#almost done with this sketchbook might do a sketch book tour at some point

[cryptidm0ths]

Have a v messy sketch from the 1h break i took from speed running 3 days of work into 1

Text reads : "things they inherited from the Godfather : money, looks, fat tits"

[buckys-black-dress]

inked

a/n: here she is!!! while i work on afl, here is my crackfic on tattoo artist bucky!! if u haven’t caught on yet, most of my writing is au’s because of all the possibilites in terms of scenarios and storylines. anyways, i hope you enjoy, lovies!!! xoxo, ali <3

wc: 2.8k 

[tattoo artist!bucky x fem!reader]

-

It was like an addiction. 

Your first tattoo you got was simple. It was a dainty, small one on your wrist.

But now, it was slowly developing into a sleeve.

Not that you minded, though. Your forearm was slowly becoming filled with designs that you kept going back and getting here and there.

And at the tattoo parlor near your apartment in Brooklyn, you had become a regular at this point.

It was called B&R Tattoo Shop, and it was run by two of the kindest, but most attractive men you’ve ever met. 

You’ve come to find out after getting to know the owners, that they opened the shop a bit after they returned from their second tour in the army and wanted to settle back in their hometown.  

Steve and James were hospitable to you, especially when they first met you. Steve was the one to meet you and speak with you at first, but he handed you off to James, or Bucky as he asked you to call him, because he was the artist at their shop that specialized in more of what you were looking for in terms of style. 

As far as first tattoo conversations go, you and Bucky got to know each other pretty well in one session. The tattoo itself took less than an hour, but it felt like Bucky was... prolonging it in a way, like he wanted to keep you there longer.

As you swung open the door of the shop, you were greeted by their piercer, Natasha. 

“Hey, back for another already?” She smirks from her spot behind the desk. While she wasn’t piercing, she usually worked the front if there was no one else free.

Your first tattoo had been done by Bucky, and you instantly fell in love.

With the tattoo. 

Well, Bucky too. Just a little bit.

He was extremely soothing and eased you into the process of tattooing you. He told you when something was going to happen, and as soon as you got used to the feeling of the needle against your skin. 

The more he talked to you, the less pain you felt. It was already not that painful, but you almost forgot about it with him talking to you. When he looked up to you as he finished, you looked like a confused puppy.

“Okay, all done, doll.” Bucky looked up at you, moving to turn off his machine.

“Oh... that was fast.” You furrowed your brows.

“Well, yeah, we moved pretty fast since it was a pretty small piece.” He explains, grabbing a paper towel and the anti-bacterial spray.

“Do you mind if I take a quick picture of it? I usually do, for my portfolio.” Bucky asks, inspecting the tattoo closely once again.

“Oh, yeah, that’s fine.” You wait for him to pull out his camera, take the picture, and he comes back with a piece of plastic film in his hand.

“Okay, so this saniderm has to stay on for about three days. This is how it’ll heal, and when you take it off just wash it up with a gentle soap and use a cream without any fragrance or any of that crap. I can give you a little of that spray if you wanna use it to clean it up if you ever feel like it’s dirty.” Bucky explains, giving you a mini bottle of the antibacterial spray.

“Thank you,” you say, moving to sit up in the chair. “How much do I owe you?”

“Uh, just about $40.” Bucky says without eye contact, heading to the computer at the front counter.

“$40? That’s it? When I signed the waiver it said the shop minimum was $75...?” You wonder out loud.

“Let’s just say you get a special discount, doll.” He smirks, typing something into the computer and only sparing you a glance.

“O-Oh. Alright.” You say sheepishly, handing him your credit card.

“Okay, you’re all set. Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.” He tells you with a gentle smile. It really contrasted his aura; a big, beefy guy with a metal prosthetic arm, covered in probably hundreds of tattoos. But here he was, smiling like sunshine.

“I think I will be. Have a nice day, Bucky.” 

“You too, sweetheart.” He gives you that smirk again, making you feel like you might actually pass out. And not because you just had a needle jabbed into your skin for almost an hour.

“Uh, I already talked to Bucky for my session today. I know I’m a bit early, I can wait if he’s still working on someone else.” You tell Natasha with a smile.

“Sure, let me get you your waiver.” She says, and you plop down into one of the chairs at the front and pulling out your book to pass time after filling out the form.

After a few minutes, Bucky emerges with a girl from his little tattooing corner.

You hear his voice first, looking up from the book while he talks to her.

“Okay, since this was your first piece and pretty small, I’ll only charge ya $55 for it, doll.” Bucky tells the girl with a smile, and you immediately feel a pang in your chest.

You didn’t want to say you were jealous, but goddamn it, your breathing became just a little more shallow at the sight you were currently witnessing.

Even Natasha and Steve turned their heads to him, confused looks on both of their faces.

“Oh! Y/N, you’re here! C’mon back, I’m sure Nat already set you up with your waiver.” You nod, not saying a word as you follow him to the familiar chair.

“So, are we still doing what we discussed on the phone?” Bucky asks, setting up his area to tattoo you.

“Actually, I was thinking something different.” You say sharply.

“Different?” The shock is evident on his features. 

“Yeah. Different. Just want a little something on my collarbone.” You say, sitting down. 

“O-Okay... what were you thinking of?” He asks, pulling out his sketchbook.

“I want an olive branch, going from here to here.” You show him where you want it to start and end. It was a bit of a stretch right across the left side of your chest. “Something simple and minimal. I’ve been thinking of starting the top of my sleeve, this might be a good way to transition into it.” You say nonchalantly.

“Uhm... alright. How does this look?” Bucky asks, showing you his sketch. “I would, of course, add more detail to your liking, just let me know.” 

“Yeah, I want some more shading, please.” You say shortly. You honestly weren’t trying to be mean, but you were irritated.

But in the end, you really had no right to be. 

After almost ten sessions with Bucky, he hasn’t made any indication that he likes you the way you like him.

Sure, he calls you pet names, but he does that to everyone. Even discounts. You weren’t special. He was just being nice and doing his job.

So honestly, you had to cut the act here.

“Are you sure this is what you want? Are you saving the other design for our next session?” Bucky asks, growing more and more concerned with your odd behavior. Usually you would talk to him about your day, how work was, really anything. 

“I don’t know. I think I might ask Steve to do that one instead.” You say out of spite, more than anything. You would never take a design that Bucky made specially for you to another person to tattoo on you, even if it was his own business partner.

“Wha- Why? Did I do something? You’ve been acting really weird today...” Bucky questions you carefully. “Talk to me, doll. Did you have a bad day at work?”

But that, that right there, was your breaking point. Doll. 

“No, I’m fine. Let’s just get this done.” You huff, laying down after nodding to the sketch that Bucky drew out. 

Bucky’s brows furrowed even further, but didn’t ask any more questions. He laid down the stencil and asked if the placement was alright. You looked in the mirror he handed you and nodded briefly. 

The entire time Bucky had the machine in his hand, neither of you spoke a word. He tried to make brief conversation, but you only responded with a hum or nod. 

When he finally finished up, you got up and headed to the counter without a word after looking at the finished tattoo in the mirror. 

Your face was blank, emotionless, and Bucky was truly lost. 

After you paid the full price of your piece, you walked out of the shop, not even sparing anyone a glance. 

Once you left, the shop was dead silent. Everyone either just finished up with a client or didn’t have any at the moment, and the shop was blanketed in an extremely uncomfortable silence.

“What the hell was that, man?” Sam’s voice broke the silence, making Bucky’s head snap towards him. 

“I-I... I have no idea. She was acting so...so weird today.” Bucky looked more confused than ever.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Natasha’s voice cuts through the palpable silence.

“Wh- What the hell did I do? I asked her too, and she didn’t give me an answer...” Bucky mumbles.

“Do you like her?” She fires back with a fire in her eyes.

“W-Well, yeah. She’s a regular.” Bucky answers, looking at his fiddling hands.

“Not like that, you dunce. You know what I mean, don’t act dumb.” Natasha rolls her eyes.

Bucky sighs, not making eye contact yet again.

“I-... I do like her.” He says. “But I don’t think she feels the same.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ... You really are a dumbass.” Sam sighs out.

Steve snorts at his words, nodding in agreement.

“Buck, she got jealous.” He explains, shaking his head at his best friend’s obliviousness.

“J-Jealous? Of what?” Bucky scoffs in shock.

“That girl you had right before her. Gave her a discount, called her pet names. The whole shabang.” Natasha points out to him. “Also, you gotta stop giving out discounts like that. You’ll lose more money than you’re makin’.” Natasha scoffs. 

“Wh- But... She never said anything...?” Bucky thinks back to all the times you’ve sat in his chair. You never made any indication that you were outwardly interested in him.

“I think she said enough today without actually saying much.” Steve laughs. His friend was a real idiot.

“I... But, why didn’t she say anything before?” Bucky asked.

“Buck, you never said anything either. I guess that when she heard you talk to that girl like that, she thought you really didn’t like her like that at all. You treated that girl the same way you treat her.” Natasha explains to Bucky, who had a look of realization on his face.

“But... I was just... being nice...” He says with his head in his hands. 

“Well, now she thinks you do that with all you clients, so...” Sam says, making the brunet’s head shoot up.

“Fuck. Fuck. I fucked up everything!” He exclaims. “I-I do like her!” 

“Well, don’t tell us that, tell her!” Sam shouts back to him, and before Bucky can process, he’s pulling out his phone and dialing your phone number.

“C’mon, pick up, pick up,” He mumbles repeatedly, but the call goes to voicemail. “Fuck.”

“Not pickin’ up?” Steve questions, coming to the front and picking up the shop phone. “Gimme her number, she’s doesn’t have to shop saved to her phone, right?” 

“No, I don’t think she does.” Bucky says, watching as Steve dials your number.

“Hello?” Your voice sounds annoyed as it filters through the phone. “Who’s this?” 

“Uh, Y/N! Hi!” Steve speaks, looking at Bucky in a panic, his facial expression screaming, ‘talk to her!’ 

“Steve? What’s up?” You ask, wondering what he needed. 

“You uhh... you forgot your book here!” He blurts out, trying to find an excuse, but quickly found one upon seeing your book resting on the seat where you were waiting. 

“O-Oh... I guess I’ll just turn around. I’ll be there in a few. Thanks, Steve.” You say, ready to hang up.

“O-Okay. Bye, Y/N.” He clears his throat, hanging up. “You have like, ten minutes to get your shit together and talk to her when she gets here. Good luck.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder, ready to haul Natasha and Sam to the back to give you two some privacy.

Bucky thought that this was the longest ten minutes of his life, and he was trying to conjure up a speech in his head to confess to you.

Finally, when you did appear through the doors, you looked lost. You only saw Bucky, which made you even more aggravated from the fact that you had to turn back around.

You were ready to head home and wallow in peace, but alas, you wanted your book. 

Bucky just watched as you picked up the book from his grasp across the desk, your eyes not meeting his while he kept his gaze on you very intently. 

Just as you turned around to leave, Bucky’s voice cut through the unbearable silence.

“Y/N?” He simply asks, and you feel like the wind’s been knocked out of your lungs at the sound of his small voice. This wasn’t the Bucky you knew and... loved.

“Yes, James?” You simply respond, and Bucky cringes at the sound of his first name being used. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

��...Why? Is everything alright?” And although your voice didn’t give it away, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. Any possible scenario popped into your head. He has a girlfriend. He’s gonna tell you he doesn’t wanna see you anymore. He-

“E-Everything’s fine, doll. Just wanted to tell you that... That I...” Bucky’s voice sounded strained, like there was something caught in his throat.

“Bucky, just spit it out.” You say, wanting to leave already.

“It’s just- I like you. A lot. And I’m so sorry for earlier with that other client. I was just trying to be nice, but I realized how that looked to you, and I never thought anything of it because I didn’t know if you liked me back or-” Bucky was rambling, and your eyes were wide as saucers.

“Bucky, Bucky stop. Let me talk before you drive your own head in with conclusions,” you say, resting your hand on top of his on the desk.

“I like you a lot, too. I didn’t think you like me either because of that girl before me. You just- you treated her the same way you treated me, and I got jealous. I know I didn’t have the right to be, but it just made me think that... that you didn’t feel the same way about me, that I was just another client to you. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, and also for being kind of a bitch to you...” Now you were the one rambling, your hands flying all over the place in explanation.

“D-Doll, I never wanted to make you feel that way. I’m sorry, too. I should’ve told you before, before I almost blew everything with you that we’ve been building these past months.” He says placing one large tattooed hand and one metal hand on the sides of your face. “But I’m not gonna miss my chance again. Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me?”

“I-I would love to, Bucky. Took you long enough to ask me.” You giggle, holding onto the hands on your face.

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of an idiot, if you haven’t already noticed.” He laughs, gazing into your eyes with a look that almost turned you to mush in his hands. 

“Do... do ya wanna go now?” You ask, nodding your head to the door.

“Sure, let me go grab my jacket from the back.” He tells you, and you nod, watching as he keeps his eyes on you until he disappears to the back.

“My man, who would’ve thought you’d finally man up?” Sam ridicules him as soon as Bucky appears.

“Dude, shut up. I got a date to get to, see you losers later.” He rolls his eyes, moving back out where you’re smiling at him.

“Ready, angel?” Bucky asks, slipping his hand into yours.

“Ready, handsome.” You reply, and as soon as you step out into the fall air, you plant a kiss on his cheek. “Where to, lover boy?”

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter Eight: Family Dinner (Pranks/Dad Jokes)

Prev

AO3

Bruce Wayne was not an emotional man. In fact, his emotional capability had once been compared to that of a teaspoon. He had emotions, obviously, but he didn’t express them. Or rather, he wasn’t sure how to express them. But staring down at the photo album in front of him, it was almost painful having no way to express his emotions. It was the most thoughtful gift he had ever received, and it was one that he would treasure forever. He didn’t have baby pictures of his other children. Dick’s were lost at some point while he was still with Haley’s Circus. Jason’s were lost when he had to live on the street. Tim...well, there were a few pictures of Tim. But they were all highly staged school pictures. And those didn’t start until kindergarten. And Damian….Talia wasn’t ever the type to be sentimental. Which meant there were no baby pictures of him either. But Marinette...her entire life had been catalogued. From sonograms, to her first Christmas and the first competition she won. Everything was laid out in order. Bruce turns back to the start of the book, prepared to close it, when an envelope catches his eye. He wasn’t focused on it when he first opened the book. He glances at Marinette and quirks an eyebrow. She frowns.

“Oh, that. Um, it’s the letter that Bridgette wrote to you. I haven’t actually read it, Maman said she hasn’t either. Your name was on the front and apparently she felt awkward opening a letter not addressed to her even with the situation and-” She stops talking, taking a deep breath before smiling. “Sorry. But, you can read it, if you want. I thought you might want to have it.”

“Thank you, Marinette.” He says, smiling slightly. He tries not to laugh when her face lights up seeing him smile. Note, try and show emotions more around Marinette, he thinks. Sitting back on his chair, he opens the envelope and stares down at the letter he should’ve received fourteen years ago.

Dear Bruce…

---

Marinette lets out a sigh of relief as Mr. Wayne sits to read the letter. Tugging Adrien over to her brothers and plopping down on the loveseat, she smiles.

“So Marinette, I noticed the last time you were here you had a sketchbook. Do you draw a lot?” Dick asks, eyeing the lack of space between her and Adrien. Marinette resists the urge to glare at her brother. Was he seriously plotting some way to get her and Adrien away from each other right now? After Mr. Wayne had invited him? Seriously?

“Well, kinda.” She answers, pulling out her mini sketchbook from her purse. “I actually design clothes. So I draw, but it’s mostly clothes. Sometimes I’ll sketch architecture or flowers or something for inspiration but..” She trails off, tentatively passing her sketchbook to Dick. She watches, bouncing her leg as the awkward silence stretches on while Dick looks at the sketchbook with Tim and Jason glancing over his shoulders. And Cass standing behind the couch was also looking at the sketches. Trying not to feel awkward the longer the silence stretches, Marinette jumps as Tim starts choking on his coffee. He jumps towards her and she yelps, leaping off the loveseat and to the side in order to avoid him.

“What the hell Replacement?” Jason huffs. Tim ignores him, staring at her with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, it’s you.” He says.

“Language, Master Tim. Dinner is ready.” Alfred says, popping out of nowhere.

“What do you mean it’s me?” Marinette asks, taking her sketchbook back and stuffing it back into her purse.

“You’re MDC!” Tim practically yells, waving his (not empty) coffee cup around, barely missing dumping it on her head.

“Um, yes?” She says, confused at his level of excitement.

“How are you not freaking out about this?” Tim asks, turning to Dick and Jason who were trying to get him to follow them to the dining room. Key word being trying.

“Am I supposed to?” Dick asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Richard Grayson! As a fellow Jagged Stone fan you cannot tell me that you don’t recognize the name of his personal designer!” Tim yells. Dick’s eyes widen in realization, turning to Marinette with a shocked smile.

“Wait, that’s you? Marinette, that’s amazing! I knew your sketches were good, but wow. That’s just- wow!” Dick says, his entire face filled with pride. Marinette laughs awkwardly, her face heating up with all the attention. It was….a lot. But also nice.

“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t done an entire tour wardrobe yet, but I’m proud of the pieces that I have done.” She says.

“Terribly sorry, but it might be nice if we moved our conversations to the dining room.” Alfred says, a twinge of amusement clear on his face. Marinette glances over at Mr. Wayne who was still frozen, clutching the letter from her birth mother. She looks at Alfred and raises an eyebrow. He simply shakes his head and motions for her to go on. Sighing, she nods and follows her brothers (and Adrien, who was suddenly in an intense conversation with Tim about Jagged Stone) to the dining room. As they walk into the dining room, Marinette darts around Dick to snag the seat on the other side of Adrien. Tim sitting on one side of Adrien was fine. Adrien stuck between Tim and Dick? Not fine. She gives Dick a look, and he just smiles innocently before walking around and taking the seat across from Adrien. Should’ve seen that one coming. Once everyone is seated (besides Mr. Wayne, who had sent Alfred back in and instructed everyone to start without him) the conversations taper off, leaving the dining room in an awkward silence.

“Marinette, I have a very serious question for you.” Dick says, his smile telling her that the chances of it actually being a ‘very serious’ question are slim to none.

“Okay, sure.”

“Where do fruits go on vacation?” He asks, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Pear-is!” Marinette just blinks at him. That was almost as bad as-

“Oh my god! That was amazing!” Adrien cheers, laughing so hard he has to set his fork down. Oh god. There’s two of them.

“Really?” Dick asks, his face bright. Oh dear god please no.

“Oh yeah. That joke was pun-derful.” Adrien replies with a snort. Please god. Make it stop.

“I’m glad you think so. Everyone else seems a bit pun-sive.” Dick replies. That’s it. She’d willingly give Hawkmoth her Miraculous if it meant she could leave this dinner and the awful jokes happening. She’d even listen to her Papa’s jokes for an entire hour. As long as she could leave this cursed dinner. The sudden blaring from both her phone and Adrien’s makes her jump, and her eyes widen. Okay, no. She didn’t say the thing about the Miraculous out loud, so she doesn’t actually have to give it up, right? No, it’s fine. Taking it back won’t lead to anything crazy, right?

“Uh, I’m gonna run to the bathroom.” Marinette says, jumping up, frowning at Adrien as he jumps up with her.

“Me too!” He says. Marinette frowns. Way to make it obvious, Kitty.

“I’m fine, I can go to the bathroom by myself.” She insists, rushing off to the bathroom before Adrien can argue. She’d figure something out.

---

Dick raises an eyebrow at Adrien’s shocked face.

“Did you need to go to the bathroom? We have more than one bathroom.” He says, worried that maybe the kid’s shocked face wasn’t because of Marinette’s hasty departure and instead because he really needed the bathroom.

“Oh. Um. No, I’m fine. Apparently.” He mutters the last word, dropping down into his seat and staring at his plate. Dick could see the boy’s hands twitching towards his phone like he wanted to check it, but was afraid of being rude. He was about to tell him that it was okay to check his phone when a blue circle of light appeared over the table. An arm covered in red spandex with black spots sticks out of the light (portal) and grabs Adrien by the front of his shirt. Before anyone can stop the arm, Adrien is through the portal. Gone. Well shit.

“Where are Adrien and Marinette?” Bruce asks, walking into the room and frowning at the empty chairs. Well shit!

Next

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[dolphin-bouillabaisse]

GO-ctober prompts, 5

Inktober except without the ink, and with drabbles instead.

Prompt #5 - Build

(previous | next | beginning)

(find it all on Ao3)

(Note: Build - Create - it’s all relative, isn’t it? I gotta find some wriggle room for these prompts from time to time, right?)

Demons were not creators.

They were destroyers, that was more their style, raging destruction and disaster in the world. Not making things, inventing, breathing life into newfound creations. That was angel work. (Or it had been, back when things were being created, six thousand years ago and before. By now, even Upstairs was not really involved with anything close to 'creation' anymore, but at least closer to it than demons were.)

Nevertheless, Demons did not create.

Then again, Crowley had never given much of a shit about what demons did or did not supposedly do.

Crowley was good at creating. It might hint back to his former profession, of which he'd told Aziraphale only once or twice, under the influence of far more alcohol than a human would've been able to digest, but was barely enough to let a demon who'd spent the past few millenia closing up and hiding finally open up just a little.

Most of all, though, it spoke of his intense imagination (yet another very un-demonic thing, to be honest, but again – Crowley didn't care. As stated before).

He'd created an awful lot of things over the many centuries. Even at the beginning of it all, he'd snuck the strangest looking creatures into the garden when the guardians didn't look his way – Aziraphale would stumble over them while taking his tours, and look at the little things shuffling about, something always a bit off about their markings or their eyes or the way they moved, but beautiful and fascinating nonetheless. Six thousand years later, and he was still trying to figure out which were just from some poor angel having a bad day, and which were from Crowley.

“The platypus, really? That one's almost a bit too on the nose, don't you think?

“Yeah, I admit, that was mostly stuck together from random parts I had left. You know, nose and tail and webbed feet and some fur. Turned out pretty funny though, didn't it?”

“I suppose. Poor thing.”

“Hey, I gave it venom at least. That counts for something, right?”

He'd spent the early years of humanity's growth learning their various crafts, turning his imagination towards everything and anything that meant creating new things. From stone to clay to metal to fabric to paint to gemstones, there was nothing he couldn't make something out of. When the Renaissance finally came around, Aziraphale saw the demon happier than he'd ever seen him before. He turned his attention to everything at once – in true Renaissance fashion – and Aziraphale's lodgings were filled with sculptures and paintings almost as much as any of the palazzos they found themselves in as guests. When Aziraphale's own guests became too interested, Crowley's name close to becoming famous (not exactly a thing he'd get a commendation from Downstairs for, both of them suspected), the demon turned his imagination towards the more supporting role of a muse.

“You can't give him that! Humans aren't supposed to invent these things for at least another- where did you get these plans from anyway?! Did you steal them?” “Oh come off it – he's not gonna be able to build any of it properly anyway – I just wanna see what he'll do with it. The guy's bloody brilliant!” “Can't you stick to being a bad influence with his art, instead? Or his social life? Do you have to give him- do the humans really need more war machines?”

“He's already better than me at painting and sculpting. How much more do you want? And he's got the strange private life done all on his own, that wasn't my doing. C'mon, angel. Don't you wanna see a helicopter crash at least once, before they do them right in a few hundred years?”

He'd stopped sharing his creations with Aziraphale at some point – when exactly, he couldn't remember. It had all become a bit icky, seeing the angel stare lovingly at a statue that maybe had just a bit too much fluff in its golden curls, or smile at the soft curves of a pencil study that would've turned into a full painting if the angel had only sat still for a little while longer, or stroke reverently over dark satin and linens and comment on how lovely it would look on Crowley when the job from Downstairs called for a more feminine tempter again. It was a sweet mixture of joy and pain, seeing Aziraphale so enamored with his creations. It was not something he could stand for too long without the pain overtaking, unfortunately. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to see him reading one of his poems. He didn't dare.

“Really, Crowley, you just have to give this one a try. The boy is nothing but brilliant. Oh, the stories he can think of-”

“Thanks, but no thanks. You know I don't do the whole book thing, that's yours. I don't read.”

“Ah but that's the brilliant part! It's a play! And I was wondering- I mean, that is- next friday is the premiere, and dear Oscar has given me tickets, but I wouldn't know who- he was very insistent I come-”

“Oh please, like he's expecting you to come with someone, you know damn well he's just trying to get into your-”

“Crowley!”

“Fine. Alright. One play, if only to keep you from succumbing to his temptations. That'd be something now, wouldn't it? Thousands of years working with a demon, and you fall for some human making pretty eyes at you.”

Nowadays, in the calm times after Armageddon't, he'd turned towards smaller creations. The garden of their cottage was filled to the brim with his ideas quickly turned into reality, from raised vegetable beds housing plants that shouldn't be able to withstand English weather to a shed that was far bigger on the inside to a proper little picnic area complete with stone-encircled campfire that never seemed to burn out. The flowerbeds were a work of art, and so was the conservatory. While Aziraphale had finally found his own interest in creations in the kitchen, Crowley had turned their garden into his very own Eden again (safe for the weird little creatures he'd made back then, as he didn't think it would look to good on the protocol of either Heaven or Hell if some new animal showed up in the north of England of all places). And this time, no one would be banished from it (as long as they behaved).

“Adam called to say he might drop by for a visit next weekend with the rest of his friends. Apparently school will be out by then.”

“At least he's giving us a warning beforehand this time.”

“He said you were expecting him. That you were planning something in the garden?” “Oh damn, right. Didn't think he'd remember that. We were talking about putting up a treehouse, cause his parents won't let him have one. They think he'll try to sleep up there, or cause some kind of trouble with the other kids. Wouldn't put it past him, to be honest.”

“A treehouse? Where would you put a treehouse here?”

“The tree back at the wall should be sturdy enough to hold it, with a bit of occult help.”

“Really, Crowley. You're really building a fort for the Anti-Christ in an apple tree?”

It took a while, and a lot of courage, to share his creations again. Aziraphale had ooh-ed and aah-ed over anything new popping up in the garden, and spent a considerably long time reading between the flowers in the conservatory instead of his library, but Crowley still wasn't sure if he should let him see the new sketches he'd begun. Show him the warm tones of a study of hands, holding a book like a relict. The lines of a soft body hidden under even softer sheets, the precise colouring of the light dancing over porcelain skin and golden hair. None if it was as beautiful as the smile on the angel's lips, though, as he carefully leafed through the pages of the small sketchbook he'd found on Crowley's nightstand, opened only after asking for permission. Crowley was glad he'd been to groggy from waking up, too distracted by the joy of warmth and scent and sight of his angel next to him in bed, to say no.

“Oh my dear, these are wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“S'just sketches.”

“I really missed your art. Do you remember those little figurines you made back in Spain? And that shawl you gave me for the dauphin's ball, oh my heart, I have it somewhere in the back of the closet. Do you still have your drawings? I must've kept some sketches-”

“Got some leftovers. Back with the stuff from Leonardo. I think. If you wanna see them.”

“I do. We could frame some of them, put them in the study.”

“Don't think we should frame the new ones, though. For the bedroom, maybe.”

“They're not- I see what you mean, but it's not really too erotic, isn't it- more romantic, I know you don't like that word, but really, the way you've drawn these-”

“Angel.”

“Yes?”

“Would you-

Would you like to read one of my poems?”

[houseofvans]

ART SCHOOL | LAUREN ASTA  (Chicago, IL) | Vans US Open of Surfing 2017

We’re excited to spotlight the artists for this year’s 2017 Vans US Open of Surfing that is set to begin July 29th To August 6th in Huntington Beach, CA.   Our first artist spotlight starts with talented, hard working, and art touring muralist and public artist Lauren Asta!  Starting with a massive 3,000 sq ft mural at Faction Brewery in 2015, Asta has been non-stop mural and art touring, bringing her signature black and white, free flowing and spontaneous doodles to walls and buildings all over.  She’s not only extremely talented but also straight up fearless, as we find out in this Q&A with Lauren, where we talk about how she got started painting murals, her art background, and what event she’s looking forward to see at this year’s 2017 Vans US Open of Surfing. 

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself  Hello, Lauren Asta here, first time caller, long time listener... I was born and raised in California's thriving Bay Area, but if you ask me I feel like I was truly born in NYC when I moved there after College in 2005. I returned back to California in 2012 where I hunkered down and produced and hustled until I was able to drop all other job training wheels to solely do Art/Murals/Public Art/Street Art 100% of my time and to also travel all year long with no brick and mortar to call my own. I am a citizen of the world dammit. I'd first and foremost like to think of myself as a Muralist/Public Artist but I think it's safe to just say I am an Artist. What’s your art background like? Self taught or art schooled? I've been drawing for as long as I can remember. First memory would be when I became aware of the fact that I would much rather doodle in sketchbooks over writing in all the Hello Kitty Diaries my girl friends had. I did go to school for Art at CSU Chico State. I got my BA in Photography and Studio Art. But that was when Photography was still pretty much taught only in the dark room. Digital Photography quickly became the trend right after I graduated college in 2004, so finding work (and making money) as a dark room photographer in NYC was extremely difficult. The next (and cheapest) artistic expression for me was to go back to pen and paper. I started drawing, drawing, drawing again. That crucial production time morphed and shaped what my style is today. So I guess you could say I am both self taught and schooled.

What’s the best thing you learned in art school or what’s the best thing you learned while teaching yourself? Best thing I learned in school: make art like everyone is watching. Best thing I learned while teaching myself: make art like no one is watching.

This is your first year participating as an artist painting inside the bowl at the Vans US Open of Surfing!  What are some of your top 5 things you're sure to bring along? SUNSCREEN, straw hat, game face, headphones, my Vans of course! (honorable mentionable items include: water bottle, lucky paint shorts, GoPro, party fun face).

Tell us about how you started out painting murals? What was the first mural you can remember doing? What was the last mural? Before I was a self employed full time Artist... I bartended... for years. Bartending in NYC led me to getting a job at a Distillery in Alameda CA. This Distillery (St. George Spirits) is located in an old 65,000 sq. ft. hangar. Right next to the Distillery a Brewery (Faction Brewing) was opening up while I was about 2 years into working for St. George. When the Brewery had just opened, a very large ugly unfinished wall went up right smack dab in the middle of the neighboring 65,000 sq. ft. hangar. Hundreds of people were flocking to this new Brewery on a weekly basis taking photos and enjoying life. The number one complaint was "they should really do something with that wall..." So I took it upon myself to approach the owners and give them my proposal. I proposed to prime the whole thing, paint the whole thing white and to do a mural for a small price and if they rented a scissor lift. They agreed, and before I knew it I was tackling a 3,000 sq. ft. mural with no prior large scale work and no sketch to work off of. I literally just went for it and hoped it would turn out alright. I finished it in 28 days and I felt like I was an overnight success. I completed that mural 3 years ago and people still flock to it as a destination point. I quit my day job shortly after that and have been going strong ever since. That mural changed my life and I am eternally grateful. The last mural I did was last month (June 2017) in Chicago! A sweet rooftop patio mural at Chop Shop in the Wicker Park neighborhood. I am booked with solid rad gigs until November!

What’s been the best part of Art Tour life?  Anything you’d change about it? The best part about the Art Tour Life? ALL OF IT. Damn it feels good to be a traveling Artist. I meet so many rad amazing people... I have friends all over the country now! I get to experience all sorts of tasty culture found in this Country and outside of it. The way I am able to connect people with art in multiple cities feels like I am planting little art seeds everywhere I go and watching how they grow after I leave is extremely satisfying. Travel is an absolute luxury in life and I am so lucky I get to incorporate it into my work. I love the feeling I get now when I fly into cities I have been before because I can't wait to see friends, revisit favorite joints and of course to get to work... but there's nothing like exploring a new city. I live for it. I am a big fan of walking everywhere, tasting everything and taking in as much as I can.

You’ve been known to freestyle in a way your murals, never using a sketch, projector or traced outline. What about this particular way / process do you enjoy the most?  What would you say is the most challenging part of free styling?  I find that if I don't have a sketch or drawing to work from, the end result will always look and feel more organic and it will fit the space/environment more appropriately. There's something really nice about working on a mural in a specific space for a few days and to have the people there, the weather, the noises, the food affect the outcome of the mural. It just seems to fit like a puzzle piece the space didn't even know it was missing. The most challenging part about free styling a mural would be if there was nothing around to inspire me or move me. If a space is really sterile, it takes a lot more energy and specific focus to get the job done where as I can usually just get into a zone and almost go into a "meditative autopilot groove."

What do you do with mistakes if you make any? I used to make sure that I always had some white paint on hand... just in case I made a mistake I could "erase" it. But that always took too much time and it never ended up looking as clean as I like it, so I just decided to not make any more mistakes. I mean... if I make a mark that I don't like or didn't mean to make, I just turn the old imagination station on and turn the "mistake" into something else. I have never run into a situation where this method didn't work... unless you count the time I fell in between two ladders and spilled black paint all over the mural I had been working on for three days... that one I had to fix with white paint and start over. But you live and learn! I'll never try to be an dangerous art acrobat again. Maybe...

Recently, you participated in the House of Vans Chicago Prime 8 event.  Can you tell us about that evening and what you were doing at the event?

Such a rad event with a rad cause! The 6th Annual Prime 8 Art League provided a free event showcasing the 2017 selected applicant's work (which I am super honored to be a part of). They also featured entertainment, food, refreshments and a charity raffle that included all sorts of prizes. The best part... all proceeds generated from the raffle and related activities were donated to Marwen, an organization dedicated to providing visual arts instruction to under-served youth throughout the Chicago area. Pretty rad right? I was stoked to participate by doing a live painting on a large canvas that was raffled off at the end of the night. Felt extremely good to be showcased at The House Of Vans Chicago and to contribute towards something positive.

Favorite Vans? And how would you describe your personal style? I haven't taken them off since I scored a new pair in Chicago! Right now I am rocking my black SK8-Hi Reissue kicks. I am obsessed. My personal style is pretty functional with some dressy stuff on reserve just in case. Pretty much everything I own has paint on it... even my expensive threads. When I travel, I have to be incredibly thoughtful and smart with what and how I pack. Give me a simple pair of ripped jeans or shorts and t-shirt and Vans any good old paint day, but if there's something fun cooking after a long paint day, I am always fashionably prepared. I guess you can just call it a "fun functionable no high heels but party paint girl with a whole lotta sass" kind of style... If you want to get specific.

Personal words to live by? SO MANY WORDS TO LIVE BY. But my favorite motto (and a very strange motto at that) came from the director of one of my first really big gigs. It was the first time I really felt overwhelmed and that I might not be able to finish the job. One day I was on the phone with him freaking out and he interrupted me by saying: "Lauren... How do you eat an Elephant?" I was kind of dumbfounded. I replied with "What the hell are you talking about??" He repeated with "How. Do. You. Eat. An. Elephant?" "I have no idea" I said. He calmly replied with "one bite at a time." One bite at a time... I repeat that to myself all the time. I even have it tattooed on my painting arm so I can see it when I work. It's a good reminder that you can absolutely finish something, big or small, if you just keep at it and you don't give up. I love it. I also love and repeat the words "I never want to regret a decision based on fear" constantly.

What event at this year’s Vans US Open of Surfing are you most looking forward to checking out? Damn. I am so excited to see some powerful ladies turn up the dial and rock some surfing out! I have an admiration for all of the players in all of the events in store at the Vans US Open of Surfing, but to see some ladies kill it at something so mentally and physically demanding, I have no doubt, will be extremely inspiring and will give me some pretty radical energy to get my job done!

For folks who wanna follow in your path, what advice would you give them? Produce produce produce. Work on your style like no one is watching until you are so proud of it and confident to show it off. Once you unlock that door, the rest is up to you to get yourself out there. If you have the skill, right attitude and a solid hustle/work ethic... the possibilities are endless and people will want to hire you. Failure is part of the journey. Embrace it and learn from it. Too many talented people give up way too early. This is a demanding job, so understanding that you'll need to give up certain luxuries that you might be used to, is a often "not so talked about" part of being successful in this specific career. The notion of having kids is one I gave up a long time ago, a serious long term relationship is near impossible, putting your keys in the same spot every day is unlikely, clean clothes 24/7 is laughable, not knowing where you're sleeping next week is common, saying goodbye to amazing friends and family all the time is consistent, missing Holidays and family events is indeed a reoccurring event in itself, your taxes will be A MESS, figuring out a Southwest Airlines Boarding strategy will become a new favorite past time... But damn it... your life be passionately exciting and leaving your mark by contributing something as necessary and positive as art in the world will be oh so sweet and tasty and satisfying.

What do you have planned for the rest of 2017? I cannot wait to boogie on down to Huntington Beach at the end of the month for the Vans Us Open of Surfing! This mural job is definitely going down in the record books. I can just taste it. After painting the bowl, I immediately head to Chicago where I will be working on murals all of August. Then it's a quick trip to Oakland for a mural job. Then back to Chicago to produce work for a Gallery show at the end of October 2017. Then a jump over to Memphis for a big mural event. Then back up to Chicago for more mural work and I will be finishing work for the Gallery Opening at Chicago Truborn October 21. One more mural job in Chicago after that then I am turning brain off in Mexico for a month on the Beach. Pretty stoked! Follow along! 

Follow Lauren Asta Instagram |  @Lauren-asta 

[sittingoverheredreaming]

Same Prompt Party, April 2017 (Haruka and Michiru go to Europe)

Caldera

While Michiru has visions of an oncoming battle, Haruka takes her on a surprise trip. ~3400 words AO3 link

(As a disclaimer, I’ve never been to Greece, I researched what I could, but at the end of the day my images are based on watching Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants way too many times)

Michiru leaned back and watched the steam rise up off her tea. It danced with the first glimmer of sunlight peeking through the curtains as she tried to calm her still racing heart. She couldn't stay in bed in times like this. She couldn't listen to Haruka snore and feel her warm body with the memory of the lifelessness to come on still on MIchiru’s skin. It was always jarring to come out from a vision. Now, though, it was unbearable. Michiru would almost-- almost -- rather stay in the future where Haruka was lost than come back and look at what she could not save. 

She spent these mornings picking through what she saw, trying to find something she'd be able to change, always knowing there was nothing. Rei had mentioned, attempting to be offhand in her particular way, that she had seen things too, and in her particular way all she let onto was that Usagi would be okay. It was the only thing that Michiru ever despised Rei for, that stubborn loyalty to the princess. Michiru would throw her to the fire if it would mean saving Haruka, if it would be anything to her but a different damnation.

"Michi..."

Haruka padded into the living room and Michiru fought to keep her breath from catching. She stood in that first sliver of sun on the carpet, feet in fuzzy pink slippers that Mina had bought her as a joke and that Haruka loved without any hint of irony. Her long white tee all but covered her boxers, her hair was mussed with sleep, she looked so ordinary but so painfully alive that Michiru could do nothing but dig her fingers into the underside of her leg.

Haruka rubbed her eyes. "You're up too early. I miss you."

"I haven't gone anywhere, love."

"But you're not with me." Haruka sat at the foot of the armchair and nuzzled her head into Michiru's lap.

Michiru stroked her hair. She could not stay hard when Haruka was so soft. “I’m sorry, Haruka, I’ve been quite inconsiderate.”

Haruka nodded into her legs. “You have. Now I’m all sleepy and lonely and you’ll have to make it up to me.”

“And how shall I do that?”

Haruka looked up, her eyes no longer blurry with sleep. “I want to go on a trip!”

“A trip?” She had the faintest feeling she had been set up, and she could not help but smile. Haruka had surely been hanging on to the idea, waiting for the moment to spring it. “Wherever to?”

“I don’t want to say yet. Somewhere far away.” Haruka rocked back. “I know you said what’s yours is mine, and I don’t feel comfortable with that, but this is one thing I’d like help with. I want to plan us a trip I can’t do on my own.”

“Of course, Haruka.”

Their eyes met, and Haruka broke into a sheepish grin. “I promise you it’s nothing strange. I just want to surprise you. And Mina’s given me assurance my idea is something you’ll like.”

Michiru smiled and withheld a laugh. Mina’s involvement could swing broadly in either direction. They could end up at a nude beach, or worse, a tour through all the museums Michiru had been dragged through as a child. Or they could have a wonderful, peaceful vacation.

Michiru did not get a sense of which it would be until two and a half months had passed and Haruka handed her her ticket in the airport.

“I’ve never been to Greece.”

“Really?” Haruka’s chest swelled as she grinned. “Our first time will be together then.”

"Has Mina sent us to pay respects to the temple of Aphrodite?"

"She tried to convince me on that detour." Haruka laughed. "But my plan is much better."

"Is it now?"

Packing, Michiru had thought, would surely give an indication of what they'd be doing. But Haruka had been careful in her guidance. The weather had been her main point. She had not advised any dress clothes, though Michiru packed a simple black dress and pearls just in case Haruka was relying on the fact that "she looked elegant in anything."  Haruka's only requests were Michiru's woven sun hat, because she liked it, some painting supplies, and two swimsuits. Haruka, however, took swim suits on every vacation, if only to sit at the side of a motel pool.

"I suppose it's moot to ask what we'll be doing, then?"

"Very moot." Haruka kissed her cheek and lifted her suitcase. “All I’ll say is our hotel for the first night isn’t where we’re staying, I just want us rested before the surprise.”

That, Michiru was sure, was Mina’s benevolent hand at work. Judging by the tickets, they had twelve hours in the air, and then a wait in Munich for another two. Haruka was always eager, even at her own expense. “You’ve been very thorough, it seems.”

Haruka grinned. “I’ve tried to think of everything. Maybe I’m not quite there, but I tried.”

“I’m sure you did, love.”

And as they arrived in Athens nearly a day later, it truly seemed she had. A car waited for them as they stumbled out of the Athens airport; their hotel room was warm and quiet when they got in. Haruka had even reserved them a table at the hotel restaurant. Travel-weary as they were, Michiru could not help but be touched.

She tried to remember that when her jet-lag heavy sleep was broken before dawn.

“Michi, we gotta get up. There’s a ferry to catch.”

"This would of course be the one time you're up before me."

Haruka took Michiru's hand. "It's important. Get dressed with me."

A car took them to the port, where a red and white ferry welcomed a small crowd of tourists. "There's another that's supposed to be nicer," Haruka whispered as they boarded, "but this one takes three less hours."

"A good choice then."

The wind ruffled Haruka's hair as they started moving. Her knuckles went white against the rail, but she did not step back even as the shore grew distant. She was always especially handsome in these moments. Michiru was charmed by her stubborn bravery when it didn't matter. The knowledge of what would happen when it did matter, though, reared in her mind. Would that Haruka had some other trait, she might survive.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course, love." Michiru looked out to the sea. It was pure blue, like fresh acrylic on a pallet. "It's beautiful here."

Haruka smiled. "I thought you might like to paint where we're going. It's supposed to be the most beautiful place on earth."

Then I'm glad you'll get to see it in time.

Michiru pulled Haruka into her arms. "You're very good to me, love. What you've done is amazing."

Haruka laughed and hugged her back. "You haven't seen it yet."

"Yes, but I know you." Michiru kissed her cheek. "Whatever lies across the water is sure to be wonderful." She pulled away. “I’ll be back in a moment, love. I just need the powder room.”

In a stall, Michiru put her head in her hands. Haruka, cold, dead, and broken flashed through her mind. She’d seen her die so many times, in different ways, but was never shown a path where she lived. The future cast an unshakable shadow over the present, over what was an undeniably beautiful trip. It tainted the pure blue of the water and the pure joy of Haruka’s pride.

It felt even worse, hours later, when the ferry docked and she stepped onto what truly seemed to be the most beautiful island in the world. White square buildings speckled the hillside, leading up to a sky was the same blue as the water. Some doors and roofs were painted in a perfect echo of that blue.

Haruka slipped her hand into Michiru’s. “What do you think?”

“It’s stunning.”

“I arranged to have our bags taken to our villa,” Haruka said with a smile. “But I thought we’d go in style.”

“And how’s that?”

Haruka nodded towards a vespa rental booth. “May I take you for a ride, my lady?”

“You certainly may.” Wistfulness washed over Michiru as she climbed on a little white scooter behind Haruka. It felt like a lifetime ago that they had sped through Tokyo on that first terrible mission. She never thought she’d feel nostalgic for that time. Death hadn’t felt real then, not as a possibility for them. She watched the buildings pass as they wove through the hills. Occasionally an older local would wave with a smile that recalled their own young love. Michiru could not help but wonder if she or they were closer to loss.

The sun had begun its slow arc towards the horizon as they slowed to a stop. Haruka helped Michiru dismount and walked the vespa through the gateway of a low, white stone wall. Inside was a patio of the same stone, rising into a villa with a modest gray door.

Haruka cracked it out with a smile. “Do you want to see?”

Inside, there was simply a bed in the same white as the stone, and a small kitchenette set up with yellow flowers on the table providing the only splash of color. Beyond that, though, double doors showed a small terrace, and beyond that, the sea. Michiru found herself drawn back outside. She would indeed like to paint this place.

“It’s the caldera,” Haruka said, putting a hand on her back. “It’s actually a volcano.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Here,” Haruka pulled a sketchbook out of her sidebag. “For until our suitcases come. I know you’re itching.”

“Oh Haruka, I couldn’t possibly waste our first moments here, we should…”

Haruka laughed. “I planned this, Michi.” She pulled out a Greek phrase book. “I figured I’d use this time to try talking to people, find out what I couldn’t from the travel sites.”

Michiru almost wanted to follow her, half to watch her attempts and half to console her when she couldn’t understand a word. But for now she’d allow Haruka her pride.

She sat to sketch the landscape, but the dark lines morphed to a darker scene. Haruka, limp and broken in a fallen city. Mina behind her, turned away, cradling the knowledge of necessary sacrifice. Michiru’s own hand reaching from the bottom of the page. Too late.

Michiru tore it from the book. She could give Haruka this one trip, she could. She would. When their luggage arrived, she painted with an insistence of color, blues and yellows that could never see death. She painted the sun getting low in the sky, the water sparkling with evening light, the little fishing boats skirting around the shore. She painted untouchable life until Haruka tapped on the patio doors.

“I got us a little dinner, if you’d like.” She held a large paper bag in one hand and a champagne bottle in the other.

Michiru set down her brush and smiled. “What did you get?”

Haruka pulled out a deep bowl of rice, what seemed to be a roasted whole fish, and a little foil-wrapped plate of baklava. “A man at the port told me I had to get you a fish, or else I didn’t love you.”

Michiru could not help but laugh. “And do you?”

“What?”

“Love me.”

“More than anything!” Haruka abandoned the food and swept Michiru up in her arms. “I love you so much I want to give you the most beautiful experiences, right down to this fish.”

It turned out to be a rather good fish, and a good dinner. Michiru had worried Haruka might have been conned. “It seems you’re getting on well with the locals.”

Haruka flushed pink. “Well, sort of. One guy appreciated I was trying with the book and had me type in what I wanted to say into google translate. We had a whole little conversation and he told all his fishing buddies I was a good lass.”

Michiru felt a calm wash over her she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She could see Haruka struggling with unfamiliar words, see the old man being charmed, see him taking her under his wing. Haruka was soft and good and it shone through sometimes, no matter how she might hide it.

“Haruka?”

“Hm?”

“I would like to make love to you.”

The morning that followed was the first in recent memory Michiru slept through a vision. It happened sometimes, the way a nightmare may not wake you, even though the memory stays. She woke to bright sunlight and the warmth of Haruka’s body and she did not pull away. She put a hand on Haruka’s side. She could feel the long, lean muscles of her runner’s body. The slow and heavy rhythm of her breathing. Her heartbeat faint against Michiru’s fingertips.

Michiru felt suddenly that she was watching golden sand slip through her fingers, but rather than grasp at it all she could do was watch it sparkle.

She grabbed her sketchpad, glad it was in reach of the bed, and drew right atop her pillow. She kept it loose, for movement, and let the pencil lines blur to softness under her hand. It came out messy, messy in the way all her teachers would have scolded her for, but it was Haruka. Sleepy, messy Haruka. Alive Haruka. She flipped the page and did another, from memory and imagination instead of life. And another. And another. By the time Haruka stirred she had a handful of sketches-- Haruka sleeping, Haruka running, Haruka speaking to an old man about fish.

“Mmm.” Haruka rolled over to press up against Michiru. “You stayed with me.”

“I’m learning, love.” Michiru kissed her forehead. “I love being here with you.”

Haruka beamed. Sleep clung in her eyes and made her tender. “I told you you’d like the trip.”

“I do, but that’s not what I meant.” She stroked her hair. “What do you have planned for today?”

“I want to take you around one of the villages. Fira. It’s supposed to be fun.”

They took the vespa out as the morning light bounced around the hills. Every breeze smelled like the sea today. Michiru leaned close to Haruka’s back around every curve of the road. An unusual giddiness mixed with an even stranger calm inside her. They were alive. Alive. Alive. The word became the song of her heartbeat, the steady lyric of the rhythm. Alive. Alive.

She felt it still as they walked along the streets of a market, Haruka walking the vespa with one hand and holding Michiru with the other. Haruka offered to buy her something from every shop, even the one selling pots shaped like melting faces. She succeeded in ignoring Michiru’s protests long enough to get a simple bracelet, made of beads that were the same white stone of every walkway, save for a single blue one, rounded into smoothness among its rough companions.

They dined facing the caldera, at a restaurant Michiru considered barely passable but Haruka loved every morsel from. They sat a long while with coffees, looking out onto the water.

“You know the myth of Atlantis?”

Michiru smiled. “That I do.” Haruka often connected ocean legends to her, sometimes even to the point of being nonsensical.

“Some people think it was based on this place. Not this island, but islands that were here before. The volcano erupted, and even though it made new islands, old ones were lost. Towns like this were lost to the sea.” Haruka looked down. “I just thought that was interesting.”

Michiru laced her fingers into Haruka’s. “You did a lot of research into this.”

“A little, yeah.”

“Well, thank you. It’s been so lovely.”

“We still have a few days before we go back!” Haruka stopped, embarrassed. “Do you really like it?”

“I really do.”

She had Haruka pose that night when they got back. As much as she was her favorite subject, Haruka did not often sit for Michiru. Now she sat on the balcony, backdropped by the hillside and sky. Her top buttons were undone just enough to let the wind catch her collar. She sat for hours as Michiru painted, only fidgeting every now and again.

“This must be boring for you.”

“No,” Haruka said, clearly trying not to move her mouth too much. “It’s fun to see you like this. You get a light inside.”

Michiru smiled. The stars were made triple in her painting, reflected in the water and mimicked by the white houses on the hills, but still they were outshined by Haruka’s eyes. “Sometimes I ache to capture you. I know I never can.”

Haruka finally broke the pose and frowned. “I think your paintings of me are beautiful.”

“But they’re only the faintest shadow of you.” Michiru hid behind her canvas, pretending to mix paint. “No matter what I do, they’re missing huge parts of you. They’re flat. You’re lovely in more dimensions than any medium can capture. But I still want to hold onto it.”

“Hold onto me.” Haruka came to her, put her arms around her. “Hold onto me, I’m here.”

“I’m trying.” Michiru buried herself in Haruka’s chest. She breathed in her scent, soap and sweat and a hint of cologne still clinging on from the morning. “I want you in more ways than I can have you.”

“Michi, you have all of me. We have each other.”

“We do.” Michiru squeezed her tighter. “That’s true. I… I just struggle sometimes. I’m sorry.”

Haruka pulled back just enough to look at her. "Do you know why I wanted to come here?" She stroked a single tear away from Michiru’s face.

“You said it was beautiful.”

“It’s more than that.” Haruka took a deep breath. "I know you and Rei see things you don't tell me about. I know Mina's prepared for things I can't even conceptualize. It all scares the shit out of me. The idea that our life and happiness could be temporary, that this whole thing is so fragile the next battle could destroy it... I don't think I'll ever know how to face that. But this place is the most beautiful place I've seen, maybe the most beautiful place in the world. And it's on top of a volcano. People live over an active volcano. The bluest sky could go grey with smoke and ash any moment, but until it does it's still the bluest. And that's maybe how I have to live my life, it'll be the happiest until it's not, but I'm happy with you now. I wanted to see this. I wanted it to tell me how to do it. And I'm still scared.  But I also feel a little peaceful. I love you, Michiru.”

She pulled out a ring, a silver band adorned with a tiny but stunning diamond. “And maybe I won't be your wife for long but if I get to for a moment, I want to for that moment. Maybe that's stupid, but it's how I feel.I want to give you all of myself, for however long I have." Haruka got down on one knee. “I planned to do this on our last night, but I’m gonna take beautiful moments when they come. That’s how I wanna live. That’s how I wanna be your wife. I want to be your wife, Michiru, I want to marry you. Will you have me?”

“Oh Haruka.” Michiru’s breath was stuck, her chest felt filled with water and light and a burst of love she could not contain. She saw the future, all at once, not the end but the rest, a wedding and a life, everything she’d have instead of everything she’d lose. They could have a life together. The end didn’t have to be the important part, not now.

“I want nothing more than to be your wife, Haruka.” She crouched to hold Haruka’s face. “I promise to give all of myself to you, to do my best to make you happy all my life.”

“Marry me, Michi.”

“Yes.”

The little diamond glinted brighter than all the stars, even as they were all outshone by Haruka’s eyes. Alive. Alive. Alive. Michiru felt their hearts beat as one.