#and now if replied 11 fucking hours later to the tattoo artist i was talking to abt booking

[dreamingofstarslight]

Someone tell me why it took 11 hours, like 7 texts, and waiting 3 hours after i got off work for me to be able to book a flight

[baepsaetan]

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters:  pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, main character death, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, cancer.

Length: 4.7k

A/N: After a very long hiatus, here’s another chapter. I dunno if anyone is reading this at this point, but if you’re keeping up with it, thank you very much! I hope you enjoy, and as ever likes and reblogs are appreciated!

---

Meet me at the corner of Skymont and Anpan @ 11. He reads the text one more time, just to be sure he got it right, reassuring himself that there’s no way Yoongi could have meant eleven at night, and that he is, in fact, on the corner of Skymont and Anpan. The little 11:21 on his phone sits with depressing certainty on the top right of his screen, and Hoseok shakes his head, short and anxious. This late and Yoongi still hasn’t sent him a message or anything? What the hell is wrong?

The evils of seeming needy and childish are small compared to his concern, so a minute or two later Hoseok sends, Hey are you good? When he’d arrived, all he’d been thinking about was the upcoming exams and project deadlines, half-chiding himself for agreeing to meet with his boyfriend for something that might take hours (but also not earnestly regretting it, either). Now he shifts in worry, fingers drumming on his thighs. When there’s no reply, immediate or otherwise, he calls Yoongi’s phone; it doesn’t ring before going to voicemail.

Struggling with something close to panic, he continues his somewhat awkward loitering, trying to convince himself that the guy behind the counter in the shop behind him isn’t giving him the evil eye through the display window. It’s uncomfortable just standing there, sometimes having to dance around large groups of people moving down the sidewalk – sunny Saturdays on Skymont are always packed – and as even more time passes, his anxiety only increases. Another phone call yields no more answer than the text had. Had he been the one to mess up the time? Was Yoongi okay? Should he go to Born Tiger? But what if they managed to miss each other? Would Yoongi be pissed? Why were they going to meet, anyways? Yoongi had said it was a surprise, but what if… what if it was some stupid prank? What if –

He puts a pretty hard stop to that train of thought. There’s no way Yoongi would do that to him, and it’s dumb to worry about it. Although that doesn’t explain where his boyfriend is. Or if he’s okay.

That’s a good question, isn’t it? If Yoongi is okay? It’s a question he’s been asking himself – unwilling, shrinking – for – well, hasn’t it been for forever? For as long as he’s known Yoongi? Only it used to be a small voice, a whisper in the back of his mind easily brushed away because it was too hard to consider. Now it’s – well, it’s almost screaming. Sometimes, if he thinks about it too closely, if he really lets himself feel the mounting panic and pain that’s growing like cancer in his chest, he feels like screaming. Because it doesn’t make sense. Because it can’t make sense. Because Yoongi is okay, isn’t he?  

11:38 rolls around with no sign of the other guy and with two more unanswered calls, Hoseok’s just deciding he needs to head to the tattoo shop when a small shape suddenly comes into view down the street, hands shoved into pockets and head down. Yoongi’s walking so fast he almost takes out an equally small old lady, avoiding her only at the last second and ignoring her startled exclamation. For a half second Hoseok thinks he’s going to walk by, but the artist halts in front of Hoseok, yanking his hand out of his pocket and rubbing at his neck.

“Sorry,” Yoongi mutters, not looking up. “Some asshole was a fucking pansy and it took forever to finish his stupid tattoo. You ready?”  

The abrupt apology and question make Hoseok’s brow furrow, but though he’s annoyed, there’s something too wrong with Yoongi’s voice – it’s choked, way hoarser than usual – for him to be properly offended. He ignores the question and asks one of his own. “Are you okay? I called you a few times…”

“I know I’m late,” Yoongi snaps. “Like I said, I was doing someone’s tattoo. Come on, we need to hurry.” And without waiting for a reply he starts walking, his shoulders hunched, black beanie pulled so low it’s almost over his eyes. Hoseok hurries to keep up with his slouching but still rapid stride, struggling with his irritation and concern both. What the hell, Yoongi?

“Where’re we going?” he asks, and if the question is closer to a demand than a light inquiry, the student can’t help himself. And he’s not even that ashamed of it.

Like a halter over his hurry, the question jerks Yoongi to a dead stop, and when he looks back, there’s something a little pitiful about the struggle apparent across his face. Some negative emotion tightens his jawline even as his lips press together, and he shakes his head in jerky, infinitesimal denials of a truth he hasn’t disclosed to Hoseok. After a moment, and with a breath so deep it could have reached into hell, the harsh lines ease, his lips soften, and his body ceases shaking. His smile misses the latch as he tries to hook it on, though, falters and fades away altogether as he pushes himself into motion again.

“Sorry, Hobi,” is his quiet repentance. “Sorry for –” A pause. Another, shorter struggle, during which Hoseok hopes with a desperation that appals him that Yoongi will tell him the truth he can feel looming at their backs, blocking the sun in shades of trepidation. He’s disappointed. “Sorry for being late. I know you’re really busy right now with all your school shit, but…” The small man snorts, abruptly impatient with himself. “Look, I, uh, know I missed your birthday, okay? And I wanted to make it up to you and I hope this will, but then I got a call and had to go to – I mean, someone made an appointment and then took way longer than they should have. It pissed me off so bad I forgot to text you after it was done, just left straight away and we’re gonna be fucking late which is just great and – sorry, I’m still pretty fucking pissed.”

Having this sprung on him isn’t even remotely what he’d expected, not with the wave of emotions pouring off his boyfriend. “How’d you know about my birthday?” is the first thing he can think to blurt out, although words along the lines of why the hell are you lying and what are you lying about hover dangerously close to the fore. Because Yoongi – for all his swearing and scowling – isn’t angry. Hoseok doesn’t know how he knows it, except that he knows, and it’s a wretched twist in his gut, like missing a step on the way down the stairs. Yoongi isn’t angry, but he’s – he’s drowning, or suffocating, and how do you ask someone about that?

The other man’s face smooths even further. “I figured it out,” he replies, another lie, though this one Hoseok grasps with something other than intuition.

“Jimin told you.” Who else would have mentioned it? How else could Yoongi have ‘figured it out?’

Yoongi’s shrug is noncommittal. Hoseok is annoyed, a little, because he doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday, but that’s nothing in the face of his sudden conviction that his boyfriend is hiding something. Something a lot worse than a birthday surprise. It’s such a powerful certainty that he can’t even summon any curiosity about where they’re going, and there’s a rapidly growing, sinking sensation in his stomach. Because this isn’t a shock. Because this isn’t actually sudden at all, is it? It’s just that suddenly, Hoseok is having a very hard time ignoring it, pushing it to the back of his mind and hoping it goes away. There’s something too immediate about Yoongi’s expression – about the raw tension it’s settling across his nerves.

But what to say? What to do? Should he ruin whatever Yoongi has planned just for the sake of figuring this out? Should he make an accusation he doesn’t even have evidence to support? And what even is that accusation? And what if he’s wrong and he’s just being paranoid and it starts a major fight, like the one at the bar? Wouldn’t that be even worse than whatever they’re feeling now?

Slowly Hoseok talks himself out of his distress, out of the sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff and preparing to jump. The cool logic is accompanied by the nagging conviction that he’s circled the wrong answer on a multiple choice exam – but you’re not supposed to change your mind, right? You’re not supposed to second guess yourself? The questions die a whimpering death in his head, euthanized by his fear of something being wrong, and when eventually Yoongi glances back at him, one eyebrow raised, he manages to organize a grin.

It doesn’t stop his boyfriend from asking, “Are you okay?”

His reply of, “Oh, yeah,” isn’t bought, and Yoongi’s searching expression doesn’t ease.

The small man reaches out his hand, and gratefully Hoseok takes it, glad for the tactile grounding. Whatever their issues, ever since they had first slept together, any kind of physical contact with Yoongi feels like finding something to grab just as you lose your balance. A rock solid support. And Yoongi’s voice, gravelly and a little anxious, just reinforces the feeling flooding his gut.  “Seriously, you’re not pissed? At like – whatever? Jimin said you don’t like celebrating your birthday, which I guess is why you didn’t tell me about it, but this isn’t a big deal or anything, so…”

They’re walking quickly now, Yoongi pulling him along, but not so quickly that Hoseok can’t feel a flush of embarrassment at his companion’s words. He hadn’t told his boyfriend about it – hadn’t planned to, ever, really, which was maybe just a little nearsighted – and the discomfort of having people spend time and effort on him is a comfortably familiar terrain. It’s easier to focus on his faults than on the near-crippling concern for Yoongi, so the student – almost relieved – quickly insists, “No, no, I’m not pissed off at all. I should have told you about it, but I didn’t want – I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I didn’t, but honestly, you didn’t – you don’t have to do anything for me.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi replies, a bit of bite in the word. “I want to do this. Just wish I hadn’t fucking forgotten to ask about your birthday in the first place.” As Hoseok tries to protest, abruptly feeling something worse than mere discomfort at the thought of Yoongi beating himself up about it, the other man talks over him. “Whatever, Hobi, you don’t even know what we’re doing. Maybe you’ll hate it.”

“Yeah right. But what…” They turn the corner, evading a large group clustered around someone watching a video on their phone, and Hoseok lets his question fade. He’s familiar with this street, and even more familiar with the building they’re shortly standing in front of. He’s been here at least ten or fifteen times in the last year.

It’s not exactly hard to figure out why they’re there.

For the first time in the last hour, he forgets his concern for Yoongi. The smile that breaks across his lips is so large it feels too heavy for his face. One glance at Yoongi – who stares at him like his joy is an antidote to everything wrong in the world – confirms that this is exactly what he thinks it is. Suddenly his breath is a little hard to catch, and he’s swinging the hand that’s clutching his boyfriend a little too wildly, and each step is more a skip than anything. They were actually – they were – it was the Spring Day music festival!

In about thirty-seven seconds, his fears and objections would reanimate – Yoongi shouldn’t have bought the tickets, how much did they cost, Hoseok would pay him back, could he afford to spend time here during crunch season, was he wasting Yoongi’s time. But for those few seconds, Hoseok feels something so delighted it stabs and twists inside his chest, alive with an electric current that sends little pinpricks skittering across his skin. It isn’t a wave or a weight, drowning out his worries; it’s an absence of those fears altogether, a lightness, like any second he could take off soaring.

And of course he would take Yoongi with him. Hell, to judge by that gummy grin, by the almost-skip that’s a match for Hoseok’s suddenly bouncing pace, it might just be Yoongi himself who’d be doing the flying.

Flying, that is, until thirty-seven seconds have gone by and Hoseok, glancing once again at his boyfriend’s face, notices what Yoongi hasn’t yet. The clot of red just barely seeps from the artist’s nose, a liquid warning flag, and for once – finally – Hoseok heeds the warning. He plummets out of the sky, lands bruised and shaken on the pavement, and slams to a halt.

“Yoongs,” he chokes out, just as the first droplet of blood loses its fight with gravity and falls. It’s quickly followed by another – another – until the drops have turned into a trickle, and now Yoongi lifts up a hand and swipes at his nose with the heel of his palm. It comes away smeared with red, and the tattooist stares at it for a long moment, a little knot of frustration resting between his brows. More blood drips down, and he does nothing to halt it, still inspecting the sample on his hand as though it belongs to someone else.

It’s Hoseok that ends up being the first to try to stop it. He fumbles in his coat pocket, pulls out some crumpled Kleenex that have seen better days. Yoongi doesn’t take them when he offers, and he has to physically force them into the artist’s hands, to start to help him clean his palm, before the other man responds. Inhaling sharply between his teeth, Yoongi abruptly seems to wake up, and instead of shoving Hoseok away – as he’d dreaded – the fingers on one hand curl around Hoseok’s, helping him clean away the blotch of red on his skin. With his other hand he gathers the majority of the Kleenex, shoves it against his nose.

Yoongi isn’t swearing, angrily or otherwise. That’s – there’s something wrong about that, about the stony silence. Gut wrenchingly wrong. For some reason Hoseok can hardly look at his boyfriend, but when he manages it – in twitching glances that hurt like pins and needles – Yoongi is devoid of colour. His face isn’t devoid of emotion, but the irritation is a cover-up, as ill fitting as a shirt two sizes too small. It’s such a tight expression it feels like they’re both just waiting for it to rip. And what’s underneath? Fear? Rage? Horror?

Once he’s managed to wipe the blood from his boyfriend’s hand, Hoseok waits a few more seconds, pressure filling up his lungs; a balloon threatening to pop his ribs off their hinges with the force of its expansion. Yoongi doesn’t break the silence – because of course he doesn’t – and eventually Hobi exhales, hard enough to hurt.

“You need to go to the doctor.” Even behind the wad of Kleenex, Hoseok can see the scowl that crosses the other man’s face, and he feels his fingers tightening around the bloody tissue he’s still holding. “This is, what? The fourth nosebleed this week? That I’ve seen? And who knows how many you haven’t told me about.”

“Hobi, come on, just…”

“Just ignore it, right?” Yoongi’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes falling down, and Hoseok feels a throb across his collarbone, at the base of his throat, like something alive and scorching is curled up there. “Screw ignoring it. You have to go see someone. Whatever’s got you – like you are, it’s better to get checked out.”

“It’s nothing. Some shitty little flu or something.” Even his voice is pale, washed out and muffled through the tissue, and whatever Yoongi is trying to sell, it’s obvious even he’s not buying it at this point.

“That’s lasted a month?” Or more, Hoseok thinks but doesn’t say, because he should have said something a month – or more – ago. When the artist’s thin lips tighten, Hoseok knows that they’re headed for an argument, an argument that’s going to go exactly nowhere if he doesn’t change where they’re moving. This has happened time and time again. Hoseok pushes – Yoongi shoves back. They get nowhere. Once again, Yoongi is putting him off, and once again Hoseok can feel that automatic temptation to let it happen, to – just ignore it.

How long can you ignore thunder before you get hit by lightning? How long can you ignore a growl before you get bit?  

“I’ll get over it.” There it is, that digging in, a familiar stubbornness that brings exasperation to a low simmer in Hoseok’s stomach. What is it with Yoongi and doctors? Hoseok hasn’t ever known anyone who gets so violently ill, so often, and yet refuses to see anyone about it. He knows why, at least to some extent – it’s not like Yoongi never makes sarcastic reference to what his dad called him whenever he got sick – but this seems excessive. Childish, even. And it’s also a lie, written in the blood that had dripped down to the pavement at their feet before Yoongi had managed to stem the tide.

It’s hard to smile, and Hoseok’s uncomfortably aware of how much he’s aiming to soothe his boyfriend, to back him off the instinctive obstinacy. He’s even more uncomfortable with the idea that’s stirring to sluggish life at the back of his mind. But it’s not manipulation when it’s for someone else’s own good, right?

“Get over it? Yeah, you will,” he says with a laugh that’s only a little too brittle. “Because you’re gonna go to the doctor and get some drugs or whatever. We’ll go together. I’ll even hold your hand if you’re scared.” The teasing isn’t natural – not with the fear still thick and suffocating at the back of his throat – but he can’t get as angry as his worry is urging him to be. If he does, Yoongi’s going to shut down, close off. Just another hurtle they haven’t quite managed to get over together.

Responding to the light tone as Hoseok hoped, Yoongi shakes his head without much conviction, fingers still pinching the bridge of his nose. “For a bloody nose? I mean…”

“Not for a bloody nose – for me. If you want to think about it that way.” Yoongi’s dark gaze cuts to him, and Hoseok’s grin softens into something pleading, almost apologetic. “I’m… worried about you, Yoongs. I know you don’t think it’s a big deal, but if you went, I’d – I know I’d feel a lot better.” The words are sincere, but how honest can he afford to be when he’s struggling to keep his balance atop Yoongi’s evasions? The answer: not as honest as he wants to be.  

It almost makes him sick, the tremulous smile Yoongi hauls onto his lips in response. “Y’know, if I go, you won’t have any excuse for failing any exams. No sleepless nights worrying about your worthless boyfriend to blame for not studying. You really ready for that?”

His jaw tightens before he forces it to relax, and Hoseok nods with mock seriousness. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Fine.” Yoongi heaves in a breath, pinching his nose harder. “I’ll go sometime this week.”

“Or… you could go today. Right now.” He’s not entirely kidding, the joy of the music festival fled so quickly the after-image of it is drifting like smoke across his mind.

With an ill-advised snort, Yoongi replies, “Fuck that. We still got some films to sit through, remember? We’re late as is.” Although somehow the urgency has totally left both of them by this point, and they make no move to enter the theater, ignoring the weird looks they’re getting from passersby.

“Then afterwards. At least make an appointment afterwards.” Unconsciously Hoseok’s hand rises, pressing through his shirt against the tattoo that’s coloured such an ashy shade that the original blue tinting of the flowers is all but gone, and the white may as well be called grey. The petals are so wilted and sparse he’s taken to wearing clothes that cover them up, ashamed of and sickened by the failure printed across his collarbone and neck. Afterwards. What’s he going to do after the flower dies completely?

He’s trying to face things more head on, but it’s a question filled with too many tears and Hoseok blinks them away, the pressure suddenly heavier than he can handle.

Yoongi is watching him, little creases at the corners of his eyes. For a moment Hoseok thinks those same dark eyes are wet, and an answering pain lurches in his chest, his throat, almost like his tattoo is trying to rip away from his skin. Except then his boyfriend tosses his head, shoulder jerking. “I’ll call, yeah. Right after.”

On impulse, Hoseok stretches out his hand. “You promise?” he asks.

The other man hesitates, his free hand rising to rub at the skin behind his ear. Which just means there’s yet another evasion, another not-quite-truth, stirring in the breathless air between them. For the first time today Hoseok feels something far less convoluted than panicked concern and a grief for things he doesn’t understand, for things that haven’t come to pass. He feels… he wants to call it impatience, or annoyance. Something shallow and easily brushed away. Except it’s not either of those things. Honesty – sick and compelled and unhappy – forces him to acknowledge what it is. It’s anger. Betrayal, even. Why – why won’t Yoongi tell him the truth?

He still can’t confront his boyfriend, though. Still can’t bear the thought of bringing this – whatever this is – out into the open. Better by far to swallow the anger, the fear, the nausea. At least until he’s sure of what’s happening.

After a moment, Yoongi accepts his hand, holds it tightly, as though that alone can make up for what’s wrong. “Promise,” he says, and smiles. But for all that a familiar feeling of warmth surges in Hoseok’s stomach in response to the contact and tone and smile – for all of that, his responding grin is hollow. And he hates that it is.

It’s only the plan, taking uncertain shape while his thoughts and emotions churn, that lets Hoseok keep it together as Yoongi leads him into the theater. It’s only his conviction about how much he loves the other man that stops him from breaking their clasped hands apart and demanding more than Yoongi is willing to give. Neither of those are enough to ease the sick anxiety, and even the prospect of going to see the art he loves isn’t enough to remove from Hoseok the certainty that in the near future – be that days or weeks or even months – something between he and Yoongi is going to change.

And given how happy he is with his boyfriend, how can that change be for the better?    

---

On the towering screen in front of them, some dude is monologuing to his dog, and though Yoongi supposes that there’s a time and place for talking to a pet, he kinda wishes the guy would get on with it. That’s maybe a bit harsh – there are tears and snot and everything, the guy is grieving so hard, and the dog even looks like it’s sympathizing – but to be honest, Yoongi’s not really in the mood. They’re only on the second film, and a cramp is slowly swelling to fill the space on his left side. It feels like the pain is making out with his ribcage. That’s not unusual anymore, but normally moving around eases it, and he can’t right now.

Gnawing on his cheek – at least Hobi probably can’t see in the darkened theatre – Yoongi shifts, just a little. Even that tiny change catches his boyfriend’s attention, and though Hoseok doesn’t look away from the screen, his hand slides over, palm up, an offering no trashy modern god could resist – and Yoongi ain’t as strong as any god.

The second their skin makes contact, a slushy wave of contentment sloshes through his body, not quelling the pain but distracting him from it. Entwining their fingers is a thrill all its own, and though they aren’t speaking to each other, in a way they are. It’s one of Yoongi’s favourite parts of the bond. He doesn’t know how to describe this silence that isn’t quiet at all, but it’s like they’re communicating at a level totally beyond anything as physical as sound waves. Higher than Hoseok’s stress, clearer than Yoongi’s cancer, it’s above anything as basic as bodies. Hoseok can’t feel it in the same way, because he obviously doesn’t know about the bond and thus can’t embrace it, and that’s a shame, but it’s there, and it’s wraps around him in the same way Hobi wraps around him when they lie in bed.

It comforts Yoongi, and he needs that diversion. This morning had been absolute shit, and the trickledown effect has hardly paused as he passed into the afternoon. The thoughts are there – his doctor’s strained face as she’d told him the new results, the way she’d all but begged him to bring someone with him to the next appointment, the nosebleed that had continued the ruining everything trend – but for now, Yoongi ignores it. Hoseok had been upset outside the theatre, and Yoongi suspects he’s still upset, even now, but the films will smooth things over. He hopes. At any rate, wallowing in any of this, particularly in Hobi’s company, isn’t going to do anything for either of them. He just wants Hoseok to have a good birthday gift.

Clinging to his boyfriend’s hand, it really feels as though that shouldn’t be too much to ask.

Things are coming to a head. The appointment this morning confirmed that. Yoongi feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice, and every direction is down. What way can he go, now? Backed into a corner, sitting in the frying pan, there’s nothing left but concrete walls and a fire. Nothing he can do. It’s not about money anymore; he’d made enough and started taking the drugs, just in time to be told it was probably too late for them to help. The ratio of diseased cells to normal ones suggested he was well into the accelerated stage. Maybe even blast. More tests needed. Why was it called the blast stage, anyways? He sure as fuck wasn’t having one.

He might need something besides drugs. A bone marrow transplant. The waiting list is very long, Yoongi. What right did his doctor have to look so stressed and sympathetic as she told him that? Who gave her permission to have a heart for his sake? Can you think of anyone who might be willing to donate, and might also match? Your father, a brother... maybe a friend?

Five friends, and a lover who almost definitely matches, given the literature he’s read on soulmates. He can’t ask any of them, though, because that means telling them the truth. Yoongi can’t do that. He’s too far gone down this path. And anyways, if Hoseok volunteered for the transplant and it failed – which was entirely possible, soulmate or no – it would kill him. Knock him right off the self-worth spire that Yoongi’s been helping him build, a sweaty brick at a time.

So, no. Yoongi settles more deeply into the theatre seat, even as he settles into his deceptions. When he squeezes Hoseok’s hand, the other man mutters under his breath, fusses with the armrest between them until he figures out how to haul it up and out of their way. From there, it’s easy for Yoongi to slump into his boyfriend’s side, breath relentlessly even and peaceful.    

He wishes he had told Hoseok when they first met. He wishes he’d told him at the bar. He wishes he’d told him during any of the million of moments they’ve shared.

He wishes.

[oliivverwood]

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marcus/oliver + social media for @rlversongs

LONG POST- idk how to put the keep reading from my phone sorry

--

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial 

Are you ready for thrilling Raptors vs Bucks Eastern Conference Final game 5? Tune in on YouTube 2nite aftergame for play by play analysis + predictions. Watch for live tweets. #NBA #Basketball  

12:00 PM      2,340 likes   1,226 retweets

montyyyyy @grahamcracker

yo @casswarr five dollas on raps making history. wood has been straight sniping this year. bucks have no chance with that offense. #rapsin5

12:48 PM        5 likes 3 retweets

cassius ;) @casswarr

@grahamcracker ur fuckin insane if u think its gonna be easy for the raps. diggory's been an absolute wall this szn. he'll block potter's nasty dunks easy

1:05 PM          4 likes 1 retweets

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Game 5. Tonight. Air Canada Arena. #WeTheNorth

4:00 PM         1,904 likes 837 retweets

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

5 into 1st quarter, Wood from the Raps with the filthy cross on Malfoy, ballhandling like a dream. #NBA #NBAGame5 #Basketball

8:43 PM         734 likes 437 retweets

pants park (marky flints cuzzy) @panzyparkkk

@marcflintofficial im sure handling his balls is your dream ;))

8:50 PM        523 likes 277 retweets

marcus flint for NBA (@marcflintofficial) blocked pants park (marky flints cuzzy) (@panzyparkkk)

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

Potter steals from Diggory, lobs it to Weasley, throws it up to Wood for a dunk on Bole. The Raptors chemistry is off the charts this game. #NBA #NBAGame5 #Basketball

9:22 PM       256 likes 153 retweets

mclaggen the frat god @nolaggingmclaggen

yo why the fuck is flint being so nice about the raps rn. i don't want wood favouritism, i miss asshole flint. talk shit about bole's shitty defense, please. 

10:00 PM   333 likes 457 retweets

oliver wood #0 (@oliverw00dofficial) liked a tweet by mclaggen the frat god (@nolaggingmclaggen)

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Eastern Conference dubs, absolutely ecstatic. See you against the Warriors for NBA finals. #WeTheNorth

11:54 PM   937 likes 765 retweets

HARRY POTTER #3 @harrypottter

to the finalsssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!! #WeTheNorth

11:56 PM      832 likes 655 retweets

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RAPTORS VERSUS BUCKS EASTERN CONFERENCE FINALS (HIGHLIGHTS, PLAY BY PLAY, ANALYSIS) 

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"A tremendous game for the Raptors, starting right off the bat. Bulgarian transfer Viktor Krum started it right from the tipoff, an offense immediately set into play by captain Oliver Wood. The Bucks weren't ready for them to come at them so hard so quickly, which was [redacted] stupid of them, it's the [redacted] Eastern Conference Finals. Diggory did steal from rookie Finnegan, who was lucky to have Wood track back as fast as he did for the defense. Further into the first quarter, Wood executed one of the dirtiest [redacted] crossovers I've ever seen in my two years of working in the NBA. Poor Urquhart didn't stand a chance. He's probably wallowing in the memes being made of him now, bless his heart--no, he deserves it. Urquhart, get it together, set your [redacted] feet."

"The second quarter had the Bucks catch up, with Roger Davies shooting 3 for 4 from the three point line, two assists from Bucks rookie Zach Smith, one from Draco Malfoy. The fourth one bounced off the rim into Wood's hands- his offensive rebounding stats have been crazy--

"The third quarter had Weasley on the boards, dribbling out to the corner and lobbing it to Potter on the fast break, and what a [redacted] fast break it was! If you blinked you would have missed it, which apparently Bole did, blink that is. Potter tosses it up to Wood for a nasty dunk on Bole. Humiliating. I'd never show my face to the world again, if that happened to me."

Pause.

--

Rita Skeeter for TMZ @ritaskeets

Renowned basketball analyser and former NBA player Marcus Flint's cousin, Pansy Parkinson with a shocking tweet during yesterday's game 5. #marcusflint

6:00 AM     4,003 likes   2,692 retweets

Rita Skeeter for TMZ @ritaskeets

This certainly is a strange development. Through injuries, scandals and incidents, Marcus Flint has had quite a life. Learn more in my article on tmz.com/articles/ritaskeeter #marcusflint

6:08 AM      2,455 likes   1,234 retweets

--

Excerpt of Marcus Flint Through the Years, by Rita Skeeter for TMZ

Marcus Caradoc Flint, Chicago born and raised and was eventually the first draft pick, going to nowhere else but the Chicago Red Bull's, and evidently changing the team dynamic forever, and for the better. Flint played rough, fouling out of a game dozens of times and racking up the most fines in the league, but it was worth it. He was still skillful, dazzling audiences with his awe striking shots and dunks. He won rookie of the year, finals MVP, and had 2 championship rings, one from his time on the Bulls, the other from his time with the Cleveland Cavaliers. 

Flint was known to be a little violent on the court, some of the more notable players he got in fights with being Roger Davies, Remus Lupin and Oliver Wood, who we'll be discussing later this article. 

Suddenly, injury struck, and Flint could never play basketball again, a freak accident on the court where he was pushed midair, lost his balance and tore his ACL. He was immediately offered a spot on the NBA reporting crew, where he popularised the channel with his calculated analyses and his filthy mouth. The channel ratings shot up, and the rest was history. 

Flint was never out of the spotlight for long. Two years ago, he was seen walking out of the Peninsula New York with Charlie Weasley, New York Knicks, one morning, the two of them awfully close and sharing an embrace before parting ways. This led to speculation about their relationship status and Flint's sexuality. Not long after that, he was photographed leaving The Monster, a gay bar in New York, again, with an unidentified male. 

Recently, Marcus Flint's cousin, Pansy Parkinson,  a well known tattoo artist in Los Angeles replied to Flint's tweets.

Attached: Screenshot of Pansy Parkinson's reply to Marcus Flint,"im sure handling his balls are your dream ;)))*

Is this an indicator of something between Flint and Wood? Our reporters have reached out to all three parties involved for comment.

--

mclaggen the frat god @nolaggingmclaggen

broooo that's why flint was sucking woods dick so hard during live tweet. i don't care if the man likes it up the ass i want some CORRECT analysis #marcusflint

12:00 AM   600 likes 236 retweets

cassius ;) @casswarr

wood and the raps have a presser today maybe he'll say smth about the sitch #marcusflint

12:52 PM   132 likes 121 retweets

#WeTheNorthh @torontoraptorsnumber1fan

*Attached: Clip from the Raptors Press Conference. A journalist from Sports Illustrated asks as question directed towards Oliver Wood, captain. "What are your thoughts on the online blowup regarding your status with Marcus Flint?" Oliver has a faint smile. Harry Potter is sniggering behind his hand on the other end of the table. Oliver goes to the mike. "I didn't realise there was a blowup. We gotta prepare for our next game now. See you all then." The entire team gets out and exits. The journalists clamour for their attention, with more questions.*

1:07 PM     4,082 likes   5,239 retweets

gin n tonic @ginnywheezy

y'all saw that cheeky smirk no?? @harrypottter laughing in the corner no??? my big bro @ronwheezy turning bright red NO???? 

1:20 PM        345 likes   233 retweets

marcus flint for NBA (@marcflintofficial), oliver wood #0 (@oliverw00dofficial), HARRY POTTER #3 (@harrypottter), Draco Malfoy (@dracoma1foy), angie johnson (@angelinaj), forge weasley (@georgewheezy), gred weasley (@fredwheezy) liked gin n tonic (@ginnywheezy)'s tweet

--

Instagram

@marcusflintbae

fan account, im in love with marcus flint

Recent Posts:

*Blurry picture of two male figures, seemingly joined by the hand. One of them is brunette, the other black haired. Both tall. One is dressed in a grey tracksuit and clunky basketball shoes, the other in a pressed white shirt and black pants, tie looseness. They are smiling - the photo is too blurry to specify exactly who it is.

marcusflintbae this is obviously marcus flint and oliver wood, that's the tea. im so jealous of wood ugh. 

Posted 1 hour ago

Liked by ginnywheeze, percyweasley, panspark, terhiggs, adrianpuc3y, k8iebell, hazzapotter, fredwheeze and 2943 others

-

Private Chat between Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint

oliver wood: marcus ur an idiot

marcus flint: how is this my fault

oliver wood: u were too nice to me on highlight analysis

oliver wood: and u forgot to tell parkinson that we're not public yet 

marcus flint: well u should be happy u wanted to go public like six months ago

oliver wood: nOT LIKE THIS

oliver wood: let's announce it on twitter we've let them suffer long enough 

marcus flint: don't use the photo that im wearing the purple tie in

marcus flint: it's ugly 

oliver wood: you are in no position to be making demands

oliver wood: im not going to use a photo, i love you, I'll call you later

marcus flint: love u too babe

--

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

I'm dating Oliver Wood. I'm not biased to the raptors at all, don't tell him but I actually bet on the Warriors. #NBAFinals

9:03 PM   608,767 likes 438,898 retweets

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Marcus Flint and I have BEEN dating. Keep up. He fr didn't bet on us. If you stop watching him I'll request a trade. Joking. Not really. #NBAFinals

9:06 PM     453,738 likes 234,725 retweets

[kellinquinnaf]

A bi girls story

As a teenybopper I remember fantasizing about boys and coming up with senarios in my head. One day it was randomly a girl in my thoughts.

In summer 2015 I kissed a girl “A” (my bestfriend at the time) idk why part of me just really wanted to and she kissed me back, a boy saw (an ex it’s a small town) and was SHOCKED but we played it off. Later the “A” and I are home alone and I totally kissed her, pushed her up against the wall and everything. She was my first make out too. Throughout the summer we would have sleepovers and make out and it got as far as being shirtless and grinding (and I came wtf??) The whole time we would ask eachother if we’re straight or not and I was so like mind boggled that I was like “im straight, and we’re just friends who kiss” looking back now we were totally girlfriends that summer.

After that summer I was at a sleep over (in the city now) with my straight best friend “B” (100%) and another girl “S” and we were all friends. For some reason we started giving eachother hickeys and my straight bff “B” thought it was hilarious but I was like so into giving “S” hickeys that after I got sooooo nervous. We were all laying in her big bed together and my bff “B” fell asleep and I was so nervous that I kept shaking uncontrollably and she kept asking why. We were cuddling and so close and I can’t remember what I said but I think I told her I wanted to kiss her and we did and it’s was so amazing. Then weeks later we all had another sleep over and I was more confident this time and I kissed her and she kissed me back but out of no where “S” got up and was all nervous and I was sad that it ended but scared that she was not happy about something. After that she moved schools and I heard from my bff “B” that she felt really awkward about it all. Then she’d start posting about her “gf” (it was supposed to be platonic to the rest of the world) but as she posted pics or vids of them kissing I knew it was real for one of them at least.

In grade 11 a new girl came into the school, she was short and had the best but ever.. I couldn’t help but look. We ended up snapping and FaceTiming a few times and she wanted me to sleep over and she talked about us doing shit. She had a boyfriend at the time and he said he was ok with her experimenting. I was so excited to go over, and she started snapping me her in the bath and then her tits but she started snapping me just her vagina and I was not ready for that. The sleepover never happened :/. Yearssss later I’m in the city at the club and she’s there. I dance with her can call her hot and she says something like it’s been a while. We part ways.

I had a few boyfriends / flings in between then and finally made out with some boys and it was all really amazing too! The next summer I didn’t want to go back to the small town cause I had met this guy “D”! But I went back anyways.

I got a boyfriend in this town in summer 2016 and we told eachother we loved one another a few weeks into dating. During this summer I had a little fling with a girl “J” who at the same time was dating my ex-crush of 3 years who his letter is “V”. We tried kissing in front of both our boys they were just like wtf ok.

My boyfriend and I went long distance for a year while I went back to the city for school. During this time I went to a party with a bunch of people from my grade and idk why but I started talking to this girl “H” and straight up asked her (while drunk) if she ever thought about being with girls and she admitted yes and I kissed her. People saw and she got awkward about it. Another friend who saw got awkward around me after too. Another friend knew I’ve kissed other girls and I told her I was thinking about this party girl “H” and she told me that “H” felt weird about it after it happened. I let it go. During this time I also kissed a boy “J” at a party. And more girls at a different party (including my straight best friend “B” while she was drunk. I convinced her to kiss me I just wanted to see how she kissed lol). When prom came boy “J” had a girlfriend and we saw eachother at prom with our dates (“J” knew at the time that I had a boyfriend when I kissed him at the party) he just said hey Sam and looked at me with side eye but flirtation??? I said hey back .. my boyfriend knew that was the guy.

Fast forward a year and I moved in with my boyfriend in the small town. We were completely in love until we moved in together. Things get hard when you graduate high school and move 15 hours away with your boyfriend the day after. I cheated on him with a man “K” a year later and again 6 months after that, with “D” from years after he and I were a thing.

During the second time I was back in the city at the club dancing with the cheat “D” and my bffs sister “K” (guy “D” had a huge crush on girl “K” for the longest time). I’m between them both, my front grinding this girls ass and my ass grinding on this guy. This is the moment I felt true complete bliss and I knew then in that exact moment that I was bisexual. I then admitted it to my bestfriend “B” days later, the first person I told out loud and she said “I’ve known that since girl “S” in grade 10” (at this point we’re on our second year out of high school) Guess I must be obvious.

This guy “D” though he accepted my bisexuality in the moment and made me feel empowered and turned on by it. He was turned on by it. It just felt so good to be with someone so open. Actually I had another boy “C” who felt the same and it felt so good to me for them to enjoy me just being bisexual me. (Funny story this boy “C” dated the girl I had kissed in the sleepovers “S” and so I told him about how we kissed the same girl and he was so horny over it ahhh!)

Bring us to one month ago and (6months after that last cheat with “D”) and I go to another party in the small town now. I’m fucking plastered but I somehow scavenge out the lesbian from the pack of girls who is “M” 😍. We start talking and I guess I’m totally attracted to her. I think I kissed her without her wanting it at first. I kissed her a lot that night. Everyone saw too. We walked home with everyone and I held her hand the whole way. We added eachother on snap.

I told my boyfriend long ago that I’m bisexual and he told me I’m not. I tell him again and he says we could have a three sum. After kissing “M” I got weird cause he considers it cheating and I felt horrible for doing it again. I told him and my boyfriend said “I’m sorry but Im not into that. I know some guys are but I’m not” I told him my fantasy of having us be in a three way relationships with a girl. He could have two girls to fuck and I could have the best of Both worlds. He could get us both pregnant and our kids would be siblings. He was not intrigued by this idea at all.

“M” and I want to hang out but now I feel like I can’t hang out with her cause I know I won’t be able to control myself. She came into my work the other day for a dental appointment. She walks in wearing all black, her blonde hair shimmering in the light contrasting to the black. She has a big leather jacket and a helmet in hand, wearing big black boots. Her colourful tattoos showing on her arms making her look so tough but artistic. We get to chatting as I show her to her exam room. She forgot that I worked there and I commented on the fact that she rides a motorcycle. A Honda 500 (can’t remember the model) - I tell her I’ve always wanted to ride but my parents never let me. I’m leaning on the counter trying to look chill and cool. She said riding a bike is the gayest thing to do (I thought she meant like “gay insult” but she meant “gay homosexual”). I bet the whole office could hear the flirtation and I only hope that they think it’s just banter. She’s getting ready to leave now so I pretend to busy myself with paper work at the front so I can watch her leave. As she’s leaving I walk to the back and turn over my sholder, us making eye contact and waving to eachother. I watch her ride her motorcycle with one hand after saying she just started riding and is getting used to it. She looked like a dream.

I snap her the next day asking how the work day is since I of course work days and she works nights. She replys with something calling me cutie and sending heart eye emojis. We flirt a bit more and she says she wants to hangout soon since she’s leaving for college again. I leave for vacation so I tell her aug 25th and 26th I’m back and can hang out. She said she leaves the 27th but can chill the 26th. I ask her what she wants to do (idk if she knows I have a boyfriend but I have to tell her). She says “I don’t think we’ll be bored😉”

Now I’m day dreaming about her and I have a boyfriend. I don’t know what I should do but I now know that the term “once a cheater always a cheater” is true. I know my desires will win. But can you really blame a Gemini; we are so torn between being two people and leading two different lives that we are greedy and take as much as we can of everything.

I also have a crush on my boss, a smart, intelligent, artistic and wholesome girl dentist, who is also a Gemini and born a decade and two days before me. This life is a struggle.

—

I’ve been thinking lately of talking to a therapist. My life is fucked up. I’m so torn between where I am and where I want to be. I don’t even know where I want to be .. I thought right where I am was it but I’m not so sure. I want to leave this town and go back to the city and go to school but I’m living the life I wanted here. I just don’t want this settled down family life just yet. I’m dental assisting without having gone to school for it so I feel like I can’t be proud of what I do. I’m a dance instructor with someone I can’t even handle anymore because of their greed and want to have my own control over it. I’m torn between wanting to be in a relationship and wanting to be single. Between wanting to be with a boy and with a girl. I miss my family but I moved here to get away from that toxic household (not toxic when not living with the parents). I have not been officially diagnose but I know I have OCD and trichotilomania (a disorder causing you to involuntary pull out your body hair). I only pulled my eyelashes but when I tried to stop I just started picking my skin and now I have the worst acne and scaring. I need help. My house is either spotless or a complete disaster. also I’m in the closet for most of everything and I’m nervous to what my family and coworkers will think/feel. Everyone else idgaf but when you’re so close and personal and you come out it shocks people and then the women don’t want to get to close to you in fear that you’re attracted to them. And the parents would be ok with it but they’d just be shocked.

I’m gunna ask the girl to hang out tonight and we’ll probably make out. Hopefully we fuck.

#horrible person

[latinegro]

Sketchy

I am a brilliant asshole and not in a good way. I’m always putting myself in a situation that sounds great at first, but as it happens, it’s not so great at all. 

I put the pencil on the paper and I begin to outline the basic layout of my model. Myra is laying on the couch in front of me. It’s old couch too, she’s probably the best thing that has happened on that couch in years.

She posed herself in a particular way so that the contours of her curves can be accentuated. I nervously erase the first mistake I make. It’s been a very long time since I’ve drawn a nude model. I’m acting like I’ve never sketched a naked woman before, it’s really not that hard. But, this is absolutely the first time I’ve drawn a woman that I’m acquainted with. It doesn’t help that I find her to be one of the sexiest women I know.

I can feel my heart racing because I know what I’m doing is wrong. I know that I shouldn’t be doing this but an opportunity presented itself and I had to take it. It does sound selfish but in a way, it really isn’t. First of all, the artist in me will not allow me to call this whole thing off. Secondly, I try to tell myself that she’s not a hot woman that I have been attracted to for a while but rather a future portrait for a client. I take a few deep breaths so I can maintain my concentration. Nervousness will only lead to a shaky hand and that’s not good for any sketch.

But, of course, I had to open my big mouth. I’m a writer at heart and by trade. I can describe what she looks like the best way I can use words and adjectives not with this damn pencil that I’m pretending was my hand going down those beautiful thick brown legs of hers. The thing is, I used to draw fairly regularly. I was one of those kids that would be so annoyingly good at drawing anything that I felt I didn’t need those pretentious art classes. I could freehand any comic book cover I see. I could draw anything or anyone if they were standing in front of me. My only weakness was I could never draw anything as I good as I wanted to from memory. My measurements were always wrong, at least that was what I was told.

At the end of the day it wasn’t big deal to me because no matter how good I was at drawing, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t love it like other people love it and that’s probably why I didn’t take it as seriously. I felt much more at ease using words to describe anything. I can perfectly describe how beautiful Myra is. She’s like a brown-skinned Athena from Themyscira that Wonder Woman would never talk about. Myra is the reason some would believe that God exists. When scientists talk about how we’re all made from stardust, they had Myra in mind.

I need to focus.

I have the basic shell of her body that fits perfectly on my old couch that should seat three people comfortably. Her black curly hair may be a problem for me. Myra chooses to wear it natural which makes her even more attractive but if I don’t shade it correctly this whole drawing would look like a caricature. But, alas, her big brown eyes look past me. She stares off into space truly hoping that I’m capturing this moment and indeed I am catching this very moment of her looking past me. I will consider that to be my fault. I may be good with writing words but actually speaking them to women is another thing entirely.

I met Myra first but I lacked the basic courage to kick it to her. We ended up being a little less than friends but more than just passing acquaintances. Of course, when Jules met her it was all downhill from there. I was always happy for them but mad at myself. Jules is a decent guy and when they first got together, all they did was fuck. Yes, I know that is normal because if it were me, I would hope that she would break me every damn day.

Another mistake. I may need a better eraser.

I get up and she asks, “Everything OK?”

“Sure, I just have to get another eraser,” I answer. She shrugs her bare shoulders as I walk to the desk and open the drawer. Jules is the real artist in all this. He’s one half of the team behind the independent Black comic book, The Insiders. We met at the NY Comic Con years ago and Jules and I became fast friends. Through the years we created our own comic book universe that has a plethora of characters. The excitement for this project is palpable because we’re building something important. In our universe, there are no meaningless black characters created for the sole purpose of being sidekicks. Together we’ve molded superheroes that matter; superheroes that look like us. There is a true meaning behind every page and we’re ready to take the industry by storm.

Jules has tons of different art supplies in this desk that it’s hard to keep track of all of it. But, at least I know where the erasers are. He stores most of his art supplies in my apartment since it has become our default workspace. It’s just easier this way since both of our day jobs make it hard to be the creators we are. We need a place to work and bounce our ideas off of each other. I pick one a small eraser and close the drawer. Before I walk away from the desk, my eyes focus on one of the sketches he was working on from issue #3. One thing about working with friends is, at times, it’s hard to come to a real agreement on the philosophy of a particular story. I really don’t think that the splash on page 11 is necessary but clearly, he’s working on it anyway.

I walk back to my chair and I smile at Myra before I sit down. I grab my pad and I keep going. My eyes scan slowly scan her from left to right. She’s laying on her right side with her right arm holding up her head and her left arm resting on her hip. Her breasts are a perfect size. They don’t sag at all and her tummy is a result of a lot of gym work. No visible stretch marks and no tattoos. This makes this sketch easier than what I originally anticipated.

I draw carefully. My pencil tries to mimic everything that my eyes absorb. I cannot believe that Julius’ wife is laying on this couch modeling for me. She wants this to be a present for him on their upcoming anniversary. Has it been two years already? It must be. That’s was around the time we decided to build this whole comic book company together. He’s the artist and I’m the writer. Now, look at me, doing a sketch that I may be getting more pleasure from than she is. Granted, this probably a bad idea, but how can I deny her this. I tried to convince her that perhaps it would be a better idea to dress up as a sexy gender bender of Grand Admiral Thrawn and I would make sure to get the colors right. She denied that, but I can, at least, convince myself that I tried to get her to wear the most clothes as possible.

I scan her navel trying to make sure that I can get the correct dimensions and diameter of the belly button ring. It looks like a small little pendant that sparkles from the light coming from the ceiling fan above. I scan further past her navel toward her vagina. Her legs are slightly crossed with her left leg slightly bent downward covering her right. It casts a shadow from the light.

My pencil breaks. Shit, was I pressing down that hard? She chuckles, “Having trouble?”

“Not at all,” I reply as I grab the extra pencil next to me. I want to try to be as emotionless as possible. Mentally I’m shaking my head. How did you get into this Zander? I will tell you how; I was cocky. I thought that I could talk enough shit in hopes to just flirt a little and now... my partner’s wife is my living room, nude.

Did I mention I was a brilliant asshole and not in a good way?

I remember staying over their townhouse in Brooklyn one night and while I have wondered what is that she does that allows her to own such a place, that was the night I got a glance of how skillful she was.

It was a late night of partying and they offered me a room to crash. I was so drunk that night that I just passed out as soon as I hit the bed. It must of been an hour or two later when I really had to use the bathroom. I got up and there was a long hallway that I had to navigate despite my lightheadedness. As I begin to walk down the general direction of what I thought was the bathroom, I hear noises. I slowly passed the room where it coming from and that is when I catch a glimpse of her reverse cowgirl riding Jules in a way that made me realize that twerking needs to a sport. I tried not to voyeur too long and thank God I had to piss, but all I remember was my heart beating so much that I felt it in my dick.

I need to continue on her legs and feet. I really do hate drawing feet. I can never get the right angle. I need to take my time and make sure the curvatures are correct. Shadowing will also be a problem. The lighting is pretty decent in here but I will need to at least need to define her curves with some type of shadow.

I can’t even imagine actually inking this. The good thing is that I can scan this into the computer and work on all the coloring there. I assume she wants it colored. Actually, I never asked. “Did you want this sketch in color?” I do my best to look at her eyes when I converse with her.

“Hm, You know, I think that would be a nice touch. Sure, if you can do it. But I will take one in black and white, just in case,” Myra chuckles a bit. I think she knows that coloring may be a tad difficult for me. Not only do I have to make sure that I color inside the lines, but how do I get her exact skin tone?

Then it hits me. I put the pencil down and I look at her. “So, I have an idea and it’s totally ok if you’re not willing to do it.”

“What would that be?”

I’m nervous to even suggest it. “You know what? Never mind. It’s a dumb idea. I don’t even know why I would even think of such a thing.”

“Just tell me.”

I take a deep breath, “Ok so, I want to get the shade of color just right and once I scan this in into the laptop I will need to..”

Myra laughs, “Zander, just spit it out.”

“I need to take a picture of you so that I can match your skin tone with the RGB color code.” I look down at my unfinished sketch as soon as I said it.

“You sly little devil!” Myra sits up and looks at me with a surprised look on her face as if she caught me red handed.

“What do you mean?” I ask

“Why the fuck you lyin?” She asks in a sing-songy manner. “You just want a nude picture of me!” I honestly can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, but she’s absolutely telling the truth. See how much of a brilliant bastard I am? This is how I get myself into trouble and once again I feel my heart coming through my dick.

“I mean, I would delete it as soon as I got the color correct.” Which is a lie.

“I don’t know about that. In all honesty, you can just take pictures of me with my clothes on and then screen-grab the color.” She was totally right about that. I hadn’t thought about it. Then she continues, “The reason why I am asking you to do this sketch is because I do trust you. That is why I never said anything to Jules when I saw you peeping into our room that night.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask nervously. I was never sure if she actually saw me and I assumed that since no one said anything that perhaps we were all just drunk. Of course, I cannot forget that after I went to the bathroom I returned to continue my voyeurism. Shit.  

Myra gives me a smirk, “Please, do not insult my intelligence. I know you’ve seen me naked before and I am quite comfortable with my body. So I will save you more embarrassment by saying that I do want this drawing to come out correctly. So I will allow you to take a picture but I want you to delete the picture in front of me.”

I pull out my iPhone from my pocket and ask her to return to her original pose. Myra is right about this but I don’t care right now. Even if I delete all the photos from my device and the cloud, I will still have her body burned into my brain. If not, there is always the original copy of this sketch… for portfolio purposes of course. I take a few pictures with and without the flash.

Myra smiles and asks, “How many photos do you plan on taking?” I want to explain lighting and such but then she cuts me off, “I hope you have enough space on the cloud for all of these.”

I freeze, “Um…”

“I am not stupid, Zander. I fully expect you to find a way to try to keep pictures of me. Just know that…”

Bang. Bang.

We both look up. There’s a knock on the door. I look at Myra as she gets up quickly and covers herself with a robe I gave her.

“Who is it?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s Jules. Dude, let me in. We need to talk…about everything.”

Shit. I put my face in my palm. This could be four years and three issues down the drain.

[hurtsy-fiction]

From the life of a tattoo artist

Benjamin David Foster was a tattoo artist for many years now. He had always been passionate about this form of creative outlet and at the young age of sixteen, he had started with his first tattoos. 

Of course, he had first of all tried it out on himself and luckily on places which weren’t visible in his normal everyday life because oh boy did they look crappy. Later, as he had gotten better at it, he had also tried it on some friends of his’, who back then thought it was just the coolest thing. Admittedly, when he saw those tattoos, of which he had been pretty proud at the beginning of his tattoo career, now, it made him flinch. 

But everyone starts from scratch, right? And to get better at what you do and love, you have to keep trying and trying. Sure, there will be lows and it wasn’t any different for Benjamin. He as well had had his times where he thought he’d quit. Difficult times where he had barely any money. But the passion for tattooing kept him going and look where he’s now. He’s got his own studio and people are so hooked by his style of tattooing, that he’s booked up for months in advance.  

Anyway, today he had a quite popular customer. Theo from the band Hurts. He wanted a bluebird on his ribcage and said he’d bring his friend and bandmate Adam with him, as emotional support.

Ben had put up his headphones, played his favourite music on full volume and started drawing some drafts. He had to admit that he had to look up bluebirds on google for that, as he had never actually heard of their existence in the first place. But oh, if only bluebirds were the weirdest thing he got asked to tattoo.

 Anyway, after some slight difficulties in the first attempt, he soon had finished some sketches he was happy with. As he looked up onto the clock, he saw that it was 10:27 am already. So he had just enough time to accredit himself a nice cup of coffee before his appointment at 11 am.

+++

The two men punctually arrived at the tattoo studio and Ben was nicely surprised. He had had some famous customers before and some had a quite diva like behaviour and were late without even apologizing. As if he wanted something from them and not the other way round. 

Anyway, this Theo and his friend seemed sympathetically to him already. Even though Theo did look a bit nervous, but who could blame him. After all he was about to be tattooed on one of the most painful spots one could even pick.

However, the man had shown his customer his sketches and the singer had quickly decided for the draft of the bluebird with his wings sprawled out. Pleased with this decision, as Ben liked this one the most as well, he prepared a stencil with the favoured motive while the two men already went into the tattoo room.

A few minutes later, he joined them and shaved the man’s fine hair from the chosen spot on his ribcage, before he applied the stencil. After the singer had checked and approved the position in front of the mirror, he took place on the comfy looking seat and Benjamin got a pair of disposable gloves and his needles ready.  

+++ two hours later +++

“Want me to hold your hand?”, Adam asked his mate, more jokingly than actually being serious, but in the next moment Theo had already grabbed one of his hands and held on to it tightly.

“Oh fucking hell.”, the man groaned and tried to breathe evenly, despite the pain.

Noticing his customer’s agony, Ben stopped tattooing and turned off the tattoo machine. He had already applied some numbing gel onto the reddened spot on the man’s body but the effect hadn’t really lasted long.

“You know, if it’s that unbearable for you, maybe we should just call it a day and set another appointment for next week?”, he suggested.

“To be honest, I’m surprised you could even take it that long as your tattoo is quite big and I’ve had people collapse at way smaller ones. The ribcage is an unbelievably painful spot to tattoo.”, Ben added.

“No!”, his customer quickly gave back.

“No.”, Theo repeated himself. “It has to get finished today. I won’t be in town anymore next week. We’ll head to Germany tomorrow.”, the singer replied through clenched teeth.

“Alright then. Just a few more minutes. I’ll try to make this as fast as possible.”, Benjamin replied and activated his machine again.

Honestly, he knew it weren’t just “a few more minutes” and the singer probably knew that as well but if he’d just say that often enough, they’d be done eventually.

Ben saw the pained expression on the man’s face as he set the sharp tip of the angrily humming machine to his skin again.

+++ 20 minutes later +++

“Oh my goooooood”, Theo groaned in pain and tormented his poor friend’s hand, which by now surely had no proper blood circulation anymore.

“Adam, please distract me.”, he mumbled through gritted teeth, his forehead sweaty and eyes tightly shut.

“What? How? What am I supposed to do?”, Adam gave back, having no idea how to help his mate and seeming totally overstrained with the current situation.

“I don’t know... Tell me something. Anything. A joke, what you had for breakfast- Fuck, I really don’t care just please do something!”, the singer almost sobbed.

The man was already shivering all over, the skin in the area of the tattoo heavily reddened. Ben quickly glanced at the singer’s friend and saw the despair in his face. He seemed helpless looking at his pained mate. Of course he wanted to help the other but what on earth was he supposed to do? Would a detailed description of scrambled eggs with bacon be enough to distract the singer from the pain? Very doubtable.

Suddenly Ben held his breath, as he saw how Adam leaned down and kissed his pained friend on the mouth. Quickly but gently. At that unforeseen action, he stopped his machine and noticed how Theo froze in an instant. His band mate’s face turned a bright shade of red as he hastily pulled back again, his free hand quickly coming up to cover his mouth and eyes wide open. He seemed quite horrified at his own action. 

However, said man’s anguished friend still did not move. Seemed like the rather unusual form of distraction really did help.

After Ben had shaken himself out of it and had finally set the needle to his customer’s skin again, he didn’t hear any curse or complaint or actually any other sound come out of the singer’s mouth. He almost seemed paralysed, his face seeming peaceful, the agony gone. Luckily, he was still breathing though and thus, the tattoo artist quickly took advantage of it and continued to finish his work. 

As he was almost done, he noticed the singer blink a bit irritated. Seemed like he was back to earth again.

“Thanks”, the man eventually uttered after what felt like an eternity, his face slightly flushed.

“Don’t mention it.”, Adam croaked, his voice a bit higher than usual and blushed heavily, avoiding to look at his mate.

By the way the man had said this, Ben thought to himself that what he actually meant was “Never, under no circumstances ever, bring up this incident.”

“I’ll uhh... I’ll just wait outside.”, the older man uttered and let go of Theo’s hand, which now had loosened it’s tight grip on his own.

+++

As the singer and his band mate had left the shop, Ben’s thoughts still lingered on them for a moment. He briefly wondered if the two actually were a couple but quickly dismissed this assumption again because they hadn’t seemed like that. Despite the kiss. 

There certainly was a great chemistry between them though, Benjamin could tell that, even after only briefly getting to know them. After all, you don’t take anyone to the tattoo studio with you. At least not when you’re sober and clear thinking. It had to be someone special, someone who’d most likely see you in pain and very vulnerable.

He also had to admit that, just visually speaking, they’d make a nice couple, actually. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever talk about what had happened today or just remain silent about it. Maybe they’d even- Wait. God fucking damn it, he really needed to stop. Was he seriously starting to ship his customers? Bloody hell, he had definitely read too much Johnlock fiction the night before.

Benjamin quickly shook himself out of it and focused onto the artwork he was preparing for his next customer. The guy wanted a rotting looking zombie on his back. That’d hopefully distract him for a while.