp teeth away from him. “That was interesting.”

“Fu-fucker!” Bakugou pants, closing his eyes in defeat. “Fuck you!”

“You’ve got a wide vocabulary.” The man chuckles, his voice lacking the sarcastic tone it should’ve had. He clears his throat. “Anyway, I should be the one fucking you.”

He pauses for a second before going in for a second bite. 

“I swear I’ll-!” 

“It’s just so much fun to play with you.” The stranger mutters, using one finger to trace Bakugou’s rim while his other hand gives a prompt slap to the possibly already bruised cheek. 

Inserting his digit into the blond, he sinks his teeth into the other cheek, a bit harder this time.

“I drew blood.” He whispers, pulling away. “I’m sorry.”

Bakugou considers biting his tongue, but he huffs, letting his head roll on the table. “If you’re going to be doing it, do it properly.” He mutters, bashful.

“What? I’m sorry dude, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said,” Bakugou raises his voice, frowning as he forces himself to speak. “Don’t fucking apologise for marking me or whatever. I can take a little blood. Fuck… I kinda like it.”

“Oh!” He hears, followed by a small chuckle. “I see.”

The stranger bites closer to the taint, an area that is strangely even more sensitive for the restrained blond. His breath gets caught in his throat and saliva pools in his mouth. “Mmm!”

“Yeah, that’s more like it!” The other cheers, quickly removing the finger. Bakugou feels empty as the warm digit vanishes, but the sudden change in the stranger’s voice makes his tummy leap. “Are you ready?”

‘I’ve never been readier.’ He thinks to himself, feeling the stranger’s impressive girth fill him up. He’s not only big, but also thick, and it’s not an easy fit. He trembles as he hears the man groan, in either pleasure or exertion, but the sound is like music to his ears.

The blond draws in a long breath, clenching his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly.

“Mmmm, you’re tight. It feels good.” The man hums, and Bakugou couldn’t agree more. It feels like home.

The stranger doesn’t begin to move until he’s fully inside of him, his balls pressed against the back of Bakugou’s arse, but when he starts it draws out a long moan from the blond. He sets up a brutal pace, forcing the other to grab onto the table to secure himself.

The sweet gasps that spill from the stranger’s mouth make Bakugou’s stomach twist deliciously. He loves all the sounds the man inside him is making, from his grunts to his moans and he tries to fuck himself on his dick just to elicit more pleased noises from him.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” He whispers huskily, giving an especially hard thrust upwards. “Yeah, work those hips for me. Want me to cum inside you?”

The thought makes Bakugou whimper, and suddenly the man stops.

“What was that sound?” The stranger seems beyond pleased with himself, almost cocky. 

“N-nothing.” Bakugou sounds hoarse when he speaks. He clears his throat before talking. “Hurry up, then, fuck me already.”

“Only if I get to hear that pleasant sound again. Will you whimper for me, baby?”

Now, the way this man says that last word almost makes the blond cum. It sounds so delicious and confident, yet caring and dominant. Bakugou wouldn’t mind hearing those words from that voice for the rest of his life.

“Make me!” He manages to retort, his voice gruff and strained. 

The stranger chuckles behind him. “Gladly!” Not a second later, the thrusting begins again, harder and faster than before. Bakugou is being pounded into the table, and he loves it. 

He honestly hadn’t expected to enjoy it this much.

The stranger angles his thrusts upwards and Bakugou throws his head back, groaning open mouthed as the man hits his sweet spot over and over with increased force. He mewls and whimpers, incoherently babbling about how good it feels. His mind is foggy, and his mouth is dry, his arms shaking as he takes the brunt of the thrusts. He tries to think of the boy he met all those years ago, feeling himself bordering an orgasm. He’s not quite there yet, he just needs a little push.

“Touch me!” Bakugou pleads, his legs shaking in their constraints as he tries to kick his way out. 

“I can’t hear you!” The stranger sing-songs teasingly.

“I said fucking touch me already!” The blond snarls, sweat dripping down his forehead. “It’s agonising!”

A low growl comes from the other side of the wall and Bakugou’s tummy leaps in excitement. It’s followed by his own groan as he feels a hand falling to his forgotten dick, fingers wrapping tightly around it. A small yelp escapes him as the man combines a hard thrust with a quick wrist movement and the blond’s seeing stars, his good spot having been hit. 

He’s mewling and whimpering with each slow movement the other makes. The stranger is purposely dragging out each thrust, gyrating his hips and angling them, aiming to make Bakugou cry. He’s doing a good job – the blond feels tears threatening to sprout from his eyes. There’s force behind each advance, which makes up for how slow he’s being with his plunges.

Bakugou aches with the need for release. He desperately paws at his bare chest, wishing to somehow alleviate the desire he feels. It’s not enough and he groans in agony, digging his nails into his skin to have something to grab onto as he feels a strong climax approaching.  Sparks ignite in his vision and the blond mewls, his hips rutting against the table, trying to increase the speed of his dick fucking his fist.  

The stranger is relentless with his force and his thrusts, and Bakugou quickly finds himself nearing his peak, moans and whimpers unconsciously escaping from his mouth as tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

“Cum for me baby.” The stranger nearly shouts. His voice feels so close yet so far away and the blond has never longed to be facing anyone more in his life. Honestly, he just wants to be grabbed, held in place as he’s brutally pounded into oblivion. He wants his mouth on his, the other's hands to cup his face so that they can look into each other’s eyes. It feels like their souls are connected like this, that they’ve known each other for centuries. He can feel everything this man has to offer just by his thrusts alone. He doesn’t know what he looks like but he doesn’t care because this stranger is making him feel everything the boy he loves made him feel and Bakugou bursts into screams as he climaxes, tears in his eyes.

He gets lost in the pleasure and in the high just as the memories of his love invade his brain, igniting his soul as he lets his release take him away. He’s vaguely aware of the other man groaning, his voice slowly sounding higher before it peaks in a final drawn out moan, his dick growing slightly thicker before exploding inside of him.

Bakugou hears a thumping noise, which he presumes is the stranger's body slumping against the wall. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the table, feeling spent. His breathing slowly becomes more regular. He moves his fingers, as if to feel them again. 

He hears a low muffled voice, but doesn't understand what the man's saying. 

There’s semen all over his stomach and his feet feel weird, like detached from his body. He’s not sure he can move, even if he loosened the restraints.

“Are you okay?” the man whispers, his voice soft and obviously worried. “Can I get you anything?”

“I…” Bakugou tries to catch his breath, scrambling to get up. His hands slip on the top full of his sweat and he curses lightly. “I’ve never been better.”

“Told you I could get you to whimper.” The stranger chuckles, but it sounds forced. After a slight pause, he asks: “Want me to unshackle you?”

Closing his eyes and smiling softly, he nods. “Yeah.”

The stranger undoes one leg, grabbing it tenderly and guiding it towards the padded table, so it can rest comfortably. He does the same with the other and Bakugou sighs, relieved. It feels good to stretch them again after being in that forced position for so long. He’s dying to get into a sitting position, but he feels like he can’t and he decides not to push his body.

“Want me to clean you…?”

“Nah, I’ll do that at home. You’re not going to do a good job here anyways.”

“I… your butt plug. Do you want me to put it in?”

“Could you?” Bakugou asks, his voice merely a whisper. 

“I’m sorry for coming inside you.” The stranger coos lovingly. His voice is gentle and warm, like he's trying to sound soothing. The blond feels a finger carefully prodding at his hole before the now cold butt plug's pushed inside of him. It sends a shiver down his still tingly spine. 

“It’s okay.”

“I… I should leave. I hope you enjoyed it. I know I sure did.”

‘It was amazing.’ The blond wants to stay, but instead just swallows hard. He hears fumbling on the other side of the hole and then footsteps. The door opens and closes and Bakugou finally hears nothing, except the loud sound of his heartbeat.

“Yeah.” He whispers to himself, seating himself on the slightly damp table. “It was unbelievably good.”

Slowly, he takes his legs out of the hole, wincing slightly at how stiff they are. He bends them over the table just to get them to move a bit before throwing his head back and sighing. Laughing, he lets the stress dissipate from his body. He’s so glad he went through with this and let that man wreck him. His body is sore but he hasn’t felt this good or happy in years. He smiles, looking at the now dark room on the other side of the hole, and suddenly, it clicks.

The song.

A memory of that night under the stars, a beer in between his thighs, where he put it to rest before leaning in to kiss the only person he’s ever loved.

The voice.

His voice.

Bakugou opens his eyes wide, a gasp escaping his parted lips. Frantically, he gets off of the table, only to fall onto the floor immediately. Swearing and snarling, he gets up, his legs still wobbly and weak from his orgasm.

He manages to push his body towards his clothes and he puts them on as fast as he can. As soon as he’s dressed, he grabs his phone and opens the app, clicking on the ‘recent chat’ button, but there’s nothing there.

 He’s gone.

[sammyhale]

J2 JIBCon 2017 Panel

*Warning for s13 spoilers

J2 were stuck on a plane (Jared: a car then a plane. Jensen: then a train...*boys laugh* there wasn’t a train) so they weren’t able to watch the finale. 

Boys ask what the fans thought of the finale. A fan yells out that episode 22 was awesome. Jared: “Guys, it’s Supernatural, people can come back.” 

A fan yells out about Cas. Jensen: Cas? Who?

Jensen: Who all died? Let’s list them. Cas, Crowley, Rowena, Kelly, Ketch. Jared is running out of fingers. Jensen: It was like the Red Wedding! “Little Game of Thrones reference for you guys.” 

Jared starts playing with the holes in Jensen’s pants on his knees. Jensen: Don’t touch the hole in my knees! Jared laughs saying that Jensen only saw the back of the pants and didn’t realize the holes were there. Jensen laughs and says he really didn’t know. Just saw black pants in his size and grabbed them without inspecting. “I paid for this...” Only realized when he put them on. Jared keeps playing with them lol. 

J2 talk about a Supernatural movie. Jared asks Jensen if he wants to do a movie. Jensen says he would rather do a shortened season. Like a “six episode release.” Jared starts giggling at “release” (quickly turns dirty) hiding his face. Jensen: Leave it alone. Leave it alone. That’s low hanging fruit. Just walk away. 

Jared would also rather do a shortened TV season rather than a movie. 

Jensen said that one of their produces had an idea where the brothers wake up in a different place than they’re familiar with (AU) and all of the people in the town are old cast members or old characters but “weird” like not who they were on the show. Like the Trickster is the mayor, etc. 

Jared says there are times when he wishes they can delve into something for more than one episode. He likes the idea of doing a shortened season like Jensen said because they could have one arc, a specific location or city, etc, that the boys could delve into specifically for a few episodes and being focused on one thing for a long time during the shorter season. 

Jensen: And this is why we don’t write the show. Jared laughs. 

Jared plays with his mic for a few seconds after it makes a loud noise.

Jensen, repeating a fan’s question: What TV shows would you like to see Sam and Dean thrust into *boys giggle*

The question was what show would they liked the boys to be in if there was another episode like Changing Channels? Jared says The Simpsons, then brings up the crossover Supernatural is doing with Jared: Scooby-Doo. He says they already recorded the dialogue for it (it takes time to draw the animation). Episode 16 of next season is the Scooby-Doo ep. Jared: Jensen, Misha and I...Crowd reacts at hearing MIsha’s name. Jensen realizes, covers his face. Jared blushes after Jensen smiles at him and Jared realizes that he just spoiled that and hides his face for a long time lol. 

Jensen quickly says: He’s just an animated character. There’s other characters in the animated ep, too, that don’t exist anymore. Jensen to Jared: BOOM! You’re welcome *slaps Jared’s shoulder*

Jared says it’s the only ep they’ve seen so far so, in all fairness lol. 

Jensen joking: It was cool that Jeffrey Dean came back. Jared: Ruby. Jensen: Ruby - “it’s a who’s who.” In sync the boys mime like they’re digging holes with shovels lol. 

(Side note and spoilers: For those worried Jared might get in trouble about letting Castiel’s return slip, it doesn’t seem like they were going to try and hide that all hiatus, because during Misha’s panel a fan tweeted: “Misha seems to think we should be focusing on how Cas’ death will affect him when he returns rather than worry he won’t come back” so he was talking about it, too. Source: x). 

While a fan asks a question, Jared opens up one of the drinks and sniffs it, then walks it over to Jensen so he can sniff it. 

Fan from last year who beat Jensen at rock paper scissors wants to do a rematch. She comes onstage and Jared referees the match like last time. They go 2 out of 3. Jensen wins the first, fan wins the second. For the 3 Jared steps in between so Jensen and the fan can’t see each other. Fan beats Jensen again! Jensen: Dammit! Jared jokes: She was looking at the screen, she totally changed it. Jensen: Next year!

Fan wants to hear story about when J2 were mistaken for a couple years ago at the airport hotel. Jared explains that this was years ago and they were shooting late in Vancouver and they had to get up super early to fly to Los Angeles to do something there. They decided since they had filmed until like 4 or 5am they would just go straight to the airport. Airport wasn’t checking people in yet. Said the Fairmont that is connected to the airport is open so they go to get a room. Since this was back in the days of film and not digital, they had heavy makeup on from set that they were still wearing. They decided to grab one room, asked the person at the desk if they do rooms by the hour. Jared says Supernatural hadn’t aired yet, wasn’t sure if the guy knew him from Gilmore Girls and Jensen from Smallville or if he knew them at all. Said that “we just need a room for a couple hours.” Guy was like, “We don’t do that here.” So they just asked for their smallest room and the guy gave them a look like, “Okay.” J2 finally realized by the guy’s reaction that they thought J2 just wanted one bed and were together. They were like no, we just need a couple hours of sleep, we play brothers on a show, just going to do some acting. Jensen laughs.

Jensen: “I just love the guy at the front desk then immediately picked up the phone and was like, ‘Uh yeah that guy from Smallville and the guy from Gilmore Girls just showed up in like quarter drag and got a room together. Okay, TV Guide, thanks.” Jared cracks up. 

Fan gives a shout out to ep 22 loving Sam’s leadership and Dean’s emotional honesty. Jensen: Oh yeah, Dean’s crying again. 

Fan asks about the Mockumentary. J2 say they are not classic Hollywood types. They moved their families out of Hollywood and out of California in general.

Jared playing with Jensen’s holy jeans again. 

The Mockumentary was them making fun of Hollywood types and stereotypes of themselves. They both love satire. The characters derive from stories they hear about other sets, other actors and some of the antics are pretty outrages so they were making fun of that. 

J2 horse around on set and have way too much fun. They would rather do that than walk around on eggshells like some other actors or crew members have to do on “toxic” sets they hear about from other people. Used a bit of that to add to those fake characters in the Mockumentary. Complete opposites of who we are. 

How do you keep fighting? Jared says it changes day to day sometimes. You can be inspired by song, rainbow, piece of art, friend, spouse, child parent, etc. Jared says that he is still having a fun time learning that life surprises him everyday. Something makes him sad everyday, something makes him happy everyday, tries to focus on the latter. Mentions that days like today what makes him happy is meeting fans, shaking hands, the hugs and smiles. “How fucking cool.”  

Jared says if it wasn’t for Supernatural he would never have meet any of the fans or Jensen (”or this guy”) or any of the other cast. Sometimes when he is tired or sore or jetlagged and worries he’s going to let someone down/disappoint someone, he forgets what a cool blessing his situation is and tries to remind himself of that blessing. 

Jensen: There’s also a lot of inspiration in our lies. We have beautiful wives, amazing children, we have great friends, family, awesome extended family, there’s a lot that you can be inspired by. When it comes to the day to day work of it, getting up in the morning early to make your set call and to get there even though you worked all night last night, maybe tired or sick. He and i have been doing this for a pretty long time as most of you know. At this point the network and studio, they’re like we’re gonna keep going if you wanna keep going. Gotten to a point where, we don’t have to do this. When Jensen wakes up in the morning he might feel tired and thinks: I don’t have to do this, I get to do this. He says it’s a sentiment he and Jared both shared. They are very fortunate and humbled by the daily inspiration they get.

J2 discuss how the scripts get worked out. Jensen goes into detail with Jared adding in tidbits. Writer comes up with a general idea, if it gets approved, works out a beginning middle and end of the script. Gets pitched to Andrew and Bob. Write the treatment, submit it to studio and network to get their approval. Then they’ll pepper in through lines or scenes throughout the season. Like, when in a MOTW ep they say something like “Talked to Mom yet?” that’s a through line to keep the season length arc connected. They know it’s a random line that gets thrown in but there’s a reason why the writers include them here and there. Script goes through moderate rewrites throughout the whole process. Then it becomes a production script. Once the script is finally done, the production crew has to piece it together to make it live action. Essentially a puzzle they have to put together. Many departments. Once everything is figured out, they then have 8 days to shoot (after 8 days of prep, then location scouting, building sets, etc). 

Jared sneaks Jensen a drink while he’s talking and Jensen thanks him. They take a moment talking about honey crisp apples because of the smell of the drink. Jared made a face after taking a drink. Jensen asks if it’s sour and if he’s okay. Jared says he is blowing fire right now. Whatever alcohol they are drinking is strong lol. 

J2 start whispering to each other about a guest star but can’t share because she might come back. 

After shooting they take several weeks editing, additional dialogue, sound effects, then a master edit, then send it to the studio, then it goes to affiliates then it goes on air. Very detailed explanation on the entire process.

Lot of people work tireless hours to make the show what it is. Everyone who works on the show don’t get nearly the praise they deserve. “We are just the two faces you see the most of.” 

Misha crashes the panel with an accent he calls “German, Russian, Italian.” 

Misha asks J2 if after they read the end of the finale script how many hours they held each other and cried. Jensen: I remember reading the end and literally burst into tears of laughter. And I thought, how much fun is season 13 gonna be? I mean, talk about cutting the fat. 

Misha comes on stage and hugs Jared and the three start telling a story about how Misha rented a house while they were filming on location for the last three days of s12 because it was a long drive to the location, which was halfway to Whistler. Misha invited J2 to stay with him so they wouldn’t have to make that drive either. Misha: This was a moment of poor decision making. 

The shooting schedule was like 3 or 4pm to like 5am the next morning for those three days. Jensen: It was awful. Misha offered for them to stay so they wouldn’t be exhausted doing the 4 hour drive roundtrip. He told them it was like a 3 or 4 bedroom house, but it wasn’t lol. It was actually two bedrooms at the most. 

Jared slept on the floor in Misha’s bedroom, Jensen was alone in the other room. Jensen: “[Jared] slept on the floor next to the bed [Misha] slept in. I don’t know what happened, I was in the other room.” 

Lots of innuendo and lots of laughter lol. 

Misha: How much of this story are we going to tell? Jared: We’re telling it all. Jared realizes that it’s time for J2 to go because Misha is supposed to be starting his solo panel. Jared: We’ll delay a little bit for y’all, “fuck it.” 

Jared explains that after shooting until about 5 in the morning they go back to Misha’s place he’s renting and decide to hang out on the patio and drink as a send off to season 12. Jensen: After we realized that there were very little places to sleep in this place, we were like, guess we should just stay up. 

Jared: So we stayed up, and then went to bed. Misha stands up and high-fives Jared. Boys are all giggling lol. 

Jensen: I do remember at one point being in the other room being awoke by *mimics loud snoring* and he was like “What are they doing in there?! Have they brought in animals now?!”

Jared was a little sick and was snoring so loud that Jensen could hear him from down the hall through a closed door and it woke him up. 

Jensen wondered how Misha could possibly be sleeping through that in the same room. Jared: Oh he had been put to the test the night before ;) Jensen: He can sleep through anything. Jared: No he woke up for...*laughter* Jensen: When you nudged him. 

Jared referring to the fans: They’re all like, what’s true and what’s not? I wanna believe!

Jared was snoring from down the hall and closed door. Jensen was like 

Jared: What’s true and what’s not? Boys are just cracking up lol. 

The rented home is all under Misha’s name. Misha: So stupid. They wake up the next day, phone rings. Jared answers. Guy on the phone thinks he’s talking to Virgil, the guy who owns the home. As Jared is pretending to be the home owner because he knows everything is under Misha’s name, Misha catches him and tries to take the phone from him. The phone flies out of both of their hands into a glass and breaks the glass. Misha: There’s the sound of me going, “No!” glass breaking and the phone hanging up. 

The phone rings again, Misha runs downstairs to unplug the phone, forgetting he has left his laptop open. Jensen says that Jared runs over to the computer and starts tweeting on Misha’s Twitter. Misha realizes he left his computer vulnerable and sprints back to the room. Misha laughs when he remembers that Jared was trying to tweet Trump from Misha’s Twitter. Misha finally got the phone unplugged and his laptop rescued. 

Jensen: Meanwhile, it was the best morning cup of coffee entertainment I’ve ever had. He was just watching them from the table lol.  

Misha goes to shower and Jared starts flipping through channels and finds the pay per view. Stops on a show called something like Boys in the Shower 7, or about their butts, he can’t remember. Jensen: That piqued your interest? Jared also assumed the home owner would have blocked renters aka Misha from using the PPV but the guy didn’t so Jared ordered it. Misha says Jared actually subscribed to it under Misha’s name. Misha: it was very graphic bathroom sex. Jared: In all fairness they were offering a deal at the time lol. 

J2 left to go back to work before Misha did. Misha spent two hours trying to unsubscribe it. He was unsuccessful because he didn’t have the password Jared had created.

On that note, J2 take off. Misha starts his panel by finishing the story saying that they were all sitting on the couch watching the graphic bathroom sex while J2 were waiting for Clif to pick them up and it took Clif a minute to realize what was on screen lol. 

Info via: Periscope, Periscope, Sil’s livetweet list

[ephemeralem0tions]

Since you owner chan is new. 100 facts about you please! I love your blog!

FINALLY DONE!! XD HERE WE GO! I seriously can’t even think of anything but AOT, cons, my pets and Anime so forgive me

The entirety of my first name “Bella” is Bellarry

My birthday is December 21st

My favorite and lucky number is 21

I live in Britain

But I am half Brit, half Filipina

I can speak 3 different languages fluently and 5 others but basic

My favorite food and drink is coconut

I love animals

I have 2 cats

They are named Sawney and Bean

My family told me not to keep them but I did because they are my babies.

Currently 21 dogs but if you count in all others that passed away, I will have almost 40

I named 6 of my new puppies after AOT characters (Levi, Hanji, Erwin, Eren, Armin and Mikasa)

I used to have hamsters and goldfish too when I was younger

I love AOT/ SNK and my favorite ship is LeviHan

My next favorite ship is Aruani

My other favorite anime are Mirai Nikki, Another, and Macross Delta

My favorite anime genre is Gore then next is Idols

I play Love Live School Idol Festival

My best girl in Love Live is Nico Yazawa

My best girl in Macross Delta is Kaname Buccaneer

I am seriously also trash for Mystic Messenger

My fav route or dad is Jumin

I fell in love with Myetie’s Art and Just-Quintessentially-me’s writing

I’m actually better at calligraphy than writing and drawing combined

My coloring skills are something I am proud of

I love hoarding coloring and calligraphy pens and pencils but rarely use them

If I wasn’t writing, I would be dancing, but I’m a terrible dancer

My sport is Badminton

But I am currently learning how to Ice Skate because Yuri on Ice

I want to learn how to sew so I can cosplay

I love traveling, I had been to 9 countries including Japan (thankfully)

If I were to live somewhere else aside from Britain and Philippines, I’d choose Japan or Paris.

I actually own a Survey Corp Jacket and Cape which I bought from Japan ON SALE!! :D

My own glasses are modeled after Hanji’s glasses.

I have successfully convinced my group mates to make our project AOT themed last year (And we got a good grade)

My height is only the same as Levi’s (5’3)

But my weight is Annie (54kg) of pure fat.

My favorite LeviHan fics are “License to Science and Kill” by Just-Quintessentially-me and “A Bird Leaves her Cage” by Crazyaniknowit.

I actually memorized Bauklotze (one of the full German songs of AOT) but I can’t reach the pitch

I probably already memorized all the lyrics of the OSTS by heart, kidding! But I did for Jiyuu no Tsubasa, Guren no Yumiya, DOA, Barricades, Reluctant Heroes, and Sasageyo.

I also got to memorize some of Levi’s songs such as Hizamazuke and Pomp and Circumstance

I think I have a “Levi/ Hiroshi Kamiya Detector”. Whenever I watch new anime, I automatically know if he voiced a character even without searching it (I still do for confirmation after and I’m always right).

I’ve been to the Sky Tree exhibit and saw the huge Colossal Titan head.

I have successfully turned my family members into AOT fans (or at least made them watch it)

If Titans were real, I would not complain and join the training corps in a heartbeat.

Some countries I would like to visit are Greece, USA, Switzerland, and Macau

I would like to have silver hair one day

I love Wonder Woman and Poison Ivy

My favorite youtuber is JBunzie

My favorite cosplayers are Anzujaamu, Reika, Hikarin, Haoge and Meghan Starbuxx Cofee

I have Pareidolia or the condition wherein you can see faces in objects.

My favorite LeviHan artists are Alemanriq and Drinkyourfuckingmilk

I stalk my mutuals for fun whenever I’m bored (most often Isatastrophe and Myheartisrollingthunder) oops

I’m dying to have asks and requests from people because my writers block visits me very often and its nice to have fresh ideas

I cried after having such overwhelming feedback for Stow Away (THANK YOU!!)

I usually splurge on make up and wigs because I really want to cosplay one day (but sadly I’m not confident enough yet)

I only swim free

I only fell in love with one person so far and he reminds me so much of Levi except that he is tall

I named one of my dogs after him thinking I could move on. Both him and my dog are astill so adorable I can’t forget :P

I only tried hard to learn German because my crush last year was half German

People tell me my voice sometimes already sound like Hanji/ Romi Park when I speak Japanese

I’m quite OC with my notes and aesthetics

I take hours making reviewers because I do them in calligraphy to motivate myself

I find it motivating if I listen to Guren no Yumiya while working or studying. I call it my ‘fight song’

I actually bought the 3DMG harness from TaoBao and it took me 1 day to figure it out plus another 3 hours to put it on.

If I was in AOT, I’d already be eaten by a titan while prepping up my gear.

I even bought boots and a yellow blouse so I can look like Hanji whenever I want to.\

Someone called me Sasha while cosing as Hanji

I also have a red scarf for Mikasa

Aside from AOT clothes, I have some that resemble Love Live and Macross Delta costumes, and Yurri Plisetsky’s blue Jacket.

I actually have covers for all my fics incase they need it one day.

I have no Idea how to use Pinterest and Pixiv

I stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night when the fic I’m reading ends in a cliff hanger

I approach and openly converse with people who I spot have AOT merch.

The person who had a crush on me spent money on buying me an expensive ass Hanji acrylic keychain during a con and I still have it but sadly, he was a bit forceful and we didn’t end in good terms.

One of my conditions in my list of “How to know if he is the one I will Marry” is that me and my future husband should cosplay as LeviHan

I am scheduled to cosplay Hanji in a dress this December with a complete AOT squad in casual. (Still prepping my chubby self though)

My favorite anime songs outside of Attack on titan are Anone Ganbare by Lilywhite, Fuyu Ga Kureta Yokan by Bibi, and Axia by Kaname Buccaneer

I love Vocaloid

My favorite Vocaloid song is Tell Your World by Miku Hatsune

I can cut my own hair after styling so many wigs

I actually earn my wants by making cosplay props for other cosplayers as a sideline when I have spare time.

I want to become a Cardio Surgeon because I can’t fix my own heart so I will just fix others

I still have almost 10 years of studying ahead of me because of Med School

I am very OC about my blog theme

One thing I am very proud of from my blog is my Masterlist because its fucking amazing in my POV

I have Wattpad but I only use it to draft and use AO3 and tumblr to post fics instead.

I do not like flowers, I wouldn’t accept it if someone gave me a boquet.

I only drink tea if it has milk with it and coffee only if it is brewed and not instant.

My tumblr username or URL only came from the ‘suggestions’ because I ran out of ideas XD

I think red eyes are cool, I even own red contact lenses myself.

I once had a dream where there were people I didn’t know and they oddly said goodbye to me before I woke up. I will never forget about it, they broke the fourth wall or smth.

My gender is ‘Hanji’ or indefinite

My next favorite character after Hanji and Levi is Nanaba then my least favorite character is Nile (still thinks he’s a cowardly douche)

I would like to learn how to ride horses fast because of AOT

My favorite place in the world is Baguio Philippines because its cold, and it reminds me of AOT (big ass trees, horses, and looks walled because of mountains)

Some cons I’m dying to attend are those that are in Japan and Singapore.

I love cons in the Philippines, people are so welcoming and warm.

I would gladly have a bird nose if I could XD

send an ask/anon here x.

[aborddelimpala]

#JIB8 Jared & Jensen Panel du Samedi - Récap

Les garçons étaient dans l’avion en route pour l’Italie, ils n’ont donc pas pu regarder le final de la saison. Ils demandent au public ce qu’il en a pensé. Les fans crient qu’ils ont adoré l’épisode 22. 

Jared “Les gars, c’est Supernatural. Les gens peuvent revenir”.

Jensen : “Quoi tout le monde est mort? Faisons la liste : Cass, Crowley, Rowena, Kelly, Ketch. C’était comme le "Red Wedding”(en référence à Game of Thrones)

A propos de “Supernatural, le film”. Jared demande à Jensen s’il aimerait un film “Supernatural”. Jensen préfèrerait filmer une saison plus courte. Genre avec 6 épisodes. Jared répond la même chose.

Les scénaristes ont eu l’idée d’un épisode dans lequel Sam et Dean se réveillent dans un univers parallèle où tous les anciens personnages de la série vivent dans la même ville. Gabriel est le maire. Balthazar tient un bar...

Jared explique que parfois il souhaiterait pouvoir creuser une idée sur plusieurs épisodes. Il aime l’idée d’une saison plus courte où il pourrait exploiter une storyline, un lieu spécifique ou une ville... Ils pourraient approfondir et se concenter une une seule chose durant le tournage d’une saison plus courte.  Jensen : Et c’est pour ça qu’on est pas scénaristes. 

Dans quel série aimeraient-ils être s’il y avait une autre épisode genre “Changing Channels”? Jared : Les Simpsons. Les garçons parlent ensuite du croosover Supernatural/Scooby-Doo. Ils ont déjà enregistré les dialogues (les dessins prennent plus de temps à faire). Cet épisode sera le 16ème de la saison 13. Jared laisse échappé qu’ils ont enregistré la bande son avec Misha #SPOILER Jensen essaye de rattraper la boulette “C’est juste un personnage de dessin animé, qui n’existe plus aujourd’hui”. 

La fan qui a joué à pierre/feuille/ciseau avec Jensen l’an dernier veut renouveler l’expérience. Elle bat de nouveau Jensen qui lui lance “A l’an prochain”.

Une fan demande à entendre l’histoire où un employé de l’aéroport de Vancouver les a pris pour un couple (en 2004/2005). Après avoir filmé jusqu’à 5 heures du matin et comme ils devaient prendre un avion pour LA quelques heures plus tard, les garçons ont décidé de prendre directement un chambre à l’aéroport, pour se démaquiller et se changer. A l’époque ils n’étaient pas aussi connus (Supernatural n’était pas encore diffusé). Jared s’est approché du comptoir et a demandé si des chambres à l’heure étaient disponibles. Le gars derrière son bureau a répondu “Nous ne faisons pas ça ici”. Les garçons ont alors demandé la chambre la moins chère avant de réaliser que l’employé de l’hôtel les avait pris pour un couple. Genre “Le gars de Gilmore Girl et celui de Smalville ont pris une chambre ensemble” :p

Une fan félicite les garçons pour l’épisode 22. 

A propos du Mockumentary. Les garçons sont des stars atypiques. Ils sont partis d’Hollywood et de même de Californie. Dans le documentaire, ils se moquent des stéréotypes d’hollywood et d’eux-mêmes. Ils adorent le second degré. Ils ont basé leurs personnages sur des histoires qu’ils ont entendu à propos d’autres plateaux de tournage, d’autres acteurs et ont décidé de s’en moquer. Ils s’amusent beaucoup sur le plateau et détesteraient devoir faire attention à tout ce qu’ils font à cause d’autres acteurs ou membres de l’équipe comme c’est le cas ailleurs. C’est totalement opposé à qui ils sont.

Qu’est ce qui les motive à continuer, avancer dans la vie? Jared : Cela évolue souvent. Je suis inspiré par des chansons, l’art, mes amis, ma femme, mes enfants, ma famille... La vie me surprend tous les jours. Chaque jour, il y a des choses qui me rendent triste ou heureux. J’essaye de me concentrer sur le bonheur. Aujourd’hui je suis content de vous rencontrer, vous serrer la main, vous faire des câlins, vous voir sourire. Si ce n’était pour Supernatural, je ne vous aurais jamais rencontré, ni Jensen ou aucun autre membre du cast. Quand je suis fatigué ou inquiet ou déprimé, j’oublies la chance que j’ai mais je fais tout mon possible pour m’en souvenir.  Jensen : Nous avons aussi beaucoup de sources d’inspiration dans nos vies. Des magnifiques femmes, de merveilleux enfants, des supers amis, une famille (élargie) géniale. Surtout quand il faut se lever très tôt le matin pour être sur le tournage alors qu’on l’a juste quitté quelques heures avant, même quand tu es crevé ou malade. Jared et moi le faisons depuis très longtemps, comme vous le savez. Aujourd’hui, nous ne sommes à un point où la chaine et studio nous disent “on continue tant que vous voulez continuer”, même si on n’a plus besoin de le faire. Mais on ne le fait pas par obligation. On a beaucoup de chance et nous sommes très touchés de l’inspiration que nous recevons quotidiennement. 

A propos des scénarios des épisodes et des saisons en général. Jensen se lance dans une explication très détaillée. Les scénaristes se mettent d’accord sur une idée générale et travaillent sur un début, un milieu et une fin. Ils mettent ensuite au courant le showrunner. Ils affinent et soumettent l’idée au studio et à la chaine pour approbation. Après, ils cimentent la chose avec des répliques ou des scènes dans tous les épisodes de la saison. Comme quand ils font référence aux Hommes de Lettres Britanniques dans un épisode plus classique. Il y a parfois des répliques ne semblent pas en rapport avec l’épisode, mais les scénaristes les écrivent pour une raison. Un scénario est revu plusieurs fois avant de devenir définitif. Les équipes de tournage peuvent alors entrer en action. Plusieurs équipes doivent se coordonner. 8 jours de préparation (décor, recherche des location, costumes...) et 8 jours de tournage par épisode. Après le tournage, plusieurs semaines sont nécessaires au montage (dialogues supplémentaires, effets sonores, musique, effets spéciaux....). L’épisode est ensuite envoyé au studio qui décide de sa date de diffusion. De nombreuses personnes travaillent un nombre incalculable d’heures pour faire de la série ce qu’elle est. “Nous sommes ceux que vous voyez le plus, mais toute l’équipe méritent autant de louanges que nous”

Misha crashe le panel des garçons. Il leur demande combien d’heures ils ont pleuré après avoir lu le script du dernier épisode de la saison. Jensen : J’ai pleuré de rire et pensé que la saison 13 allait être drôle. 

Les garçons racontent une histoire sur le tournage du final de la saison. Ils ont filmé les 3 jours de la fin de saison assez long de chez eux. Misha avait loué une maison non loin du lieu du tournage car ils devaient filmer jusqu’à 5 heures du matin durant les 3 jours. Misha a donc proposé aux garçons de rester avec lui, pour éviter les 4 heures de retour en voiture. Misha leur a dit que la maison avait 3 ou 4 chambres mais il n’y en avait que 2. Jared a fini par dormir par terre dans la chambre de Misha et Jensen seul dans l’autre chambre. Jensen charrie Jared qui apparemment ronfle pas mal quand il a bu (la veille, ils ont fêté la fin du tournage)

Le lendemain, Jared a été réveillé par un coup de téléphone pour le vrai propriétaire de la maison. Jared a répondu en se faisant passer pour le propriétaire. Misha avait loué la maison sous son vrai nom. Il a eu peur que Jared raconte des bêtises et a essayé de lui prendre le téléphone des mains, ils ont cassé un verre dans la bagarre. Le téléphone s’est mis à sonner à nouveau et Misha a couru pour débrancher tous les téléphones de la maison. Il avait laissé son ordinateur allumé dans la chambre. Et Jared s’est fait un plaisir de poster n’importe quoi sur son compte Twitter. Misha s’en ai rendu compte et a réussi à sauver son ordi. 

Pendant ce temps là, Jensen a regardé le spectacle :)

Quand Misha est parti se doucher, Jared a commencé à mater la télé. Il a trouvé une chaine porno payante avec une série genre “Les garçons sous la douche” ou un truc du genre. (Jensen : “Et cela t’as intéressé?”) Jared s’est abonné à la chaine en utilisant le nom de Misha. (il y avait une offre promotionnelle :p) Misha a passé 2 heures a essayé de se désabonner, mais il n’avait le mot de passe créé par Jared. Ils ont finit tous les 3 par regarder un porno avec mecs sous la douche (très descriptif) en attendant que Clif vienne chercher les garçons. 

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