#adding him to my pile of silly guys i need to draw. the list is ever growing.

[millaneyy]

CALLING ALL IMAGINARY FRIEND ASYLUM FANS..... love this fella so much fr

[georgemackayhey]

Worth Fighting For (Part: Two)

summary: You’re entirely certain George is the one. So he hasn’t got to put up much of a fight… but in a way, that’s all he knows to do.

a/n: Now is a good time to mention that I know nothing about boxing. My only refreance is a movie about mma and one nights worth of basic research. But all that matters is I'm having buckets of fun writing this! The angst starts to creep in this chapter. Let me know what yall think!

w/c: 4k

Part 1

───※ ·❆· ※───

It was the end of an exceptionally long weekend. You'd managed to throw together last minute choreography for the kids school play, taught a wedding party how to waltz, and helped a friend nail her audition for a foreign dance company.

It was easy as ever, with a broken hand. But everything else was increasingly difficult. You were still getting used to using your one, lame hand to do laundry and cook dinner. But at least you could still dance.

There was nothing better than pumping the  music and moving until it ached. Until all you had to worry about was locking up and racing home to shower, and all the things you'd been anxious about all week had long fled to the very back of your mind.

But the weekend was over, and you didn't have an excuse to stay in the studio now that all the kids who came to learn were long gone. But you had a perfectly sound reason for taking longer to do you post class stretches. As you took your sweet time sliding into your jacket and switching out the lights, you kept your eye on the window to the hallway. You tried not to look too obvious, but there was a silly, desperate hope inside of you; to see George.

The gym door remained shut, raucous music thumbing from somewhere deep inside, as you dragged your feet out in the hall. You tried not to look like you were casting glances over your shoulder, or seem too disappointed when you found no one there. When the door to your studio was locked and your adrenalin from class dwindled away, you went on your way.

And while you tried not to think about the funny feeling you got in your chest at the thought of George, you shoved open the door to the parking lot. The sky was a bleak grey and a chill crept past your layers of brightly colored clothes.

"Took you long enough." A voice crept close over your shoulder, causing you to spin around with a gasp.

George was leaning against the stone of the building, the hood of his pale jacket up over his head, strong arms crossed over his broad chest.

"How's your hand?" He asked, like he really cared to know.

"Oh, I'm managing." You decided with a smile, happening to glance at George's. "How's yours?" You asked, noticing bruises on his knuckles that weren't there the weekend before.

George seemed confused, for a beat, before glimpsing down at his fingers.

"Oh, this is nothing." He said. And before you could choose one the dozens of questions you had, you decidedly moved on.

"What are you waiting on?" You asked in a nervous giggle, glancing to his car a few parking spaces away.

"You, obviously." George rose a brow and reached for his bulky canvas bag that rested near his feet. You watched his lean figure shift as he carried the weight over one shoulder and stepped closer.

"Come on, It's my turn to treat you to DeAngelo's." He explained, walking past you to his sleek vintage car. The familiar screech of the city bus caught your ear, and you looked over to notice it stall to a stop, before you followed George's lead.

The ride was quiet. You spent most of the time pretending to be distracted by your chipping nail polish. Even in his silence George was captivating. You couldn't be sure if he'd noticed you stealing glances at him as he drove; but every time you did, you wouldn't let yourself look long.

You couldn't be sure why stepping foot into the diner to get felt different. Maybe it was because you weren't alone. You were mixed among dozens of other dinner parties and the combined white noise of everyone's collective chatter set you at ease. You weren't as shy to let your gaze linger on George as he studied you across the same booth as before.

And much like then, your conversations started mildly. He asked what you were going to order, and you tried not to feel too embarrassed for listing off the same meal. But he grinned and said he was going to do the same. And right as your conversation opened up to grow ever deeper, you were interrupted.

"Miss y/n!" An excited, drawn out greeting rang from a small boy who was busy bouncing your way. You didn't need to turn to know it was little Louis. He was one of your most loyal students. And though you'd never say it to anyone, the small kid was your favorite budding ballerina. Perhaps because he cared so unabashedly for you, too.

All four feet and fifty pounds of the curly headed boy crashed into your side of the booth, his little arms reaching to wrap you in a hug. You let out a surprised gasp and turned to try and greet the boy as soon as you realized he'd appeared.

"Today was lot's of fun. Can we do more big jumps next week?" The boy broke away from you to peer up, big brown eyes full of hope. You chuckled a little and assured the boy you'd planned on it. That's about the time his mother shuffled over, apologizing for her eight years old interrupting your dinner.

"It's alright." You assured, sheepishly glancing over to George who was sat back watching on with a coy grin. The kind of smile that- if you were younger and less confident, might have made you insecure. But knowing the little you did about George, you read no mocking in his expression. Only something more vulnerable you couldn't quite make out yet. You wondered all of a sudden just how exactly to get him to open up, and wondered hopelessly if you'd ever get the chance.

"I'm always glad to see you, Louis." You grinned at the boy, still glancing up to you in the sweetest way. "He's never missed a class in two years." You bragged to George now, who let his grin stretch a little wider.

Then you got the good sense to introduce the guy across from you. You gave his name away, and mentioned that he taught at the gym at Fit For All. Louis mother seemed to light up at the mention.

"Oh, you're Geogre? You know my oldest son, Danny. He talks about you all the time." The woman whose dark roots were nearly longer than the dyed blonde bits of her hair gleamed, and Geogre seemed to glow, too.

"Oh, yes. He's always at the gym, it seems." George sat up a little, peering to the woman Louis belonged to. The mother explained that her eldest wanted nothing more than to grow up to become a boxer. But a shoulder injury at the tail end of highschool ruined his chances. So Danny traded boxing for running, and had completed several marathons since.

George said the guy was great at encouraging the kids who frequented Fit For All, no matter which lesson they showed up for. It was your turn to smile and watch as George and his friends mother gushed over the guy who wasn't even around.

When Louis was coaxed from your side back to his mothers he gave you one final hug and raced her to a table across the room. A silence fell between you and George once more, but it was more familiar than ever. George was the first to break it.

"He was sweet." George smiled, reaching for his drink.

"Must run in the family." You pointed out. "I didn't realize Louis even had a brother."

"Danny is a good guy. He always knows just what to say. Not only to the kids, but to me too, some days." George let out a little laugh. A nervous, slightly bittered chuckle. And while it made you realize a little something more about him, it added to the complexity of George all the while. This guy was going to drive you nuts in no time. You'd let him.

///

And that's how it started. Every Friday, around the same time, you'd pile into George's ride and one of you would cover the bill for DeAngelo's.

Sometimes you got held up, trying to help a girl learn her steps for the schools annual talent show. You'd find Geogre had lingered in and made himself at home on the folded up mats near the door. You caught his gaze in the wall length mirror and tried to hide your blush while you danced on.

Other times, he'd be running behind. You shuffled outside to find George in the middle of what seemed to be a serious conversation with a familiar guy around your age. It was Danny, and you were introduced for the first time like you'd been friends forever. You found the rumors about the guy were true, even in the first few minutes of meeting. Danny mentioned his little brother mentioning you nonstop, and said how he'd been waiting to put your face to your name. George ended the small talk by reaching over and nudging you toward his car.

The slight touch of his arm against yours made you feel different than the only other time he'd touched you before. The last was when he'd rushed in to monitor your injured hand. And you couldn't feel much of anything. But now, when George leaned into you, pushing you away all the while, your nerves seemed to dance on end. But Danny's pleasant goodbye tore your thoughts away, and you waved your working hand to the guy and hoped out loud to see more of him.

Then George drove you to DeAngelos for another week in a row.

///

You hadn't really realized how much time had passed until snow started to fall. Granted the weather seemed to change much earlier than it ever had years prior. But it changed all the same, and it seemed to draw attention to the tradition you'd made of going to dinner with George.

You sat in the same spot almost everytime. And you talked about the same sorts of things. There were always complaints shared, about the growing cold, and the things that held up your week. There was always some kind of exciting news to share, about a new movie coming to town, or the things you'd accomplished during work. You even spoke about things you hadn't been keen on discussing with most other people. Like your relationship with your family and the scariest parts of highschool. Because George asked. He asked you more about yourself than he ever dared to mention his own stories.

"When are you gonna let me come watch you teach kids how to throw a punch, huh?" You teased. George had lingered in the doorway to catch the tail end of a handful of your lessons, by now. And he was always done for the night, when yours ended early.

As you ate your usual dinner, he kept his demure smile and rolled his dazzling blue eyes your way, before changing the subject. And you wanted nothing more than to listen to him talk, so you let your question go unanswered.

"We've been coming here a lot." He pointed out, plain and simply. But the comment made your heart feel like it had grown a layer of steel , sinking ever so slightly.

"Would you rather us go someplace else?" You wondered in a light manner, trying not to seem let down at the possibility of ending your tradition.

"Course not. I'm saying I like coming here." George smiled, then added, "With you."

You bit back your grin from spreading too widely and let the familiar bout of quiet follow.

///

But the next weekend was different and it was all your fault. Your water heater broke on Tuesday. And your landlord called back Wednesday night to say he couldn't help you fix it till he came back to town next week. You had to postpone Friday's class when you realized you were in too deep trying to fix the issue yourself. And while you fiddled with the matter with your non broken hand, a deep regret flooded your system when you realized George would miss you and you had no way of letting him know.

You worried all evening at the thought of standing him up. You crossed your working fingers that he'd still be keen to see you the next weekend; and tried to accept the fact that since your tradition had been broken, the thin connection you shared with George might now forever be lost, too.

By the end of your next week, your landlord was still off on holiday, and had taken to ignoring your texts asking for help. How hard was it for him to call a local mechanic to send your way before he left to go tanning for the day, or whatever?

And as you bared another cold shower and grumpily hurried to head to the studio, your power went out.

"No, no no!" You whined, flipping a light switch a dozen times in a row and wishing and hoping and praying everything would come back to life. You took a deep breath, rushed to the closet where the panel that held your home's power was, and were disappointed to find flipping a few switches there did absolutely nothing. You didn't have time to worry. You couldn't let your kids down again.

Some of them were already lingering outside of the studio when you rushed in, stomping away snow. Little Louis actually cheered and dashed your way for a hug, like he did. You smiled, set at ease by the child's sweet nature.

Then you taught him and a dozen others to dance, and let your worries fade away for an hour and a half. George hadn't slipped into the studio when the clock ticked past your usual meeting time. You tried not to let yourself feel disappointed when your kids shuffled home. You only wrapped up for the day and started to worry over your situation all over again.

But as you locked the doors to the studio, Danny was making his way out into the hall, and George was trailing close behind.

"Hey kid!" Danny glowed, turning to greet you in the dim hall. You shot him a pleasant smile, despite everything, trying not to catch George's gaze. Because his expression was so familiar, now. And he was looking right at you in a way you realized he so often did. And you'd let him down last week, and you had to do it again, now.

He shouldered past Danny as the bulky fellow seemed to decide to go home. He gave you both a quick goodnight before making his way toward the heavy doors. Then you were left alone with the guy you hadn't stopped thinking of since the time he held an ice pack to your knuckles.

"Where've you been?" He asked, like he was much more concerned than disappointed. And while that was nice, it wasn't enough to stop you from wanting to cry a little. God you hoped you didn't look the way you felt.

"I'm so sorry I missed last weekend." You started, shifting in place, under George's study on you. "My water heater broke. Then my power went out. So, now I've got to go home and figure out what to do. I hate to miss another one of our dinners but-"

"What do you need?" His question interrupted your rambles to a halt. You held your breath and looked to the guy for a curious beat before explaining yourself.

"Well I'm just going to grab some things and find a place to stay. Probably just that Motel on Second Street. My landlord is such a-"

"The Second Street Motel?" George grimaced, like he had memories of the place he wasn't over yet. "That place is a dump. And they'll over charge you. Why don't... if you'd like... well you could stay with me." George's confident speech dwindled into something meek as he spoke on. It made you chuckle a little, the way he'd surprised you when you least expected it. And when a moment of quiet passed as you searched his stunning blues eyes, George spoke up more assuredly.

"Only if you want."

"Only if you're sure." Your smile fell away as  dozen of nerves rose to your throat as you responded.

"Come on." He nodded, turning to the door in the same fashion he'd always do when you were headed to the one of the only other places you'd gone together. His ride to the urgent care was courteous. His company at DeAngelos was kind. And his offer for you to spend the night was an all new layer of generosity that made you feel the way you did when he touched you a few weeks ago.

///

He waited in his car while you used the flashlight on your phone to throw a few things in a bag. Between your toothbrush, your night clothes, and some things for the morning, you forced yourself not to think about what was happening. You just urged your feet to move and tried not to seem too excited to settle back into George's car.

He drove to his place in a silence that felt different than all the other times before. And when you stole a glance over to him, you could have sworn he'd just turned away from looking over to you. The thought danced through your mind till his vintage ride pulled to a stop outside a row of townhouses. They were just a few roads away from your own, in a quiet, bleak part of town.

George held open his front door as you stepped in from the cold, a baby blue backpack full of essentials in your clutch. And all of your expectations for what Geogre's home might have looked like were not only unmet, but left you with more questions about the guy than ever.

The home was neatly decorated in pale colors. Plants and picture frames decorated every shelf and corner, and the dish towel in his kitchen matched the tea kettle on the stove. It was reminiscent of a much older person's space, with a vibrant charm of someone much more spry. You padded to the cozy living room as Geogre disappeared around a corner, leaving you to think up a dozen more questions about the fellow you were determined to get to the bottom of.

As you eased onto the navy sofa and abandoned your bag, a light came on in the hall and an old orange cat came prancing toward your feet. You glanced down to the pet as it meowed up to you, and stretched to balance against your knees. You cooed, reaching to pet it, before the animal jumped into your lap.

"That's Sadie." George spoke, stepping into the room, slowly making his way toward the sofa. "I was going to apologize for her disregard for personal space but you don't seem to mind." He chuckled.

"Not at all, she's lovely." You grinned, cradling the cat like a baby as purs rattled her delicate frame. George seemed to watch on as you admired the pretty animal in your arms. And when you dared to look back up to him, he sat up a little, from where he was perched on the edge of the couch.

George said something about ordering take away from a place nearby, and you agreed with the condition that you got to pay for it, too make up for his kindness in letting you stay in his lovely home. And much to your surprise, when you realized it anyhow, you felt perfectly content waiting around with George, for the pizza to be delivered. He stuck to his end of the sofa, while you settled into yours, holding fast to Sadie all the while. You talked about usual things, and even laughed over some others, until there was a knock at the door.

George went to answer, as you trailed toward the kitchen, stopping in the hall to admire some of the photos on the wall. There were plenty of his family, or maybe just friends. And even some of George, dressed in boxing gloves, at who must have been his father's side. The older man who looked so much like George held up an award as his son stood by with a shy smile and messy hair.

George found you gawking at his frames on his mission to set the box of pizza on the table.

"This photo is sweet. Did you win this garish award?" You teased, turning to find George wearing a grin reminecent of the one he sported in the photo.

"I did." He said.

"But you don't really do this sort of thing anymore..." You spoke, halfway asking why in the gentlest way you knew that might pry open his closed off manner.

"No I haven't for a while." George said. He poured you both a strong drink, the kind DeAngelos didn't serve.

"Why is that?" You wondered, easing to one of the wooden paint chipped seats at George's kitchen table. You watched him take a sip of the dark liquid in his glass, as you reached for your own.

"It got to be too much." He said, easier than anytime before. Like he actually wanted to tell you. And you kept a quiet eye on him, hoping if you waited long enough, he'd keep talking.

And much to your patient delight, he did.

"I started going to Fit after school, when I had nothing better to do. I'd stay till close, because I didn't want to go home." George explained. You took small bites of pizza and listened on, eyes softly glued to George's every word. And as he ate, he told you that he didn't have a very easy time growing up. How his father was sick, and his mother was never around. How George never thought of his future because he was busy worrying about each day at a time. You could tell he didn't talk about it. Any of it. So you just kept sipping your drink and offering gentle encouragement for him to keep going. Because you wanted to know. You desperately cared to know.

George told you that on one of Bareny's regular stops in, the gym owner took notice of George. How he'd listen to the distant encouragement some coaches gave to students in the ring. How he didn't have the money to take those lessons and stuck to practicing on the mats in the corner. How Bareny noticed, and asked George if he'd like to be trained. How he took up the owners generous offer, free of charge.

And when you nudged him to keep talking by asking all the right questions, George explained that Barney helped him enter into matches that he won like an old pro. How exhilarating it was at first. But those nights would end and George would go home and he would hate it. You knew better than to ask why, as he moved on. You just hoped this was the beginning of him letting you in bit by bit. The first of many stories.  You downed the last of your drink while George finished his pizza.

"Well you might not box anymore but I'd still love to watch you teach kids how." You laughed, watching George crack a smile across the table from you. He thanked you for covering dinner and you thanked him for letting you stay over. Then you launched into a sudden ramble about how stressed out you were about what to do, how it might be better to move than to keep combating your landlord. But how you didn't have the funds to put toward either of those options.

"God sorry I sound like a cry baby." You laughed, resting your glass in George's sink as he stored the left over pizza away.

"No you don't. You sound worried, and I'm sorry to hear it. Letting you stay over is the least I could do, really." George shrugged, shifting to face you. He stood a step away, keeping his intimidating gaze on yours. The kind of glare that might have made you feel small if you didn't know George. But you saw past the way he stood so tall and stoically. You saw more of him tonight than you ever had before. And that's what made you unsure of what to say next.

"I think I'll go get cleaned up now." You spoke with a gentle nod, heading to collect your bag. George showed you to the bathroom at the end of the hall before turning away and saying something about changing, himself.

You were left to bask at your reflection in the harsh golden light as the bathroom fan buzzed overhead. You dug through your backpack to find the nightclothes you'd brought along and thought of George as you stepped into the shower. The water was hot, pelting your shoulder blades with a warmth you hadn't had the luxury of experiencing all week. But you hurried along, mindful not to use up all the hot water.

When you changed and took a deep breath and peered back to the mirror, it was covered in steam. So you zipped up your backpack and made your way back out into George's home. Sadie was waiting patiently outside of the door. She wove between your feet as you took care not to step in her path before she settled to walk at your side. Was this some kind of dream, you wondered? Some kind of idyllic alternate universe, where nothing was the matter and the space you occupied was warm and safe and shared by the boy you hadn't stopped thinking of for months in a row?

At the end of the hall, George's bedroom door was open. A soft amber light shone from the bedside lamp you could see. George appeared into view as you were drawn to the space like a moth to a flame. He wore a tattered t-shirt and a pair of cotton joggers you'd never seen him wear before. His yellow hair appeared slightly damp and he looked happy, somewhere in the depths of his usually guarded expression. He looked at home.

Sadie brushed past your ankle, out of the hall and into the living room, leaving you and George the most alone you'd ever been.

He stalled in the doorway as you halted your floating closer. His eyes were softer than you'd ever seen them, sleepier; maybe.

"Right, well goodnight I suppose." You smiled, trying not to let your eyes rake over his figure. You could practically feel how close he was.

"Right." George seemed to decide, letting his eyes search yours for a beat before his glance drifted over your shoulder.

"I'll find you some blankets." He said, slowly stepping past you. But before he could drift down the hall you stopped him. Somehow, you spoke without even thinking, without even knowing you were brave enough.

All you said was his name, like a question. And that was all it took. George turned on a dime and kissed you. He crashed his lips against yours and tangled his long fingers in your hair as he cradled your head. His grip was the only thing holding you in place as you melted into a puddle, against him. When you started kissing George back, he moved one hand down the length of your side as he made one swift move to pin you against the wall. You couldn't help but let out a surprised breath, a sigh, a laugh of some kind.

George responded by kissing you harder, until you could hardly breath. And when you stopped kissing him back to do just that, you felt George's gentle grip against the exposed skin of your hip; tighten ever so slightly.

"Do I still have to sleep on your sofa?" You asked what felt like one dozen questions in one. Your fear of ruining the one in a million moment disguised by a lithe smile. George responded by letting out a laugh, his eyes nearly closing as he did. And when he was finished, he said;

"Come on."

You followed George to his bed, not daring to hide your excitement. He pulled you in with a smile, perhaps the broadest of smirks you'd seen him sport. There was still so much you longed to know about George. So many questions you were eager to ask, so many things you longed to hear him talk about. But spending the night sharing his pillow was a good place to start, you figured. You hadn't expected it of course. You never knew what was next with George. You'd only, simply, hoped for a next time. And with the way he looked at you now, and held on, you rekonned maybe he didn't want you to stray too far, either.

───※ ·❆· ※─── taglist: @haileymorelikestupid​  @maria-josefin​​ @imaginesandyeah​​ @queen-bunnyears @okaymackay​

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Keep it to Yourself - Frank Iero x Reader

Requested Summary: The last shows of warped tour are coming closer, and the band tries to convince Frank to act on his feelings for the reader Warnings: insecurities, angst, fluff Word count: 3 307 A/N: This was originally “just” a request, but I want to dedicate this to @mariawritesfanfic because it’s her birthday today! Everyone go over to her blog, check out her wonderful stories (she does Christmas/Winter themed stories for every day until Christmas!) and wish her a happy birthday!

“Oh man, I think I’m dying of thirst,” you mumbled, while you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand.

The sun burnt down mercilessly on you and the other few people who were working at the merchandise stand at Warped Tour. You lifted another box with MCR shirts on the table, and started piling the clothes out of the box, sorting the different shirt motives according to their sizes.

“Water?”

You turned around in surprise at the, by now, fairly familiar voice of a certain guitarist. Frank smiled at you as he held out a bottle of water.

“You are my savior,” you grinned, and took the bottle from the young man, who watched you contently as you satisfied your thirst with the icy cold beverage he had fetched you.

“Don’t you guys have any shade back here,” he wondered, furrowing his brows.

“Shade, good joke,” you laughed unamused, and handed him back the now half-empty bottle.

“Keep it,” he mumbled under his breath, and placed it on the table, making you smile.

“And to answer your question, no we don’t have any shade.”

“But you had some last week, didn’t you,” Frank asked confused, and hopped to sit on the table next to the box, which you continued pulling shirts out from.

“They said they lost the parasol,” Grace, your colleague and friend, explained over her shoulder.

“And they didn’t bother organizing a new one?”

Frank sounded disbelieving, a gesture that in itself already made you feel better.

“Apparently not, maybe we should be a tad bit more insistent on that point,” you shrugged.

“Do you want me to get you some sunscreen?”

You looked over at Frank who was still sitting on the table, watching you work.

“Nah, it’s fine,” you denied with a smile.

“In fifty years, when you got skin cancer, you’ll think differently about it,” Frank told you seriously, and got off the table, “I’m gonna get you some!”

“Don’t you have to go on in like… ten minutes,” you shouted after the guitarist, who had already started jogging away, but either he did not hear you, or he did not want to hear you.

Frank’s band mates in the meantime had watched the interaction between the two of you from the shadow of a tent that sold cold beverages. The area was not yet opened to the public, allowing them a few last quiet moments before the show.

“These fools,” Mikey shook his head, “they still don’t get their feelings aren’t one sided?”

Ray shook his head.

“I don’t think they even got to the point of understanding that they are in love,” he mumbled, taking a sip from his coke.

“We only got a couple of shows left,” Gerard reminded them, “do you think they’ll finally get together until then?”

“No.”

The answer came both from Ray and Mikey at the same time.

“So… do you guys think we should help them?”

Ray turned to look at Gerard.

“You mean we should set them up?”

“Let’s be honest here for a moment. Frank will only be sulking around for the next three years if he doesn’t get together with (y/n), and we’ll be the ones who’ll have to suffer. In our own interest we should do them the favour,” Gerard argued.

“You have a weird way of reasoning,” Mikey shook his head, “but I’m afraid you’re right.”

They grew quiet as Frank jogged past them again, this time with a tube of sunscreen in his hand. When you saw him you threw your hands in the air, and rolled your eyes at him, but laughed.

“Yep, we need to set them up,” even Ray eventually agreed, “They’ll never get this done on their own.”

“Fools.”

~*~

The following days were hectic and loud, and you hardly found time to calm down for a moment. There were only a handful of shows left. While you loved working for My Chemical Romance, and going on Warped Tour with them, you started feeling worn out. The long days under the burning sun were exhausting, and there was always someone who had instructions for you or wanted you to do something more than was your job. You helped where you could, since you liked the job, but you also really started looking forward to the moment you could sit down in peace.

The exhaustion which the physical work was causing you was undeniable, but at the same time your heart and mind were also tense.

Of course you had noticed pretty early into the tour that you liked Frank. He was pleasant to be around, he always looked out for you, was chaotic and sweet at the same time, and overall just exactly the kind of person you liked. Trying not to get yourself into any trouble, you had told yourself it was not anything important, and so you had ignored the way your heart started hammering in your chest, and the way you got all shaky every time he walked up to you. It felt like an invisible string was connecting the two of you, pulling you closer towards him, but then again he was a very attractive man, probably everyone who was into men felt that way about Frank.

If it had only stayed at that, everything would have been fine, but when there were only seven days of tour left, Gerard, Mikey and Ray started behaving weirdly. They always made jokes about how great of a boyfriend Frank would be, about how caring and sweet he was, about how the two of you would be such a cute couple.

These words confused you more than anything. Of course you knew they meant nothing; that the three men were just teasing Frank and you, but for the first time, you allowed yourself to imagine what being with Frank would be like.

And your stupid heart took that as the signal to break silently every time you merely thought about him. He was a rock star, thousands and thousands of people looked up to him, and felt the same tight feeling in their chest when they thought about him, and you were just one of them. You were not any different from them.

Had you told this to Frank, he would immediately have listed a thousand things he loved about you. The way you smiled so sweetly when he did something stupid, the way you rolled your eyes at him when he was being silly, how you ran your fingers through your hair when you were thinking… He adored the way you looked, your character, your smile, your jokes, and when you pretended to be mad with him. Everything about you was perfect to him, but he did not get aware of it until the second last show.

It was late already; the show MCR should play was the last one of the evening.

Backstage the four band members were joking around. Ray and Gerard were doing their vocal warm ups, and Frank had just finished fiddling around with his guitar, when he suddenly heard Mikey mention your name. Obviously Frank immediately listened up, trying to overhear his friends, but at the same time unable to fight the jealousy in his chest when he heard his band mates talk about how pretty and clever and sweet you were.

Had he really thought you were only sweet to him? Had he thought you would ever pay special attention to him with the other three around? It was well know he was the short, chaos-causing one. Why should you like him if there was someone around like Gee, with his pretty face and all his drawing skills, or Mikey, who was super funny once he warmed up to someone, or Ray who was so incredibly talented and skilled in everything he did? The answer was obviously that you would not like him, and that idea alone brought angry tears to his eyes.

It was Gerard who noticed the pained expression on the guitarist’s face first.

“Guys, shut up,” he warned, and nodded to their friend.

“Oh shit,” Ray swore and shook his head, quickly walking over to Frank, who was still too occupied with his own thoughts to notice that the conversation had been interrupted.

“We fucked up,” Mikey realised, and together with his brother he followed Ray.

“If you’re so much into them, then why don’t you fucking tell ‘em,” Frank was about to argue, making the others shake their heads. “they deserve to be happy, but instead you just make fun of them!”

“It’s not us who’s into them,” Ray tried to explain.

“We’re not making fun of them,” Mikey defended at the same time.

“We- listen Frankie, we just thought that with a bit of teasing, you would finally get your ass over to them and tell ‘em how you feel,” Gerard clarified.

“How I feel,” echoed Frank hollowly.

“Come on dude, you’ve been in love with them since the beginning of tour,” Ray reminded him, “don’t think we didn’t notice.”

“I’m not-“

“And I hate to say this, but time’s running out, man,” Gerard added, “There are two shows left, and then god knows when you get to see ‘em again. You really should pull your shit together, and talk to them.”

Mikey and Ray nodded approvingly.

“I’m not in love with (y/n),” Frank defended, and at the beginning of the sentence he was still convinced of his words, but by the end he already started doubting them.

“Yeah, yeah, great, keep telling yourself that,” Mikey shrugged unimpressed, “But the truth is that they definitely caught your interest, you caught theirs, and you should at least try to ask them out or something.”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll be in a mood for years, and only write songs about broken-heartedness or something, and we’re the ones who’ll have to deal with this, so do us the favour.”

Frank was about to disagree with Gerard, but then he remembered his notebook, which currently had started filling with half-finished love songs, both happy and sad.

Sighing in defeat Frank hung his head. He knew the others were right, and it was terribly annoying having to admit it, but he was no coward, at least not when it came to his friends.

“So what do you suggest I do,” he gave in, pleadingly looking into his band mates’ faces.

“Okay, so listen here-”

~*~

You already felt a bit nostalgic, and it was only the second last show, as you walked up to the side of the stage, spying out from behind one of the light consoles.

Since the show was so late in the evening, and you had worked all day, someone else had taken over the merch, giving you the freedom to do whatever you wanted. And in all the time you had only seen two complete shows, so that was what you decided to treat yourself with. Sitting down on the floor, making sure not to be in anybody’s way, you looked out over the stage.

Ray was head banging to the beat, Mikey stood close to the centre, bopping his head to the music as well. Gerard was skipping over the stage, using the instrumental bridge to run over to Ray, who grinned at him.

And then there was Frank. He was going crazy as always, lying on his back, playing his guitar flawlessly. A second later he jumped up and onto one of the monitors, his sweaty hair falling into his forehead, while he tried to see past the blinding lights into the audience.

When he turned around to jump off the speaker again, he saw you sitting on the floor at the side of the stage, stopping when his eyes met yours. He seemed to stand frozen for a second, before he shot you a grin, which almost seemed shy, considering how bolt he usually was, and then continued the show.

From that moment on, you were unable to tear your eyes away from him. Ignoring the stinging pain in your chest, you watched him jump around, and laugh, and roll over the stage, almost head-butting Ray at one point, and chasing Mikey, who always made sure to keep a safe distance to the personification of havoc.

Sometimes Frank looked over to you, every time smiling brighter than the lights that were illuminating the stage, but when the last song for the night kicked off, his smiles started to lose their power, and instead the glances he shot you were tainted with concern and worry. By the time the audience broke into applause after the song, his face was full of what almost looked like fear, making you worry about what was on his mind.

The band was waving and walking off, away from you, going off stage at the opposite side from where you were getting up from the floor, shooting one of the techies a smile. Gerard noticed that Frank was following them, but stopped him.

“Go over and talk to them,” the singer encouraged, “Now’s your moment!”

Frank hesitated, but when Gerard gently shoved him into your direction, he obeyed, and jogged over to you.

“Are you alright?”

Concerned you took a few steps towards Frank, who you had noticed walking over to you. He was sweaty, his hair and his shirt sticking to his skin, a frown on his face, and the guitar swung to his back.

Without answering, he grabbed your wrist, and dragged you further away from the edge of the stage, into a little corner where nobody could see you.

“Frank, hey,” by now you were really worried about him. He looked pale and nervous, a state you had never seen the cheerful man in. “What’s going on?”

The corner Frank had dragged you in was so tiny that your back was already bumping into one of the big boxes in which usually the speakers were transported. When he took a step closer to you, you had nowhere to go. Not that you really wanted to, but he was behaving weirdly, and as close as you were standing now, you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

His eyes were fixed on the floor, darting around nervously.

Gently you reached your hand to his chin, and lifted his head so he was looking at you. His hazel eyes were pleadingly staring into yours, as if he was asking you to understand something he did not want to phrase. And before you even knew what happened, he had closed the short distance between your faces and kissed you passionately, desperately even, pushing you back so you were pinned against the box. Surprised and confused you returned the kiss, your body reacting before your mind had even started to comprehend what was going on. While your thoughts still tried to scramble to their feet, your heart was beating in your throat, and you wrapped your arms around Frank’s neck, pulling him closer to you, leaning into his touch as he placed his hands at your waist to pull you against him, but making sure your back was still pressing against the obstacle behind you, keeping you in place.

In the end you had no way of telling for how long Frank and you had been kissing, hidden away from prying eyes. You just knew that when you broke the kiss eventually, you were terribly out of breath, and your cheeks were burning hot red. Frank’s face was as flushed as yours, and it was not due to a lack of sunscreen during the day, and his sweaty shirt had started to dry.

You swallowed hard, your arms still wrapped around his neck, and your forehead pressed against his. In irregular patterns his breath fanned over your cheek, making you want to kiss him all over again, but you were too out of breath, and your muscles seemed to have gone into stand-by-mode from all the slight shivers and the excitement Frank had caused you.

“What was that,” you asked, still out of breath, your eyes closed. Your voice was shaky and higher than usual, but you did not find it in you to care about such details right now.

“Want me to repeat it,” Frank asked, and you could hear the smirk on his lips.

“Give me a moment,” you laughed, pulling away slightly and immediately leaning your forehead against Frank’s shoulder, the rigid leather strap of his guitar pressing against your skin.

Frank chuckled, a sound you would never get enough of, and slowly let go of your waist before wrapping his arms around your back. Indeed there seemed to have passed some time since his shirt was cool and almost dry now.

“So… basically I have fallen in love with you, and the guys said I should act on it, so we don’t have to publish an album filled with all the songs I wrote about you,” Frank whispered against your ear, making you giggle.

Lifting your head back up, you took a good look at his face. There were still a couple of strands of his black hair sticking to his forehead, his pupils were blown wide, leaving only a small rim of the hazel colour to see. A pink blush was dusted over his cheeks, and some very faint freckles spread over his nose. A soft smile was playing around his lips, and slowly he lifted a hand to your face, brushing a strand of your own hair out of your vision.

Quickly you leant in again, his words still echoing in your mind, and pressed your lips against his once more, shorter, sweeter this time, until Frank was full on grinning.

“Frank?” The voice of one of the techies eventually drew you back into reality. “Frank! Where are you! There is a press team who want to do a quick interview with the band!”

Frank’s groaning was less a sound than a deep vibration against your body, and exhausted he dropped his head against your shoulder, making you giggle.

“Do they really need me,” he mumbled, and you were sure he was rolling his eyes.

“Frank! I know you’re back here! We’ve searched everywhere else already!”

“Apparently they do,” you smiled, and ran one of your hands through his hair. “Take it as a compliment.”

Frank groaned again, and untangled himself from you, but making sure to run his fingers down your arm, and intertwine them with yours.

“Fine,” he shouted, still looking at you, “I’m here! I give up!”

Holding your hand, he stepped out of the corner that had hidden you so perfectly.

“Hell yeah, each one of the guys owes me five bucks,” the techie laughed, already turning his back to Frank and you, leading the way.

“For what,” Frank asked curious.

“They said you wouldn’t have the guts to confront (y/n),” techie explained, a shit eating grin on his face.

Frank turned to you.

“They bid on us,” he deadpanned, making you giggle.

“Actually I’m not surprised; they did make an effort these past days to point out how much of a catch you’d be.”

“I hate them.”

“Tell that to the press, that sure would make for some headlines,” you laughed, causing Frank to giggle too.

“Guess so!”

When you reached the trailer in which the rest of the band and a camera team was waiting, even at this late hour, Frank quickly leant down to kiss your hair, before the techie threw open the door.

“Oh fucking finally,” Ray cheered, when he saw you and Frank standing outside.

“Was about time,” Gerard laughed, and Mikey nodded along, grinning brightly.

“Yeah, yeah, keep it to yourself,” Frank muttered, but was unable to hide his smile, as he pulled you into the bus with him, your fingers still entangled with his.

~*~*~*~

Taglist (if you want to be added or taken off, please let me know):

General: @justawriterinprogress @robinruns @jayloverthe3rd @lookalivefrosty @butterfly-writes @angelevansfalls @rene-royale

MCR: @deadlovers

[meat-husband]

Hgdhsvd if it's ok could I request a continuation of the realistic bubba stuff? It's just so 👌👌👌 ur writing is hella gucci

This is so long, I’m sorry, but I even cut stuff out to make it work a little better lol. It’s like six pages in docs so hopefully it’s not too obnoxious without a cut!

This is part three, here is part one and part two! You don’t really need to have read them, but it might be a little confusing otherwise.

“Is this really necessary?”

Your words are muffled through the sweaty shirt that had been forced over your head, sleeves tied around your eyes to form a makeshift blindfold. The heat of the day at its height was already torturous on its own, but the smelly shirt was just a small addition to the list of bad things happening to you right now. The whole house seemed to have a musty, sour odor that even the old shirt didn’t filter out. You only get a loud cackle in response, and you’re not even entirely sure that it’s meant for you. 

“You realize that I already know where you live, right? Like, I’ve been here before,” you explain further, tilting in your seat to follow the noises around you. “So you don’t really need to cover my eyes.”

“D-don’t make no, no difference to m-me!”

He sounds almost excited about the kidnapping in progress, and you’re sure he’s got a big grin on his face right now. You want to argue the point, but it doesn’t seem worth it when the other party is clearly insane. 

“Where’s Bubba?”

The other brother had been less enthusiastic about your kidnapping, but had followed orders to get you into the truck nonetheless. And, okay, maybe you hadn’t exactly put up a fight when the big guy had scooped you up into his arms, but this was still a hostage situation. You couldn’t tell once the shirt had been put over your head, but you thought he seemed a little nervous about the whole thing, whining under his breath during the ride here. If you could get a moment alone, you had no doubt he’d be willing to untie you from the chair you had been dumped into. 

“Aw, y-you missin’ him already?” He laughs, and the noises stop for a moment before picking up again, louder than before. “He’ll be back soon!”

You frown under the shirt, but keep quiet. Admittedly, it was your silly crush on Bubba that had gotten you here, but this wasn’t exactly an expected outcome when you’d only been flirting a little. Maybe you had been a little forward, and he clearly wasn’t used to the attention, but you couldn’t stop yourself once he had actually shown up. You put this all down to whatever was very clearly wrong with the skinny one - when Drayton got back, you’d tell him off for sending the weirdo to your house instead of coming himself, and demand a ride home. You’d kick up a little bit of a fuss - he had waved a knife in your face, after all - but you figured the eldest brother’s wrath would be enough of a punishment without you adding to it. He had a bad temper on good days, so you were sure the anger was going to be biblical this time. 

Loud footsteps from across the house signal the arrival of someone else, probably Bubba, but you wait for some kind of sign before you get your hopes up. The sounds travel down the stairs, getting closer until you hear them enter the room, a high pitched whine letting you know that your guess was right. 

“D-don’t fuss!”

You hear shuffling, the sounds of shoes scraping the floor and something like fabric being ruffled. You have hope for a moment that they’re going to remove the old shirt covering your face, but the noises stay on the other side of the room and don’t get any closer. 

“Leave i-it alone,” the brother instructs, sounding the closest to normal that you’ve heard so far. “It l-looks fine.”

Bubba replies in a quiet whisper, the words not quite reaching you. You had never heard him say so much as a word before, and neither had anyone else so far as you knew, but this was definitely him speaking. 

“I, I said your face l-looks fine! Now, h-help pull that table over!”

You frown a little, wondering what in the hell they’re doing. You’re not sure what room of the house you’re in, but they didn’t take you up any steps after the porch so it was still on the first floor. Even though you’d come around once or twice, you had still never been inside the old farmhouse, so you couldn’t make a guess as to where you were. All the noise he’s been making so far hasn’t given you any idea about what’s happening either, other than the sound of furniture being pushed around and the small, clattering sounds of wood and metal. You listen to them moving things around for a moment, trying to figure out what’s going on. 

“O-Okay, go and g-get grandpa, we’re almost ready!”

Bubba seems eager to do this task, rushing off with loud, thudding footsteps back up the stairs. 

“Hey, uh,” you start, shifting a little in your uncomfortable seat. “If this is going to take much longer, can I get some water or something? It’s really hot in here.”

“Hush up!”

The snippy tone reminds you of Drayton, and you’re a little taken aback by how much they sound alike when they’re angry. A sudden pull on the back of your chair throws you off balance, the legs skidding over the floor as you’re dragged across the room. He turns you around and you rock in your seat, desperately trying to stay in it and not get dumped onto the floor. 

“You’d b-better behave when g-grandpa shows up, or he’ll get u-upset!”

You wonder briefly how they had managed to hide an entire member of the family, you had never heard of an old man living here with them, but you give him an agreeable nod. The sweat on your face is making the dirty shirt stick to your skin and you really can’t wait for Drayton to get home and put a stop to this. 

“Yeah, okay, best behavior, I got it.”

It’s not long before you hear Bubba returning, walking quickly and making soft noises under his breath. There’s the shuffling of something being moved around, both brothers across the room and fussing over whatever it is, before you hear another loud cackle. A hand on the back of your seat pulls you around again, this time not as far away but just as roughly, and you let out a loud, indignant squeal in surprise, drawing another laugh from the brother. 

“Aw, a-are you flirtin’ w-with my brother again?”

He makes a few pig-like squeals of his own, snorting into your ear. You’re grateful that they can’t see your red face, but you keep quiet despite the taunt. You’re definitely going to throw a fit about this when Drayton gets home now. You can hear Bubba making a drawn out huff, perhaps embarrassed by his brother’s teasing, and the thud of his boot on the floor as he stomps his feet. 

“L-let’s get this started, t-then!”

A rough tug on the shirt gets it halfway off your head, and you gulp down your first taste of air that hasn’t been filtered through the dirty fabric. It’s still hot and dusty, but you’re amazingly happy not to have the smell of sweat in your nose and mouth. A few more pulls and it’s finally free, your mussed hair now dirty and sticking to your face. You blink through the late evening sun, looking around quickly to take in where you are. 

You’re in the dining room by the looks of it, and it’s absolutely filthy. Dirt and dust are everywhere, stains on the baseboards and walls that stand out against the pale, chipping paint. The table has been pushed against the wall to make room for a handful of different chairs, all placed in disorganized rows facing one side of the room, where you sit tied to your chair. The one closest to you is piled with what looks like old clothes, a ratty floral dress sitting on top. It’s all very disconcerting, but you turn to look at the brothers with a scowl on your face nonetheless, ready to express your displeasure. Before you can start in on them, though, the brother steps in front of you, sliding up close and blocking your view of the rest of the room. 

“Hey!” He barks into your face, and you lean back even as he leans forward. “Y-you ain’t supposed to s-see the groom before the wedding!”

“The what?” 

You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong, but the big grin spreading across his face makes him look all too happy to see your confusion. Leaning to the side, you try to look around him, but he pulls your head back by a handful of hair. 

“I-, you can’t just… the what?”

“I heard you,” he starts, reaching into his pocket to bring out the knife. “You, you l-like him, I h-heard it.”

“Well, I mean-“

“S-so we’re makin’ a w-wedding!”

You hear Bubba chime in from behind him, a loud, howling cheer that his brother takes up as well, practically screaming into your face. He waves the knife around his head wildly, tugging on your hair and laughing. This has gotten out of hand real fast. Keeping your head pulled back by the hair, he turns to shout some directions at Bubba, shuffling in place as waits for them to be carried out. 

“Get g-grandpa in his seat, we’re a-almost ready! Put him n-next to grandma!”

“Okay, you can’t do this,” you hear Bubba hurry to follow his orders, moving things around somewhere on the other side of the room, then coming closer. “You can’t marry people if they’re not willing.”

The hard edge of the knife is against your cheek before you finish speaking, the hand holding it trembling with excitement. You jerk away, but there isn’t anywhere else to go, and the sting of it tells you it’s broken the skin. A warm line trickles down the side of your face and you have to stop yourself from hissing in pain when he grinds the flat of the blade over the wound. 

“Y-you like him,” he repeats, mouth twisting into a snarl. “You d-don’t, don’t wanna hurt h-his feelin’s, huh?”

“He’s cute, that doesn’t mean I want to marry him!”

“Y-you hear that, Bubba?” He calls over his shoulder loudly. “T-thinks you’re cute!”

Your face flushes red, half out of anger and half embarrassment, and you show your teeth in a snarl of your own. With a laugh he steps back, letting go of your hair and turning to survey the rest of the room. You finally catch a glimpse of Bubba, now changed into an ill-fitting suit that looks as dusty as the rest of the house, sleeves riding up his arms and clearly something that was passed down to him. His back is to you, bent over and messing with something, but when he steps away you can see what is apparently ‘grandpa’ - you’re not sure if he’s even alive, curled into an old wheelchair with his eyes closed and head on his shoulder. Bubba pats his chest and shoulders softly, straightening the wrinkled clothing and cooing. He moves him closer, parking the chair next to the one closest to you, and spares a few pats and mumbles for the old floral dress on it. You watch as he straightens the old garment, reaching up to brush away a tuft of wiry material at the top. With a mumbled whisper, he moves it aside, leaning down to place a quick kiss on the dry cheek of what you can now see is ‘grandma’. You’re a little horrified, mouth open in shock, but Bubba looks over his shoulder at you and you realize that this is all a lot weirder than you had first thought. 

His face is a mess, smeared with brightly colored makeup that is only vaguely where it should be, and very generously applied. The mouth is a big slash of red that covers part of his cheeks, drawn into a messy shape that doesn’t look much like lips at all. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re not looking at him, though, but something covering his face. Someone else’s face. You can see his mouth and eyes, cut out shapes in the mask letting his real face peek through, smiling at you from across the room. 

“What the fuck are you two idiots doing?!”

You’ve never been so happy to hear that voice, turning eagerly towards the noise. Drayton stomps his way into the house and you can hear the slam of the screen door behind him. You open your mouth to scream, to call him in so he can get his brothers in line, but Bubba sees you and rushes forward with a yelp. His hand covers your mouth just in time, muffling your words, and he keeps his grip firm despite your struggling. His brother runs out of the room with a loud swear, throwing his knife to the floor in frustration.

“Why’s that piece of shit generator in my truck? I told you boys not to go down there, didn’t I?”

You had completely forgotten about the generator, presumably still sitting in the flatbed of the truck that they’d parked outside. He must have met the brother in the hall outside the door, because you can hear them clearly as they argue. 

“A-ain’t my fault, he w-wanted to go!”

“I told you both, we don’t need to be messin’ around with anyone else, gettin’ people snooping around. And I know that fool didn’t talk you into nothin’, you’re just stirring up trouble!”

Bubba whines as the shouting continues, shifting back and forth, eyes flicking between your face and the door. He seems to want to step up and defend his brother, but also to not want to give you the opportunity to draw attention. The noise only gets louder as they fight, until the door is flung open with a kick. 

“Well then, y-you’re gonna b-be pissed when you s-see this!”

“Don’t you kick my damn doors, you-”

He stops short, face going slack as he looks into the room. It must be quite the sight, with you tied to a chair and bleeding from your face, Bubba keeping your mouth shut and squealing nervously next to you, and the rearranged furniture haphazardly scattered around. You’re sure that you look the worse for wear, sweaty and bloody, face red and desperate as you try to convey ‘help me!’ with your eyes. The secret is out now, so Bubba lets you go, stepping forward with slumped shoulders and hands out in surrender, babbling in a worried, high pitched tone. 

“What is this?! I leave for a few damn hours and you’ve got the whole house torn up!”

“It’s a w-wedding!”

That response seems to throw him off, mouth opening and closing a few times. Drayton looks at you, then back and forth between his brothers, then back at you. You see the anger return in a flash, finger pointed at you as he scowls. He bypasses Bubba completely, coming towards you with a furious look on his face. 

“Is that what you’re up to? You think you can just weasel your way into this family, like a-” He sputters for a second, trying to think up a suitable insult, “- like some kind of harlot?”

You’re almost in shock at his reaction, pulling at the ties around you for emphasis as you glare at him. 

“I’m tied to a fucking chair, do you really think this was my idea?”

“There’s no call for that kind of language!” 

He scolds you, nearly drowned out by the laughter behind him. He turns to the other two, Bubba still hunched over and trembling, the other looking positively delighted with a big smile on his face. 

“And what in the hell were you thinkin’, lettin’ this go on? What’re we gonna do now, people will miss ‘em and they’ve seen your fool asses runnin’ around like that.”

He gestures violently towards Bubba’s face, the bigger man flinching back so hard that he nearly stumbles. He lets out a quiet noise, mumbling and pointing between him and yourself, then looking up at his older brother with a plaintive expression. You couldn’t make anything out of what he had said, but apparently the others had no problem understanding him. 

“Yeah,” the middle brother adds, waving his arms around in a whirlwind. “S-see, Bubba agrees with m-me, we need a wedding! A-and, I already g-got everything set up!”

“Uh, no,” you cut in, leaning forward as far as the ties will let you and raising your voice. “Here’s what’s gonna happen - you’re gonna untie me right now-”

“Well,” Drayton says slowly, ignoring your input completely. “I guess it might solve our problem, if they was family they wouldn’t have no reason to go tellin’ secrets and such.”

“A-and they like him, too! I h-heard, they were f-flirtin’ when we w-went down this mornin’!”

He looks thoughtful for a moment, glancing at you but ignoring your protests. You huff and complain as he thinks it over, but it doesn’t seem like any of it reaches him. 

“You know, it ain’t a bad idea. If they got shit enough taste to be flirtin’ with him in the first place, ain’t my fault if it leads to trouble.”

You’re astounded by this leap in logic, staring at him in shock. You had expected him to be the voice of reason, to tame his brothers and get you back home with a promise that it wouldn’t happen again, even if he acted grumpy about it. He should have come in and put a stop to this mess, not encouraged it. 

The younger two brothers let out happy whoops and yelps, scurrying eagerly back into place next to you. Once he’s close enough, Bubba beams at you happily, patting the top of your head. You realize with a jolt that he’s probably the most sane, reasonable person in the room, and he’s the one wearing a skin mask. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. “This is not how I thought today would go down.”

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael After Midnight: Avatar

Hyperbole is a real bitch. No matter what direction it goes in, it can seriously hamper a movie’s reputation. It’s the reason why I always just give a broad recommendation at the end of my reviews rather than a score; I find saying “Hey if you like this genre/subject matter/actor/etc, you might like this film” is a lot better than saying “This is a 10/10 five star masterpiece that all humans who ever shall exist need to see.” All too often the latter is what you get from mainstream publications when they praise a film.

Look what happened to Frozen; it was called one of the better Disney movies in recent memories and was praised to the heavens and back, which led to a bunch of people on the internet vocally disagreeing with said opinion, which then led to an entire anti-fandom of obnoxious basement dwellers who felt the need to constantly remind everyone Frozen sucked on any animation post they could find. All of this for a movie that, in hindsight, is just a solid, standard Disney princess flick.

Tonight we’re talking about a similar case, a film that when it came out was hyped up as a groundbreaking masterpiece of visual effects and a box office smash that grossed insane amounts of money… and was then derided as forgettable and a ripoff of Pocahontas or FernGully or what have you in the years to come. Yes, tonight we are talking about James Cameron’s smash hit, Avatar, and honestly? It’s probably the second best thing named Avatar out there, after Nickelodeon’s series about the last Airbender. After spending years being an obnoxious hipster douchebag and not watching it because it was popular followed by several more years of being an obnoxious douchebag who bashed whatever it was that was popular to bash, I finally sat down and watched James Cameron’s silly blue alien environmental movie… and frankly, it’s a pretty damn good movie. And I don’t just mean “oh it’s better than I expected but not great,” I mean “I can genuinely see to an extent where people were coming from when they were praising this.”

The story goes like this: In the far future, Earth is a polluted pile of fuck, so humans have taken to looking for resources elsewhere. One elsewhere? The moon of the planet Polyphemus, known as Pandora, which is home to a rare mineral that humans ironically dubbed “Unobtanium,” as it is rather hard to obtain due to the richest source being located amongst the native population: the ten-foot-tall blue alien beings known as the Na’vi. Jake Sully, a paraplegic former marine, is selected to utilize a remote-controlled artificial Na’vi body called an “avatar” so he can gain the native’s trust and maybe convince them to move, though there are tons of problems he has to overcome, not the least being that he starts crushing hard on Neytiri, the daughter of the chief (and seeing how she’s a hot blue alien played by Zoe Saldana, can you really blame him?). Can Sully help the humans and Na’vi reach a peaceful conclusion, or is the warmongering Colonel Miles Quaritch gonna get his way and start routing the natives out by force?

Interestingly, a lot of the movies that people claims this ripped off came out after this movie had been written; Cameron’s been working on this movie since 1994, when he wrote up an 80-page treatment for the film. He wanted to start working on this after Titanic, but the technology of the time just wasn’t right to fulfill his vision. Frankly, it’s a good thing he waited, because as I’m sure you know from all the praise it got, the visuals in this film are simply stunning. The Na’vi, the creatures of Pandora, the forests, all the glorious details of this alien planet and its inhabitants are just incredibly well done. If this had been done earlier, there is no way the Na’vi would have avoided the uncanny valley as well as they did; as it stands, they’re probably one of my favorite alien races in fiction, just from the visual standpoint alone. How good this movie looks compared to the story - which by comparison to the groundbreaking effects is rather basic - would almost make you think this film is just style over substance…

...But I’d argue that’s not exactly the case. While it’s glaringly obvious that the effects are the biggest draw, the story is still enjoyable and solid. It may seem rather derivative, but that’s mostly because in the span of time the film took to get made everyone and their mother cranked out environmental films or films about aboriginal people being joined by an outsider who learns from them and then fights back against people encroaching on their way of life, especially during the 90s. This movie quite frankly has an edge over all of those films; for one, this film looks way better than any of them, even Pocahontas (which is undeniably a beautiful film to look at). It also helps this film avoids the, uh… unfortunate implications that often come with these kinds of stories. I’m not here to get to into this aspect of those kinds of movies, but in the hands of less talented writers and directors there tends to be really nasty undertones. While Jake Sully does help lead this foreign culture to victory over their technologically advanced foes, it’s more due to him having knowledge of how humans work combined with the skills the Na’vi themselves have. Neither would have won without the other’s help. So yeah, the story is pretty simple, but pretty good. Not truly groundbreaking or original, but it really doesn’t have to be.

While I will say the story is the weak point, it IS carried by some truly great characters… just not Sully. While he’s a decent protagonist and all, he’s quite frankly overshadowed by just about everyone around him, with three enormous shadows being cast by Grace, Neytiri, and Quaritch. Grace is played by Sigourney Weaver. That is literally all you need to know to understand why she utterly steals every single scene she’s in, but for the sake of this review, let me explain in a bit more detail: her establishing character moment has her awakening from her avatar pod asking where her cigarette is, she openly is suspicious of Sully being added to the avatar program, she is the most honestly sympathetic and noble character in the entire movie, and her avatar is a stunning work of CGI. There’s really not a bad thing I can say about her; she’s basically Ellen Ripley with a more positive attitude towards aliens. She takes no shit and she does all she can to keep these people from being exploited by the greasy corporate shitweasels, no matter what she has to do. What a fucking hero. Can you see why Sully just seems kinda weak in comparison?

Then we have Neytiri, played by Zoe Saldana. She’s gorgeous, she’s badass, and she has quite the likable personality. She almost singlehandedly gives Sully a basic rundown on how not to die and spends most of her early screentime saving his ass. This was one of Saldana’s big roles in 2009 alongside playing Uhura in the Star Trek reboot series, and it brought her tons of praise, fame, and helped get her typecast as “Badass space babe with colorful skin.” Without this, Gamora might have gone to a less impressive actor who wouldn’t have been able to showcase the emotional range required, so at the very least I’m thankful to this movie for that.

And now finally, and perhaps most importantly, we come to Colonel Miles Quaritch, played by Stephen “You wished he was Cable until they cast Josh Brolin�� Lang. Quaritch is what seems like such a simple villain: a military man with some serious bloodlust, a guy who just seems to be itching to go to war. But really, there’s a lot more to him than that. One really gets the sense Quaritch really does believe what he’s doing is for the betterment of humanity, and he doesn’t go right to gunning down the Na’vi even when he’s given the word to remove them by force. There are a lot of ways to interpret him, but frankly, no matter what way you cut it he’s at the very least genuinely concerned with the safety of his subordinates (outlined in his establishing scene); this leads him to becoming probably one of the single most badass anti-villains ever conceived. The man frequently steps out into the hostile atmosphere of the moon, holding his breath, to take shots at foes before putting on a breathing apparatus. He jumps out of an exploding plane in a mini-mech, which he uses to get into a knife fight with Sully. And every heinous and violent action he takes is one he takes to protect men from dying, something he has seen far too much of. And while this makes him sympathetic to a degree, his utter disdain of the Na’vi and his bloodthirsty attitude also makes sure you want to see him gets what’s coming to him.

There’s some side characters here and there that are good, but it’s mainly these three carrying the story when it starts seeming a bit too basic for this lofty world Cameron has built. And really, this is a fantastic world he’s created. This is truly a stunning film visually, with some flavorful characters to ensure that the vision doesn’t wear on you throughout the running time. For the most part, it really does work; guess that’s just the magic of James Cameron.

This is a very good film. Not the greatest film of all time, but definitely an enjoyable, ambitious, and groundbreaking one. If I ever make a list of the best sci-fi films (and you know I will eventually), this will most certainly be on there… somewhere. It’s at least top 25 material. While Aliens and the first two Terminator films are definitely the best stuff Cameron has done, this is still quite an impressive piece of pop sci-fi he created; if you like environmental movies, science fiction, creative worldbuilding, awesome visuals, or James Cameron movies, this film is worth a watch. Hell, it’s worth a watch if you’re a fan of Weaver, Lang, or Saldana too, because their performances really drive this film. It’s a good movie, plain and simple.

...Though I don’t think it’s good enough to warrant four sequels. Fuck off, Cameron.

[fire-bear]

Number 1 with UsUk?

I just want to apologise in advance. For some reason, I didn’t notice the ‘company’ part of the prompt until I was about to start writing this and then suffered some sort of mental block? I honestly think this thing is kinda... horrible but I hope it’s okay?

I’d have liked to have set it in high school... Maybe I’ll write you a version of that next year. ^.^

KeepYour Enemies Close

Arthur hated calling the IT Department.

Their publishing company was small and so there wereonly two IT guys. They did their jobs well and, by all accounts,Arthur should get on well with them, particularly since, due tobudget restraints, he had an older model of computer. It was slow andoften developed bugs of some sort. Gilbert would turn up quickly fora good gossip, cup of tea, biscuits and to actually fix the computer.

It was Alfred which made Arthur hate picking up thephone to call down for some help.

Alfred had been a part of the company before Arthur hadbeen recruited. As a prank for the new guy, something to 'welcome'them, Alfred had thought it would be funny to programme his computerto shut down within half an hour of him working. With unsavedprogress and half-written e-mails, Arthur had been panicked, sure hewas going to be fired. When Alfred had appeared to help him andlaughed at his consternation, Arthur had been furious. Theirresulting argument had gone down in history – along with everyensuing one.

Thankfully, that was the only ugly mark on Arthur'sfledgling career as a publisher.

At least, it was the only thing he disliked untilseveral months later when Christmas arrived and he found out aboutone of the peculiar traditions of the company he had joined. It wasone of the few times he wondered whether quitting would retain hissanity...

"Right, everyone," said ElizavetaHérdéváry, hands on her hips. The publishers and assistants andcleaners and that damned IT department stopped their murmurs andturned their attention to their boss. Arthur pointedly ignored Alfredas much as he could despite sensing his stares and mockingsniggering. "Alfred!" Elizaveta cried, finally getting himto shut up. "Do I need to gag you?"

"Oh, that would be interesting," Francispiped up.

Arthur slid his gaze towards him, frowning. "Ican't quite tell what you mean by that," he muttered to hiscolleague. Francis only smirked back at him.

"Now that you're all quite finished..."Elizaveta said, voice strained as she spoke through gritted teeth.

"Sorry, Liz," echoed around the room as thechatter finally stopped.

"Right," she said again. "As you allknow Christmas is coming up. And I knowyou're all working hard so we can release some of our amazingromances on the world. So, as we do every year, we're going toorganise a Christmas party."

Murmurs broke out. Feliciano seemed rather excited,chattering into Ludwig's ear. Mei was grinning at Kiku and tugging athis arm in an attempt to get him as riled up as she was. Francis wasalready musing upon what sort of food he should make for the event.And, over it all, Alfred's harsh, annoying voice rolled overeverything, though Arthur couldn't make out his words.

Arthur himself wasn't particularly bothered by it.Christmas had never been an especially good time of the year for himand the last time he'd felt perfectly content and filled withChristmas cheer had been when he still believed in Santa Claus. Allthe magic had gone from the affair and, in its absence, cynicism hadsettled. He'd efficiently bought all his Christmas presents alreadyand had nothing to do: he was absolutely fed up with the holidayalready and they were only in November.

It looked as though he was going to have to summon someenthusiasm, though. A party would be fun, if he ignored the'Christmas' part.

Elizaveta waited till the noise had died down beforespeaking again. "Since it's a large undertaking, I'm going topick two names from a hat in order to decide which two people aregoing to be organising it for us. No protests or arguments," sheadded with a stern finger. She picked up her pink, woollen hat, theone with the large flower pinned to it, which Arthur had seen herbring in and wondered about. "So, the first person to be doingthis is..." Deftly, she plucked out a folded piece of paper.Using finger and thumb, she slid the paper open and raised aneyebrow. "Alfred."

"Oh, all right!" Alfred yelled from the backof the room. "This is gonna be the biggest, bestest, mostawesomest Christmas party in the history of Christmas parties!"

"I doubt that," Arthur muttered to Francis.His friend – to use the term loosely – rolled his eyes at hisantagonism and sighed.

"Really, darling, you need to get over thisstrange hatred you have of him," he said. "It's not goodfor you."

"And," said Elizaveta over the top of themall, brow furrowed as she glared at those who were speaking, "thenext person is..." She pulled another name from the hat, set thehat down, unfolded it – and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. Arthurfelt a shiver go down his spine and felt sorry for whoever was aboutto be landed the job- "Ah, that person is Arthur."

Everyone went silent. Not a word was said. Breaths wereheld. Nobody moved. Arthur stared at Elizaveta. Then, heart hammeringin his chest, he whipped his head around to stare, wide-eyed, at anequally shocked Alfred. They stayed like that for a few secondsbefore Alfred's expression began to change, his face falling, browfurrowing. Arthur looked back to Elizaveta and gave her a pleadinglook.

"Liz..."

"Nope!" she said, cheerfully. "You twoare doing this. Maybe, this way, you can stop your silly feud. Now,I've not got much else to discuss for this meeting. Just a littlenote about..."

Arthur tuned her out, his heart sinking as he wonderedhow on Earth he was going to be able to organise something for hiscolleagues when he had to work with his worst enemy. Turning his headslightly, he caught Alfred glaring at him. He glared right back andknew, deep in his core, that the next few weeks were going to beawful.

After the meeting, with Alfred distracted by hisfellow IT guy, Arthur managed to scurry away back to his office. Oncethere and the door was closed behind him, he relaxed significantly.He liked it in here, with the various manuscripts and first editionsof books he'd help publish or ones he just liked having on hand orprevious ones in a series so he could reference them. His desk wassurrounded by filing cabinets that he kept meticulously organised aswell as the files on his computer, one which had the largest memoryof any computer he had ever worked on, despite its slow processing.Apart from the monitor and the keyboard on the little drawer beneathit, his desk consisted of a lot of pens, a tray for organising hispost and several piles of documents. At the moment, since Elizavetahad interrupted his morning work for her meeting, it was in a stateof organised chaos.

Settling in his rolling chair, he sighed and let hisshoulders droop, tugging at his shirt collar. He felt a little onedge from the added workload from the party, despite not havingstarted doing anything yet. However, he hoped that he could calmhimself down by doing the sort of work he actually enjoyed. Planningfor the party could begin after work and, he decided, it would bebest if he came up with ideas and handed them over to Alfred for himto deal with instead of having actual, physical meetings.

Drawing a manuscript towards him, Arthur had barelyremembered where he had gotten up to when the door burst open withouta knock. He didn't need to look up to know who it was and gloweredacross the room at Alfred who was scowling back at him. "What doyou want?" Arthur demanded.

"We're meant to be working together," Alfredtold him, sternly.

"Only for the party," Arthur corrected him."I'm on the clock – and so are you. Go back to your littleroom in the basement and whatever you do down there all day."

Alfred's scowl deepened. "You know fine well we'renot in the basement-"

"I don't care. Get out of my office."

Sighing, Alfred tried again. "We need to make alist of things we need to do for this party. So I'm not leaving tillwe do this." He stalked into the room and let himself drop intothe comfortable armchair that Arthur had personally brought in forauthors and other important visitors to feel relaxed in duringmeetings.

"And I refuse to talk about the Christmas partyuntil I've at least finished work today."

With that being said,he returned his attention to the manuscript, his red pen in hand ashe circled a few paragraphs about something he felt was inane to theplot. He tried not to be too conscious of Alfred's presence in theroom but he couldn't help wondering if he was going to do somethingstupid like mess up his desk to get Arthur's attention. Nervously, heshuffled his papers around a little, trying to remember what he wastrying to work on. Glancing at his computer, he realised that hehadn't booted it up since he came back from the meeting and wouldneed to in order to check his e-mails. Just as he was about to reachout to turn it on, Alfred suddenly stood, making Arthur jolt insurprise.

"Fine," said Alfred, shortly. "I'll waitfor you after work." And he strode from the room, leaving thedoor wide open.

Arthur sighed and prayed for patience.

Whoever was watching over him didn't give himany.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Arthur's temperflared frequently enough that he couldn't remember the last time hehadn't been irritated and had been content. Their first meeting tookplace in a McDonald's since Arthur couldn't shake Alfred and theother man wanted food. Arthur had never had an argument in aMcDonald's but, when they couldn't agree on a venue, Arthur had tostorm out in lieu of being thrown out.

Whenever they discussed it, they argued about everysingle detail. The venue (Alfred wanted to have it in the officewhile Arthur thought they should take it out of the workplace); themusic (Alfred wanted loud pop music while Arthur thought it would bebetter to have gentle ballads); the decorations (Arthur thought theyshould be minimalist with white being the predominant colour whileAlfred was adamant there should be more colour); the food and drink(Alfred wanted to have a huge spread while Arthur thought thereshouldn't be too much in order to keep waste down); the possibilityof gifts (Alfred wanted to do Secret Santa but Arthur had pointed outhow long it was taking them to organise the party, let alone a SecretSanta as well); the games (which Arthur didn't want to have). Everysingle time they had a difference of opinion, there was a loudargument with shouting and slamming doors. Most of their discussionshappened in the office and their colleagues were equal parts amusedand exasperated.

The day of the party drew nearer (another thingdisagreed on) and their arguments grew worse. That was because Arthurwas getting more and more fed up with the holiday. With every fight,he felt his chest hurting. Alfred's disdain and hatred was clear andhe couldn't figure out why it had only seemed to become worse. Hebegan to dread going to the office and dread talking to anyone. Hiswork began to fall behind, his efficiency dropping as he fumed orworried or fought.

Struggling, Arthur watched the calendar, counting downthe days until he'd be free...

Finally, it was upon them.

After compromising a lot, they had decided to have itin their biggest conference room. Since Alfred had insisted on aChristmas tree and other decorations, they were set to decoratestraight after work the day before the party. Arthur really justwanted to get home as soon as possible so he made sure everythingthey needed was in the conference room by four o'clock. He alsomanaged to convince Francis, Antonio and Gilbert to help him shiftthe tables out so they'd have room to work.

So, when five o'clock hit, Arthur made sure to clockout, say goodnight to all his colleagues with a weary smile andreturned to the room. Alfred was waiting for him and he sighed uponseeing Alfred's cheerful expression. It looked a little strained atthe edges.

"Huh," said Alfred. "I washalf-expecting you to bail on me."

"Why would I do that?" Arthur said, movingover to the huge box of multi-coloured baubles and streamers and Godonly knew what else. "This is my responsibility as well. I'm notgoing to duck out of it."

"Sure," Alfred muttered, sounding peeved.

"Let's just get this over with. I'll decorate thewindow and you decorate over there." Arthur gestured towards thedoor.

There was no answer but, when Arthur glanced over hisshoulder, he saw that the bespectacled blond was working on opening along box. Thankful that they wouldn't be continuing any sort ofconversation, Arthur began to unravel the tinsel and set aside thebaubles ready for the tree. They were huge monstrosities,multi-coloured, all red and green and silver and gold and white andpink, for some reason. There were also huge decals to go on the floorto ceiling windows, all of them in colour, including Santa and anativity scene. Arthur frowned at the fact that there wouldn't be anysnowflakes to stick up, except for the paper ones which would hangfrom the ceiling and make it impossible to move around the room.

He got to work, deciding to put the decals on thewindows first. They were pretty simple so he was finished with themquickly. Passing by Alfred who was struggling to get the bottom partof the fake tree connected with the rest of it, Arthur went into thehall where a step-ladder had been left for their use. Arthurwordlessly set it up in one corner and climbed up, a large, papersnowflake in one hand. He pinned it to the ceiling before climbingback down. Three of them were hanging up before he noticed just whereAlfred had placed the tree.

"What's that doing there?"Arthur demanded, gesturing at it.

"Huh?" said Alfred, looking up from where hewas hanging the baubles on the little fake branches.

"The tree. You've put it in front the window. Howare people supposed to see that ridiculous snowman you made me putup?"

"It's not ridiculous," Alfred protested,glaring at Arthur as he descended from on high. "And I wantpeople to see it as they come in."

Arthur looked around the room. The floor to ceilingwindows took up nearly the entire wall on one side of the room.Opposite it, the door was in one corner and the tree at the far endof the room. Glancing at the free corner pointedly, Arthur said, "Youdon't think they'd see it there?"

"But there's not enough impact,"Alfred insisted. "It has to be here."

"Then what was the point in the snowman?!"Arthur exclaimed, completely done with Alfred's strange determinationon what they should have at the party. All of their decisions hadcome down to the flip of a coin and Arthur had only won on the SecretSanta and games suggestions. Everything else had to be exactly asAlfred envisioned or it would 'ruin Christmas'.

"Y'know, for added Christmas cheer!"

"No!" snapped Arthur. "Move the tree!"

Alfred frowned. "No; it's perfect here."

"Don't be so stupid! Everyone will be able to seeit in that other corner," Arthur said, pointing at it.

"Why're you trying to ruin my fun?" Alfreddemanded.

"I'm not. I just think it would be best to makesure everyone will enjoy it instead of just you."

"You're just being a Scrooge! A mean, uptight,horrid... person!" declared Alfred once he'd clearly run out ofadjectives to use against him.

"Oh, look at the pot calling the kettle black!"Arthur snapped, batting aside one of the giant snowflakes that wasgetting on his nerves.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"You did that horrifying prank on me on my firstday! How did you not think that was mean?"

"It was just a joke," Alfred tried to defendhimself, though he looked uncomfortable.

"You laughed in my face!" Arthur yelled, hishands now curled into fists. "And you never bothered toapologise! I don't know what you were thinking, but you quite clearlydon't want me here."

"What? No. I-"

"Don't deny it!" Arthur interrupted him,unable to stop the words tumbling from his lips. "You hate me!It's quite obvious!"

"I don't hate you!" Alfred exclaimed,eyes wide behind his glasses. "I-"

"You definitely don't like me."

"It's not as if you made yourself likeable,"Alfred said, hands raised as if to defend himself or placate Arthur.

"Well, I'm sorry that this is a job I've workedhard for. I'm sorry I desperately want to keep this job. I'm sorrythat I don't want to be fired and I'm bloody terrified that I'll dosomething to make that happen. And you walk in, with your stupid grinand your inane comments and- and- and you made me believe I couldlose this – everything – all of this- because of-" Arthurhad to stop, panting a little, to take a deep breath and get histhoughts in order.

"That's..." Alfred tried to say but Arthurcut him off.

"I love this job," he told Alfred, angerstill thrumming through him and prompting him to speak. "But Idread coming in here because of you."

Alfred seemed to freeze at that, his eyes gettingimpossibly wider. "I..."

"You don't need to make an excuse," Arthursnarled, worked up now. He could feel the pressure in his head as hefought against the tears. "I don't want to hear it!"Turning away from Alfred, he stalked away. Noting the sheer amount ofdecorations they still had to put up, Arthur slumped. There was noway he could continue working after blowing up at Alfred. He turnedback to him but, before he could say anything, he found Alfred weaklysmiling at him.

"Okay," he said. "Look. It's Christmas.You need to just relax a bit, all right? Then, in the New Year-"

"'Relax'?" said Arthur, incredulously."'Relax'?! Don't tell me to 'relax'! Do you think this is somesort of joke!"

"No! No, no, I don't, I-"

"I've had enough!" Arthur glanced up at thesnowflake he had batted at before and whacked it as hard as he could.It ripped with a horrible tearing noise, flopping on its string. Partof it fell down in pieces so that it looked as though it was actuallysnowing.

"Hey!" cried Alfred, looking at the ruineddecoration in dismay.

"Put the rest up by yourself," Arthur toldhim as he turned away from him. "I'm going home."

"What?! Arti- Arthur, c'mon. You can't – if youdon't help me, the party'll be ruined!"

"Well, just you wait till next year and I won't be'ruining' your party."

"What?!" Alfred yelped. "What, Arthur,wait! What did that mean?" Arthur paused in the doorwayand sent him a look meant to convey the implications: he imagined helooked equal parts angry, exhausted and upset. Alfred's mouth droppedopen. "No, wait, Arthur, don't-!" But Arthur turned hishead away, shook it hurriedly and rushed off before his emotions gotthe better of him.

Arthur didn't sleep that night.

At first, his anger had fuelled him through a few hoursof housework before he retired to bed. There, he'd fumed – until itfaded. It was swiftly replaced by shame and guilt and regret. He'dleft Alfred to decorate on his own. No doubt, he wouldn't be finishedby the next night. Everyone would be disappointed that their partywas a failure. Maybe they wouldn't bother next year.

The worse part, of course, had been his rant to Alfred.It wasn't his fault that Arthur had been far too stressed. Heshouldn't have shouted at him. And he definitely shouldn't haverevealed so much to the man. His worst enemy. The only person hedidn't want to know his personal thoughts and feelings.

It made him shudder.

But, the worst guilt he felt was that Elizaveta's treatto her employees had gone up in smoke. There was no way that he couldsee for them to salvage the party. However, Arthur had a thought justbefore he dropped off to sleep. There was one thing none of them weregoing to get at the party, that none of them would expect and thatmight make it up to them.

Which was why he threw his clothes on early the nextmorning, stepped into his shoes, grabbed his coat and wallet andventured out into the horror of the high street during the Christmasrush. There were a lot of people to buy for and he had to make sureall of the gifts were perfect. Especially Alfred's – it would needto stand in as Christmas present and apology.

***Later that day, around the time people would bebeginning to reach the office for the supposed party, Arthurreturned. He was absolutely exhausted from going to and from everysort of shop imaginable. His wallet was considerably lighter and hehoped he'd be able to survive until he was paid again. Then he'd hadto rush home so he could wrap everything in boxes with plain redpaper and golden ribbons. Finally finished, he'd rushed to theoffices and quietly made his way in, careful not to be noticed as heswiped his way through the floor's secure locks.

Playing at Santa – of a sort – Arthur slipped intoeach office, leaving the appropriate present to be found wheneverthey next arrived there. For Elizaveta, who kept her office lockedwith an actual key, he pinned it to the door, close enough to hername plaque that the tiny hole would hopefully not be noticeableafterwards. Mission complete, he heaved a sigh and let the tensionseep out of him, slumping a little as he made his way back to thedoor, intent on leaving. A noise from the makeshift party roomstopped him. Was Alfred in there, still trying to get it all readyfor everyone?

Cautious, eyes darting to and fro in the hope that hewouldn't be seen, Arthur sidled up to the door. He placed his hand onthe doorknob. With a deep breath, he turned the handle and slowlypushed it open, peering through it. He froze at what he saw,confused.

When he had left the night before, the majority of thedecorations had been bright and cheerful. The tree had been large andrather imposing. Wrecked, gigantic paper monstrosities hung in onecorner of the room. Boxes had covered the floor.

Now, the floor was mostly clear. A table had beenpushed against the far wall, laden with food and a punch bowl.Beneath it, hundreds of various bottles were nestled – Arthur evenspied several packets of paper cups. The windows had been stripped ofthe giant stickers that Arthur had painstakingly and smoothly put on.Instead, the windows seemed to be dusted by light snow or frost,icicles hanging down from above. Icicles also hung from the ceiling,lit up and slowly pulsing a pretty glow. A thinner, smaller tree,sprayed with snow and covered in muted coloured baubles stood in thecorner Arthur had told Alfred to put his only 24 hours before.Standing proud atop it was a golden fairy, silver wand held high.Seats were pushed against what space was left, covered in sheets andfoil and wire to make them appear as if they had been roughly carvedout of snow. Gentle, slow music flowed from a music player somewhere.Silver tinsel was draped anywhere it could be without being in theway.

And it was full of people. Francis and Elizaveta andGilbert and... Everyone. They were all there, chatting away. No-onehad drinks. Ludwig had a rectangular box under one arm. Leaningagainst his back, Feliciano had his tongue stuck out as hepainstakingly wrote out a card. Searching around the room, Arthurquickly spotted Alfred as well. He was working with Kiku, wrestlingwith a chair and a sheet.

"Urgh, Keeks, why won't this one work?" hesaid, voice carrying across the room.

"You are rushing," Kiku answered politely.

"He'll be here soon!"

"If he even-" Francis began but he glanced atthe door as he spoke and his eyes widened. "Arthur!" hecried and Alfred immediately dropped the chair onto Kiku's foot.

"Artie!" he exclaimed, spinning around.

"'Artie'?" Arthur questioned, quite unable towrap his head around what he was seeing.

"Uh. Yeah, um. You made it! Merry Christmas!"The others echoed the sentiment.

"What... What is all this?" Arthurasked, stepping into the room and noticing the concertinaed papersnowmen curving across the wall. "I thought you wanted brightcolours and... 'happiness' or whatever it was you said."

"Uh," Alfred said again, eyes drawn to thefloor. "I... I'm sorry."

"What?" said Arthur flatly, unable to quiteunderstand what was happening.

"I've been a real jerk," Alfred admittedbefore sheepishly looking up at Arthur, hand rubbing at the back ofhis head. "I'm sorry. What I did on your first day... It wasreally stupid but... I'd only wanted to make you laugh. I didn'tthink about what it would mean to you. And laughing at you. And...everything else." He stopped to take a deep breath. Then helooked up at Arthur, closing the gap between them so he could lookArthur in the eye. "I shouldn't have..." Alfred faltered."Er, what's the word. Made you feel left out?"

"Alienated," Francis informed him.

"That's it! I shouldn't have alienated you."

"None of us should've," Gilbert piped up."Al's like one of the family and... I dunno, I suppose we justnaturally took his side in a lot of stuff."

"So this is to, like, make up for that!"Alfred declared, spreading his arms wide to show off the room. "If,y'know, it can."

"This is for you," Ludwig said, stepping upbeside them. "From all of us."

"And this, too!" Feliciano exclaimed, handingover the card he'd hastily stuffed into the envelope.

Arthur looked at all of them, perplexed. Had theyreally banded together to sort out the party and welcome himproperly? What could they possibly have gotten him? Hesitant, hereached out to take the items. He opened the box first, his curiositygetting the better of him. Inside, a wide strip of metal rested. Hepulled it out – and gasped.

A. Kirkland

Publisher

"We got it engraved today," Alfred explained."It cost a lot to get it done 'cause of short notice and howbusy they were so I hadta get everyone else to pitch in and then wordgot around and... this happened." He swept his hand around theroom.

Stunned, Arthur shook his head. "You... You didn'tneed to. I mean... I've been horrible, too. I'm so sorry Alfred. Ishouldn't have-"

"Nah, it's fine. Not your fault," said Alfreddismissively, smiling at Arthur. It was a rather soft, fond smile,Arthur thought, and it was a little disconcerting that Alfred hadthat expression for him. He ducked his head, smiling himself.His heart felt warmer, happy tears blurring his vision.

"I just... thank you," Arthur said. Heclutched the present to his chest and wondered if he should tell themall about their presents. Then he decided it could be a surprise forthem. Nobody needed to know what he'd done.

"Yeah." Alfred put a friendly hand onArthur's shoulder which made him rather embarrassed, unused to thissort of attention. "Merry Christmas, Artie. And welcome to EroCup Publishing."

I was honestly gonna have them under mistletoe at the end there and have to kiss (but a chaste one) but I thought that was a bit much...

[lokifiction]

Relationship Status

It’s really no secret that the Avengers and Loki aren’t fans of each other, but when a seemingly invincible common enemy looms ahead, it is necessary that they learn to get along. However, it soon becomes quite clear that this will be no simple task.

Category: Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Notes/Warnings: No warnings, but I do have a note about the masterlist. It has been super weird lately, and some of the newer links on there direct you to the most recent chapter of Unsinkable. I’m working on fixing the issue, but it’s slow going. There are links to the next and previous chapter of a fanfic on each individual post of an installment, so you can still use those for navigation, even though it’s a bit of a pain to do so. I’m sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused, and I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Chapter Sixteen: Breakfast in Bed

The moment I woke up the next morning, I jumped out of bed and dashed to the medical deck to check on Loki. When I reached the door and took a quick glance in the window, however, I discovered that he was still soundly asleep, in a way that foretold his waking not being something that would come soon. With a bittersweet smile, I backed away, not wanting to disturb his rest. Besides, he had told me to sleep in, and if he found me by his bed at that hour of the morning, he would know I hadn’t and blame himself for my tiredness.

As I was forgoing my morning ballet class to watch over Loki, I texted Stellan to ask him to look at my schedule for the day and send it to me. I didn’t want to arrive at the theatre a second before I had to, and leave Loki alone in his state for any longer than was necessary. I still needed to warm up, however, and seeing as I definitely wasn’t going to be getting back to sleep, I had plenty of time to do so. In the hours I had spent in the tower recently, I heard people mention some sort of gym and training area, and I glanced at a directory put up next to the elevator to find out where it was. I felt a bit strange using it, as if I was overextending my welcome, but so far I seemed to be the only person awake in the entirety of the building, so I assumed nobody would even know I did so.

I hadn’t packed any workout clothes other than my leotard and tights, seeing as most of my warmups and athletic wear were already in my dressing room at the theatre. So, resolving myself to exercise in my pajamas, I threw my hair into a ponytail and returned to the room I had stayed in for a pair of tennis shoes before making my way into the gym, but stopping abruptly as I crossed the threshold and turning around to leave the room when the sound of a punching bag revealed that it was not, in fact, unoccupied.

“Hey!” the voice of Steve Rogers called out just as I was about to cross back into the hallway. I turned back around and discovered him jogging over to me, white t-shirt damp and hair sticking to his forehead from sweat.

“Are you lost?” he asked with a friendly smile. “Do you need me to help you find something?”

“No, actually, I wanted to come work out, but, um…” I eyed the highly advanced weaponry, impossibly difficult simulation-infused obstacle courses, weights beyond any normal human capabilities, and the countless other things that made up the training area, which was quite suited for superhumans, but not at all for me. “All of this stuff seems really out of my league, and besides, I’m probably not even supposed to be in here. This seems to be an Avengers only space, so I was just on my way out.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re welcome to use the gym! The normal stuff is just a little hidden.” Steve led me to the back of the expansive room, and to my relief, a long row of treadmills and ellipticals lined the wall.

“I was actually going to get on and run, myself,” Steve said as I chose an elliptical and went about adjusting the settings. “Do you mind if I join you?”

I invited him to go ahead, and he hopped onto the treadmill next to me.

“Yeah, I don’t usually run inside,” he narrated, answering a question I had but never would have uttered. “In the city, though, I can never get a pace up with all the stoplights and people, so this is just easier to get the workout I need without a lot of fuss.”

I nodded in understanding and we both began to move on our machines.

“How’s Loki?” Steve inquired casually, enviously unfazed for the mind-boggling speed his feet were moving at.

“I’m not really sure,” I answered. “He was still asleep when I went to check on him.”

“Well, I’m sure a nice rest will do him a lot of good.”

Steve and I resumed our individual workouts in an only slightly awkward silence, but he called out to me as I stepped off of the machine to go over to the line of mirrors set in front of the weights for a bit of Pilates.

“Loki did really good yesterday,” Steve praised. “The whole city owes their lives to him. The rest of the team would never admit it, but… we’re really grateful.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell him you said so, and he’ll be very happy to hear it, that is, if he even believes me.” I chuckled and blinked back tears. “That’s all he’s ever wanted anyone to say to him, you know. That he did well, and that his efforts were beneficial. Not just come straight out of battle and have someone list all the ways he could’ve been better.”

Steve was clearly unsure of how to reply to something so heavy, so I saved him the trouble by giving him a small smile and continuing on to do what I was going to. However, I couldn’t keep my mind focused on my exercises, because with all that talk about Loki, I was unable to think of anything other than him, wondering if he’d woken up yet. Eventually, I cut my workout short and returned to the medical deck, where Helen had arrived and was just exiting Loki’s room.

“How is he?” I pounced on her without any greeting. Being in her field, Helen was clearly used to this sort of behavior, and responded with a genuine smile.

“He’s doing much better,” she assured. “I think he’s in the clear now. I want to keep him a bit longer for some more fluids, but you should be able to take him home this afternoon.”

I chuckled inwardly at that. So far in our relationship dynamic, Loki had always been the one to take me home, never the other way around. I almost relished in the situation, for I finally felt as if I was taking care of him.

“Well, I should be back here at around 4-ish, would that be a good time?”

“That would be perfect.” Helen glanced back in at Loki’s sleeping form. “He should be waking up soon, and he’ll need food when he does.”

“Would it be alright if I made him something?” Though Loki would never admit it in front of the Avengers, his absolute favorite breakfast food was waffles, particularly the way I made them. I wanted to take full advantage of our caregiver/patient role reversal and surprise him with some comfort food.

“Absolutely. Any food will be perfect, just make sure he drinks a huge glass of water with it.” Helen patted me on the shoulder in passing as she continued on to her other duties of the day. I took one last look at Loki before returning to the directory I located earlier, looking for the way to the kitchen.

When I entered, the atmosphere of the space seemed much more like a family area than a refueling station for the Avengers. A coffee pot growled away in the corner, various cooking tools laid scattered about the counter space and piled in the sink, and the refrigerator bore all sorts of notes and reminders: invitations to events held up with Avengers magnets, a communal shopping list that everyone added to, a few candid photos, and various post-it notes bearing warnings such as “Anyone who eats my leftover nachos dies. -Clint” and “The leftover smoothie is mine- Steve,” which had a reply in a different hand, stating: “You don’t have to worry about us stealing those. They’re horrifically disgusting.”

In the center of all of that, the invitation to Loki’s and my wedding had been tacked up with glitter-covered magnets, which I assumed were chosen to draw attention. Pepper had attached a sticky note to the cardstock, her neat, compact hand reading: “We’re all going to this. No excuses.”

“For God’s sake, does no one around here know how to clean up?”

The frustrated comment startled me, and I whirled around to discover Stark in the doorway, wearing a pair of faded black sweatpants and an old AC/DC tour t-shirt.

“Oh, hi, Camryn,” he greeted, stepping over to the coffeemaker and pouring himself a cup with a warm and silly smile in my direction. “What brings you to the kitchen at this early hour?”

“I was going to make Loki some breakfast.” I scanned the cluttered space. “Do you guys have a waffle iron? I promise I’ll clean it up when I’m finished with it.”

“I will be forever grateful if you do. I’m sick of feeling like I’m living with teenage barbarians. I know it’s not the girls, because Natasha is so secretive in every aspect of her life, even down to her cooking, and would never leave anything out because of that, and Pepper is just a neat kind of person. That leaves the guys, sans me. Thor I sort of understand, seeing as he’s been raised never having to pick anything up because there’s always a servant around the corner to do it for him, but the others, god.” Stark rolled his eyes, bending down and retrieving the tool from a cabinet in front of his knees. “Here you go.”

I thanked him and went about gathering everything else I’d need for my recipe, watching out of the corner of my eye as Stark grabbed the pad of sticky notes and Sharpie from the top of the fridge and scribbled something down, pausing abruptly as he was about to put it up. I turned to find out what was the matter, and saw him staring expressionlessly at the invitation. I caught my bottom lip in my teeth, waiting for his reaction as he pulled it down and held it in his hand.

“Is this an invitation to your wedding, or am I going crazy?” he eventually asked.

“It is,” I replied. “I gave it to Pepper last night when you all were away.”

“Why would you invite us to arguably the most special days of your lives?” Tony furrowed his brow. “I figured that Loki would think that we’d, or more specifically, I’d, ruin the whole thing.”

“We debated back and forth for a long time,” I admitted. “Our ultimate decision was that you guys waved your permanent white flag by offering him the consultant position, so the invitation is us reciprocating.”

“I thought he reciprocated by accepting the position.”

“In a way.” I shrugged and inclined my head towards the invitation. “That’s Loki’s own way of saying he trusts you. Or, as much as Loki can trust anyone.”

“This little thing just got a lot heavier,” Stark chuckled awkwardly, pinning it back up. “I’d...I’d love to come.”

“We’d love to have you.”

Stark and I shared an intimate and meaningful smile before turning back to our individual tasks. Unable to revel in a heavy atmosphere for much longer, Stark lightened it with a comical groan.

“Today is going to be such a long day,” he muttered, gulping from his mug and immediately going to top it off.

“Busy?” I casually asked, whisking my batter.

“Yes.” Stark dragged his hand down the length of his face. “I have to go all the way upstate to oversee some construction of the new Avengers Facility, and then come back here and start drawing up contracts for new additions to the team.”

“New additions?” I raised my eyebrows. “They must be some special people.”

“They are, but I almost wish we’d never found them.” Stark rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “The process and legal matters that go into adding someone to the team are ten times more extensive than those for becoming a consultant, and you know how lengthy that was. We can’t start training them until we have the new facility completed, so you’d figure that would mean that the work to be done in that lapse is minimal, but we have to help their transition into this lifestyle and make arrangements and blah, blah, blah.”

“Who are these people that are so special they got invited to be a part of the Avengers?”

“Can’t tell you. It’s above your clearance level.”

“Oh?” I laughed. “Loki and I have clearance levels?”

“And don’t you forget it.” Stark pointed at me with a playful air of sternness. “There’s even one of our new members living in the Tower, but you’ll never see them.”

“Oh, I bet I will,” I played along.

“I almost guarantee you won’t.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.” Stark winked and stuck a note reading “Here’s an idea: clean your shit!” to the fridge and exited the kitchen, leaving me in a fit of giggles that, when faded, left me with a strange feeling of closeness and friendship.

***

When the chocolate chip waffle came out of the iron, I topped it with even more chocolate chips, whipped cream, and warmed syrup- the Camryn specialty- and put it on a tray that was already equipped with a bowl of berries and a mug of green tea with lemon. Following Helen’s orders, I picked out the biggest cup I could find and filled it to the brim with ice water, then carefully walked the breakfast to Loki’s room. He was still asleep when I entered, but as I settled down onto a chair beside his bed, his eyes began to flutter open.

“Good morning, love.” I set the tray aside on a nearby countertop and stood up to kiss him gently. I could sense fear at his unfamiliar surroundings, but as he sat up further and remembered the night before, he calmed.

“Morning, darling.” He squeezed my hand, his strength returning little by little. “Did you manage to sleep in?”

“I would say yes, but you know when I’m lying,” I giggled. “It’s fine, though. I made you breakfast.” I placed the tray across his lap, and his eyes widened in veiled excitement.

“Thank you very much.” Picking up his fork, Loki stole a glance at the clock mounted on the wall behind my head. “I know you opted to skip your class this morning, but shouldn’t you be leaving soon to check your schedule for the day?”

“I had Stellan text it to me. I have a while,” I assured. “I only have an hour and a half of the pas de deuxs with all casts, a short run of Act I with my cast, and a private coaching session with Ulyana for the variations. I should be back here at around four.”

“Well, I suppose luck worked in our favor today.” Loki plucked a berry from the bowl and dragged it through the whipped cream before popping it in his mouth. “The less I have to be here alone, the better.”

“How are you feeling, though?” I inquired.

“Still a bit weak and lightheaded, but overall better.” Loki winced. “I just hate being so susceptible like this. It’s just another on a long list of reasons to despise what I really am. I hate being reverted to this state so easily, and the fact that this had to happen in front of them only makes it worse.”

“No one suspects anything,” I assured. “And they have no reason to, because even someone who wasn’t a Jotun would have this sort of reaction, considering where you went. Muspelheim isn’t just hot. It’s pits of fire and temperatures that can blister skin instantly, with no relief to be found. It’s hotter than any other place in the universe. Any being in the Realms, save the ones that are native to that world, would come down with dehydration and heat exhaustion as you did, if not worse ailments, when going there. You’re not weak, and I wish you would believe it. Besides, you’re always the one that has to take care of me, so I’m glad I finally get to take care of you for a change.”

“It was prophesied from the beginning that I was to be your guardian. That’s why I always care for you. The guardian isn’t supposed to be taken care of by the one they guard.”

“You would be surprised.”

Silence blanketed us after that, filled only by the sound of Loki’s utensils.

“I gave the Avengers our wedding invitation,” I announced suddenly.

Loki raised a brow, but didn’t look up from his plate, though his movements stilled. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have time to tell you last night.”

“And how did they take it?”

“The ones I spoke to were actually excited.” I drew in a breath. “I think we can expect them to be there.”

Loki picked up his mug and focused his gaze towards the door. “Well, I suppose there’s no turning back now.”

“Do you regret me giving the invitation to them?” I worried aloud.

“No, but I would be lying if I said the prospect of getting this close to them didn’t make me uneasy.”

“Well, never fear. In fifty years they’ll all be dead and we won’t have to worry about them anymore,” I teased, drawing a laugh from Loki.

“Not necessarily,” he added with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Thor will still be here then, and he’s the worst of the bunch!”

***

When I arrived at the theatre, I was surprisingly blessed with a rare day where I was able to focus on dancing and nothing else. In passing, I would worry about Loki, but he kept me updated with regular texts, assuring me that he was just fine. For once, I believed him, and went about my day.

When I returned to my dressing room once everything I was scheduled for was over, however, I remembered an almost halfhearted comment I made to Natasha and Pepper in that very room what seemed like so long ago. I mulled on it as I got in a cab to take me back to Stark Tower, and seeing Loki on a sofa in the lounge when I returned, chatting pleasantly with Steve, Natasha, Thor, and Bruce, I was sold.

“There’s something I want to do,” I announced as Loki and I stood in the elevator on the way down to the lobby, my arms wrapped around him. He was nearly at his full one hundred percent, but nevertheless I wanted to offer my help in case he needed it.

“I won’t if you don’t think it’s a good idea,” I insisted.

Loki looked down at me curiously. “Go on.”

“A while back, I told Pepper that the next time all of the Avengers were in town that I would host a dinner party with them,” I hesitantly continued. “It was a bit of an idle offer, but everyone’s here, and will be for a while, and it might be beneficial to see how our two groups work socially in a playing field that’s not theirs. I figured I’d arrange it, if it was alright with you.”

Loki inhaled sharply. “Well, they are going to be coming to our wedding, so you can go ahead,” he replied. “We’ll consider it a test run.”

Next Chapter

[altermidgard]

Star Wars Custom Playmat 100+ Characters

Just make it look cool.

Right. Anything specific you wanted?

Not really...Just get as many characters on thee as you can.

Challenge Accepted.

Yes today on the blog, one slightly vague choice of words leads to the most characters ever on one of my mats. Not by a small margin either, especially if you include vehicles (Which I do, objects are objects in programming) I'll be going over the phases of the mats design from concept to colouring telling stories as I go. We've got a lot to get through, so lets jump right in to my latest Star Wars mat.

0 To 30

Thirty is a nice number, I've done mats with around that before, there should be enough space for everyone and more importantly it should be enough slots to cover all the main hero's and villains.

Step 1: Lets make a list.  

If your playing along at home it's at this point you realise there might be a few more than thirty people in the Star Wars universe. It's Ok we can deal with this, we just have to organise everyone into some sort of hierarchy, most popular to least well known. OK, wow,  yeah still quite a few people in category one.

This is where I was at. Making lists. I've been making mats a while now, you get an instinct for how many and how large the components of the design need to be. Thirty wasn’t an arbitrary number, it's what I considered the upper limit for readable characters to be.  In first panel bellow that's how many names I finally settled on. There were many brave souls that fell by the wayside though and to be honest I wasn’t happy about it.

31 To 60

Writing the names on a scrap piece of A4 set the trend for the majority of the sketching phase. Usually I would draw thumbnails, four to eight images on one piece of paper but in this instance I needed to go bigger sooner. The second panel shows the most readable of my early sketches. All the previously names characters are there plus I'm starting to think that if I can get them all in at this size with extra space to spare there might be room to add a few more. Circles for heads is all they get right now but it might work. It just goes to show though. Until you actually start on something properly you cant know how its going to turn out.

The next panel is a more comprehensive redraw, more thought gets given to the layout and how the eye will flow around the image. While the rest of the design process is one of refinement and addition it.s here where the design mostly comes together. That's actuality one of the nice things about doing these blog posts. Looking back and trying to explain your thoughts and processed to others gives you insights on your own work you might never have noticed, I recommend people try it  

Next up. Working on a light-box in pen gives me the opportunity to add even more detail. For some people this might not be the case but having that extra contrast and a finer point than most pencils really helps me out. The other nice thing about changing medium is that it alters the art style slightly. I'm making quicker more precise marks and it leads to a more dynamic atmosphere. The real trick will be trying to preserve that feel though the rest of the production

60 To 80

A different style again as I go digital. I'm using the airbrush tool and am less interested in line than I am the shape and weight of each object. It's also an early chance to test where the light should be coming fom. Where I've placed the vanishing point is causing a few hiccups. Triangular spaceships are especially hard to get right and a lot of their final placement has to do with that.

The silly thing is I could add more elements to the design. There's still plenty of room, think of the final total!. But no, at some point you have to take a step back and say 'this is a silly amount of work already and adding to it is going to do more harm to the design than good.

80 To,.. Who the heck knows.

I stopped counting at this point, didn't really want to know. We are almost there though. Most lines are either vertical, horizontal, or pointing at the vanishing point, I've got piles of spirals, and grievous's arms finally look right. Although Obi-Wan needs some work if they are going to duel. There are still questions to answer though. Things like what colour Lightsaber should Starkiller have and why is Luke's head not attached to his body. Enough sketching though, lets get started on the colouring,

Balancing the Force

I say colouring. What I mean is 'lets use a light grey to work out the lighting'. The grey will be easily overwritten so we have a bit of room to experiment and it keep me from doing the outlines first. Another option would be to use yellow, it just comes down to what tone you want your image to take on. There's a lot of ships and metallic in this piece so I went with the grey.

Notice how the left half of the image is always darker? Tha'ts intentional. By loading up on characters there's just going to be more dark there. Why have I done this? Because it offsets the big blob of dark on the right that is the Emperor and Darth. Basically I'm looking to balance the force. Its also why Luke and Leia are in white. That and so they are the main focus of the image I want the ye to start or end thee.

It's a Trap

I don’t want to be using that many colours on this piece. With all the different people and objects here the composition could easily start to break up if everything got its own pallet. This stage then is about making sure that doesn’t happen, all the blues are the same blue, all the browns likewise. I think I even managed to stick with this rule all the way though which is good because it can be so tempting to just think, hmm what if I just add a smidge of this colour here?

I should really have added the ships at this stage though. You can already see how areas of the image I'm less sure about are falling behind the others in terms of how far along they are. (keep an eye on Darth for example)

This is the Droid I was Looking for

I was tempted to stop here.

.

.

.

I don’t normally do pastel shades but this was working, all I had to do was come up with a background and...

… Yeah, no, space is dark, I've designed myself into a comer so we will have to keep going.    

If you have been wondering about why characters are where they are, beyond the timeline aspect, there were three other considerations.

1. Are you a bad-guy? If yes your probably a big floaty head the rest of the cast can anchor around.

2. Are you a hero? If yes, you probably have most or all of a body, good job you.

3. Are you someone I like? I'm colouring I don’t know how many people and have free reign, naturally your going to find that my preferences bleed into the design.

Yes that is why chopper is font and center.

Space is Big, Like Really Big.

I found these glitter gel pens. No idea if they would wok on this material but if they did it would make colouring stars way easier. Not particularly economical, I used them up just on the background but the nice thing about them is that the glitter breaks up the colours and gives a sense of depth to areas that would otherwise be large and flat. Time will tell if the stars stay on the mat, But you have to experiment right, how else do you learn new things?  

I gave it an extra few layers of sealant just for go measure.

Back on topic. I might have gone a little hard on the quantity of red in Maul's face, it's started to spread. Luckily Thawn has darker hair so it's an easy fix but it's still a reminder not to get carried away.

Mostly Harmless

Hey Darth finally has arms, The pose took some time to get right to be honest. It had to fit the existing upper chest and head and align with the vanishing point since its so close. In the end I fond a one that had the Lightsaber out horizontal and after that it was just a case of getting the other arm right. I went back and forth on the city scene, easing the buildings then adding them back in. something needed to be there to contrast with the stuff in front but I just wasn’t feeling it. turns out they just hadn’t been dark enough and making them practically black with little window lights was the way forward.

Almost everything is in now, but as usual I still have the eyes on most of these people to add. I also need to do something with the Emperor. He's the biggest thing on the mat, he needs a little more respect/detail than I have given him so far.

The Final Frontier.

Add clouds to the planets atmosphere, make the stars and Lightsabers glow in the dark (glow under UV light actually) and just generally go around tiding up. I'm just about done here. OK applying the sealant and taking pictures comes last but close enough.

I guess I should actually count the number of things on the mat then. Just a sec...

110ish! Give or take. That's quite a big number, and not something I think I'm going to be beating anytime soon. Probably...

Next time, lets simplify things a bit huh.