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weltonreject · 5 years ago

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our october traditions.

|| for @zombiebowlcut and their genius mind. boris’s first american halloween. || ao3

Theo heaved two very large, but equally misshapen pumpkins onto the kitchen counter. Boris was staring at the newspaper-- upside, mind you-- and didn’t even notice Theo until he nearly placed a large gourd in his lap.

The newspaper folded down almost perfectly. “What is that?”

“It’s a pumpkin, shithead. We’re going to start decorating for Halloween.”

“What?” Boris furrowed his eyebrows and acted like Theo was speaking in tongues. They hadn’t even started drinking that afternoon; Theo made sure of it. It seemed a bit dangerous if either of them were under any sort of influence. “Decorating?”

“Yeah! I’m going to teach you how to carve a pumpkin.”

“...What?”

Theo ignored Boris’s confusion. “Okay so first, lay out the newspaper on the table while I get a knife or something.” Theo pointed loosely with his hand as he started pulling out kitchen drawers. He pretended he didn’t see the strangely filled sandwich bags and looked only for any useful utensils.

“Knife? To cut?” Boris said, stepping down from the chair. He dug in his pocket before snapping a switch blade out of his dark jeans. If Theo wasn’t looking, he would have mistaken it for his snapping wrist.

“Jesus, Boris. Since when in the fuck did you start carrying that around?”

“Um, got knife... from someone sleeping in my house.” Boris shrugged, turning it in his hand. It was slightly comforting to see the handle sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the palm of Boris’s hand. Of all the things he’d held, it was nice to see a weapon fit the worst.

“...Okay... I’m not gonna touch on that one. Just, um, make sure it’s, uh, clean and then pick your pumpkin.”

Boris flipped the blade in his hand, shrugging at it. Theo began unfolded the newspaper and spreading it over the counter island. He nodded toward Boris, who was still staring at the two pumpkins with indifferent disgust. At Theo’s instruction, again, he suddenly slapped his hand out onto the larger of the two.

“This one.” He said, almost proudly. “Is mine.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Theo had been a fan of the most simple triangular features for his jack-o-lanterns. His mother had always been the one with the artistic hand and the more inventive ideas. She made a bat one year, parts of the cutout left remaining to show the bones and structure of the wings. Theo tried to keep it up well into November, he’d loved it so much.

“Ideas about what, Potter? Have no idea what we are doing. Bring in strange fruits and ask me to pick, then to cut, then to-- ideas, Potter? Have one idea. You have lost mind. Desert has done lot to you. Je-sus.”

“You have to carve something into it, Jackass. You don’t just cut shit out. It’s decoration, not the ER left-overs of a bar fight.”

Boris smirked at him. “What do you know about bar fight? Would never do such a thing.”

“I’ll deck you right now, fuck off.” Theo shoved Boris harshly, forgetting for a moment he had a knife in his hands. Luckily, it clattered onto the table; Boris dropping it the moment Theo stepped up to him. He was more aware of the danger than Theo was. “Think of a face or something to cut out. It’s whatever you want.”

Boris mulled the concept over with surprising thought. He turned his head side to side, flopping his hair back and forth. It was in a matted clump from sleeping in Theo’s bed earlier-- really only getting up a few hours before. His lips pursed before he smacked them and clapped his hands deafeningly loud. It shook Theo enough to remind him to stop staring before Boris turned back to him.

“Have it. Can see it.” Boris reached for the knife.

“Wait! Hold on! You have to carve the top part out first. It’s the lid and how you get all the insides out.”

“Huh?”

“Cut around the stem so you can lift it up and out. Like a lid-- you’re supposed to put candles in jack-o-lanterns. And you can’t do that if it’s got all it’s guts inside.”

Theo thought he’d confused Boris more. But without much preamble, Boris bought the knife down into the top of the pumpkin. Both of his hands gripped the handle of the blade; it was still an uncomfortable object to wield. Thank God.

He practically hung over the pumpkin, trying to get his entire arm into it. Theo felt like he was watching a surgeon discover his love for anatomy.

“Ha! Is like putting hand inside someone.” Boris laughed, his elbow flexing as he moved his arm around. Theo could hear the pumpkin squishing in Boris’s hands, right between his fingers.

“Uck! Boris, that’s gross.”

“Do not mean intestines, Potter.” Boris said wryly, lifting his hand up and rolling his fingers around in the orange, stringy mess.

“EW! That’s fucking gross. That can not be what-- Ew. No. That’s gross. Fuck off.” Theo wanted to gag but didn’t want to look weak; able to handle insurmountable amounts of drugs but not looking at the inside of a pumpkin. Or hearing a possible comparison to some kind of sexual act. No, Theo couldn’t gag at that. Now how would that look.

It was in Theo’s best interest to let the topic go. To act like he and Boris weren’t familiar with what they were dancing around. No, it was better to grab the knife and just keep cutting.

ii.

Boris's pumpkin, in all honesty, looked better than Theo's. It was carved blindly and with half-committed Russian words that half-complimented, half-insulted the face. The eyes were round and wonky, trying to have pupils, but the concept of not completing a cut in order to keep some of the piece hanging in the empty space eluded them both. By the end, the pumpkin had eyes that were wide-open and startled. Unblinking. Refusing to give them any privacy, it seemed.

Theo stood a step farther away from Boris as they admired their work, but he wasn’t sure why. It was just a pumpkin. It was just them.

“I’ll grab some candles when we go out-- we can light them when it gets darker.” Theo said.

“Going where?”

“To the supermarket. We have to get candy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Boris seemed to have an argument, or at least a question, but there was an unfamiliar timidness in his acceptance. He put his hands in his pockets, as if keeping his rebuttal to himself.

“Typically, you don’t get your own candy.” Theo reassured Boris’s presumed knowledge. “We just have no houses for trick-or-treating. So we’re improvising.”

“Plan to do what? Ask for candy at supermarket?”

“No.” Theo laughed. He quickly tried to disguise his mockery of Boris’s naive and honest question. It was finally something Boris had very few and far between ideas about; Theo had to remember these weren’t traditions to Boris, yet. They were still all first iterations, first experiences-- all with Theo. “We’re going to steal some candy. I’ll grab you some, you grab me some. Then we’ll trade whatever we don’t want.”

It wasn’t a gift or favor if it didn’t cost either of them anything. Then again, love never cost anyone anything--

"Trick-or-treat.” Boris repeated, the concept emerging from his own embodiment of the word. “That is-- knock, yes? And the-- word.. ack, what is word, Potter? Over body. Um... Dis-guys?”

“Costume.” Theo blinked and snapped back to Boris’s face. It was no longer soft or amused-- furrowed in his confusion. “You aren’t really hiding from anyone. You don’t need a disguise. Just a costume.”

“Oh. Okay.” Boris held his arms up, looking at his sweater sleeves. “What is costume?”

They didn’t really have the means to be much of anything except maybe different variations of the same hungry children, but Theo quickly tried to come up with something. Boris couldn’t just be the kid who couldn’t afford a costume. "You can be Dracula!” Theo motioned to Boris’s conveniently monochromatic outfit. “That’s perfect! You’re... brooding enough.”

“And teeth!” Boris bared his crooked teeth, nearly perfectly angled for fangs. Almost close enough to bite too--

“You’ll terrorized everyone at the store.”

“Yes, can do that. But who are you?” Boris asked, lifting a weak hand toward Theo. He was in his old, far-rattier, sweater and a pair of slacks from his previous school. “Cannot be scary, Potter.”

"Uh-- hey!” Theo said, pursing his lips. He quickly changed to clenching his jaw; Xandra always pursed her lips or popped her hip. Theo stopped doing both to look more physically upset with Boris.

“You look like... Liberian!”

“... A librarian?” Theo said slowly, trying not to laugh. “Well thanks. I guess, then I can just be... I don’t know. Van Helsing, maybe?” Then we’d match, and we’d belong together in public. “Oh, but then we’d match-- I don’t know if that’s--”

“A victim!” Boris cheered, throwing his arms up and charging at Theo.

For a moment, Theo allowed himself to laugh. He ducked his head to the side-- all but fucking giggling like some little girl-- and letting Boris drop his arms on top of his shoulders. His arms were long and there was still distance. It was strange-- and it was suspicious from the outside, sure-- but it was still safe.

In another moment, one coming way too quickly, Theo felt his stomach try to rise up to his throat. Boris’s one hand braced the side of his neck, while the other looped under his arm and gripped his shoulder. His grip pulled on his clothes, tight but not as frantic as it had been before-- just the night before. The collar of Theo’s sweater moved away, a stitch quietly popping under Boris’s fingers. It made space for Boris’s teeth-- lips-- trying to find their spot on the side of Theo’s neck.

“What the fuck, man. Get off of me!” Theo cried, shoving Boris’s back harshly. He stumbled back but his hands were still on Theo. And he still wanted them to be. “Don’t fucking touch me like that.”

Theo wasn’t sure if he’d intended to slap or punch Boris. Either way, his hand made sharp and heavy contact with Boris’s mouth, his head snapping to the side as he staggered back. Theo readjusted his sweater in the immediate aftermath, his hands trying to echo where Boris’s had been, if only to relish the contact for a moment of imagination.

Boris stood, hunched over, cupping his mouth. “Fucking got me, Potter.” His hand fell away and he was smiling. His lip had split and blood was pooling around the curves of his bottom lip. Boris’s fingers played with the large droplet of sticky crimson guilt. “Ha! Look! Blood, Potter!”

“I-- yeah.” Theo knew better than to say the other forbidden word: sorry.

“Vampire! AH!”

“Yeah. Full vampire.”

Theo wondered, selfishly and disgustingly, what Boris’s teeth would have felt like playfully puncturing his neck and not his knuckles. The forbidden chance had been dangled in front of Theo, temptation grabbing him with a tight grip, and he blew it. Curiosity would be the most promising nightmare.

“Let’s go get some candy, before all the good stuff is gone.”

iii.

Theo scoured the aisle for mixed bags of snappable candy. Boris didn’t like the candy with sticky, chewy, stringy insides. No caramel, nougat, or that chewy coconut shit either. He liked candy that snapped when he bit down. It was something stupid and primal, Theo was sure, but the short, staccato laugh Boris let out when the snack would snap between his front top and bottom teeth was unforgettable-- and that night, desired.

If Theo could get Boris to laugh, to find small, infantile joy eating stolen last minute, sale candy, he’d gotten everything he wanted.

There was a bag of Crunch bars, KitKats, 100 Grand bars, Twix, and Snickers sitting along the sparse bags of sugary, hard candy. Theo grabbed it and tucked it into the inside of his father’s borrow coat. It barely looked like Theo had taken anything-- in fact it made the waistline of the coat fit better. He still had some sleeves to fill.

Theo spotted Boris weaving around the seasonal endcap of the aisle, studying the ways all the familiar candy wrappers were now orange or covered in bats. He pretended to study the nutrition label on the back of a bag as a mother and child walked behind him. The child tried to point at Boris’s split and still-bleeding lip, but the mother paid no attention to Boris. Just like he had no intention of paying for that candy.

Theo left Boris to his operation and wandered down to the oral hygiene aisle. He strolled, with almost adult-like authority, along the rows of expensive electronic toothbrushes until he reached the plastic covered ones that hung on the wall like packaged pens. Theo grabbed a blue one-- with soft bristles, because someone had sensitive enamel from years of eating straight sugar and not gargling after vomiting-- and slipped it up his sleeve.

He sighed, pretending he hadn’t found what he was looking for, and started to head out toward the parking lot again to wait for Boris. Just as he tried to exit the aisle, a worker came around with an arm full of plastic pumpkin baskets. Theo skidded to a halt-- clutching his jacket and the candy-- in lightning fast response.

“Sorry.” Theo said, stepping aside quickly. The worker was frazzled, barely noticing that Theo had even stopped him. The baskets wobbled in his arms, their faces printed just off-center to the indentations of the “carved” features. They were ugly and obviously all defects. “Hey, can I have one of those?”

“What? They’re all going in the trash. They’re garbage and it’s literally Halloween.” The teenager spoke as if Theo had been born on a different planet, unaware of the time, day, and possibly the year.

“Yeah. I know. Then let me have one.” Theo thrust his hand out. “Fucking give me one. It’s important.”

“Okay, here you go. Asshole.” The worker handed it to Theo, but not before ripping the tag off the handle. “Go loiter somewhere else. We’re closing in a half hour, too. Is that your friend? The one who looks like a corpse.”

“He’s a vampire.”

“He looks like he’s fucking dead.” The man correctly, hitching his armful up. “And he’s been reading that bag label for five minutes. Is he simple or something?”

“English isn’t his second language, cut him some slack.” Theo scoffed. “Asshole.”

“Well, whatever he speaks, tell him we’re closing and to either buy the candy or leave.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Theo said, smiling. “I’ll be sure to do that.”‘

While the teenager turned away, Theo grabbed a tube of toothpaste, floss, and one of the travel head covers. He barely tried to hide them as he marched for the door.

There was something careful in how Boris was searching, Theo didn’t want to disturb him. Part of him said it was because he wanted to let Boris have his own shopping time uninterrupted or rushed. But the larger part of Theo was secretly pleased that he was choosing candy meant for him with such purpose and care.

It meant nothing, probably, but Theo let it mean everything as he stood out at their meetup spot. As he waited, he practiced smiling without looking too happy.

iv.

“Here. For your candy.” Theo held the plastic pumpkin out to Boris. His hand felt like it wanted to be shaking, but it was too afraid to even do that.

Boris took it carefully, studying its off-brand features. “Is for my candy? That you give me?”

“Yeah! But, you’ve got to ask me for it first.” Theo said. He used his teeth to rip open the bag, tossing the end into the dumpster.

“Have candy, Potter?”

“No! Trick-or-Treat! You’ve got to ask-- just hold your basket out and ask ‘trick-or-treat’! And then I’ll say some super weird passively-adult thing about your costume and then give you your candy. Okay. Now go.”

Boris jerked his basket forward, teeth bared and dried blood now brown. “Trick! Or treat, Potter!”

“Oh wow! Look at your fangs... Not even fake.”

“Fuck off! Teeth are fine-- chew just fine.”

“You can’t tell a suburban mom to fuck off.” Theo laughed, tilting the bag into Boris’s basket. It overflowed and the stiff candy clattered on the asphalt. “They’ll call neighborhood watch on you.”

“Fuck if I care.” Boris held the basket to his chest, crossing his arms over it. He held delightful ownership over the new holiday clutch and seasonal candy. They’d created their own tradition, own triumphing memory, standing by the dumpster of Lucky’s. It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t exactly the quintessential American Halloween, but it was one Boris could recount without sounding like he’d copied some made-for-tv movie; it was lop-sided and little fucked up-- just enough-- to truly be Boris’s first Halloween.

Actually, all the perfect Halloweens Theo had ever had seemed fruitless compared to watching Boris cradle his first trick-or-treated haul of candy. Getting things right the first time was stupidly overrated.

Theo felt the urge to jot that down. To remember to tell his mother-- next time he saw her-- how great Halloween had the potential to be if the mischief and wickedness were lent the chance to match costumes with joy and innocence.

Boris accosted the entire living room floor as he dumped his basket out onto the carpet. He spread it out so no two pieces of candy were resting on top of each other. His hands ran over the crinkling wrappers, feeling the even square molds-- until he stopped and firmly gripped the toothbrush. He held it up to Theo with an accusatory look.

“Are trying to tell me something?” He asked.

“No, no. It’s not like that. Most of the time, there’s this family of doctors or something that always give out healthy food or non-candy for Halloween. I decided the family you ran into would’ve been a dentists. So I gave you a toothbrush.” Theo shrugged. “You wanted the full experience.”

Theo also wasn’t sure if Boris even had a toothbrush. He’d seen him with one, when they first met, bristles flattened and parted from over-extended use. He said nothing further-- not about the old toothbrush, or about how Boris placed it gingerly by his side just then, tucked just under his knee for safe keeping.

“Stupid dentists. Of all doctor career-- all part of body to think about, all day all the time-- who pick teeth? It is bone. Weird bone to talk with! Who want to see bone all day, and fix and grind and drill? Seem so stupid when think about it.” Boris exclaimed, still running his hands over the candy. “Will not go to dentist house again. Have learned lesson, Potter. Fuck the doctor houses.”

Theo laughed and moved closer to Boris-- just to be able to pour his own candy out for trading. “Okay, what do you want out of my pile-- I’ll take all your snickers.”

Theo’s bag was full of most of the same candy, but also small Hershey bars and Baby Ruths instead of 100 Grands. It was the principle of trading more than it was either of them getting more of what they wanted. Confectionery bargaining was a skill few had back in New York. Only Andy was ever really good at it.

“What is in Baby Ruth?” Boris asked, turning over some of Theo’s silver-wrapped pieces. “Is that woman?”

“Baseball player, actually. Like Babe Ruth.” Theo said, quickly pealing one of them open. “Here, try one. It’s mostly nougat I think.”

“Uck.” Boris muttered, still taking it. He popped the whole thing in his mouth, his cheek bulging as he tried to chew it quickly. It was too sticky, but Boris didn’t seem to mind. “Gross.”

“Careful. Your fangs.”

“Ah!” Boris bared his teeth again, holding his arms up as if he had a cape to shield him. “Will eat your blood!

“It’s uh,” Theo nearly gargled the word, struggling to say it cleanly. “it’s suck your blood, Boris.”

“Yes. That too.” He chopped his teeth loudly, the candy gone. Theo recoiled and clutched his own jaw. Boris did it twice more, breaking into a grin the more Theo looked disgusted. “Am bothering you! Halloween spirit, yes?”

“Sure. Something like that.” Theo picked up a Crunch bar and tossed it at Boris’s head. It caught momentarily in his matted curls before slipping through and onto his legs.

“Oh? Candy fight?” Boris grabbed a fistful of chocolates. His long fingers and tight grip snapped many of the bars in half, the sound heard underneath the crinkling plastic. “Tradition too?”

Theo paused, his arms no where near his face in defense. He grinned, only clenching his eyes closed. “Yeah. It’s definitely tradition. For us, at least.”

“Can be tradition that you lose?” Boris cackled, throwing both handfuls directly at Theo’s chest. “Do not think will change. Am always good shot, Potter.”

“Oh, fuck off. Arrogance is not about to become any part of this holiday, Boris. I swear to God--” Theo was pelted with every candy brand on the floor individually. Boris had a pile at his feet he tossed at him one by one, squirming backward slowly as Theo dodged them and shifted onto his knees.

“No! No! No! Cannot touch Dracula!” Boris cried, fully falling onto his back. He wiggled back and forth like a snake but gained no distance away from Theo.

There was something about a snake Theo read in a book once. Temptation, or something, right? Wasn’t that how the story went? That snake, that woman, and that apple-- but that one wasn’t candied.

Theo flopped down on Boris with all his weight, laughing at the loud oof! Boris wheezed out. His arms grabbed onto Theo’s back, but he didn’t push him away. Instead, his hands pressed Theo closer and rolled them over. The candy slid and squashed under them, like a really strange bed of orange and red foliage. With Theo on his back, Boris sat up with his legs on either side of Theo’s waist. Theo was pinned, eyes wide and mouth open, but not in any rejection. The temptation looked sweet.

“I bite!” Boris cried, placing his hands on Theo’s chest and shoulder. “Suck blood from you, Potter.”

And he did. He pushed Theo’s head to the side and playfully (and with surprising delicacy) bit down on the curve of his neck. It was weird, really really weird, but it was still touch. Undefinable touch, at that. It wasn’t anything romantic and definitely wasn’t anything sexual. It was just playing vampire. There were no rules or sermons against that. Theo allowed himself to laugh, shivering at the cold drag of Boris’s teeth across his skin.

It was so weird, but Theo felt so free. He’d never felt the touch of anyone be so warm and his entire world seem so far off. It wasn’t even tradition at that point; it was habit. Boris would always be the one that made Theo feel like every frayed nerve was neatly sewn back together. Like every moment was worth remembering and recording, all in the hopes of recreating it someday. Same crooked smiles, same laughter giggles, same mishaps, same boy. Always the same boy.

#boreo #theo and boris #tgf fic #zombiebowlcut

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adoredontour · 5 years ago

Photo

every fic that left a lasting impression with me this year. sorted in order of when i read them!!

buckle up lads, it’s a long one

nicotine by krisstylinson 32k

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

like candy in my veins by littlelouishiccups 31k @littlelouishiccups

Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for

worth dying for by whoknows

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

damn your love, damn your lies by ifthat

“Of course you’d use your free time to go to the gym.”

“Your idea of the best way to spend your free time is annoying your neighbors,” he laughs, dimples carved into his cheeks like marble.

No, Louis likes to annoy Harry. Everyone else on this floor is just an unfortunate casualty.

“No one has complained except for you,” Louis informs him smartly. Which is actually a good thing. If someone other than Harry had complained to him long ago, he would have unfortunately had to stop.

you came into my life by disgruntledkittenface @disgruntledkittenface

When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

a thousand miles from comfort by littlelouishiccups

In which Louis is a closeted gay actor and a recovering addict with a troubled past. Harry is the personal trainer who helps him get his life back in shape.

smaller than me by checkthemargins

Harry's just finished his first year of uni on his way to becoming Dr. Harry Styles, Neurosurgeon. He's young, he has endless potential, three amazing best mates, a new love and the world at his fingertips. The fact that his new boyfriend may or may not be a sex-worker, of course, throws a wrench into the works. But it's not true. Really.

Probably.

It most definitely might not be entirely true. And that's all Harry needs to know.

escapade (i was late to the game shut up) by dolce_piccante

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

soft hands, fast feet, can’t lose by dolce_piccante

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

oh glory by alivingfire @alivingfire

Harry Styles is Team Great Britain's newest swimmer, and has spent his whole life training for this moment, a chance at the gold medal in the Rio 2016 Olympics. All his training, hard work, and dedication to no distractions is tested when he's assigned to the same Rio apartment as Louis Tomlinson, British gymnast and Harry's childhood crush.

it’s all brand new because of you by supernope

AKA, Louis starts a new job as a summer camp counselor at the local aquarium and Harry is a biologist who really likes teaching people about the ocean.

this wicked game by cherrystreet @cherrystreet

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

do not go gentle by afirethatcannotdie @afirethatcannotdie

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

to brim with fright by hereforlou @hereforlou

The only reason he’s here is because it’s tradition. And also, Harry said it’d be fun to make Liam wet himself in fear and Louis agreed. It’ll be hilarious. He’s not an insecure new transfer anymore, thank you very much. It took him no more than a week to insert himself into a group, to get invited to his first party, and to start crushing on someone—he’s not what anyone would call socially impaired. He doesn’t need validation.

have you coming back again by whoknows

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

i put a spell on you by bethaboo @bethaboolou

A BBC/Secret Santa mashup featuring Captain Niall, our intrepid weatherman/amateur matchmaker, rather clueless sports reporter Liam, charming political analyst Zayn, and cheeky entertainment reporter Louis. Harry is the new fashion correspondent who prefers to dress like a flamingo. And pining. There’s a lot of pining.

naked & proud by kiwikero

In which Harry runs an organic store, not a nudist colony, and Louis doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

take me under the blue by objectlesson

Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction.

He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.

It’s sort of a long story.

paint the sky with stars by kiwikero

the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

truth be told i never was yours by justfortommo

(or the one where Louis and Harry have a complicated past, Louis is getting married to someone that’s not Harry, and the universe has decided to have a laugh and make Harry the wedding planner.)

into the badlands

Louis is Q. Harry is a double-oh agent who thinks that making knock-knock jokes around foreign embassy delegates mid-mission is a good idea.

swim in the smoke by whoknows

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

resist everything except temptation by domesticharry @domestic-harry

The one where Louis is the commodore's son who is forced to become a part of Harry's crew when he is captured.

pray till i go blind by el_em_en_oh_pee

Louis is (kind of) a preacher. Harry is (probably) a demon. Of course, nothing's as simple as that.

This is not a love story.

(your heartbeat) rang true inside my bones by flimsy @flimsi

Harry goes as Louis' date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

i love your demons (like devils can) by ariadne_odair

Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.

alien roadtrip! by helloamhere @helloamhere

roadtrip with desert feelings, too much snack food, and empty motels. Harry is definitely absolutely not an alien. That would be ridiculous.

treat mothman with kindness by flowercrownfemme @lesbianiconharrystyles

In which Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn are amateur cryptozoologists and Harry is the creature they find in the woods of a small north-western town. ft. lots of glitter and shrieking and a whole shed full of lesbian cats.

just me, you, and this box of matches by tomlinsunshine

Louis is fairly sure that his new neighbour is going to destroy him. And also their apartment building, and the dumpsters outside, and all the forests within a thirty mile radius. But. Mostly him.

close to nowhere by angelichl @angelichl

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

magical soup by gloria_andrews

Slytherin prefect Louis Tomlinson's seventh year at Hogwarts takes an immediate turn for the worse when he's made to be potions partners with Harry Styles, Hufflepuff's resident heartthrob and class clown. Louis has always considered Styles to be a terrible show-off who coasts by on his charm and good looks, but the more they work together, the more he questions that idea. As term goes on, will Louis be able to admit to himself that he might actually like Harry Styles after all... and maybe, just maybe, as more than a friend?

sainted taints and velvet vices by toomanytears

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

run like the devil by benzos

Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry's the strangest demon he's ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.

be with me so happily by briamaria

[aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months]

come together by bottomlinsons @bottomlinsons

Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and haven't talked.

Their coming group project is gonna change that.

what this world is about by isntrio @bloubird

An eighties American high school AU; there are first times, football games, and feelings.

Alternatively titled: the beginning.

once upon a dream by thedeathchamber

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

aka. the Medium/Criminal Minds-inspired AU no one ever asked for.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

forever and always by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom (again, thank you!!!!!!!)

OR the one where Harry’s neighbour is a crotchety old witch who hates vampires, Niall is the unsuspecting human who ends up inhabiting Harry’s body, and Louis is the caseworker who is assigned to swap them back. How it ends up a love story is anyone’s guess.

sail your sea, meet your storm by kiwikero

The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.

tangled up in you by missandrogyny

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

sail your sea, meet your storm by kiwikero

Louis is thirty, single, and a bit of a workaholic. He's happy with his life, but then his mother decides to buy him tickets for a Singles Cruise. Appalled that his family thinks he can't handle his own love life, he steps aboard the ship determined to have a terrible time.

That is, of course, until a persistent brunet keeps offering him drinks.

The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.

bring out feelings in me i never show

“I really think you should stop reading,” Liam says, having moved to hover behind Louis’ back at some point. “I can already see the cogs turning in your head, Louis, and I don’t like this.”

“Shut up,” Louis waves him off and continues reading.

I can do these things, at your request: openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice; start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion; propose to you in front of everyone; pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry I don’t drink, but I used to); start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

remember you well by fondleeds @fondleeds

“Um,” Harry starts. He looks out of place. Louis can’t really believe he’s seeing Harry like this, so unsettled, so unlike himself. He holds out his hands. “Should we–. Should I, um. Did you wanna, like, cuff me to the bed or something?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. Do I need to?”

i love you most by stylinsoncity

friends with benefits has always been enough for louis. until, of course, it isn't.

ready to fall by whoknows

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

#rec

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lesbianviolet · 5 years ago

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Hello!! I absolutely love you and your art! 💚🍀💚 and I was wondering if maybe you could give some tips about digital art for beginners! Aside from the setup and program- just drawing in general! P.s I hope things are going well for you and please don't ever doubt yourself, you are so wholesome and deserve all of the love

oh wow thank you! okay so in terms of advice esp witg digital art is experimentation and practice? trying out new styles and new programs and brushes and colouring styles without thinking too much on how “good” it is and more abt how much you personally like it is good! when i was developing my styles id watch a lot of speedpaints and try to use the techniques used there so thats always a fun thing to try?

also, when just starting out with digital art it can always look a bit wonky but thats just part of the process i promise! art is abt progress and improvement so if u just keep at it and dont give up then improvement is inevitble!

in terms of more practical stuff, do a lot of studies! anatomy studies are especially useful. learning how something looks in real life is always a starting point to stylisation. theres a lot of good anatomy references online, and dont be afraid to trace and copy when practicing (dont actually trace other peoples work please tho haha) in order to get that muscle memory down. and uhh proko and sinix design on youtube has some good tutorials too.

this got longer than i thought would but i hope some of this is useful?? id love to see your art sometime please feel free to send me a message or smthn!! thank you for being so nice!! i hope u have a good day :)!! 💖💖💖

#this got long but w/e..#dont feel like u gotta take any of this to heart this is just stuff i personally picked up over years!!#everyones process is different!!#im flattered tht ur asking me for tips tho! if u want me to elaborate on anything pls feel free to msg me!!#jay.txt #also im sick so sorry if theres typos n stuff!

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broomballkraken · 5 years ago

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Title: In the Wake of the Verdant Wind

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Pairing: Raphael/Ignatz

Word Count: 1836

Warnings: None

Summary: Years after the war, Ignatz was as busy as ever, with a seemingly endless list of art commissions on top of helping his husband Raphael run the inn. Even so, they always did manage to set aside some time to just enjoy each other’s company, and reflect on just how wonderful their lives had turned out.

Written for @ferarepair-week 2019 Day 7, Prompt: Verdant

“You think the inn will be okay with us gone?”

“Ah, c’mon Ig! You gotta relax! Maya will take care of things for us. Besides, we’ll only be gone for, like, a week or two at most.”

Ignatz turned to look up at Raphael’s smiling face, golden eyes shining with an overwhelming fondness. They had been married three years to the day, and still the sight never failed to make his heart race. They were off on a trip to visit Ignatz’s family that doubled as a mini vacation to celebrate their anniversary as well.

“Man, am I hungry! Can we stop and eat now?” Raphael asked, laughing as his stomach growled loudly when he slapped a hand to it.

“You’re always hungry, dear. But, I could use a break.” Ignatz said, giggling as Raphael let out an excited whoop, grabbed Ignatz’s hand, and entwined their fingers together.

“Yes! This is why I love you, Ignatz!” Raphael gushed, and Ignatz felt his face heat up as they turned away from the road and climbed up a small hill, with a large tree on the peak that would be a perfect place for a picnic.

“I hope that’s not the only reason you love me.” Ignatz teased, and the absolutely distressed look that crossed Raphael’s face made Ignatz snort with amusement.

“No way!” Raphael said, dropping the pack that he carried so that he could wrap his arms around Ignatz and pull him into a bear hug. “I love everything about you! Your passion for art! Your pretty eyes, and really nice hair. I love your cute glasses and your smarts and your hugs and your-”

“Okay, okay! I get it!” Ignatz said, his voice muffled due to his face currently being squashed against his husband’s broad chest. “I was just joking, Raph.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Raphael said, a light blush appearing on his face as he released his hold on Ignatz and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I knew that.”

Ignatz laughed as he and Raphael busied themselves with setting up a fire and cooking their simple meal of pheasant meat and eggs, and Raphael showered Ignatz with compliments on his improving hunting skills as they ate.

“You’ve really gotten better with a bow lately, Ignatz! I’m glad, ‘cause it means that I still get to eat fresh meat even when we’re on the road!” Raphael said as he happily shoved more food into his mouth. Ignatz sighed and rolled his eyes as bits of meat got caught in Raphael’s beard. Some things would never change, it seemed.

“Raph, dear, you’re getting food all over your face.” Ignatz said, chuckling as he leaned over to wipe Raphael’s beard clean. The larger man blushed as his smaller husband doted on him, and when Ignatz was done and tried to pull away, Raphael instead pulled him onto his lap.

“Thanks, Ig.” Raphael said, his honey colored eyes locking onto Ignatz’s emerald green ones as his arms wrapped fully around the love of his life, and he gently caressed Ignatz’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“Ah, y-your welcome.” Ignatz barely managed to squeak out in his flustered state. He recovered quickly though, and he was amazed that Raphael could still turn him into a stuttering mess after all this time. Ignatz giggled and reached up to cup Raphael’s face, his fingers setting in the soft hair of his beard. The content sigh that passed between Raphael’s lips was cut short when Ignatz kissed him, his hands moving to the wild hair at the back of Raphael’s neck as he deepened the kiss.

The feeling of Raphael smiling against his lips made Ignatz’s heart swell with delight. He never dreamed that he could be this happy, living the life that he always wanted. He was making a living doing a job that he loved, living in a modest yet comfortable environment, and every morning he woke up in the arms of the man that he loved the most. Something was definitely going right with his life when his reality was so, so much better than his dreams.

Ignatz tilted his head, his nose brushing against Raphael’s beard. He giggled as the hairs tickled him, and Raphael pulled away, eyebrows knitted with confusion. Ignatz laughed at how silly he looked, and he cupped Raphael’s face and ran his thumbs over his cheeks.

“Sorry, Raph. Your beard was tickling me. Again.” Ignatz said. Raphael smiled as he rest his forehead against Ignatz’s and let his hands slip around his waist.

“Oops! I guess that means that it’s overdue for some trimming.” Raphael said, a toothy grin crossing his face as he placed a light kiss on Ignatz’s nose.

“Hah, probably. You look even more like a sheep now that you’re beard is fully grown out.”

“You think so?”

“Indeed.” Ignatz nodded, and he pulled away as he ran a hand through Raphael’s hair. “I remember when I first likened you to a sheep. You didn’t really like it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Raphael said, reaching up to cup Ignatz’s cheek, and the movement knocked Ignatz’s glasses slightly askew. “I really like it now, ‘cause your eyes always light up when you say it, and the biggest smile always crosses your face.”

“O-Oh…” Ignatz said, averting his gaze bashfully as his face flushed a bright red.

“You know, I really lucked out, Ignatz.” Raphael said, his voice only a bit louder than a whisper and a tender look in his eyes, “Three years ago I married the cutest, most amazing man that I’d ever met, and we still have a whole lifetime ahead of us! I’m so happy, I think my heart might just burst from my chest or something!” Ignatz was stunned into silence by the sincere words, but he recovered quickly. A bright smile crossed his face as Ignatz wrapped his arms around his husband, his head resting on Raphael’s broad chest.

“I feel the same, Raph. I love you.”

“I love you too, Ig!” Raphael eagerly hugged Ignatz back, but then he suddenly gasped and pulled away, “Oh yeah! I almost forgot!” He turned to rummaged in his travel pack, while Ignatz watched with a curious eyebrow raised.

“Ah, here we go!” Raphael said as he pulled out a small box that was wrapped haphazardly in paper. “Happy Anniversary! I was too excited to wait until we got back home to give you your present, so I brought it with me!”

“You didn’t need to get me anything.” Ignatz said as he smiled and took the box. He chuckled at the giddy look on Raphael’s face as he watched Ignatz tear the paper away with wide eyes, and Ignatz could practically feel him shaking with excitement.

“Well, do you like it?” Raphael asked, waiting with baited breath as Ignatz examined the gift. It was a small carving made out of wood, roughly the size of his hand. It was him and Raphael, holding hands and looking into each others eyes. The carving was a bit rough around the edges and the anatomy was a little wonky, but Ignatz hardly cared as his eyes welled up with tears.

“Oh Raphael, I love it.” Ignatz said, removing his glasses so that he could wipe away his tears of joy.

“Oh, really? Alright!” Raphael said, letting out a triumphant whoop that made Ignatz burst out laughing, “I was really having trouble figuring out what to get you, but Maya thought that I could be good at wood carving, so I thought I’d try it out.”

“It really is an amazing first try. I’m impressed.” Ignatz said as he put his glasses back on.

“Er, well,” Raphael said, averting his gaze as a dusting of pink appeared on his cheeks, “This one is actually the...seventh try. I kept on breaking the wood in half so I had to keep starting over.” Ignatz laughed and shook his head.

“Is that so? Well, I’m honored that you would put so much work into a gift for me. I’ll treasure it, love.” Ignatz said. He then reached over to his own pack and pulled out a neatly wrapped package. “I got you something too.”

“Really?!?” Raphael exclaimed, his booming voice causing Ignatz to wince slightly. Raphael took the gift and ripped open the wrapping paper, and his face scrunched up in confusion as he held up a book.

“Hmm, a book?” Raphael said, tilting his head curiously as he scanned the cover. Ignatz smiled, and couldn’t help but think that his husband looked adorable.

“Yeah, it’s a cookbook.” Ignatz said, “I know you’ve been working hard to run the inn, so hard that you’ve been trying to learn how to cook. I thought this would be a good book to help you get a good start. Plus, this one focuses mostly on meat dishes.” Raphael was silent for a moment, and Ignatz was startled when his husband suddenly started sobbing uncontrollably. He pulled Ignatz into a bear hug, arms locking around the smaller man in a tight embrace.

“Ig! I love it!” Raphael said between his blubbering, and Ignatz struggled to wriggle free from the death grip he was in as he struggled to breath.

“Raph...can’t...breath…” Ignatz managed to choke out, and Raphael quickly let go of him, allowing Ignatz to cough and take a few deep breaths.

“Ah, sorry…” Raphael said, sniffing as he rubbed his face and composed himself. “I’m just...so happy, Ignatz. You really are the best husband ever!”

“I don’t know, I think you’ve already claimed that title.” Ignatz teased, and Raphael’s chest rumbled as a hearty chuckle escaped him.

“Aw, Ig. You’re too cute sometimes, you know? Actually, forget that! You’re too cute all the time!”

“That’s so cheesy…”

Laughter filled the air as the loving pair cleaned up their lunch and packed away their gifts. Ignatz frowned, not really wanting this perfect day to end with them back on the road quite yet. When Raphael moved to sling his pack over his shoulder, Ignatz placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Hey, Raph?” Ignatz said, and Raphael gave him a quizzical look. “Would you mind it if we just stayed here for the day and moved on in the morning? I’m...not quite ready to leave this relaxing place.”

“Oh yeah! I’m totally okay with that!” Raphael said, nodding enthusiastically as he took Ignatz’s hands, fingers gently brushing over the wedding ring on his left hand. “If I had any say in it, I’d spend all of my time just relaxing with you in my arms!”

“I’d definitely do the same.” Ignatz said, smiling as he looked up into Raphael’s eyes. With that decided, Raphael pulled Ignatz into an intimate embrace as their lips met in a tender kiss. The light wind that blew across the verdant meadow around them cooled their flames of passion, but could never blow strong enough to extinguish the unwavering, unconditional love that they held for each other.

#ferarepairweek #fire emblem three houses #raphael kirsten #ignatz victor #igraph #raphael/ignatz #fanfiction #jade writes fanfiction

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dailylogandoodle · 6 years ago

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Any tips for drawing?

I mean, you’re gonna need to be more specific - I can’t impart years worth of skill and memorisation to you in a few tips. I can do my best, though, so here we go:

1: Use references, but don’t stress yourself out trying to get your picture’s proportions and details exactly like the reference image. You’ll waste a lot of time doing that, and all you need from the reference is the general idea of what the anatomy and gesture of the pose is. It’s better to get more drawings done that don’t look exactly like the reference image than to spend all your time on copying every detail of one image - with the first, you get more practise with more poses so you can become familiar with anatomy in general, but with the second you’ll just become really familiar with that one pose and you’ll probably burn yourself out and end up not drawing again for a while.

As a rule for this blog, if it takes me more than 24 hours to draw, it stops becoming a doodle and becomes a drawing, so I never spend more than 24 hours on something. This way, like with the reference images, I can get more practice doing a variety of things, instead of spending days slaving away over one image. I would recommend starting a blog like this if you’re looking to improve your art skills, actually! Just try to remember that it’s a DOODLE per day. Don’t throw yourself into it trying to release masterpieces every day, or your art motivation will die very quickly, and the point is to just get a little bit of low-stress practice in every day, so you improve just a little bit every day. Wow, I just said the word ‘day’ a lot of times.

2: Try to break away from your style every so often as an experiment (draw faces less pointy, thinner lines, shade in greyscale before colouring, draw the hands), but know that you don’t have to make these changes forever. For me, I stopped drawing pointy anime faces so I actually had to know about the anatomy of the bottom of the face, and now my knowledge of faces in general is very improved, and if I get the urge to draw a pointy anime face it’s now a much better pointy face than the ones I did when I was using pointy chins as a crutch to avoid different face shapes. Same with drawing really thin lines for a while - I realised how much I was covering up with thicker lines, and now even though I don’t draw with really thin lines any more, my thicker lines look much better.

3: If you want an expression to be more intense, make the facial features more asymmetrical. In fact, don’t be afraid of asymmetric features in general. I know the totally symmetrical face is considered to be more handsome by science or whatever, but it’s also much less expressive. Generally, the way you should go about it is… If you want to make one eyebrow lower than the other, make the eye below the eyebrow slightly squintier and move the other eyebrow up higher and make the other eye a bit wider. That way, one side of the face is squashed and the other is stretched, so it looks like an intentional decision rather than you not being able to draw the other eye the same way.

That said, getting the other eye correct is much less of a big deal than it’s made out to be - so long as they look generally the same, most people won’t notice. I’ve seen a few other people’s drawings where I’ve only noticed that one of the eyes is uneven after staring at the picture for a while, and my reaction is almost always 'oh, still a good drawing though/doesn’t really take away from the rest of the drawing’, rather than 'oh no, the other eye is wonky and now that I’ve seen this the whole thing is ruined’.

4: Learn colour theory. Learn about composition and negative space and gesture. Learn learn learn. People always make the mistake of assuming artists are naturally talented, or that creativity just magically produces good art. Wrong! Art is a discipline, a craft, and you need to know things about it to be able to do it. If you don’t know how to do fractions, then you won’t be able to do fractions; if you don’t know how to draw a leg, then you won’t be able to draw a leg. This sounds daunting, but what this means is that you have to look up pictures of loads of legs and study leg anatomy and practice loads until you will be able to draw a leg, just like practising a load of sums.

Being an artist is essentially being someone who knows what everything you see in the world is made of and how it works so you can take this knowledge and put it on paper. You need to learn about the texture of skin and hair and what it’s made of before you can render full HD portraits of people with detailed skin and hair.

Roman is actually probably smarter than he seems, because you need a lot of knowledge to create things (and conversely, Logan is probably much better at creative things than he lets on because he has the knowledge to do it – for example, his rap verse was super creative and well done. He just doesn’t utilise his knowledge as much).

Essentially, ignore everyone who tells you art skill is some magical talent that only a few people are blessed with - sure, some people are more naturally inclined to it, but it’s something you have to learn about and practice like maths, writing, music, etc. A person with no natural talent who spends their years practising and learning about the world and what it’s made of and how to draw it is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT OF THE TIME going to be better than someone with natural talent who relies entirely on this innate talent their whole life and never learns and improves. Maybe when they’re a kid they’ll be the best artist in their class, but by the time they’re older, if they haven’t practiced, they’ll be infants compared to people who actually know their stuff.

5: You know that style you use when you’re just casually drawing instead of trying to get your anatomy correct? Like, maybe you draw the face shapes one way when you’re doodling and when you’re working on a big piece you try to draw them a different way that maybe feels less natural? Yeah, that style? Just start using it for your fancier art. You’ll get way more done and improve more because you’re getting more done. This is essentially the same tip as my first one, but I still think it’s really important.

It’s like the Pot Theory that I saw going around once: there was a class divided into two. One half had to make one pot, and it had to be the best pot. They had hours to look up knowledge of how to make pots, so they could make their pot the best pot it could be.

Now, the other half was assigned to make as many pots as possible, regardless of quality. They had much more fun experimenting, finding out what works and what doesn’t, and they practised a lot more than the other class even though their first few attempts were terrible. In the end, the first half’s pot was… Okay, but the half that had produced loads of pots had pots that looked much better because they’d practised loads and allowed themselves to fail and then learn from it. Funnily enough, in art, quantity is better than quality.

(Essentially, by producing one Logan doodle per day, I’m doing the same thing as the students who just made lots of pots, regardless of quality. That’s why I’d recommend starting a blog like this if you want to improve.)

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batwynn · 7 years ago

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Do you have any advice for those who want to learn how to do digital art but are starting from scratch?

Well, I think the first thing you should do is remember to allow yourself time to get used to a new medium. A lot of people get started with digital and expect instant results or little trouble moving forward. The trouble is, it can be very different from traditional media, especially depending on the tools you use. [For example: using an Intuos tablet is harder to adjust to after working with pen/pencil on paper vs. a Cintiq tablet.] Even if you don’t have experience with traditional art before starting with digital, a lot of the steps will be the same. The only difference is that you’re going to be applying a lot of the same things you would apply to traditional artwork straight to the digital world. [Things like: Studying anatomy, colors theory, shading techniques, etc.]

So my first piece of advice is:

This means exploring programs that you have/the trial versions, testing out settings/shortcuts for the buttons and keys, and even taking a look at some tutorials around the internet. Find out what things work best for you and your style, make sure your work space is comfortable and things like your keyboard is accessible while you work. You’ll find there’s a lot to discover about the programs and tools, and yourself. You don’t even need to draw right away, just play with brushes and tools, see what catches your eye and what doesn’t. As you move along and begin drawing, you’ll start to figure out what short cuts and buttons you will be using the most and what’s the best way to apply them. [Example: I have Control Z as a button on my tablet. Along with Copy/paste and other tools I use a lot. On my keyboard, I have a lot of different shortcuts I’ve created the suit my specific needs as an artist.]

A lot of working with digital is actually just remembering simple things like when to use your control z and when to erase, how and when to color your lines, how to layer your colors/shade layers, to put colors in your shadows, etc etc. All of these things can be very different than working with more traditional mediums. [Example: Working with watercolors and line work can be a very different process with your pencil lines, adding the color over them, then going over your lines with ink--compared to creating your sketch layer, draw over it with a complete line work layer, then creating a color layer under it, and removing your sketch layer.] You’re going to find things like ‘clip masks’/clip layers for shading or coloring lines, all your layer modes for lighting effects, and brushes. So many brushes. If you’re just starting out directly with digital, it’s a similar path of discovery. You’re going to find that some techniques are easier for you than others, and some might actually bog down your process than streamline it. [Things like: Different shading techniques, styles of rendering, lighting effects, etc.]

If you’ve drawn with other mediums before, you might see changes in your technique and style that you may not like or understand. You might even consider yourself ‘slipping back’ or ‘regressing’ in regards to technique/style. You may go more simple, or more complex with details. Some of it can be a product of the medium, some can be due to the ability to branch out with different effects and colors, and some can just be your style doing its thing. This is okay! Allow yourself some room to explore and get a feel for the medium. Things are going to feel and look a little wonky at first as you get used to it. If you’re pumping out full bodied professional work on your first try... well, I mean... kudos to you. You’re a genius who wears many hats. But this is not typical of people just starting out with anything. You’re going to stumble a bit. It is okay. If you’re starting out new, you might be nervous about how your style looks and how it develops. I think it’s something a lot of newcomers focus a little too much on, and I’d like to say that style is really not something you need to focus on in the beginning. I mean, to be quite honest, I never actually thought very hard about my style once in my entire lifetime. It just... did its own thing and went its own way, and I followed along. It changes with your moods, it changes with your mediums, with the weather, with the political environment. You’re going to have Bad Art Days that feel like you’ve slipped back into the dark ages. You’re going to have Good Art Days where everything looks so much better how did I even manage that and now I can’t do it again oh my god what was I doing right?! Don’t stress style. Seriously.

Other than that, I have one more thing to say. It’s what everyone says, and I know people are sick of seeing it as advice but there’s a reason for it.

Practice.

Trust me, it does help. It does move you forward. It may feel like a snail’s pace sometimes, but practice means effort means time spent means things learned means progress. Progress is always good. And while you’re practicing, please don’t forget to enjoy creating art. Having fun, even if the end product isn’t perfect or an absolute stunner, is a huge part of practice and being an artist in general. [Trust me, i’ve created some truly ugly things in my time, and I’ve learned from them and had a good laugh.]

So, go forth and create. Learn. Practice. Fail. Succeed. Enjoy.

#digital art #drawing #digital drawing #advice #how to #tutorial #Anonymous

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austinpanda · 4 years ago

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Dad Letter 010321

3 January, 2021

Dear Dad--

First letter of 2021! Happy New Year!

I didn’t do diddly for New Year’s Eve. Things are pretty bad with the coronavirus here in Maine, so Zach and I are doing our best to not go into anyone else’s house or allow anyone into ours. Also, I live in Old Town, Maine. I’m not sure there’s an organized New Year’s event here, even when the Andromeda Strain isn’t happening in real life. I know that, in downtown Bangor, they do a thing every New Year’s where they drop a lighted beach ball off a 4-story building at midnight. I don’t know if it’s lowered gracefully, or if they just chuck it off, and the crowd starts playing with it. Hard to imagine a more fitting end to 2020, I think: a small, socially-distanced crowd, and the beach ball falls, and it hits the ground, and no one moves, and they just point at it and say, “Happy New Year! Let us all be careful not to touch the ball!” And then they all go cry in their cars. (Heh! I’m kidding; it wasn’t that sad a New Year’s, although truth be told, they had to cancel the beach ball thing this year.)

I have made a new friend online. He lives about an hour from here, and not only does he like old movies, but particularly old 70s and 80s movies, which are a passion of mine, since that’s when I grew up, and he likes movie soundtracks and musical scores, which is another passion of mine. I’m having trouble with his name, because it’s Palmer. Whenever I try to call up the name, it takes a few tries. “Landers. Flanders. Flounder. Frommers. Uh...Planders? Palmer!” Once we can get vaccinated, he’ll be able to come visit and we can watch some classic shit. He’s probably never seen The Sugarland Express, or Anatomy of a Murder. He likes Hitchcock, and John Carpenter, which are both good signs. It’ll be nice to have a friend who has a zeal for older movies the way I do!

Yesterday was awesome, by the way. It was our first sizable snowstorm since we moved here! We didn’t see any snowstorms that dumped as much snow as yesterday’s since we got here in fall of 2019. (We kind of expected more from Maine!) Now it’s today, and all the clouds have gone, and it’s even more pretty, because all the snow is sparkling, because it’s sunny and 18 degrees here. I’ll do some more writing today, after I finish writing to you, and Zach will probably spend the day making music.

Because his passion is making music, or sound art, Zach has some amusingly strong opinions about popular music. And as his spouse, I don’t feel it behooves me to discourage that practice, even when the opinion becomes very amusing indeed. As an example: he doesn’t like songs that fade out in the end. It never would have occurred to me to have an opinion about that. He finds it to be lazy. Write a damn end to your song, you know? I think his logic runs thusly: if you’re writing a book, and instead of writing an ending, you just write a paragraph that kinda belongs at the end, then you repeat that paragraph, over and over, each time making the type a little lighter until it’s completely invisible...do we consider that a well-written ending to the book? No, we consider that to be lazy bullshit. Write an end to your damn song. Also, that makes it easier to perform live, having an ending. Fading out has got to look really silly in person.

Oh! You mentioned sending a couple of Christmas presents. Thank you in advance for both! I haven’t received them yet, but the mail service here has been a bit wonky since Christmas, and I’m guessing it’ll arrive soon, at which point, I’ll immediately let you know.

Oh, another thing! I read the most interesting thing on the NPR website about a woman who can smell Parkinson’s Disease. This is an actual woman who’s alive now. She didn’t realize she had this superpower. No one realized it, for years, but she always noticed that her husband had a particular smell, kind of a musky smell, and she liked it. Then one day, he came home from work, and he smelled completely different. He had a new, kind of unpleasant odor. And it became a minor problem, because she’d tell him to shower, and that wouldn’t fix it, and it began to piss him off, all the requests that he shower. Then, after a while, he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. No one made any connection then, but a while later, the two of them went to a support group for people with Parkinson’s. And as soon as they entered the room, she realized all the other patients had the exact same unpleasant new odor that her husband had developed.

Well, the smelly husband was also a doctor, and she a nurse, and between the two of them, they realized, “Oh shit, if she can smell Parkinson’s disease, that could have enormous implications!” After some time she and her smelly doctor husband met up with some science guys who were able to test her. They had a control group wear white T-shirts, and they had a bunch of people with Parkinson’s wear white T-shirts, then they made her SMELL THE T-SHIRTS. Not only was she able to tell who had Parkinson’s and who didn’t, but often how far the disease had progressed, how bad it was. She got one person wrong, said he had Parkinson’s when he didn’t. Then that guy came back to the scientists a while later to tell them that he’d been diagnosed with Parkinson’s. She’s been proven able to smell Parkinson’s on people BEFORE it presents medically. And since then, they found out she can smell all kinds of disease, including tuberculosis, diabetes, Alzheimer's, and cancer.

I think this means we’re moving closer to a Star Trek reality, where a doctor will just wave a little gizmo in front of a patient and it’ll tell them everything there is to know about them medically.

About the only other thing of interest is that I’ve ordered new socks from Amazon, and though socks aren’t usually a cause for celebration, I’m looking forward to them with great eagerness. This is because, not to dwell on the unpleasant minutiae, my current supply of socks sucks. Too tight, not warm enough, fall apart too quickly. I’m trying something new. I’m hoping it’ll change my whole sock life. Some of the socks in the pack I’m getting are hi-visibility green, so if they suck, you’ll be able to see them sucking from a much greater distance.

I think today, I’m going to take down the Christmas tree and put it back into storage. Typically this is a sullen, desultory task, so it’s a good idea to have uplifting music or something funny playing on TV while you do it. (I’m thinking Full Metal Jacket.) And I know that little Horta will want to help (for a given value of “help”) and that’ll make it fun. She won’t be able to climb it, or maul it to amuse herself with our displeasure any longer, but perhaps she’ll remember it when we erect it again later this year!

More next week. Glad we all made it to 2021, and all my love to you both!

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adrift-in-writing · 8 years ago

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Little Death - Chapter 6: Life

The end of this fanfic(?)

Contains fluff, angst, and a bit of a left-fielder (At least coming from this author, mate)

___________________________

Miss a part? Click to be redirected.

Read on AO3

Part 1 - Alone | Part 2 - Together | Part 3 - Safe | Part 4 - Belong Part 5 - Remember

From the look of things, the piano session went without a hitch. No apparitions appeared, no damned nothing interrupted Amélie. Though her piano sessions typically lasted longer, that was before the woman’s reconditioning phases. Those skills had long dulled from under-usage.

Winston, Lena, and Amélie finished up ‘Love, Hacktually’ to pass the time afterwards, but once the movie concluded, they all went their separate ways for the afternoon. Lena began exercising upstairs, Winston wrote some mail for the other Overwatch teammates - alive and dead, supposedly - and Emily, having chosen not to watch the movie, instead spent her time creating her art.

The freckled girl spent most of her time in Amélie’s room, riding on the inspiration she was given and seemingly proud of how far she’d gotten. Maybe, just maybe, that reference photo from last night could be used as a backdrop. It’d be beautiful if it were, and that’s exactly what Emily had in mind.

A knock on the door had disrupted her creative process momentarily. “Come in!” She turned to face the door as it opened, Amélie stepped in with a neutral look on her face. That expression changed to a more softer and warm expression when she saw what Emily had worked on so far.

“So I see you were inspired, oui (yes)?”

Nodding, Emily deliberately hid her canvas. “Not ready yet, mate. Wouldn’t wanna ruin the surprise.”

In return, Amélie chuckled, sitting down on the bed. Whatever it was, it must be very special. But, as things would turn out, Amélie shifted her gaze towards a photo resting neatly on the side-table. It was a picture of her and Gérard on their wedding day - the same photo Lena and her retrieved from the abandoned Estate in Annecy all those months ago.

She sighed, shuffling herself over just so she could put the portrait face-down. Emily leaned her head to the side, momentarily processing what was going on.

“I want to ask you something.”

Emily blinked a few times before her eyes darted. “It’s uh...it’s for you.”

“For me?”

“The drawing. It’s dedicated to you. I mean, if that’s what you’re wondering, anyway!”

This rather came out of left-field for Amélie, but, she raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Well...not my question, but...”

There was a slight blush of embarrassment from Emily as she bit her lip. “Oh. Um...well...there goes the surprise!” She lowered her head and let her bangs cover her shame. A soft ‘dammit’ was overheard before Emily perked herself up again. “Right! What’s the question?”

“By any chance...do you know how to give a haircut?”

What an odd thing to ask, coming from Amélie. Well, considering all the local barber shops were closed, perhaps this wasn’t the worst question to ask somebody. But why Emily, of all people? Why couldn’t Lena do this or...hell, even a friend of Lena’s?

Amélie stared intently, awaiting her response, and Emily rolled her tongue to gloss over her teeth. Technically, she did take about two years of cosmetology as an undergrad, but that got her nowhere. After a few quick moments of consideration, she simply shrugged.

“...Maybe. I’m not good with sharp objects.”

“Good enough.” Amélie proceeded to stand up, removing her hair-band from her ponytail, and tossing it over to the side-counter, just perfectly on top of the downed photo from earlier. She had beckoned Emily to come with as her lengthy hair drooped down all the way to her lower back. Of course, Emily herself was a little bit more interested in why Amélie had picked her, and not somebody else. Nevertheless, she’d probably answer ‘I trust you’ or ‘You seemed like the one who could do it’. Something vague as a response was all Emily was probably thinking she’d get, so she let it go.

Above all else, she had no experience in this. She always practiced on wigs and they always came out a bit wonky, and the likelihood of her messing up hair would be higher than if she simply waited for an actual professional. Emily dropped her canvas and pencil on the bed, stumbling just a bit on the floor from prolonged sitting. She had exited out of the bedroom in time to see Amélie move herself towards Lena’s bathroom.

“Wait up!” She had cried out, but Amélie was intent on getting there first. Just as Emily exited her guest room, Amélie turned a corner, leaving only her hair to be the last sight she caught.

When they did arrive, Emily had found the woman was neatly plopped onto a seat with scissors in her hands. She stared at a mirror, with an expression that matched what she was pondering. Reluctantly, Emily had walked in and was immediately presented with the pair of scissors in Amélie’s hands.

“I want you to do me a favor,” Amélie had calmly began, “cut my hair to a modest length.”

She snipped air, and gently cast aside the scissors to the counter. “I’m not the best at it, y’know. And besides...” She chuckled a little bit at the thought. “Does Lena know you want this?”

Shaking her head, Amélie brushed some of her unkempt bangs behind her ears for the time being. “I want it as a surprise. I’ve...got to be honest. I’ve not had a haircut in nearly eight years.”

“Couldn’t this wait ‘til tomorrow? Why me?”

“No. I want one today. I trust you.”

Sighing, Emily figured as much. It was nice to be trusted with somebody’s personal favors, but not like this. If it was perhaps money for a haircut, she’d give it no problem. But for a direct haircut, that’s some really interwoven connections of trust. She was hesitant about it, and she darted her eyes around, ensuring this wasn’t a prank or anything.

“How short are we talking about here? Couple inches? Half of your hair? Full on butch?”

“What is this ‘butch’ you speak of?” Amélie questioned, parting a few strands of her bangs away.

Emily nervously grinned and laughed in response. “Butch is like, stylish short hair. Something wild like Lena’s or, hell, Maifie Adams for a few years in her 2072 album, ‘Livin’ the Wyld Style’. Or, better yet, Sakura Cheong.”

For a moment, Amélie thought about it. She never had that short of hair in her life, but...she wasn’t prepared to sacrifice all that. Not yet, at least. The idea was cute, but to her she wanted something that invoked an earlier life, and most of her younger times consisted of having shoulder-length hair, or a little bit more.

“Ah, maybe just a little below shoulder-length if that is the case. Here,” Amélie pulled down a holographic screen display to reveal a photo of her from a normal day, long before her reconditioning process. “Something like this.”

Amélie had been smiling a rather warm smile in the photo, but something about it seemed rather ominous. Regardless of whatever intent the photo had, it gave Emily the general idea of what she envisioned: A shorter ponytail, delicately fluffed up from the sides, and a noticeably elevated top-section. Overall, it seemed fairly clean and simplistic in style, and very fitting of Amélie.

So, half of her hair it was. Emily opened up the pair of scissors and grabbed a rather lengthy amount of hair. She hesitated, of course, and Amélie simply glanced at her through the mirror.

But then she pulled the pair of blades back, still ever so reluctant about this decision. Smacking her lips, she snipped air once more. “You’re absolutely sure I’m the right person for this?”

There was only a nod, and nothing more from the blue-skinned woman before her.

“Right. Clothes off. Wouldn’t want hair on your blouse and trousers, would we?”

Shrugging, Amélie gradually took off all of her clothing. She had intended to go get a quick shower afterwards, so this was probably thinking ahead of time. Her clothes eventually made their way to a laundry hamper nearby, and now Amélie was stark naked sitting on a little stool. Of course, Emily wasn’t phased. She’d already seen plenty of people naked in her life in anatomy practice lessons. The freckled girl took a deep breath, and opened up the shears again, and grabbed a fair portion of Amélie’s hair in another hand.

Snip.

In one gradual cut, a modest length of Amélie’s hair fell to the floor, and a bit on her lap. She brushed off any stray hair on the floor for later when she’d vacuum it up.

Amélie sat in silence as Emily did what she was asked. Bits of hair fell down, but it would be dealt with later. Despite Emily’s proclaimed ‘I can’t do this’ stance, she in fact could...with minor altercations. If anything, the biggest difference from the photo the woman had provided was that the bangs were lengthier than it should’ve been. Otherwise, all was good, and it wasn’t a complete disaster. Nothing was lopsided nor was it awkward on the eyes. Maybe for a touch-up, Amélie could go to a proper barber tomorrow if she desired.

“Well, did what I could. Fucking A...” Emily contently chuckled, wiping off remnants of hair from the scissors. “There ya go. Could use your hair for a line of dark blue wigs.”

Standing up from her stool, Amélie softly grinned in response. “I don’t think people would like to hear a dead person for a decade has decided to donate their hair. Please remember that the world still isn’t aware I’m alive.”

With a hand signal from Amélie, she gestured that Emily had fulfilled the favor. “You are free to go finish up that drawing. Wash your hands, first.”

“Alright. I should get it done before the end of the night. How’s that sound?”

Nodding, Amélie liked the sound of that. A complete drawing in one day was something she didn’t particularly see very often. With one last nod from the freckled girl, she left after wiping off her hands on a towel. There was a slight humming tune from Emily as well, but it was too indistinct to guess what it was, maybe a Christmas tune. Regardless, Amélie decided not to linger over it, turning the water valves in the shower to an appropriate amount of warmth. For the next few minutes, she simply spent her time with hair conditioner and shampoo, with random bits of hair falling down every now and then.

Just as Amélie had finished up her quick shower, she had opted to rather stand there, not wanting to dry herself off. Pressing her hands against the porcelain walls, she had her eyes closed, pondering what Lena would say.

Maybe she would like it, or at least that’s the best Amélie could hope for. Or, maybe the change was unjustified and ergo there wasn’t much of a reason other than ‘I need a new haircut’. For a moment, her mind wandered for a bit, feeling a tad bit relaxed. Amélie thought it might’ve been best to not soak in water for too long, so she swiftly snapped out of her little train of thought, cleaned the rest of her body up, and got out as soon as she possibly could.

Drying off her hair and changing herself into something more casual for dinner, she wanted to head out just as Lena began to head into the bathroom. Between the intersection, two opposing forces bumped the door that led nowhere.

“Oh! Is somebody in there?” Lena called out, with hints of exhaustion in her voice from exercising.

A sinking feeling grasped at Amélie, for she wasn’t expecting Lena to come in already. Though the younger woman was persistent on getting inside the bathroom, her arm was firm and unmoving. Somewhere, she didn’t want Lena to see her hair right now.

“It’s me, chérie (dear). I was just about to go get dressed for tonight.”

At Lena’s end of the door, she had let go and, embarrassingly, moved out of the way. “Door’s free now! Ya can move out!”

Amélie had to think of something for Lena to do so she couldn’t see her new haircut. Naturally, a memory back when they had to share a room in Gibraltar came into mind. Of all the things in the world that Lena was cautious of, seeing another woman nude made her a bit skittish.

“I’m naked. Close your eyes.”

Immediately, Lena closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Done. Lemme know when to open.”

Emerging out of the bathroom swiftly, Amélie had lied about changing her clothes. In reality she already wore a grey button-up shirt and some black sweatpants that were clearly a bit oversized, even for her physique.

She pretended to go to her dresser to grab clothes, even so much as to open it up and ensure Lena heard it open up. She got nothing out, of course, but Amélie waited long enough, but the younger Brit before her was ever so patient. Lena looked real tense, closing her eyes and stiffening up her muscles just to invoke the ‘don’t move a muscle’ ordeal. It was cute, but any longer and Lena would probably grow suspicious.

“Open.”

Doing as she was told, Lena let her eyes open with a slight droop. They shot open wide when she took notice of Amélie’s new haircut. There was a bit of bumbling and other indistinct noises coming from Lena as she hid her face, visibly blushing alongside a muffled ‘bloody hell’ and something about being ‘really lucky’ being emitted from her mouth.

Amélie rolled her eyes, but she seemed to have gotten the message that Lena must’ve loved it. Reaching out, Amélie delicately pushed aside Lena’s hands so the Brit could admire her some more.

Now she was really red in her cheeks. Lena nervously swallowed, and only after a few moments did she remember why she came here.

“I gotta shower!” She exclaimed, embarrassingly moving away from Amélie and zipping away into the bathroom. A sudden ‘clank’ was muffled by the door - now closed - and an even more muffled ‘sod it’ could be overheard.

While amusing, Amélie didn’t expect such a strong reaction from Lena over a simple haircut. Albeit, she really didn’t know what to expect at all; she probably assumed Lena would love it, but not as much as what just unfolded. Nevertheless, she still had to clean up her hair still lying on the floor mats in the bathroom.

Now where was that vacuum cleaner?

____________________________

Time seemed to fly by fairly quick. Dinner came around and the four of them had scrambled together for their Christmas dinner. Things were...more quiet than normal, at least on Amélie’s end. Her thoughts had fuzzed up, having to come back sitting at this table.

While Emily and Lena were chatting away and Winston had been listening in politely, Amélie felt...disconnected. By instinct, she had tuned out of everything in the moment and only stared outward into the snow-covered London skies.

It wasn’t on purpose, of course, for Lena to be so caught up in talking with Emily. She was just so embarrassed to be glaring at Amélie and having to notice her new haircut - something she still couldn’t get over right now - and having a dumbfounded stare on her face.

Amélie didn’t have a clue how much time had passed; she didn’t feel like looking up at the clock. Her head lowered as she stared blankly at her lap. Obscured was the conversation behind held by the two Brits next to her.

She hadn’t a clue why she had to remember Gérard today. At first it simply just became awkward dreams of her husband luring her into death, but she refused to die. She refused to believe that it really was her husband, but that hallucination from earlier proved otherwise.

She began curling and uncurling her hands about two or three times before clenching them fully. These hands once strangled her beloved until he breathed no more. These hands once caressed his rugged cheeks after a few months of being away from each other. What a wicked game Talon played on her.

Then Amélie felt a warm presence in the form of an index finger prod her cheek.

“Luv?”

Her head raised itself back up again as her eyes made contact with Lena’s.

“You still with us?” Lena tilted her head, asking.

That same shade of paleness from Amélie’s skin was showing again. Lena had known by now something was off, just based on how much Amélie was avoiding things today.

“I’m fine. Just...thinking.”

Amélie put on a fake smile and began resuming eating her meal again. She only nodded and brushed off the notion something was wrong, even if it meant lying to Lena about it.

Against her better judgement, Lena went along with it again. Later tonight she’d have a discussion about it with her in private, and then give her gift to her. She didn’t like that something felt dreadfully off, but she couldn’t do much about it right now, in front of everyone.

Lena’s conversation with Emily had stopped after a while and the rest of the dinner went on without anything exciting to talk about. This wasn’t how Christmas was supposed to go down; even more so was the fact Amélie wasn’t this silent yesterday night. Though jokes were passed around the table by Winston, it didn’t change the mood all that much.

What did change was after dinner, as it was to conclude with an opening of presents. Amélie thus far only received a box of chocolates, and the rest of the group received some pretty fun stuff. Emily had gotten a game of Telestrations and Telestrations After Dark, Lena had received a new pair of crocs (on top of the endless mound she already had), and Winston got a model rocket ship that could interchangeably recreate itself into any previous ones before.

A seemingly quiet night changed into something of a comedic game of shenanigans, what with the four of them playing Telestrations. Each of them were tasked to draw a birthday cake, a whale, a Venus Flytrap, and a wallflower. After 60 seconds, all of them swapped pictures and guessed what the image was.

“...What in the bloody hell?” Emily tilted her head, confused at what in the world Lena had drawn.

“Only got 60 seconds! Can’t blame me for that one.” Lena had protested. Her picture was what looked like a round circle without anything on top, and everything else was intricate around the sides. It looked like a drum. “Oi, Amélie. This what I think it is?”

Shrugging, Amélie wasn’t allowed to tell her what it was. “Je ne sais pas (I don’t know). Winston drew something that looked like something he would eat.”

“Hey, not true!” Winston retorted, before momentarily shifting his gaze back to Emily’s drawing in his possession. It looked like a man who got stuck in a wall before the paint dried. Even with the freckled Brit’s drawing skills, this was some shoddy workmanship. Blame the 60 seconds.

After several more rounds featuring a large amount of misunderstandings - a common part of the game itself - and genuine laughter from all four of them, they spent several minutes total debating each and every shift in the drawing pads. By the end of it, they had gotten a picture of a gangster, a bumblebee, a band of instruments, and the Moon Landing.

The hour was late, but Emily was determined to win her side of the argument that her illustrations were simple enough. Hell, there were even arrows pointing at the certain objects and people seemed to miss it, but Lena wouldn’t have any of it. She giggled every few words, because somehow ‘gangster’ emerged from drawing a fairly detailed photo of Harrison Ford as Han Solo, though she did calm down eventually.

“Well we botched that, didn’t we?” Emily cried out, holding her drawings up. “Look at this!” She shoved the pictures towards Lena’s face. “Sod it all, mate, a wallflower was the simplest thing and nobody got it!”

“It’s not your fault, I mean...ya did get put on the spot! Ain’t used to workin’ under pressure, no biggie!”

While the two Brits had a friendly argument, Amélie’s fatigue started to show again. She was the first to go get some rest, and Winston began erasing his own Telestrations board to put away. If she had more time, Lena would totally have gone on longer for teasing Emily over trying to draw a wallflower in 60 seconds. But, she had to go. She still had Amélie’s problem to deal with.

“Listen, Emmy. We’ll talk more ‘bout this over breakfast, yeah?”

With a reluctant nod and an exhaustive sigh, Emily hopped out of her chair leaving her Telestrations pad where it was, and Winston waved both of them good night, heading off in his own guest room.

____________________________

The door shut behind Lena as she entered into a dimly lit bedroom. Amélie had already prepared herself to go sleep off today and her troubles. At least, until Lena came in. Then she remembered she still had a gift ready, whatever it may be. Her sweatpants were already thrown somewhere else; Amélie didn’t feel like wearing them tonight, the room was warm enough already.

Amélie’s eyes had a sense of deep sorrow laden within them, having her burst of joy crumble down into sadness. Any hint of happiness today wasn’t there, nor any sense of any other emotion aside from her wistful expressions. She quietly observed Lena with her eyes, running them up and down to check for any signs of a present. Nothing seemed to indicate it.

Only the sounds of slight shuffling around the loft and the gentle, soft hum of Lena’s accelerator hummed in the night. By then, the Brit had dashed into Amélie’s arms, embracing her. They said nothing for a while, and it was a tid-bit hard for Lena to form words to put it delicately. Amélie figured that maybe her ruse was up. She had proceeded to go sit down on the bed, prompting Lena to sit on her lap.

Amélie smiled briefly, feeling the warmth that Lena had provided her on top of the harness. She wanted to kiss her and simply let things go, but that’d be stepping on their trust.

“You’re probably wondering, aren’t you.” Amélie muttered into Lena’s ear.

“...It’s Gérard again, innit?” Lena replied back, her tone filled with concern. To her, Gérard had loved his wife, but something deep inside her suggested that tonight, this was not the case.

Humming, Amélie scooted in a bit further on their bed. “I...want to start off by saying that these past few months,” She began, maintaining eye-contact with the smaller Brit, “they were wonderful. I enjoyed...laughing. And smiling. Being human again.”

Despite feeling so empty and hollow since the morning over her new-found horrific memory, Amélie felt like breaking down right then and there in bed, but at the same time she wanted to keep up her semi-positive attitude. Somewhere, a deep part of her wanted to truly feel a sense of pain from crying, or at least spilling tears; yet as much as her heart stung like a thousand needles, she couldn’t. Lena wanted to speak up, but Amélie cut her off.

“But I don’t deserve it, do I...?”

A part of Lena wanted to cut back in again, but that might’ve not have been the best idea to interrupt the woman before her.

“I remembered something I really shouldn’t have. It’s...it’s not the first time I remembered it either.”

Her nod had given a small pang of pain in Lena’s heart. Today was supposed to be a happy day; the day where being part of a family and not spending a single moment alone was meant to be the spirit of things. Yet, to Amélie, she felt like she could not join them. People would’ve freaked out if they saw her, or worse figure out she is a major factor in the discourse of the world.

Amélie had no choice but to face her fears tonight. She told herself that if not tonight, then she would never know the truth about Lena’s intentions. If not tonight, then never any other night would she want to ask. Her gaze was now upon Lena herself, who had inched a few feet backward to give her some space. “Nobody told me. They wanted me to forget.”

“...But ya couldn’t.” Lena whispered, now fearing the dread of Amélie’s words.

The woman paused, trying to collect herself and keep things together. With a nod, she looked down and stifled back what seemed like a hint of silent weeping. “I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why she wanted me not to remember.”

Her head lowered, now feeling bitter sorrow. “How could I forget that my own husband fucked somebody who he thought was me?”

She scoffed, turning the other cheek. Now a part of her really, really wanted to cry, but still, there was nothing. Lena proceeded to trail her hand over to caress Amélie’s cheek, double checking to make sure there were any tears. Surprisingly - and most shocking to her - there weren’t any. At least, not now. There wasn’t anything to smile at, so Lena did no such thing. For a moment, the woman had felt a little bit better about herself, feeling her lover’s soft and warm fingers touch her icy skin.

But it was not to last. Amélie lifted up her own hand and gently let down Lena’s own. With a deep breath, she recollected her already scattered thoughts, listening only to the accelerator from the girl’s chest whirring away. The cyan-colored light illuminated the two girls in bed, but at any given point Lena would have to plug it into a charging station at some point.

Amélie couldn’t bear to face her guilt. It was even harder to confront Lena and say it, telling her the real reason of why Gérard died. She pursed her blue lips, turning her cheek away. It ruined her if she were to speak of this and look at her lover in the same way.

“...Out of sheer anger and bitterness, the Widow let me have control of myself again.” She paused, having remembered that horrid night, “After he had his fill of me and threw me away for the night, I suffocated the man I loved before brutally ending his life.”

The look Lena had was not of fear, not of anything remotely afraid of her. It was more of the same sorrow Amélie had in her own eyes. She had restrained herself again, but something deep in her pushed on, listening even more.

“It was the first time I had killed. Then...I just felt regret. Nothing but emptiness in me. And then...I felt tired. Just so tired. I slept, hoping I’d wake up. And I kept having nightmares over and over...”

Amélie shook her head in denial, but in reality there was no denying it. She could feel just a few trickles of hot tears run down her cheeks. “But they weren’t nightmares...they were real. All of it was real, and I...”

She tripped over her words. She wanted to say ‘committed atrocities’ but...she could only wonder and want an honest explanation of things. She wanted to give Lena all of her love, but the final question had lingered in her head. If Gérard was easily fooled, could Lena have fallen into the same trap? The woman pushed Lena away, but kept the smaller Brit in her hands, nervously swallowing.

“With this revelation came another dark thought, Lena... If my own husband fell for her...did you, too?” She had asked, her voice a little weary. Amélie sniffled, and no more tears ran down. Albeit brief, it was as close as expressing sadness as she could get, even though two nights ago she nearly cried enough as it already was. Instinctively, Lena had shaken her head the moment she heard those words.

“Listen to me.”

Her nose scrunched up, and her eyes were fierce. She laid her two free hands on Amélie’s shoulders and looked at her dead in the eye.

“No. I would know the difference. You know that I love you and not that murderer. Look,” Lena paused briefly, pulling out her holophone and flipping open up a collection of photos. “You see this? This is from our trip in Annecy.”

The images hovered, but Amélie could see them in full view. A good majority of them seemed to be just pictures of her grinning, looking awkward, blurry, or otherwise like any other normal human being. There was a soulful expression laden in her golden gaze, and not one of a hollow and sadistic killer.

“Who is this? Who’s smiling in those pictures? Not Widowmaker.”

Those photos began minimizing back into Lena’s phone, and she held onto Amélie a little tighter. “I would’ve never have taken anythin’ if I knew it wasn’t you. Never. Not in a million years. Not if Talon put a gun at my head.”

By then, Lena had begun to play it cool. She moved her warm fingers upwards and around Amélie’s neck, pulling her in so they could touch foreheads. For this moment alone, the much smaller Brit wanted Amélie to let the words sink in.

“And if she’s listening in? She needs to know I’m not afraid of her. I will never be afraid of her. She should be afraid of me, because I’m the one thing standing between Widowmaker...and you.”

That was Lena’s proclamation. Their conversation quietly shut itself down while the two intently stared at each other. Amélie’s saddened expression gradually faded, but not into a blank one. It was one of hope, and the return of her happiness. She smiled - for now, she had a reason to - and took a deep, yet shaky sigh.

She looked up, after thinking some things through. “How do you do it?”

“Do what, exactly?”

“How are you never depressed about anything?”

There was a chuckle, and Lena tilted her head, cracking open a small grin. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“Well...you always smile and make others laugh and I thought, maybe --”

Lena had shaken her head. “Just ‘cause somebody’s smilin’ outside doesn’t mean they aren’t hurtin’ on the inside, luv. I just try not to let the pain get to me.”

Really, Amélie should’ve taken a look at herself. She had falsely smiled most of the day today, yet she was hurting real bad. This time, however, her smile was genuine. She looked back up at Lena again.

“We could talk ‘bout this all night, but I think this week’s been dreadful enough.” Lena said, wrapping her arms around Amélie again, stroking her back for reassurance. “I just want you to be happy. With me, and everythin’ I try to do. You deserve someone who’s gonna be there.”

There was always something Lena did right in Amélie’s perspective. She’d always say the right things, or simply convince her everything was going to be alright. Even if it seemed shoddy, Lena’s tone had the most impact to it; there would never be a hint of doubt coming out of her lips.

“One more question, chérie (dear).” Amélie calmly spoke.

“Anythin’ for you.” Lena replied back, her grin reassuring the woman.

“What is my Christmas present?”

Lena grew a bit flushed as she bit her lower lip. “It’s uh...I dunno if it’s that appropriate considering our topic earlier.” She grinned, and nervously scratched her head. “I-I mean...only if you wanna. It’s...”

It didn’t take long for Amélie to catch on with what Lena had intended. She too had a sudden feeling of embarrassment from it. Though she initially felt nothing, there was a slight...tingling sensation. It was a sensation that she hadn’t felt in a long, long while. Something in her heart became excited at the thought, and it even showed; Amélie’s cheeks grew a smidgen purple from the implications of it all.

“I mean...I really wanted ya to be happy an’ all and to forget ‘bout the past. Again, only if you wanna. It’s no rush!” Lena had insisted.

Amélie had an impish smirk as she raised her eyebrow. This was to be her gift for the evening, then? It seemed so...her. So ‘Lena Oxton’, in a way. So cheesy, yet...something bold, and daring.

“I want to.” Amélie reached up to undo the harness’ straps. Promptly, she began softly pecking at Lena’s lips with her impish smirk turning into a warm smile she always shared with others.

Nervously swallowing, the Brit really wasn’t expecting to dive into it that quick. “Wait.” Lena softly muttered, defensively grabbing onto Amélie’s arms.

The woman had proceeded to stop, letting her hands slip down the sleek device. Not a single notch was untied, though she knew how to take it off. Amélie tilted her head to the side, questioning if it was perhaps the pressure. Or maybe it was Lena’s first time?

Seemingly flustered, Lena took a few swift - yet sharp - breaths, muttering something about ‘being able to do this’. Indeed, it was definitely her first time, especially with another woman. All it did so far was make Amélie laugh.

“First time, then?” Amélie teased, “Well...first time for everything.”

This, of course, made Lena even more flustered. She had quickly devolved into a bit of a mess, despite all that bravery being displayed prior to a more touchy conversation. Luckily for Lena, Amélie definitely had experience from this. Not from a man, oh no, but from her inexperienced college days. It was just a little bit of experimentation, but it seemingly proved more effective. Never in her life did she think it’d be handy. With one final self-motivating word of advice, Lena clenched her fists, gave a strong nod, and immediately dropped her flustered attitude.

“Right. Just hope I don’t mess this up.”

Surely there wouldn’t be a way to mess up. There shouldn’t be, at any rate. Amélie once again reached for the harness straps, and slowly began loosening them up. Lena in return had ensured she wouldn’t interrupt the process, but she would be the one to take the accelerator to its charging station.

All the straps were loosened up, and Lena slipped off her harness, with the accelerator sliding all the way down to the mattress. Picking it up, she placed it on the charging stand over in the corner and came back, nervously swallowing.

Just like that, Amélie made the first move, as Lena was hesitant. She moved in to press her lips against the Brit’s own. Slowly - and sensually - her hands trailed themselves all the way around Lena’s small body as Amélie pulled her into an amorous embrace.

She didn’t pull away, only repeatedly coming back for more over and over again. A part of her truly wanted this to unfold, and an even smaller part never wanted it to end. Lena on the other hand hadn’t a clue where to start, and thus she simply...moved her hands around, slowly up and down Amélie’s waist and let things happen.

What started out as sensual quickly became more intense. The two girls were now in a position where Amélie had laid on her back, and Lena was right between her slender legs. The woman had even removed her hair-band so that her long and wispy hair were more free, and it was no longer in a ponytail.

There was a burning passion somewhere buried in Amélie’s gaze. That tingling sensation grew within her, and suddenly she could feel Lena’s soft, warm hands try to unbutton her shirt. She let the young Brit do as she pleased, chuckling at the moment to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Lena whispered, having undone the last button. She folded open a portion of the shirt so Amélie’s breasts became exposed. She simply...glanced at the Brit observing her, and how cute she looked being so flustered.

Though Lena never noticed it until now, and despite the times she had seen the blue-skinned woman naked, she never took the time to closely examine her in this way. Truth be told, Amélie had quite the athletic build. It was barely visible, but she had a bit of a 6-pack, or at least the outline of it. She felt incredibly nervous, but at the same time felt inclined to touch them.

There were, however, noticeable scars laden around Amélie’s skin. Long slits from knives, the little bruises from her physical torture, and a various amount of bullet holes rested upon various spots. What stories they had to tell, Lena would never know, unless she asked. She had felt compelled, also, to go ahead and trace her index finger on a little scar on Amélie’s abdominal area.

Amélie felt a bit teased, supporting herself on her elbows. “It’s an expression I remembered,” She began, trying to think up on how to deliver it, ”The French invented it.”

Curiously, Lena cocked her head to the side. “That so? Tell me ‘bout it, then?”

In response, Amélie snickered, and pursed her lips. “A brief loss of consciousness likened to death, as they considered it --”

“W-wait! Nobody said anythin’ about dyin’ here!” The girl had interrupted, but she was silenced almost immediately by the index finger of Amélie pressing against her lips.

“Non (No). In modern terms, chérie...it is more commonly used to describe the euphoric sensation of an orgasm.”

Upon hearing those words, Lena’s cheeks grew a deep red. She started squealing, but Amélie laughed a bit hard at how it sounded in her ears. It seemed so adorable to her, considering this was perhaps the first time she’s seen Lena fairly vulnerable. Nonetheless, she continued on.

“They called it, ‘la petite mort’. The little death.”

Awkwardly, there was silence between them after Amélie spoke. However, it wouldn’t last particularly too long. Lena calmed herself down, having stopped her squealing, and giggled at the thought. “That’s a bit ironic, y’know. Killin’ time an’ all that...”

Her hands moved over to Lena’s sides, and she was rather amused. Quickly - and unexpectedly for Lena - their positions in bed got reversed as Amélie rose up from her spot, and shifted both of them around. Now, it was the smaller Brit laying down and the cold woman on top. As she loomed over Lena, her hand brushed itself just under Lena’s shirt.

Then, she began gradually lifting it up, but only until Lena’s chest was exposed, and even then she wore a bra underneath it all. In comparison to Amélie’s own skin, hers was much more delicate, and fairly untouched. The woman gave a warm smile, grabbing one of Lena’s arms. She held it against her cheek, just before she began kissing that arm, and trailing herself downwards to Lena’s stomach. Every step of the way, her lips pressed up against Lena’s smooth and soft skin, only for her to respond in soft moans and little shivers.

Lena could feel her pants being pulled down in the process, and then her bra being undone. All that was left - and she proceeded to take it off herself - was her orange shirt, to which she casually threw over the headboard. Much like Amélie before her, all she was left now were a pair of panties. The only difference was that Amélie kept her shirt with her.

Her face once again felt real hot, and Amélie’s gaze upon her became something fierce, and lustful. Lena could feel herself being picked up, and then felt mildly cold lips press against hers once again. In response, Lena swung her hands around Amélie, holding onto her ever so tightly. She pulled away, just for the last time tonight.

“...Be gentle with me. And...slow.”

There was a nod from Amélie and she chuckled. “Of course, mon amour (my love). As slow as you and I want to go.”

Beyond that point, there was no more words to be spoken. Amélie moved herself down towards Lena’s neck and began planting kisses there, gradually moving downwards all the way until she reached Lena’s stomach.

All she really wanted right now was this girl before her, and nobody else. If this was her gift tonight, she wanted to make sure she’d revel in all of its glory. She wanted to just simply forget she was in pain, and divert her attention into what mattered to her.

Tonight was hers, and hers alone.

#Widowmaker #Tracer #Overwatch fanfic #Widowtracer #Overwatch #Lena Oxton #Amelie Lacroix #Character: Tracer #Character: Widowmaker #Character: Emily #Character: Winston

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