#and then the line art itself was a warm gray and then I did a clip

[wigglebox]

Testing

[bunnakit]

Hello! I saw that you were open to Seongjoong prompts! Well, instead of sleeping beauty, how about sleeping Joongie? Hope you have fun with this prompt! :D

GOD OP I'M SO STUPID i didn't reread this ask before starting to write this so i didn't realize it specifically said SLEEPING JOONGIE and by the time i realized i was already 1.5k words in so.... it's not finished and it's WRONG but i screwed up so spectacularly i figured i should post SOMETHING since i don't have the spirit to start over. sorry for making you wait so long for this lakjglai4slt i hope you enjoy it anyway

—

Strictland hadn’t always been so befitting of its name.

Once upon a time, the country had been a thriving metropolis filled with color, sprawling architecture, windows and displays glittering in the sunlight, plants dotting every street and planters lining every odd window. The people had been thriving and happy beneath the rule of a long lineage of Parks, the bloodline having given the people some of the kindest and benevolent rulers throughout the ages.

All things changed with time but no one could have predicted the way the city would fade away into tones of gray. It had only taken a few words whispered to the King and Queen; a hissed warning and promise of impending death to their newly born heir. The omen had been vague, insinuating that art and creativity would lead to the death of their beloved Seonghwa, which ultimately led to a culling of all forms of art across the country. Total control fell over the populace - control of nutrition, sunlight, even their very reflections. Where the royal family had once been a warm embrace they now held a vice grip around the throat of their own citizens. 

And it all ended up being for naught. 

Seonghwa was a free spirit in spite of all the restrictions in place since his very birth - or perhaps because of it. Rebellion shone in his eyes and ran through his blood, sparking defiance against each and every restriction. To those among the resistance - those that continued to paint murals across abandoned storefronts, performed in the dead of night beneath neon lights in abandoned pools, sang with all their heart and soul to a small and secluded crowd - it was no secret that Mars, one of the greatest graffiti artists of their time, was the very prince the laws had been erected to protect. 

The legacy of Mars had slowly crept across the country, though no one had actually met the artist in person. His works had started small, just single subject outlines done quickly in passing with the smallest signature in the form of a rudimentary star. With time they had developed into beautiful murals often depicting the freedom that was just out of their reach. His paintings were often illusions of broken down walls revealing various landscapes, all sporting brilliant colors and long forgotten scenery. His signature evolved with the paintings, the star more sophisticated and eventually crowned with the very circlet seen on the Prince during the few and far between public appearances.

Perhaps Seonghwa would have been afraid of the wrath of the King and Queen if they had shown even an inkling of the parents they used to be. The rulers had fallen victim to their own poison, losing all sense of self as well as any motivation to care about anything. As their grip on reality loosened, as they turned a blind eye to Seonghwa’s deviancy, a new figure stepped up in their place. Z, the self-proclaimed oracle that had predicted Seonghwa’s demise, had easily slipped into the role of royal advisor, all but wresting control of the country from the King and Queen’s lax palms. 

The majority of the rebellion, deemed the Black Pirates, didn’t know if the accident had truly been a prophecy fulfilling itself or perhaps something far more sinister and manufactured to instill fear. What they did know was that Mars had disappeared, all traces of his work scrubbed from every wall, billboard, or street, and none appeared to replace them. Months passed into a year and finally the Pirates grew restless. 

Seonghwa was not the only noble to lift his head in defiance and rage against the oppression forced upon them. Wooyoung and San, two heirs of nobility themselves as well as childhood companions to Seonghwa, had joined the movement early on in their childhood. The decision had forced them to distance themselves from their friend for all their safety, but they’d kept a close eye on him throughout the years. They were only just able to keep their panic at bay, knowing it would do them no good in helping their wayward friend. 

—

“Hongjoong, we don’t even know where he might be or what might have happened to him.” Jongho sighed from where he sat on a threadbare couch in the center of a long abandoned warehouse. A group of seven was nestled within the confines of rusted walls, the inside a stark contrast to the shell. It was a monument to art and comfort - a home. 

A figure of average height paced in front of a weathered coffee table, split-dyed hair disheveled as if he’d been running his hands through it or perhaps even tugging in frustration. His eyes were locked on a chaotic pile of newspapers spread across the table, all emotionless stories describing the accident that had befallen the Prince. Of course it had been pinned on the rebellion, the Prince’s fall from the rooftop labeled a message sent by the Black Pirates. 

“We know Z had something to do with this, it’s not a stretch to think he’s hidden him away somewhere. The question is where?” Hongjoong growled behind bared teeth, only just suppressing the desire to kick the table over to hide every mocking headline. 

“The only guess we have is either the palace or the bunker, but I don’t know if even Z is fucked up enough to keep a prince in a maximum security prison, especially while he’s injured.” Wooyoung shrugged, nestled on the floor between San’s legs, back pressed to the chair holding the latter. Hongjoong could only roll his eyes at the almost-purr Wooyoung let out as San ran his fingers through his hair. 

“But what if he was worried about some of the staff in the palace still being loyal to the royal family? There has to be a few left that would want to get Seonghwa out of there.” Yunho sat atop the back of the couch, legs squeezed behind Mingi’s back. 

“That’s actually a good point. When we were kids the staff loved Seonghwa, especially the cooks.” San said, fingers still threaded within Woo’s hair, fingertips massaging at his scalp. 

“Yeosang, are your drones able to reach the bunker from here?” Hongjoong gestured to the shelf where a kaleidoscope of butterflies surrounded a single mechanical blue bird, each in a dormant state resembling sleep. 

The tinkerer turned in his office chair, his back straightening with an audible pop as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the lighting of the room rather than the bright table lamp he’d been using to illuminate the workbench behind him. 

“They’ll lose signal about a few kilometers before the bunker, we’ll need to find a way to get closer.” Hongjoong always appreciated the rare moments where Yeosang was actually listening as his responses were typically very clear and concise. 

Hongjoong sighed and nodded his understanding before instructing both Wooyoung and Yeosang to join him in the garage in ten minutes. He slipped from the communal space and into a room he’d turned into his own, shoving a few things into a backpack for the preliminary journey. The sooner they figured out the finer details of the plan the sooner they could move on to rescuing the wayward prince. 

He’d never met Mars, not directly, but you’d be hard pressed to find anyone among the rebellion that hadn’t felt moved by his murals in some way or another. His disappearance had been a huge hit to morale among freedom fighters across the country, no doubt exactly what Z had intended. Mars was seen as a last beacon of hope, someone with the power to make a difference and bring light and life back to a world covered in darkness, so regardless of Hongjoong’s feelings towards him (or lack thereof) he poured his all into getting the plan in motion as quickly as possible. They couldn’t afford to lose any more of their already dwindling members. 

The trio gathered by a rusted, nondescript gray van, Hongjoong frowning as Wooyoung jogged forward three minutes late. 

“What exactly are we doing,” he sighed, arms across his chest. “And why can’t San come?” 

“Because I don’t need you getting distracted. We’re going to see how far we can stay from the bunker and still maintain a stable signal. You and San are the only ones that grew up in that part of town so we need you to navigate us, preferably to the most secluded areas.” Hongjoong explained as he tossed his backpack into the back of the van, waiting for Yeosang to climb in back and gently set his own bag down, before closing the doors with a horrible screech. 

“Couldn’t we wait until tomorrow to do this?” Wooyoung whined and Hongjoong barely suppressed the urge to kick him before climbing into the passenger’s side. He very rarely put Wooyoung behind the wheel but in this case it made the most sense and would free him up to take in all the little details of their location and any potential threats. 

“No. The longer we wait the more bullshit Z feeds the press about us and the more fighters we lose. You saw Eden’s last report, things aren’t looking good for us. We need to get the prince back and on our side now.” 

[untaemedqueen]

At Your Service

Escort!Jeongguk x CEO!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 11.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut, Dark Humor

"Did you pack enough stuff in your bag?" Jeongguk inquires, tilting his head to look at you as he drives your car towards his apartment.

"Yes," you reply with a laugh.

"Enough stuff to last a lifetime?" he jeers with a soft smile.

You packed enough clothes for multiple days even if your brain was screaming at you to be reasonable but with Guk you can't really help it.

He was so excited to take you home with him that you didn't even feel human, you felt as if you were a beautiful piece of art or the sweetest pet known to man. So when he finally got you in the car to go stay with him at his apartment, you too felt overjoyed.

"Taehyung and Jimin are gonna come over later, I promised to cook them dinner," the escort announces, pulling up to his block.

You've heard so much about his two friends while laying beside one another that it almost makes you feel nervous about meeting them. Which is a feeling you're certainly not used to.

"What if they don't like me?" you find yourself asking as he parks the car.

When he shuts off the engine, he tilts his head towards you, eyebrow cocked with a disbelieving expression. "Why would they not like you? You're incredible, baby."

The compliment sends your stomach coiling and your mind reeling instantaneously. But you're pulled back to reality when his soft, warm hand coasts over your cheek sweetly.

"Well my personality isn't for everyone and what if--"

"Baby," Jeongguk cuts you off sweetly, leaning in just the smallest bit closer, "your personality is astounding. Jimin and Tae can be idiots but they would never treat you wrongly. They know how much this means to me, how much you mean to me. They're going to love you."

You've always been under the impression that the sudden romantic relationship you've entered has had a profound impact on the handsome escort but it's never really sunk in until now.

You mean something to this man.

Strangely, it doesn't put you off of him for a second. You want to get to know him more, you want more of these talks and more of these feelings.

You're for once willing to open up to someone and let them in.

Fuck being scared and cold, you're personality is basically rewriting itself with every earnest word he speaks and you're in love with that notion.

"Ready?" Guk asks, grabbing your bag from the backseat and pulling it over the middle console.

"Yes," you reply sweetly.

You're ready for pretty much anything now, Jeongguk is absolutely worth it.

The apartment building the escort lives in is simple but you find it apt for him and his personality. The hallways are lined with cream wallpaper that have tiny lines decorating them vertically that somehow makes it feel homey and comfortable. The sconces on the walls are simple pewter and the light they give off is just the slightest bit yellow which compliments the wallpaper and the dark gray carpet underfoot.

The escort looks in his element here, slinging your expensive bag over his shoulder he glides down the hallway with confidence. To see someone in their own home is usually the most eye opening thing, you can see their comfort level, what they like, how they act in a place of their own.

For you, your mansion was never really home so you aren't sure what people can see about you when you're inside of it.

Guk whistles a sweet tune that carries through the stagnant air as he rounds the corner of the hall and he slings his arm over your shoulders with a smirk. "4D, this is us."

Us.

You aren't sure if he plans out the things that he's going to say or if he really is just the sweetest, smoothest person of all time.

"Brace yourself," he whispers happily.

Your body goes almost rigid on his command, hearing nail scratches behind the front door of his apartment.

"He's a big dude," the escort whispers, putting the key in the lock.

"Hawking, step back," Jeongguk calls through the door with a laugh.

When he cracks the door open, you can see the huge door excitedly wagging his tail, hoping to welcome his owner home.

"We have a guest!" Guk cheers, stepping inside the apartment and waiting for you with a smile.

When you step inside the large black great dane is up to your waist and he's not paying a lick of attention to you as he runs around his owner happily greeting him home.

When the escort laughs vibrantly, crouching down to accept the love, your heart flutters sweetly inside of your chest. He looks up at you with his soft doe eyes and you immediately feel warmth spreading through your limbs like a drug.

"Look! Isn't daddy's girlfriend so pretty?" Guk coos, standing up tall.

Your skin raises goosebumps at the simple word and you're taken aback by how naturally it rolls off his tongue.

"Hi Hawking," you whisper, petting the top off his head.

"You are my girlfriend, right? I'd hate to lie to man's best friend," the escort quips, setting down your bag on the couch.

Hawking licks your hand sweetly and you want to just sit down beside him and hold him for days, he looks up at you so sweetly that it makes you feel like mush.

When you have a chance to look around the apartment you notice how completely clean it is. There's not a piece of dust or a crumb anywhere in sight. Not to mention how bright and open it is with all the windows around.

The escort has comfortable furniture and the house feels more lived in, something you would never feel in the dark mansion you own.

"Sit down," your boyfriend insists, throwing himself down on the couch.

He opens his arms, narrowing his eyes at Hawking who tries to jump on the couch before you.

You can tell that you're moving awkwardly already, especially when your muscles strain awkwardly to sit down.

The escort can tell almost immediately how uncomfortable you are and he tries to help by running a soothing hand over your exposed thigh.

"What do you want me to make for dinner?" he inquires, brushing some hair back behind your ear.

The question distracts you and suddenly you're too concerned with your thoughts that you sag comfortably against him and the couch.

"I can just order something for all of us," you suggest, looking over at him.

He shakes his head, groaning loudly when his large dog jumps on the couch and lays their weight on him.

"You're not a Yorkie, buddy. Jesus!" he wheezes, petting Hawking as he lays his head over your lap.

"He's really cute," you whisper, smiling down at him.

"The guys like it," Guk announces, stretching his legs out and putting them atop his coffee table.

Raising an eyebrow, you tilt your head to look at him in confusion.

"Jimin and Taehyung," he clarifies, kissing your cheek, "they like my cooking."

"I didn't know you cook," you reply, allowing him to pull you closer.

"I love cooking. Hopefully you'll enjoy it too. I'll even make you dessert," the escort whispers, winking.

"What kind?" you inquire innocently, looking around the living room.

"Somethin' real tasty," he answers, slapping your inner thigh just hard enough to produce a sting that makes you suck a shallow breath between your teeth.

"How does Coq au Vin sound?" your boyfriend asks, combing his fingers through his hair.

"If you can make that, sure," you whisper, running your hand over Hawking's head when he begins to doze off on your lap.

"Oh, baby, I can make anything," he promises, sliding his dog off his lap to get up.

Being in this apartment with this man makes you really feel like this is something that you can get used to.

You can already feel yourself opening up, you want to experience these things again even if you fight it every step of the way.

Jeongguk is not Jasper.

He's not out to hurt you.

You keep reminding yourself over and over again but it isn't as easy as just berating yourself for being so closed off.

The apartment smells simply divine, the aroma of red wine and perfectly cooked vegetables permeate the air wonderfully.

Jeongguk truly is amazing at everything.

The gentle pop music that echoes throughout the apartment and the sight of your handsome man cooking dinner has allowed you to relax to the fullest extent possible.

Currently, you're lying long ways on the large black couch with Hawking beside you. For such a big dog he truly is incredibly gentle.

The escort moves with such grace around his kitchen. Even though it's small and cozy, he makes it seem like he's in a restaurant.

Jeongguk hums melodically to the current song that plays, bringing a spoon coated in the stew liquid to his mouth.

You watch with rapt fascination as he enters the spoon past his lips and he nods to himself before grabbing the pepper and eyeballing more into the pot.

Hawking licks at your elbow for attention and you realize you've stopped paying attention to anything else. You're enraptured with the shirtless man making you dinner in his apartment.

You give a kind smile to the dog, going back to mindlessly petting him.

When Jeongguk claps, you tilt your head to watch his arm muscles flex and contort with the movement.

After putting the pot in the oven, he turns his head to look at you only to realize you've been staring for quite some time. He smiles widely at the sight of your innocent eyes and he winks at you fof good measure.

"What do you think?" he asks, holding up two different bottles of red wine.

"The Marquise is good for deep dishes like this one," you reply, pointing to the left bottle.

"Perfect," he smiles, setting down the left one and grabbing the wine opener for the right one.

This is so domestic.

You would never think that this is something you would be doing on a random Thursday.

Your boyfriend brings over a glass for you, filled perfectly to the curve of the glass.

"My dad used to be a line cook so I know some stuff about cheffing it up," Guk says, handing you the glass.

"It smells amazing!" you reply earnestly.

He lifts your ankles, sitting down at the end of the couch and narrowing his eyes playfully at his dog who simply lays his head on your breast lazily.

"You can change and get comfy y'know, you look too good in that expensive dress to be sitting on a couch covered in dog hair," your boyfriend offers, running his fingers thoughtlessly over your calf.

"I wanna make a good first impression," you avow, taking a sip of the wine.

It's the truth, really. Jimin and Taehyung are probably incredibly protective of him. They helped him through everything with Chloe, it's only right that they have their reservations about you.

Hell, you even have reservations about you.

"Just be yourself and they're going to love you," Guk promises, angling himself closer to you.

You set the wine down on the coffee table, letting the pop you don't normally listen to wrap you in a comforting blanket of melodic tones.

"Y'know," your boyfriend breathes, smirking wickedly at you, "I can always get you naked and make you change."

You laugh softly, adoring how his mocha orbs become lustfully playful at the drop of a hat.

"Oh really?" you counter, knowing full well that Hawking is so large that there wouldn't be any way to do anything sexual.

"Mhm," he cajoles, clicking his teeth sharply, "Hawk, get down, bud."

The dog heeds his owners words, jumping off and over the arm of the couch easily.

Okay.

An oversight on your part.

"Uh," you breathe, looking at the door.

The escort slides between your thighs and he notches an eyebrow at your flustered expression. "They don't have a key."

He kisses up what is exposed on your thighs and you can simply only squirm lustfully under his touch.

"Lemme give you your dessert before dinner," he mumbles against your skin.

Your fingers card through his long black locks and right when you reach the apex of your thighs, the door's lock begins to open.

Guk is so flustered by the loud noise that he recoils so fast from you he almost pulls a muscle in his neck.

"Oh honey, we're home!" Jimin yells, thrusting the door open.

You look up wide eyed, slowly closing your knees and the older man immediately knows he's intruded upon something.

"What're you crazy kids doin'?" he guffaws, clearly not bothered by the flustered sight of you both.

"Where did you get a key?!" Jeongguk gasps, tossing the throw blanket on the top of the couch over your legs.

Taehyung steps inside politely, nodding his salutations to you.

"You should really keep track of your belongings, Gukkie. I took your spare when we were here last time! You should be grateful. What if you end up choking one day and I'm the only one that can save you," Jimin replies happily, pouring himself a glass of wine.

"Seems like he was about to be choking on something else," Taehyung muses with a smirk, giving you a once over.

"This is Taehyung and Jimin," your boyfriend whispers softly, extending a hand from one to the other.

Oh.

This evening is going to be interesting.

<----- Last Chapter                                            Next Chapter ------>

[deada55]

The Clicking of the Chain (The Silence of the Lambs Parody) (#1 of 2)

for kloktober day 11: horror movie crossover

It's a parody, not a crossover, and I used a lot of the original script for this sequence to make sure it 'accomplishes' similar things for the main plot. I've always wanted to do this sort of thing... I like doing kloktober pieces that are for me more than the audience, but I hope you enjoy this retelling of one of the most quoted scenes in The Silence of the Lambs featuring Charles Offdensen and Magnus Hammersmith.

tws: body fluids, sexual harassment

At the bottom of the stairs was a left turn into a dingy cream-colored space kin to a car rental window at a crusty regional airport. A bulletin board held seven year-old thank you cards and a sign-in sheet for personal visitors. From a slim staff door came a short man in his sixties in an Orioles ball cap and white coveralls and an extended hand.

“Hi, I’m Mashed Potato Johnson. He told you, don’t get near the bars?” Damien Cornickleson’s footsteps were still volleying down the stairwell.

“Charles Offdensen.” He took the handshake with a bit of a dip. ”Yes, he did.”

“Okay. Past the others, he’s in the last cell. Stay to the middle, now. I put out a chair for you.” He pointed through the door to the gray wall of the corridor, where there was a security camera mounted to the wall. “I’m watching. You’ll do fine.”

His even steps echoed down the dim corridor, lined on one side with cameras and the other with iron bars holding back men of all sorts of shapes and sizes and muttering. Right before he’d reached the end of the hall, a green, black, and white blur threw itself against the bars, bearing wet, darkly streaked, yellow teeth. The white cast on his face rubbed off on the iron, and his crudely-colored green mane of matted frizz was trapped in his grip on the lock. 

“Cocaine!”

Charles flinched hard enough to set his glasses off-kilter, but he only stalled on a single step before he was standing squarely in front of Magnus Hammersmith behind bars.

His cell was kept more lit, and had the addition of nylon netting on the exterior side of the bars. The inside of Magnus’ cell was covered in swaths of butcher paper decorated with black and white modern art patterns of various scales, with or without interlocking phantograms of all manners of polygons. 

Charles cleared his throat and lowered the briefcase in his hands. “Mr. Hammersmith, my name is Charles Offdensen. May I speak with you?”

Magnus looked up from his magazine, eyes shining behind the tight waves of his hair. His ankles stretched at least a foot past the hem of his hospital pajamas and his skin, historically photographed to be a warm medium tone, was bleached and dusty from the windowless basement floor. Despite the menacing angles of his face, his voice was indignant, not commanding.

“And good morning to you, too,” he sneered, then went back to his reading.

Charles took another step forward.

“Magnus, we’re having a hard time with a case, and we believe you might have some guiding information. Do you mind answering a short questionnaire?”

“ ‘We’ being the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico… But what’s a suit like you doing there? Huh? Fraud investigation wasn’t the thrill you expected?” He chuckled at his own joke and tossed the magazine on the floor with a resonant slap. “You’re one of Roy Cornickleson’s, I expect.”

“I am, yes.”

“Show me.”

Charles whipped his wallet out of his pocket and opened it to his IDs, holding them out in front of them.

“Closer, Charles. I have two eyes, but only one of them works.”

Charles clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t make a face and inched closer each time, but didn’t dare lean.

“Expires in a week. You’re not real FBI yet, are you?”

“I’m still in training at the Academy.” Charles pushed his glasses back up to his nose and squared his feet.

“Old Roy’s showing me off to a trainee? Well-”

“We’re talking about investigation, Magnus. You can decide for yourself if I’m qualified.”

“Smart, Officer Offdensen. Sit down.”

The rusted hinges of the chair bent when he sat down. If he were any heavier, he’d have been tipped into the floor. Magnus mirrored him and sat back down on his cot.

“Now, what did Rockzo say to you? Don’t look stupid– Dr. Rockzo, the Rock n’ Roll Clown in the next cell. He lunged at you. What did he say?”

“He said, uh, ‘cocaine’.”

“Of course he did. He does cocaine. Or did. Whatever. But you… you don’t have that kind of money, do you? You brought your best briefcase to see me today, didn’t you?”

Charles pulled at his tie before he remembered to stop himself. “Sure.”

“It’s better than your shoes, but not great. Not the cocaine type.”

“Not now, no.” Just like that, Magnus was out of things to say, and started to bounce his leg. The movement of his subway-sized foot was comical… if he had a pair of spoons in his hand, they’d click together nicely. The nervous bouncing on such a long, flimsy frame made him look like a dancing toy.

“Did you do those drawings?”

“Yes. Do you care much for contemporary art?”

“I’m not familiar… they allow you to keep a compass?” One of the works was a system of interlocking circles, some of them chained together in links, and others that looked like they were out of a spirograph.

“No. The scratching of the pen is what I have instead of a tune. Can’t let me get a hold on wood or string, can they?”

Charles looked down as if bowing his head in church before taking out a questionnaire from his briefcase. He held his chest higher.

“Magnus, if you’d please…”

“I’ve had my fair share of shrinks and investigators, Offdensen. You’ve been courteous, you’ve established trust and complimented my art, but this segue into your little survey is a bunch of bullshit. It’s boring, it’s stupid, and that’s not going to cut it.”

“I’m asking you to look at it. Either you will or you won’t.”

Magnus snorted and stretched his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed. “Roy Cornickleson must be strapped for time hunting down the ‘Metal Masked Assassin’ if he needs help from the likes of amateurs like you. Did he send you here to ask me about him?”

“No, I-”

“How many people has he used up so far, that Assassin?”

“Five, so far.”

“Flayed?”

“Partially, but that’s an active case, and I’m not involved, s–”

“Do you know why he’s called the Metal Masked Assassin? The newspapers don’t say.”

“I’ll tell you if you look over this form.” Charles passed it into a metal hatch which opened on Magnus’ side when the door to the outside was closed. Once Magnus picked it up, Charles began…

“It, uh, started as a joke, about wearing their faces, like that one movie…”

“And you can’t remember the title.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Right.” Magnus set the questionnaire on the cot beside him. “Show me what you have to offer. Why do you think he takes their skins, Officer Offdensen?”

“Uh, well, most serial killers take a trophy, sometimes for excitement or-”

“I didn’t.”

“You ate them.”

“So it would seem.” He smirked and picked the forms back up, only to begin tearing them in a frenzy that exploded out of nowhere but the air around them. As he struggled, his grunts and the struggling, shearing sounds of ripping copy paper volleyed in the stony ward.

“You think you’re so clever, so ambitious, don’t you Chuck? You’re a fraud dressed like a bourgeois bagman. Good nutrition has given you well-fleshed features, but you’re not more than one generation from salty white trash, are you? That New England accent you prune so delicately to hide all the junkiness of Maine fishmarkets– What was your father, huh? Did you have one, or did he roll from his bed into the sea like every other frozen drunk on his lobster boat? I bet the other boys without fathers found you just fine in locker rooms, with wound, wet towels and cracked lips, while all you could think about was a less physical path of being, of being at all… and power. Powerful as the F.B.I…”

“You see a lot, but are you strong enough to look at yourself? Write it on the piece of paper.”

“And you’d love it, wouldn’t you?”

“If you weren’t a coward.”

“You think you’re tough one, aren’t you?”

“... I decline to comment.”

“Oh, but you’d hate if I thought you were anything but superior! It’d break you to little fucking pieces. Don’t worry, Charles. If you hold your head high enough, everyone will assume you’re tall someday soon.”

“And the questions?”

Magnus turned his back. Charles leaned forward in his seat and slammed the door of the meal hatch open and shut again. Magnus was up and snarling at the bars in a flash. 

“A census taker once tried to test me, Charles. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti. I hope a degree from Harvard will help you piece together that fucking around making noise in a ward of prisioners and psychos won’t give you a bigger dick! Go back to school. The boys miss you!”

He retreated from the bars to stand in front of one of his works, and Charles took his invitation to leave.

“Ooh, hoo, hoo, hoo!… Dr. Rockzo don’t feel so good. Ohh, it hurts, it’s all infected, shit all over this mess, ooh-hoo! K-k-k-lookit-”

When Charles paused at the cry, he took half a load of semen into his face from Rockzo’s hand. While he howled, Magnus bellowed, “You stupid fucking clown!” Charles fumbled in his pockets for a frayed pink tissue and tried not to let the clown’s cum anywhere closer to his eyes and mouth. Just when he’d passed Dr. Rockzo’s cell and saw the light streaming in from the room he was in before, away from the din rising up in the corridor, he heard Magnus shouting above them all.

“Officer Offdensen!”

With burning eyes and sharp features as contorted and pinched as the acid-trip Devil that leads partygoers to slit their wrists or jump out of bedroom windows, Magnus stood again at the bars of his cell. Charles hurried himself back over, although he couldn’t see further than his armspan while he carefully wiped the body fluids off the lens of his glasses. 

The veins in Magnus’ neck were thick as snakes. “Look, I didn’t want that for you. Excretions are disgusting to me, and bad manners-”

“Then do the survey for me.”

“No, but I’ll do you one better. Advancement. Go to Split City, check on an old bandmate of mine, Ravenwood. Just like you think it’s spelled. Now leave. I don’t think Dr. Rockzo could manage again so soon, even if he is crazy. Don’t wait around to see– Go!”

[isolated-inkcidents]

Ginkaisyoku by kyo -no-oto

Carrie had not expected the request to be so reasonable. Honestly, she hadn’t expected there to be a request at all. Neither had she expected to find something— much less someone— when she enrolled in an elf-identification (the pamphlet was very clear on this point; this was not “elf-spotting”) course. This course was for the show, though, so she took it seriously. If an elf was asking her to follow him, she wanted to know. And now someone was in front of her, at the end of her first practice search, asking if Carrie would just follow him back to the house. There wasn’t a house. Carrie had tried to discreetly scan the forest behind the oddly-dressed individual, but saw nothing except more forest behind him. Her teacher had warned her to watch for shimmer at the corner of her eye and thorns hidden in an otherwise warm handshake. Neither suggestion was helpful.

The fandom: Oh No Ross and Carrie Podcaster RPF The characters: Carrie Poppy The Prompt: From Drop Kick Writer’s Block

The ink: Ginkaisyoku by kyo -no-oto The colour: Grayish blue with blue shimmer Special properties: Shimmer The pen: Kaweco sport, medium nib.

I've been using this ink a month. For a shimmer ink it is smooth-writing and I didn’t have any issues with clogging, which I seem to experience a lot with shimmer inks. However, when I started the writing sprint, I noticed a lot of starting and stopping. I figure as long as you write slowly, and fairly big, it’s a better experience. It plays nice with corner doodles, which is a plus, though I’m not much for drawing generally.

The colour is this washed out blue-gray that I just love. It builds up on itself as you write with it and can shade, but it took a little bit of work to get a lot of shading out of it. The shimmer is light blue and very subtle. It was hard for me to coax it out unless I had a light like my camera flash shining right at it. When you can see it, though, it really adds a little something to it. The overall effect was a lot like sitting out in the fog.

You can see from the picture that I had a lot of trouble with consistency of the line it lays down. Great for art projects, not so much for long writing sessions. It was really, really hard to write fast with this, though given the ink’s general fanciness, I’m not super surprised. I did have a lot of fun playing with it this month, though.

[the-stray-storyteller]

Havenpoint

Warnings: Language First chap Next Chap ______________________________________________________________

Chapter 2 : Benediction Anne Gray

Valentina talked as much as Rayners did, only Brookes was ten times more annoying. Aidene had a sense of humour in her stories; she talked about mess-ups and adventures, she would add a little of her inner monologue. Even if she tended to wander off to the vaguest topic she was interesting. Valentina’s stories were complaints to my ears.

She wailed about how she was getting mud onto her white sneakers as we walked down to the cafeteria.

“They’re shoes, what did you expect?” Penelope muttered under her breath coaxing a stifled laugh out of me. 

“They were very expensive. My parents will kill me for this.” The girl whined, scraping her shoe against a rock trying her best to get the mud off. Her shoes were only the beginning. She scolded her parents for delaying her arrival. Then she talked about how she couldn’t bring all her art supplies with her. That got my interest. I tried to start a conversation, excited that I had found a person who shared my interest. She sidestepped all my questions, only promising me to show her work after dinner. After that, she proceeded to tell us about her boyfriend.

I turned my head up in frustration, staring up at the billions of stars wishing on them for a moment of peace. The night was cool and getting colder with every second. I pulled my blazer closer. Laughter and shouts echoed from the cafeteria, which was a whole other building by itself. The air inside was stuffy and hot. Students started cutting the line trying to get to the food first so they wouldn’t be left with the scraps. Penelope had long ago split away from our group joining what I assumed were her old friends. Valentina had rushed off batting her eyelashes at some boy. A startled gasp escaped my lips when an arm wrapped itself around my shoulders.

“My darlin’ Anne!” Rayners greeted me with the widest smile I had ever seen in my life, “ I have found an exquisite place to have dinner and I got someone to save the place just for us.” She didn’t wait for my consent. She grabbed me by the collar of my blazer, dragging me across to the dinner queue like a rucksack.

I piled up as much pasta as I could onto my plate, avoiding the salad. I looked over to Aidene who had barely five spoonfuls of pasta on her plate. I raised my eyebrow watching her split a veg nugget in half, taking only half of it and leaving the other half to other students. She dragged me off to an isolated table near the platform which held the teacher’s table, shooing away a boy sitting there.

“Are you trying to starve yourself to death or are you on a very serious diet?”

“Neither,” she answered, picking off pasta pieces from my plate.

“Food stolen from friends tastes much better. That and I never had much of an appetite.” 

I shifted my plate away from her reach before she could take more of my dinner. Aiden muttered something under her breath. I turned my head trying to catch what she had said. Instead of getting words I got her hand slamming my mouth close.

“Shush! There is a corpse walking in front of us.” I sent her a glare which was ignored by her just like everything else. I was about to scream at her and walk away but she grabbed my face and turned it, straining my neck.

My eyes landed on the teacher’s table which was placed on a platform, an old man had stepped to the front. Any rage boiling inside me died down.

Rayners' was fairly accurate with her description. A decrepit old man stood on a podium. A sharp three-piece suit and a walking cane gilded with copper in one hand. His skin was tinted grey and he looked like he would turn to ash if someone sneezed too hard. He tapped the mic gaining everyone’s attention. The silence it gained was shattering.

“A warm welcome to Havenpoint Academy to all the new arrivals and a welcome back to those who have returned for another year.” His welcome sounded anything but warm. His eyes looked decayed from my point of view. His voice was barely a whisper but it flowed through the hall carrying the power of a cold sea current. From the corner of my eye, I saw the students next to my table mouth the speech with exaggerated expressions. He must give this speech every year.

“For decades this prestigious centre of learning has stood in Ravenwood, welcoming the youth with open arms. I have been an employee at this school for slightly over thirty years and have watched children grow up and leave. None of them to this day have managed to have reached my expectations. I have watched a handful of brilliant students throw away their potential with disdain. I will expect the same results from all of you. However, I will preserve a bit of useless hope.” His voice had dropped in temperature along with the dining hall as he scanned the swarm of the energetic young  and future disappointments.

I wondered how this man had been working in this school for three decades, he probably didn’t get any other job. 

“Mr. Harris, Mr. Kyle and Miss Rivers I will be expecting to see you three in my office after dinner. I would like to discuss the repercussions for your juvenile and shameless behaviour.” He glared down at the table next to ours, the three students looked down at their plates not daring to make eye contact. 

Aidene leaned towards me, her lips next to my ear as she whispered. I flinched at the close distance.

“How does a man who hates children become the headmaster of a literal school? He gives me Trunchbull vibes. Imagine him dressing like her.” She snickered into my ear and I too cracked a smile at the cursed image that appeared in my head. The entertainment Aidene brought with her allowed me to ignore her annoying qualities.

“Miss Rayners,” his leaden eyes landed on her, making her freeze, “The word ‘hate’ is too strong. I am merely disappointed by them. Make note of that.” Aidene stood up on her chair making me back away from her. She brought her hand up in a salute.

“YES SIR!” She yelled it loud enough for the whole school to hear. Muffled snickers emitted from tables. I buried my face in my hands determined to be ignored. I reached out and tugged at her hand hoping she would get the message and sit down. Instead she gripped my hand tight.

For a split second, the headmaster’s expression shifted into something I did not recognize. His lips twitched and his eyes gleamed. I was suddenly glad that I was holding Aidene's hand, an odd comfort that it was.

“Miss Rayners, I would request you to step off the furniture unless you want to end up in detention before the school year even starts.” With that, he stepped off the podium and Aidene sat back down on the chair. She let my hand go with a scoff directed towards the headmaster.

Aidene started shoving what was left of her food and the bowl full of chocolate pudding into her mouth. The combination of pasta and chocolate could not have been appetising. She swallowed the food down and looked at me, brown eyes wide.

“How do you think he knew my name? Also, he never told us his name, at least I don’t remember him saying…” A loud crack silenced her. The tip of a copper gilded cane had struck against the table right beside Aidene, leaving the porcelain plates shaking. The noise had left Aidene silent and both of our backs straight and taut. Her body went unnaturally still. The principal stood behind her chair. My mouth dropped open, the man had appeared out of nowhere. 

I looked around desperately hoping for a miracle and help but everyone around us continued like nothing was happening. Something disgusting seemed to crawl over my skin.

“I know your names because I go through the applications before the students arrive,” he placed a hand on the top of her chair, tapping on it with his bony white fingers with translucent skin, “and I believe it’s bedtime for you.” His voice carried silent threats. He slid his cane off the table.

“And remember neither this school nor place will give you a benediction. It is not a blessing.” he hissed out the strange sentences. It was a warning, an odd one at an odd time. Age must be making him mad. 

A cold feeling poured through me. My mother had sent me here hoping this place would be a blessing to me. My eyes darted to the principal who was still staring at us condescendingly. He clearly had another opinion.

I looked at Aidene. Despite her pale face Aidene turned her head and gave the principal one of her trademark smiles. She got up and started to walk away, I followed not wanting to be left alone under the headmaster’s eyes. 

****

We both ended up sitting on the lawn outside the cafeteria, in the frigid cold. The cold which left me shivering but seemed to not affect Aidene.

“He sounded like a creep don’t you think? Which headmaster has the time through every single application?” She complained lying down on the grass with her hands folded below her head. I shifted uncomfortably feeling the damp grass soak my pants and prick me.

“Maybe he is very jobless or just paranoid. But yes, still very creepy.” I didn’t like the way my spine crawled when he was around. I despised how I felt like there were worms under my skin struggling to break out when he was near. 

The students started to file out of the cafeteria. A girl started heading towards us, I thought it was Valentina because of her short height but her auburn hair glinted silver in the moonlight. She was much shorter than Valentina. A shy smile on her face. The girl looked like a flower petal, fragile. How would she make it through the year with someone like Aidene as her roommate?

“Aidene!” She called out and the Rayners waved enthusiastically at her. We stood up to greet her.

“Anne, this is Natalie, my roommate. Natalie, this is Anne.” We exchanged awkward greetings after Aidene introduced us.

“Curfew is at nine, we need to go,” she motioned to Aidene to follow her. Aidene wrapped her hands around me in an uncomfortably tight hug which I did not return.

“See ya tomorrow.” She winked and walked off alongside Natalie who struggled to keep up with Aidene’s longer strides. I looked up to the haunting watchful stars, scoffing at my situation before walking back to my dorm.

[kindred-spirit-93]

oc interview session I: Hilal Khalil riordanverse

heyo its me nina! as part of my stress induced oc lore dumping, heres my meeting & interview with Hilal. all rights reserved to rick riordan only the ocs are mine. i tried lol.

･ﾟ.･ﾟ✧ .･ﾟ･ﾟ

its 9:03 and our appointment isnt for another 10 minutes ish. swirling what remains of my earl gray to see the patterns at the bottom of the cup, i look up and see someone looking at me from across the room.

we seem to have spotted each other at the same time, which quietens the sudden jolt in my stomach. i probably should have had breakfast. she makes her way over to my table and the temperature drops slightly. i definately shouldve had breakfast that wasnt coffee.

"good morning! sorry im a little early today."

"oh! no not at all! please have a seat and help yourself." i was a bit thrown off by the warmth and depth of her voice, which seemed to be at odds with the coolness of her eyes. that or the lack of sleep was starting to get to me.

she smiled but didnt meet my gaze. i took a moment to observe her while she poured herself some tea and added 2 teaspoons of sugar. her headscarf was a muted rose colour that accentuated the pink of her nose and cheeks; it was a crisp and cold April morning, perfect weather to sip something warm and read a book or watch the rain softly fall on the window. and have waterdrop races.

her nose scrunched slightly when she brought the steaming cup closer to her face. her eyes were dark and her olive skin was mostly clear. what caught my attention was the abundance of tiny cuts and scratches on her knuckles, making them quite red. probably the cold. she wore a wrist brace that made me think of ninjas for some reason. it peeked slightly from under the sleeve of her stripy jumper.

"thank you so much for coming on such short notice! love your satchel by the way." she grinned so wide for a second i thought i spilt some tea on myself. she was quite literally beaming. i couldnt help but smile myself at the change. it almost felt like spring came early.

"why thank you! i did the embroidery myself." she seemed very proud of her work, and it was genuinely beautiful. the effort itself was enough to blow me away. "its a bit wonky, but it adds to it i think." her eyes glinted with some emotion i couldnt quite place. i hummed in agreement and we drank some more tea and sat in comfortable silence. her jumper was striped like the pages of a notebook i thought. every couple of lines was coloured. rose, gray, and maroon.

after a few more mental notes, i pulled out a notebook and blue ballpoint pen, and with her permission drew a quick sketch. it was extremely rough since art was not my strongest suite. nothing was really, i smirked mentally. but she seemed to like it well enough.

"right then, i dont want to keep you too long, so heres the general outline", after a slanted thumbs up from her hand with the brace, i continued "i have a few ice breaker-esque questions for starters, but the main questions are bit more all over the place. sort of".

she downed the rest of her tea. how many cups can that tea pot hold?? "and for dessert?" she innocently asked not so innocently. jokes on her i planned this all along. "brownies. my treat". she scoffed. i narrowed my eyes.

"id like to see you try." she wiggled her eyebrows mischieviously, pulling out her purse. i snickered. "oh my sweet summer child. i payed ahead first thing this morning." she scowled and i basked in my glory. i made a mental note to thank my dad for the suggestion.

she sighed and accepted her fate. i smiled softly. i felt for her, i really did. it was still funny though. but the blueberry brownie bowl is to die for so i didnt feel too bad. after the last of the tea was drank. drunk. drinked? after the last of the tea was gone, she suggested a walk in the park across the road. that glint was back in her eye. what was she thinking of? i wondered. or maybe who?

even after shocking our systems with sugar, it was still chilly outside. the sun made up for it by effectively blinding us. why where there so many reflective surfaces?? we made it to the park unscathed and settled down on a picnic bench. but it was too cold (and possibly damp) so we went to the swings instead. genius idea really.

we spent about a good 2 hours, taking a few breaks here and there to swing and and eat bicuits; Hilal had very kindly brought a tupperware of homemade barazek (sesame biscuits). best part however was the sprinkle of salt on top, something id never seen before. and not only did it work, it was the cherry on top. which was interesting because the biscuits arent that sweet to begin with. she was full of surprises.

･ﾟ.･ﾟ✧ .･ﾟ･ﾟ

later that night after having written everything down on the same notebook, i went over the day in my head, playing and replaying everything to see if i had missed anything.

the way she tilted her head when she thought, or pulled her sleeves to her fingers, or flailed her arms when she was cold. how she walked, spoke with her hands, covered her mouth when she laughed.

i looked down at what i wrote already, doodles bringing each page to life.

part 2 later its late and im tIRED concept art probably never

[joelrodriguezsophomoreart1330c]

2D Design - Week 5 + 6 - Book Cover + 70's-Inspired Album Cover

For the final assignment of 2D Design, I was tasked with having to create an original rendition of a front cover for my favorite book and an album cover for my favorite band in the style of the album art of the 70's. The book I have chosen was Gary Paulsen's "Hatchet" and the band I have chosen is named "Pendulum."

Starting off with the book cover, I wanted to have a go at making representational art to describe the book since its original cover can also be regarded as representational art. Based on the sketches I did on Monday, I've originally had the idea of just a lone hatchet axe in the middle of a gray space while having a white spotlight on top of it. The text of both the author and novel's names were intended to be on the left of the axe, but later on, I decided that it would be better to have the text near the bottom and much bigger in size in order for it to be easily readable. I also later on decided to incorporate a bit of the "abstract" by adding long curved lines coming out of the axe's far edges and spanning out into the middle-left and top-right margins of the canvas (in addition to having little shapes lie next to those curved lines). The forest accompanying the inside of the lines is a near representation of the same setting that the protagonist stays in for the majority of the novel and the character that is also part of the main focus of the cover is a mock-up of the protagonist's attire considering that in the beginning of the novel, the protagonist was a pilot.

With the album cover, I took inspiration from retro wall-art of the 70's. When looking for ideas to resemble the 70's "art-style," I've come across wall-art that is mostly abstract and leans more towards a warm color palette rather than a cool palette. With this is mind, I've wanted to put my own spin on the band's logo and incorporate warm colors on top of constantly varying line-art. The background resembles both very light shade of red-orange, while the main focus of the cover was the constant switching between warm and cool colors on each side. The left-most side of the logo shares most warm colors, from red to yellow (with a bit of red-violet even though that is technically a "cool" color), while the right most side contains shares cool colors, from yellow-green to blue-violet (with violet). I took advantage on the curved line-art of the logo and made it so that lines that descended into the center of the canvas would be diagonal instead of just straight lines. In addition, I took advantage of the negative space by giving each line some room to "breathe" across the canvas as they get closer to the center. Finally, I've applied the band's bold typography to the far right and applied the same color scheme as I would with the logo itself, going from red at the top to blue-green at the bottom.

[malaikaunit06]

experimentation with other ideas

With the escapism idea the initial thought was to have the room covered in negative imagery and then have a headset that people can put on and see the room in a different perspective so all the negative imagery still being there but it being covered by digital drawings and fun ads of games and just opposite cover ups from the actual room. But thinking about the technical side of having that imagery on a VR and the fact that this should be an immersive piece for everyone and not just the one person wearing the headset also the fact it’ll be difficult for me to get a VR headset I thought it would be best to have those positive “distractions” showing on a tv so everyone can see and it’ll make an interesting contradiction to the room the tv will be placed on.

In terms of what would be on the walls it would be stuff like global warming,political discourse, wars, poverty even studying stresses, just the stresses of the world covering the walls while there would be litter on the ground and the lighting being very dim. The tv would be places on something that looks like a shipping box. On the tv will be playing either joyful moments on the Internet or the same thing I was planning on putting on the VR but on tv. The colours I’d go for the room would be black,gray, red, white while the tv screen would be every other bright vibrant colour, bright enough for it to be its own light source in the room. I think that way it would make it more interesting like the TV or “distractions” are pulling the viewers in. I’d like the audience to ask themselves if escapism is something they find themselves indulging in. Is it healthy? Should this be continued? I want this exhibition to give people the chance to self reflect on their coping mechanisms and the effect it has had on them.

Different interpretations of music

For this one I wanted to use multiple headphones and have people listen to different songs and draw what they hear but the problem with this is that not only will I have limited people listening to music and making it less immersive and a collective thing that everyone gets involved in but having people draw makes room for people to take advantage and draw inappropriate, unrelated drawings which can ruin the experience for others. So if I was to do this idea all it would be is an empty wall with “what do you hear?” At the top and the audience will be given sticker sheets with different sized squares and rectangles in different shades of different colours then use those sticker sheets to create what they feel from the same audio. The aim is to have my audience become the exhibition, a part of the art and also get to compare and see just how different or similar they are to other people with their interpretations and really appreciate that and music itself.

creepy cute

I wasn’t really sure on how to present this as an exhibition but the Idea that I did get was perhaps a “room tour” of a little girls room but it’s something you have to look closely at details you’ll find a lot of unsettling creepy cute stuff. In order to make the bedroom I’d need a bed but I can improvise using chairs and lining it together then covering with blankets and pillows I really would like to capture the room if a young girl (13/14) but also show how this obsession over creepy cute things that this fictional girl has, has influenced her so much. The stuff made wont be overly complicated mainly made from clay, paper, cardboard some will be stuff that’s been bought and changed with paint. The colours I’d go for would be different shades of pink ans blue with the occasional black and red. Nothing in the exhibition will be interactive only something for people to look at. I want the audience to really question this girls strange interests and is it really harmful or just something fun. I think my audience will be split between the two which Is what I’m going for it was to do this idea.

For my “focus game” idea I planned on having a playable game where the player had to click off pop up ads in order for the character to focus on their assignment. This would just like a normal desk and screen with just a mouse and desktop stuff like papers and pens to give off the impression of sitting in a classroom. Since the game is a basic clicker game there’s a lot of free softwares and simple tutorials learn how to make the game and it’s a realistic goal for the time I have and my ability. Only downfalls I can see to this is being able to have a whole computer in the exhibition space I have and if that’s possible if so I think it would be fun to even have a leaderboard and the winner can take home a clay cup I made for prop purposes or stickers . I’d like the audience to have fun in this exhibition and for the people who feel the same as the character and struggle with staying focused and staying motivated, to have this as something they can relate to and turn it into something fun. It’s something I personally struggle with a lot so it turn something that I’ve struggled with for years and actually make use of it and turn it into a silly game for others to play and enjoy and allow other people to connect to would personally be something fulfilling for me.

[adobe-outdesign]

For poke reviews, I'd like to see what your thoughts are on the Vivillon line, or maybe the Unfezant line? I personally think Pidove is one of the better starter route birds because its evolution doesn't just look like a bigger version of itself.

I already did the Pidove line over here, but as for Vivillon:

I don't know why, but I've always loved the aesthetic of this line. In addition to a square motif, which is used to reflect their paralyzing powder, they also incorporate other shapes, such as triangles and circles. Something about it just really jives with the design part of my brain; it reminds me a bit of modern art (which might be intentional–Vivillon does have a modern pattern that's very Mondrian-esq). It also helps to visually connect the line together and gives them a unique aesthetic different from the other butterfly lines.

I also like how Scatterbug here has a subtle but pleasing brown and warm gray palette that then becomes steadily more colorful as it evolves.

My only thing with Scatterbug is that the head's a bit too big for my tastes; it looks like it's about to fall over. Something about the perfectly rounded back also looks weird to me, most likely because it has no legs to support it back there. I wonder if it couldn't have had another triangle back there like the legs, as a nod to hornworms or something.

Part of me also wonders how necessary it was to get another three stage caterpillar -> pupa -> butterfly line; it feels like Vivillon's gimmick is unique enough that it probably could get away with being a one-stager (I know that's not how butterflies work, but it's a fantasy series). Regardless, Scatterbug is a good foundation for the line.

Spewpa is probably the best cocoon Pokemon out there; I tend to find them underwhelming, as there's only so much you can do with an unmoving pupa stage. It's refreshing to have such a different take on the idea, as instead of doing the usual, Spewpa has a stylized head, with a fluffy blanket of powder around its body (which is also a nice continuation from Scatterbug's collar). It kind of references the idea of a silk cocoon without being too literal about it.

As I said above, I like how it starts to get some color at this stage, and how it continues to play around with the square and circle motif. And, of course, it's its own unique thing; not being too similar to either of the other stages while also clearly visually connecting the two. Good stuff.

Side note: why does Spewpa have highlights in its eyes when Scatterbug doesn't? This isn't important, it's just odd.

I think I've mentioned this before, but Vivillon's actually my favorite butterfly 'mon. First, the aforementioned square motif is continued here, and all the squares and "pixelation" in the wings tie everything together visually, both in terms of the pre-evos and in terms of the different forms. I also love how the compound eyes are three squares, and how the eyes are triangles to tie back into the shape thing. Even little details, like the way each body segment is split half and half and how the wings have the square outcroppings at the tips, add to the overall design.

However, I do have one or two nitpicks. First, I don't love the human mouth; I would've preferred a little ^ shaped mouth to tie into Scatterbug (or a V shape, if you want to make it look happier).

And secondly, the weird oval hind legs look tacked on and don't fit the pre-established shapes; they're particularly weird when the top legs are circular, as they should all be the shame shape. It would've been better if they were all circles, or even all triangles to tie into Scatterbug's legs.

So if I have nitpicks, why is this my favorite butterfly? Simple: one of the best features about butterflies is how their wings are stunningly gorgeous, and how each species has its own colors and patterns. Vivillon's the only butterfly 'mon that really captures this with its different forms:

On top of that, the wing patterns changing depending on your region is somewhat accurate to IRL butterflies (though not to this extreme, obviously). Limenitis arthemis is my favorite example of this; out west, it has white stripes (left), but in the east it's all black/blue (right) to mimic the poisonous Pipevine Swallowtails that live in that region:

Anyway, out of the forms, my favorites are the Pokeball pattern (I love the general design of Pokeballs to begin with, and the circular pattern around the body looks really cool), the ocean pattern (such pretty colors!), the modern pattern (as mentioned above, fits with the pre-existing design), and the polar pattern (very striking). My least fav is probably the monsoon or archipelago pattern (monsoon because the grey doesn't really work, archipelago because the the colors and patterns don't stand out that much). And even then, I wouldn't consider any of the forms bad.

In fact, the only bad thing about it is the mechanics. Having the form depend solely on your IRL region kind of sucks. First, because the Switch requires online to trade, it effectively locks all the forms, the best part, behind a paywall. And even ignoring that, some forms are harder to get than others depending on how many Pokemon fans are in each region; for example, the tundra pattern tends to be rarer as far as I'm aware.

Vivillon's coming back for SV, so maybe they'll consider adding a few forms depending on your in-game area this time? Or perhaps there could be a system where you get the form for your region by default, but could use something like Pokeblocks to change it before evolution? I'd just like an easy(ish) way to obtain all the forms that doesn't require paying to do a trade, basically.

Also, Vivillon is Pokemon #666 and that will never not amuse me.

Overall, the line as a whole has some unique visuals with the shape motif, which also works to tie all the stages together. Scatterbug is good aesthetically but the body is a tad weird, Spewpa is a great and unique take on a cocoon Pokemon, and Vivillon's forms are perfect for a butterfly and quite pretty. Solid A+ from me.

[voiceless-terror]

In which Martin and Gerry help Jon acquire a cat, among other things. 

“Martin, look!”

A phone is shoved in his face; on the screen is a tiny black kitten sprawled on a carpet with the headline “Free to a Good Home!!” Martin knows where this is going.

“Finally time to bite the bullet, eh?”

“We could surprise him!” Gerry’s voice is animated as he waves his phone in the air. Martin loves when he gets like this, unguarded and sweet. “You know how stressed he’s been. Honestly, I’m shocked we haven’t gotten one already.”

“Well, he’s certainly been hinting at it.” Martin gestures broadly at the walls of the bookstore, decorated with various cozy knick knacks and art they’ve picked up at charity shops. There’s no less than three oddly majestic cat paintings along with a shelf of tiny porcelain felines, not to mention the gaudy clock that has cat breeds instead of numbers. Jon has...particular taste. “Not very subtle, is he?”

“Should I message them, then?” Gerry squints at the screen. “We met them at trivia a few months ago - Mara, the one with the-”

“Green hair, yeah.” Martin remembers the night rather fondly. Gerry usually spent most trivia nights scowling in the corner and making snarky commentary with Jon, but on that particular occasion he had a few drinks and was considerably more relaxed. He managed to charm half of the bar with his stories and wit while Jon stared on, adoration clear on his face.  “But you know Jon would kill us if we didn’t let him have a say. You know how he gets, he needs to prepare-”

“-buy ninety toys-”

“-think up a ridiculous name.” They both laugh at that- Jon’s got a penchant for renaming their friend’s pets when he doesn’t think their moniker “suits them.” He’s gotten into more than one fight about it. “Text him so he doesn’t stay late, though. I’m not staying up until midnight again.”

“On it.”

_______

They hear Jon before they see him. 

The door creaks open, alerting them to his presence as Jon lets out his usual long-suffering sigh (Gerry fondly calls this mood ‘The Bouchard Blues.’) His clothes are wrinkled and his eyes are barely open; from the slight indent on his face, Martin reckons he fell asleep at his desk again. Gerry meets him at the door, grabbing his bag and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Rough day, love?”

Another sigh, this one a bit more huffy. “Elias came in at half past four with a box of ninety random documents and wanted them all organized by tomorrow. Impossible, of course, unless I stay the night-”

“But you came home!” Gerry says it with a sort of wonder in his voice; Jon very rarely stands up to his boss, no matter how ridiculous the ask. 

“W-Well, you said it was important,” Jon looks between them with large, worried eyes. Always assuming the worst. “It’s nothing bad, is it?”

“Jon, I thought the twelve reassuring texts and afternoon phone call put that to rest,” Gerry replies as he steers them towards the couch. “Suppose I should’ve just told you. I wanted it to be a surprise.” He unlocks his phone and scrolls until he finds the ad, handing it over to Jon.

His eyes immediately light up, alert and awake. “Cat!”

“Cat,” Martin agrees, settling down beside them. “We were thinking of getting one for the bookstore-”

“Of course,” Jon’s smiling that rare, bright grin and Martin melts just a little. “It’s only logical. And I do like black cats-”

“Damn it!” Gerry groans, startling them both. He throws his phone down on the couch, crossing his arms in a sulk. “Someone just claimed her. I knew I should’ve said something-”

But Jon’s already fishing his phone out, his smile not dimming in the slightest. “There’s a shelter not too far from here- I’ll see if we have to make an appointment. Martin, can you call Georgie? She’s got an excellent carrier for the Admiral, and she can probably recommend other necessities-”

They end up going to bed at midnight anyway.

________

“I still don’t see why we had to order so much,” Martin complains after another confirmation email lights up his phone. The credit card bill’s going to be astronomical this month. “Surely we’re overpreparing. We don’t have room for the deluxe cat tower in the shop, and we certainly don’t need one for the flat as well.”

“I assure you these are all necessities, Martin.” Gerry and Martin are both fairly tall, but even they have trouble keeping up with Jon’s brisk pace, sharing a fond look over his head. Jon managed to find them a Saturday appointment with a rather impressive combination of wheedling and charm. When it came to cats, Jon didn’t pull his punches. They made it to the shelter in record time and Jon burst through the doors, his next words full of self-importance. “We’re expected. Jonathan Sims.”

They’re led back to a large room by an amused assistant, Jon at the front of their little line. Martin watches as his eyes light up upon seeing the many cages that lined the wall; even Gerry seems a bit excited, though he tries to hide it by hanging back. Gerry’s never been much of an animal person; he shares Jon’s distaste of loud and jumpy dogs too unpredictable in their behavior. He only just started getting used to the Admiral, and that was through much prodding on Jon’s part. Jon’s love is surprisingly infectious. 

Jon peers into each cage intently, answering every inquisitive noise with a prim “Pleased to meet you.” One of the first cages contains a fluffy brown cat with curious eyes and Martin stops to poke a finger through the door. “Walnut” (as provided by a helpful nameplate) does not respond, though she seems interested. 

Jon’s already halfway down the row before he stops in his tracks, eyes trained on a large, grumpy ball of gray fur sitting right at the bars of the cage. He’s missing an eye, and he begins to growl as soon as Jon nears him.

“This one.” He declares, staring as if entranced. He hasn’t even touched it or attempted to pet it- they’re locked in some sort of silent standoff. Martin’s reminded of those romantic comedies Jon and Gerry hate, where couples lock eyes across the room and it's love at first sight. He surreptitiously takes a picture. Adorable. 

“Jimmy?” The assistant inquires. Jon scoffs at the plainness of the name. “He’s been here awhile. Not very friendly, I’m afraid.”

“No, not Jimmy.” Jon offers up a hand, and the cat comes closer, sniffing at it with suspicion. After a few moments, he butts his head against Jon’s hand, earning a smile. “Lance Corporal.”

“No.”

Jon swivels around, eyes narrowing at Gerry’s words. It’s the first time he’s spoken and he’s got one eyebrow quirked up in amusement. It’s a good look on him. Jon, however, is having none of it and he puts a hand to his hip. “And why not?”

“It’s such a mouthful.” Martin has to agree; it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “I’m not going to call him that. What about Lance?”

Jon wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

Martin sighs; Gerry and Jon get along like a house on fire but when they bicker, they bicker. He eyes the cat that’s now rubbing against Jon’s hand and purring; he hopes the its sudden geniality will extend to Martin and Gerry. Jon would pick a cat that’s just as prickly as he can be.

Martin gives it a good look, coming up beside Jon at ‘Jimmy’s’ cage. The cat immediately stops its gravely purr, it’s eye now trained on Martin. It’s unnerving, Martin never thought a cat could radiate authority but this one surely managed to. If any animal deserves a title, it’s this one.  “What about the Captain?” he asks in a fit of inspiration.

They both turn to look at him; Gerry amused, Jon thoughtful. “Go on.”

“It’s a title, you always liked the naval ones.” Jon nods in agreement, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “He looks like an old sailor, very distinguished. I dunno, I think it’s cute.”

“The Captain,” Jon whispers in awe as the cat resumes rubbing against his hand. “Martin, that’s perfect. Inspired, even.”

He can’t help preening a bit. “Thank you.” Gerry rolls his eyes.

And then there’s the moment of truth- the assistant opens the cage door and Jon steps forward with all the solemnity of a man about to be knighted. He reaches out his arms and the cat lets itself be picked up, going limp as Jon brings it to his chest. He sighs in contentment, giving himself one more moment of bliss before he perks up and opens his eyes.

“Now pick yours.”

_________

Three. They’ve got three fucking cats.

Martin and Gerry immediately began to refuse, but Jon was insistent. “The Captain is obviously very partial to me, and I think you should have some say in who we adopt. If we each get one it eliminates any favoritism. It’s only logical.”

There was nothing logical about it. Three cats and three people in their tiny flat, or worse, destroying their bookstore. They didn’t have the space, the cats might not get along, it would be too expensive. But Jon wouldn’t hear of it, countering every point in a calmness that was borderline unnerving. Martin shot Gerry a pleading look; he’d gone silent after the initial refusal, content to let Martin do most of the arguing, but he just shook his head in amusement- he knew how this would end, and Martin did too. As the final nail in the coffin, Jon deployed the eyes and that’s how he found himself in the front of a taxi with a lapful of Walnut. She’s a friendly thing, instantly purring on contact and meowing whenever he turned away. Martin hadn’t the heart to turn it away.

Gerry took more time. He slunk around the cages and the cats seemed to sense his reluctance. But soon he came upon a small, sleek black cat, not unlike the one from the Facebook post. It was a tentative thing, barely coming to the edge of its cage to sniff at his fingers, but Gerry was determined, patiently waiting the fifteen minutes it took to get him to warm up. Martin didn’t point out the similarities between it and a certain goth, though he shared a knowing look with Jon.

“I’ve got it - the Unfathomable Void.”

“Dear God,” Martin muttered, rolling his eyes. So dramatic, the both of them.

Jon snorted. “That’s a bit much.”

“Okay, Lance Corporal.”

“Excuse me-!”

“Settle down, boys,” Martin put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, he looked liable to pounce. “If that’s what you want, go for it. But we’ll call him Void for short.” Gerry nodded, seemingly satisfied. Jon continued to scowl, though without any heat.

The cabbie was definitely not pleased at having to cart around three men and three cats. He muttered the entire drive while Jon bounced in the backseat, cooing at his companion. Gerry sat much more stoically, though Martin didn’t miss the tiny smile as the cat nipped at his fingers. Jon’s insistence on multiple supplies was starting to make sense now. He definitely planned this from the beginning, sneaky thing.

“Oh no,” Jon suddenly said upon entering their flat, struggling with the carrier in his hand.  Martin’s starting to think he shouldn’t have picked such a massive cat. “I forgot this was for the bookstore!” 

“Well, yeah.” Gerry sat his cage on the ground, kneeling down beside it. “I figured mine or Martin’s would do. The Captain’s not very friendly, Jon.”

“But what if they get lonely? We can’t split them up.” Jon’s eyes dart around the room, growing more conflicted by the second. “Perhaps we should keep them all at home.”

“There’s no room, Jon! And no one’s here during the day.” Martin surveys the room- the three carriers already seem to take up an enormous amount of space, not to mention the living creatures inside of them.  And all of those packages, that damn tower…

“You can take them back and forth. Commute.”

“Christ, we did not think this through.” Gerry’s smiling even as he says it, watching as the Unfathomable Void slowly makes his way out, sniffing tentatively at the air. Walnut’s content to stay in her cage, and Martin tucks her in a corner away from the other two. Jon’s already got the Captain out, holding him in his arms and refusing to let him go.

“You’re right, we didn’t.” Jon agrees, tucking his face in the Captain’s fur. “We should’ve gotten four-”

“Fuck’s sake, Jon!”

“Let’s talk about this later, alright?” Gerry takes Martin’s place as the voice of reason, a rare occurrence. “We’ll keep them at home, let them get used to us, and then we’ll figure out the bookstore situation. No sense getting worked up about it now.” Jon sighs, cradling the mass of fur to his chest and plopping down on the couch. Martin’s sure they’ll be at it again tomorrow; Jon sniping as Martin tries and fails to put together a massive cat tower, Gerry groaning about whatever surprises the cats left for them in the morning. The next few weeks were going to be stressful, to say the least.

For now, though, he sits with his partners once again until midnight, watching their new additions roam about the flat and ignore each other. Jon frets, Gerry sighs, and Martin unsuccessfully attempts to steer the conversation towards anything but cats. By the end of the night, only Void manages to feel at home, curling up in Martin’s favorite armchair (much to his chagrin). Could’ve gone worse, Martin cheers himself with. They’ll get used to the flat. And the bookstore. Probably.

Later that night, once their partner’s asleep and snoring softly between the two of them, Martin turns to Gerry, borrowing Jon’s patented sigh. 

“We’re gonna get a fourth cat, aren’t we?”

Gerry’s voice is just as resigned. “Yeah, reckon so.”

“Christ.”

-------

Others in the JGM series:

What We’re Given and What We Make

At the End of the Day

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945809

[lyntonier]

A train to Paris

Carmen Sandiego x Gray Calloway

Summary: Carmen is taking a break away from her work — helping out at the Orphanage and fighting crime — and decides to take a trip back to Paris, a location she quite enjoyed. During her journey she meets a familiar face she believed she would not see again.

A/N: This is set after season 4.

"So Carms, I hear you are off to Paris for the week huh?"

I smile into the phone, listening to Ivy's comment.

"You heard correct. Well, assuming nothing goes wrong, that is".

I had gotten a break from working at the Orphanage with my Madre, so I decided to take myself on a little trip. We had finally met about eleven months ago, and I had been helping around as much as I possibly could without a break. Well, I tell a lie, I had a couple days free from working with Madre, though I used those days to check for any crime around. I guess some habits die hard huh, this was meant to be my new start but I can't seem to leave fighting crime behind. It was my choice to work so much at the Orphanage though.

Madre had had enough and told me to take a week away and go someplace, so where better than Paris? The beauty of the city when the sun goes down and the lights come on again, the food, the art and architecture, the history, it's simply something I cannot forget. It's truly a once in a lifetime thing.

"Wow, I'm so jealous! I wish I could be there with you, it would be so much fun- Zack stop! Leave Julia alone. No- She probably does NOT appreciate that, so quit it... Yes, you, who else?!.......... Sorry Carms, it's Zach trying to flirt with Julia again".

Giggling at Ivy's scolding to her brother, I make a mental note to tease him about that when I next see him. He kept flirting with the poor woman, to which she would politely laugh and make an excuse to leave.

"No worries Ivy, it's alright. I must admit though, I do feel sorry for Julia in some respects".

"I know right! Gosh, he's so oblivious sometimes. I love him anyway though, no matter how much of a douche brain he is".

"It would be nice to be able to meet up with all of you again, it's been a while since I saw all of you properly. You'll have to let me know when you two both have some time off and I'll get hold of Shadowsan and Player, then we can all have a nice catch-up".

I hear Ivy sigh wistfully into the phone, light laughter leaving her lips.

"Honestly Carms, that seems like such a good idea right about now. I'm so tired with work, I got called out five times within the past two days, three of which were last night. I've not had a nice snooze in for ages and I could do with one right about now, haha."

"You do sound quite tired. When do you get off shift?"

"Uuuh, hold on....... Forty-five minutes, then I can go home".

"Well, you should treat yourself to a warm bubble bath and a long rest".

"I think I'll take that one and do just that. Ah- I've got to shoot, Cheif is calling for me. I'll call you tomorrow and we can talk more, yeah?"

"Yes, wouldn't miss it for the world. Tell the others I said hello for me? And I'll work on arranging a girls trip between you and me to somewhere, just let me know where you fancy going".

"Oh you're a star Carm, I'll be looking forward to that then. I'll decide tonight and let you know tomorrow, and I'll pass on your 'hellos' to the others. Talk soon Carm".

I smile into the phone, mildly disappointed that our conversation had to end so soon.

"Talk soon Ivy".

With that, I hear the beep of an ended call as Ivy hangs up the line. A sudden wave of exhaustion washes over me as I move my phone down to my lap, checking the time. It was 1:15 in the morning. Raising my eyebrows, I nod at my phone, surprised at how late it was. I should probably try to get some sleep as I'll be arriving at my stop in about seven hours from now and I would much prefer to not be falling asleep at every given moment.

Setting my phone down next to myself, I grab a blanket out of my carry bag and drape it over my lap, removing my jumper and folding it into four before placing it onto the seat to my left. Reaching up above myself, I pull a cord that turned off the lights in my little train booth, engulfing myself in darkness. The only form of light that I had at this stage was the gentle light from the moon, it would be full soon. Laying down, I place my head onto my jumper and pull my blanket up higher, closing my eyes and relaxing my body.

Right as I began to doze off, I felt a strange feeling of wariness make itself known in my gut, enticing me to sit up and evaluate my surroundings. Within a couple of seconds of having my eyes open, I heard a light tapping on my booth door. Someone was there. Averting my eyes to the glass section of the door, I keep my body motionless as I trace the figure with my eyes and their every possible movement.

If I stayed still then they would not see me and assume I was sleeping and most likely leave.

*tap, tap, tap*

"Excuse me, uh, I know you are awake.. can I come in? My booth has no heating and it's really cold out here".

Or maybe not.

Cautiously eyeing the door, I slowly raise myself from the seats and brace my hand into a fist, ready to fight off a possible threat. Standing tall, I cautiously step my way over to the door before grasping the cool metal handle with one hand and undoing a lock with the other. Twisting the handle, I edge the door open bit by bit.

"Hello... Um.. yes you may".

It was a man, not that much taller than me, and Australian. Or perhaps Kiwi. I couldn't see many of his facial features, other than the fact that he had a man bun and a couple bags with him. I wracked my brain for any vocal recognitions, however, nothing matched.

Standing aside, I made room for the strange man to come inside.

"Cheers mate, sorry 'bout how odd this is. I went to the train staff to ask about the heating and they told me that the booth I chose was meant to be closed, though the person on duty of closing it off didn't get around to it, hence me choosing the unlucky booth. They told me I would have to ask to share booths with somebody else seen as though all others are booked, and I saw your light go out, so I came here. Sorry and cheers again".

The man laughed, rubbing what I assumed was the back of his neck. His explanation seemed pretty truthful and his reasoning honest.

"That's no problem, sorry that you got a faulty booth, that must've sucked".

"Hah, tell me 'bout it" He joked.

Smiling, I close the door and return to my seat, watching as he put his bags in the overhead luggage area, leaving out a blanket of his own. Smart man.

"So, what's your name mate?"

"Carmen. And you?"

I see him whip his head around, before shaking it and laughing lightly.

"I had a friend called Carmen, though I've not seen her in a long time. My name is Grah-Grayson. Grayson".

I raise my eyebrow at his stutter, smirking lightly.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Grah-Grayson" I tease.

"Haha, as to you Carmen".

With that, we both fell silent, just basking in the pleasant atmosphere of the booth with the same idea of sleep on our minds.

Slipping back into my 'bed', I pull my blankets back over myself and close my eyes, listening carefully at everything around me. I hear some stuffing around, something dropping on the floor, followed by a second something, more shuffling, then a satisfied sigh. Peering over my shoulder, I see the outline of a body laying on the seat across from mine.

"Did you just take your shoes off?"

"Hm? Ah yeah mate, can't sleep with shoes on, that's just crazy".

Grah-Grayson laughs at his own statement, finding humour in my question.

I feel my lips draw into a thin line as I shuffle my feet around awkwardly, my shoes very much still on.

Am I crazy?

"G'd'night mate, thanks again for letting me in on such short notice".

"No, no, that's fine. Goodnight".

It felt strange saying goodnight to a stranger, though I had most definitely done stranger.

I feel my eyes shoot open rather rapidly, my heart pounding against my ribcage as I scramble to sit upright, taking in my surroundings eagerly before eyeing the strange man in the booth with me. I check the room once again for anything out of the ordinary, before removing the blanket from my body and standing, striding my way over the door and yanking it open silently and slipping out, closing it behind myself. I needed some fresh air.

Making my way to the end of the train, I open a door that leads to a small balcony attached to the carriage. Immediately the wind hits me, blowing my hair to the side.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, I relax my shoulders and close my eyes. I had a nightmare — rather a memory — that Coach Brunt had broken into my booth and tied me up, much like before, and decided that enough was enough and planned to end things then and there.

A pretty sad nightmare, huh.

I enjoy the breeze a little longer before turning around and opening the door, walking back into the train carriage and back to my booth. Opening the door, I am surprised to see Grah-Grayson awake and sat upright, watching out of the window at the scenery. It was early for him to be awake, it was about five in the morning and the sun had begun rising, casting a gentle glow in the booth.

"Ah, mate, there you are, are you alr-......."

The words leave his mouth as he stares at me in surprise, horror, happiness, sadness and recognition... a mix of everything. Exactly what I was feeling.

Tears fill my eyes as I gaze at the male before me. It couldn't be...

"G-Gray?"

"Black sheep..?."

Grah-Grayson stands up, tears in his own eyes as he stares at me intently.

Stepping forward, I feel my arms raising slightly and before I knew it I was lunging for him, sobs wreaking through my lips as tears flowed heavily from my eyes. Engulfing him in my arms, I feel him do the same with just as much ferocity. I hear sobs come from him too, his chest rising and falling quickly and sharply with each gasp of air.

Before anything could be said, I feel anger suddenly wash over me, leading me to remove my arms from around him and shove him away harshly, placing some distance between us.

A confused whimper leaves his mouth, clearly unintentionally, but before he could say anything I let months worth of hurt, confusion, upset and anger form into words and flow out freely.

"Gray where were you?! W-What did you mean 'don't tell her' that you woke up!! Do you know how long I waited for you to wake up in the hospital, unable to see you or hear from you, not knowing that you had long gone?! Do you- Do you know how long I WAITED fOR YOU? Three months Gray- three months that you were gone and I was waiting for you to wake up so that we could start over, so that I could know you were okay!" The words kept flowing out, no matter how much I tried to stop them. Although I didn't try. I couldn't bring myself to try. I started pacing back and forth as I rambled, making sure the emphasis on certain words came out.

"Carmen, let me explain, I-"

I cut him off, anger still clouding my better judgement.

"NO Gray, you don't get to explain until you hear me!! I searched EVERYWHERE for days, weeks, months for you, thinking that something had happened to you, only to be told by Chief that you had requested to not have your condition or whereabouts revealed to me! Why Gray, why..? If you were angry or upset at me and didn't want to see me, you could have just told me instead of making me worry like that! I spent so many nights awake trying to find out where you were with the help of Player, but nothing!! NOTHING!"

I heave out everything that has been resting on my shoulders, the feeling of relief evident on my shoulders as a weight had been lifted.

"Carmen I was never upset at you, more of I was upset at myself. It was my fault that you had been captured and lured in, I knew what was happening and I could have prevented it, but I didn't. I blamed myself for you being brainwashed and hurt, and for myself being hurt. I was such an idiot and I didn't want to do something that could hurt you again-"

"And yet you did.." I remark with a whisper, adverting my eyes as I crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself and sniffling as I did so.

"I know and I'm sorry... I didn't want to interfere with your life, not after everything that had happened. VILE was caught and disbanded, you had information on your mother, everything was over and you had a fresh start ahead of you and I didn't want to get in the way of that. So, I changed my identity and lived away from the public eye, hidden away where you could not find me. It wasn't just a fresh start for you, it was one for me too... I asked for you to not be told of my departure, even though Cheif strongly suggested against it, the same with that Julia lady. I told them it was my only request, and they allowed it eventually. I now realise that wasn't a good idea and that it hurt you much more than I believed it could or would... I am so sorry Carmen.. I really am so, incredibly sorry.. I can't blame you if you are angry at me, I gue-"

"Of course I'm angry at you!! I finally realised after all of that time that I was in love with you, and I was prepared to tell you, only to find that you were gone! Those three months left in the dark were pure heaven compared to the.. the shitty, crappy, horrible feelings once I found out you were gone!"

I watch as Gray's eyes widen in surprise, as he stutters his next sentence, his face flushed from tears, much like my own.

"C-Carmen.. you- what did you just.. what did you just say?"

"That I realised after all of this time that I was in love with you, so very incredibly in love with you, and that I was prepared to tell you!" I growl.

We both stand there in silence, the cool feeling of my tears drying up on my face present. Sudden realisation dawns upon me at what I had just boldly announced. Smacking my hand over my mouth, I gasp, my eyes widening as the realisation finally sets in completely.

Nothing is said between us as we just stare one another in the eyes, waiting for the other to speak.

"Gray, I-"

I cut myself short as Gray abruptly strides towards me confidently, raising his hands to cup my cheeks as I step back, unsure of what was happening. Staring down into my eyes, Gray smiles gently.

"You always were a cheeky one, sneaking your way into my heart the way you did".

My stomach fills with butterflies at that, a small smile making its way onto my face, accompanied by little giggles. Soon enough, I was laughing uncontrollably into Gray's chest, him onto my shoulder.

The laughter died down soon after, we were just left with warm smiles on our faces.

Moving his hand across my face, his thumb stroking my cheek and his other hand caressed the back of my neck, he looks down at my lips before looking into my eyes.

"May I?"

That one sentence had my stomach doing flips as though I were a schoolgirl who just confessed her undying love to her crush and received the same feelings back, though I guess in some respects I was that schoolgirl, just a little older.

"You may".

With that, Gray leans down, pressing his lips gently against mine and pulling away. I did not feel those fireworks that people would describe a true-loves kiss as, rather I felt complete, safe, happy, joyous, excited, calm, at peace and so many more pleasant things, much better than those so described fireworks.

Leaning in for a second kiss, I met Gray halfway with just as much passion, more ferocity this time, however. Soon though, we had to depart for air, a gentle blush growing over both of our cheeks.

"Carmen, I-"

"Excuse me, are you two alright in there? I could faintly hear you arguing from next door".

Looking behind me, there was an older woman stood in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

"Yes, we are alright madame, thank you for your concern. Sorry for the noise, everything is sorted now" I explain, turning to face the woman.

"Very well then, there is no need to apologise my dear, as long as you are both okay. Oh, and sorry for interrupting your moment"

The lady giggles cheekily, before making her way back to her booth while rambling on about young love, or something along the lines.

"We should probably close the door, no?"

"Yes, we should. You, mister, have a lot to explain to me, especially what you have been up to since we last saw one another".

I smile as I leave Grays embrace, walking to the door and closing it.

"As do you. We have a while till we reach my destination, so shall we?"

"Hmm... I say sleep and then explain at a later time, on a date perhaps?"

"Friday, 8PM at Au Vieux Paris d'Arcole?" Grey wiggles his eyebrows, a smile on his face as he does so.

Laughter bubbles in my throat as I sniffle, wiping away any tear streams on my face as I nod my head eagerly.

"Call it a date".

A/N: This is my first ever oneshot/story piece that I've done on here and I honestly do not know how good it is, or how bad it is. All I can hope is that it's decent. It was inspired by @wizardsoffthecoast who had mentioned something about this, so here we are. I hope you enjoy it!

(I do apologise for any spelling mistakes!)

[quartzwriting]

Whatever It Takes

Pairing: Doctor Strange X Fem!Reader

Description: After Stephen flew away as dust, you had taken care of the world. But The Avengers approached you with an idea to bring everyone back. You joined them, now finding yourself up against Thanos alongside your partner again.

Warnings: Funeral scene

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Originally posted to Quotev

Part 1: Infinity War Story

Part1.5: Hypothetical Endgame (original plot)

Five years later, and you and the Avengers were so close to victory.

After spending weeks stranded on a ship with Tony and Nebula, starving and so close to not making it, being brought back to Earth gave you a spark of hope.

You took over in protecting the Sanctum, and staying in contact with the Avengers. Spending countless hours perfecting your magic, getting stronger and being the best you knew Stephen wanted you to be. You still grieved, and fell into a depressed state while trying to improve your magic. What else did you have to live for when the one you love is gone? That spark of hope soon began to die.

When they called you to help with their idea of time travel, you instantly took up the offer, wanting everything to be back the way it was. You were assigned in getting the Time Stone, and went back to 2012 to only find The Ancient One protecting it. She recognized you, oddly since this was a past version of her, but that told you she probably saw into the future ahead of time. She gave you the stone when you told her Stephen gave it up, and said that he did that for a reason.

Things seemed to be falling into line perfectly, when the stones were together and Bruce reversed half the universe dying. But that's when chaos erupted. Destruction, ruin, and fear when Thanos showed up.

Now you watched in shock as Cap laid there, badly beaten and out of breath, knowing you needed to jump in. The cloak flowed around you, dancing in the wind as you flew down to stand beside Steve. You stared down Thanos, and summoned energy to create the Rings of Raggadorr. You felt your body shake with power, energy flowing around you catching the cloak and your hair. Thanos had taken down Tony, Thor and Steve now...

But he still had to go through you.

There was shuffling at your feet, and Cap started to get back up. You shook off one of your rings and offered a hand to pull him up. Your hands stayed locked when he fully rose, and he gave you a solid nod. His blood and dirt soaked face, his pale graying skin, pained your heart. Yet he stood with you, ready to keep fighting.

Whatever it takes.

Then there was a sparking sound, and you whipped your head around. You knew that sound, the sound of a sling ring portal opening. Portals began to open around the battle field, people stepping out in large numbers and recognizable faces all coming together. A massive Wakandan army, a goddess on a pegasus, friends of Steve and Tony, Pepper in a Iron Man suit, sorcerers baring the mystic arts and countless more powerful beings.

At the centre of it all, was Stephen.

It hit you that this was his plan from back on Titan, and he called everyone here to finish it.

Without hesitation the cloak flew you over to him, and you couldn't help yourself but threw your arms around him. He did it back and the cloak left your shoulders to rest itself on his.

"Sorry I’m so late," He said, and hearing his voice again was enough to make your eyes water, "but this is how we win."

You looked at him taking in the features of his face; his determined filled eyes, and tight jaw. This told you he was ready for a fight. Glimpsing around you, warriors of all different abilities surrounded the area. Something told you that this was it, the fight of your life.

And you were ready.

"Avengers!" Captain America called out to your army.

You glanced at Stephen, smirked, and threw your hands down to summon a spell. It exploded around you, powerful energy engrossing your body. His eyes lit up, and he smiled.

And you were an Avenger.

"Assemble..."

You ran into battle, and all the strength detonated.

You found yourself battling will all the power built up over the years, and also all the trauma and the pain. Let it all go. Patterns forming and sparks flickering from your hands, exploding with everything you had bottled up inside.

You fought aliens that you plowed through in no time. You fought with a large ensemble of other women Avengers, a special moment that will stick with you. You fought Thanos off for a bit, wanting to avenge the one you love. You fought to help pass along the gauntlet with the stones, ready to finish this.

And you fought back to back with him, Stephen. A feeling incomparable to anything else.

This course of events went by so fast, and you kept up perfectly.

~~~

You were exhausted and just when you thought you couldn't summon anymore power or energy, your enemies began to fade away into dust. Breathing heavily and taking a long sigh, you looked around at your fellow warriors and Avengers around the battle field.

You were looking for one person, and he was behind you.

Using the last scrapes of adrenaline left in your veins, you broke out into a run. Nothing else mattered to you when you jumped onto Stephen, but the rush of having him right there. It was almost surreal, you watched him die in your arms years ago.

"We won?" You asked frantically, eyes wide with excitement and relief as you looked up at him.

Stephen chuckled, and it filled your heart with happiness, "Yes, we won."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him tightly.

"And I thought you fighting on Titan was the most powerful I've seen you."

You tried to laugh, but it came out as a choke as tears threatened to fall.

He held your face, looking past all the dirt and scratches and blood, and seeing the one he loves. "I'm so proud of you."

You threw yourself forward and kissed him. You've been waiting for five years. His arms snaked around you, one wrapping around your waist and the other cradling the back of your head. This feeling, of being in his arms, you missed it so much.

"I missed you so much," Your voice shuttered in between kisses.

"I know, (Y/N). I know."

Then you realized something, "You gave up the stone for me..."

"They needed you alive," He replied, leaving a soft kiss on your lips that lingered, "and you did it. I'm so so so proud of you."

Cries interrupted, and you parted to see a few people crowding around a body.

"Tony..."

~~~

The funeral was small and quiet. Hushed conversations and mutual sadness swept through the air around Tony and Pepper's property, everyone dressed in black to show their respects.

You and Stephen were sitting by the lake. Throughout the day, the tears threatened to burst from your eyes, but you held them in. It was beautiful out here, warm sun and fresh wind dancing over the water, but it didn't change your mood.

"I'm gonna miss him." You said.

Stephen cleared his throat, "I will too. But you had five years to know him."

"Yeah." You forced yourself to smile. "He sure was something." Memories ran back into your mind. "I remember when we were stranded on that ship, he was ready to die and going insane when we got back. And arguing with him was a real chore."

Stephen laughed.

"I'd come visit him here when I needed time away from the Sanctum. I remember when Morgan was so tiny. She likes our magic you know."

He chuckled, "Well, we're going to have to visit her and Pepper regularly than."

You smiled for real, "He was a good friend."

Stephen squeezed your hand, a gesture that answered what words couldn't. Silence fell for a little, then he fully turned to you.

"I'm sorry you had to spend five years trying to figure this out, and me leaving you. It was only a split second for me." He looked pained, that look in his eyes that told you he was vulnerable. "But it had to happen for it to work out in the end. It had to be, so it could be like this again. So I could be here for you again."

You reached up and stroked his cheek, he leaned into your touch while not breaking eye contact.

"I'm just happy you're back."

"But you went through so much."

"I know."

"You haven't told me much about that yet."

You took a deep breath, "Stranded in space, starving and dying. Long days of trying to think of anything I could do to reverse it and working with the Avengers to do so. Protecting the Sanctum by myself, and trying to piece back together Kamar Taj and the other sanctums. Feeling alone for so long...years of wish for you back..."

Stephen instantly pulled you into him when you held back a sob. Stroking your hair and kissing your face, "I'm so sorry"

"It's not your fault..."

"If I had the chance," He started, "I would have taken your place."

Your heart broke even more.

"Don't say that."

"I would have done it in a heartbeat."

You both sat there in each others presence in comfortable silence. Then Stephen opened his mouth to say something to add, but he was interrupted.

"(Y/N)..."

The sound of a familiar voice made you turn your head, and Peter Parker was standing behind you both. He must have heard you talking about your experience. You bonded with Peter back when this all started. He is the sweetest and purest human you have ever met, and seeing the pain in his tear glittered eyes made your heart break all over again.

You instantly stood up and the two of you fell into each others arms, and the quiet sobs of you both choked out. You both cried for Tony, and you both cried for your time spent.

"Don't cry honey," You held Peter tighter, "he wouldn't want you to."

The boy looked up at you, "He wouldn't want you to either."

More tears streamed down your face, and you did your best to wipe his away. A bit away you could see his aunt May watching you both, pained at the sight she was seeing.

"You went through it all..." Peter choked, and you nodded. "What was it like?"

There was only one word to describe it: "Hell."

Peter went back into hugging you, as if he was trying to make your five years of agony better. It was like he was trying to pull the pieces of your shattered heart back together. This is what you did for him back when he was crying over Tony's body back when the battle ended, holding him to give him someone, and he wanted to return it. You smiled and looked over your shoulder at Stephen, who was trying to keep a neutral face. But you knew that face, and he felt for you.

You turned back to the boy holding you tightly, "I never forgot you though, Pete."

"I hoped you wouldn’t forget.”

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Saturday, 08:10

Song: Her - Five Minutes

The sun comes out.

It had risen hours ago with Sander, but also like him had then tucked itself away, making its ascent behind a flurry of dense clouds. Now Sander watches as the last wisps slither aside and reveal the full circle.

It hasn’t been up quite long enough to warm the concrete roof Sander sits on. He’d thought, rightly, to grab his jacket before slipping out around an hour prior, and he’s grateful for the tough leather now. He hadn’t bothered bringing his camera, so his hands are also safely tucked into his pockets. He doesn’t need any more photographs of this view than he already has.

He likes it fine like this. To just sit and see. He doesn’t need to capture it. To have it exist in this moment is enough.

Being so high up likely doesn’t help with the chill, but this is one of Sander’s favourite spots. He’d been pleased, the day one of his professors took their class to one of the older buildings in the academy and climbed the back stairs right to the top. They’d had to capture this scene that day. The sun glinting amidst the clouds, the clouds obscuring the tops of some of the area’s highest buildings, and all the life going on down below. Even now there are a few students milling around there, heading to their studios early or meeting fellow classmates, and interspersed is the honk of morning traffic, the hustle and bustle of a world just beginning to wake.

Sander is apart from all of it. The sun is slanting a ray solely for him; the beings below are tiny specks of colour splashed amidst the gray; the level of the world he’s entered is quiet, aside from the music lilting lightly in his ears.

He had been even more pleased that day to notice none of his fellow classmates had paid much attention to the roof itself, but simply focused on the task at hand. He had wondered how such a perfect place of solace wasn’t already constantly occupied, especially when it could be so easily accessed by a whole school of art students. He hadn’t thought he would be able to make it his own.

But sitting on the lip of the building, legs hung over the edge and arms resting on one of the lower bars stopping him from falling to his death, it does feel like the rooftop belongs to him and him alone. The thought is enough to bring a smile to his face.

He’s the only one seeing this right now, the only one capable of capturing this exact image at this exact time. It doesn’t—like many things do—make him feel as isolated or small as he expects. It reminds him that he has his own vision and his own mind and his own existence, and this must mean he is meant for something. This eagle-eye perspective of this universe in this exact moment is made just for him.

His smile widens as he ponders on how Robbe-like that thought is.

It’s this thought that eventually draws him away. He slides his legs back onto solid concrete and hauls himself to his feet, wincing at the twinge in his ass and brushing stone crumbs off the back of his jeans. Then he slips back through the doorway and down the stairs and begins the trek back to his number-one solace.

His feet cry out in relief as he quietly lets himself into the house and pulls off his Docs. They aren’t the best walking shoes. His feet feel achy and sweaty and he curls and rolls his toes on the wooden floor as he hangs his jacket back on his usual hook. Then he climbs another set of stairs.

He’s relieved to find Robbe exactly how he left him, only now lit in a more golden glow. The boy is curled on his side, facing the doorway Sander has just crept through, curls splayed on the pillow and mouth slightly agape. Fast asleep. Beautiful.

Sander tugs off his jumper and steps out of his jeans, then rounds the bed and crawls back in next to his boyfriend.

The sheets have chilled since he vacated them, unhelpful against his already-cold skin. He shifts towards the middle of the mattress and already feels warmer. The heat emanating from Robbe beckons him closer, and he doesn’t fight it, slipping right into the dip behind Robbe and sliding an arm over his waist, pulling the boy back against his chest. Robbe moves easily, snuggling back into Sander with a sigh, and Sander’s whole body blooms with heat.

As much as he likes his rooftop, there’s no doubt that this is his favourite place to be. ‘This’ being anywhere within Robbe’s orbit.

He doesn’t quite drift off again, but his body goes pleasantly lax and his mind quiets. The longer he listens to Robbe’s soft breaths the more his own heart eases.

Then Robbe starts to shift, and Sander worries he’s woken him. He wriggles in Sander’s arms and Sander loosens his grip, but Robbe simply rolls over in his embrace, turning to face him and immediately curling towards his chest. Sander’s lips turn up in a smile as he draws him in, pressing his nose to Robbe’s soft curls and inhaling slowly. Robbe’s arm curls over his waist, tucking around his back and denting his skin.

He traces patterns over Robbe’s bare shoulder in the few minutes it takes for Robbe to stir again. His grip tightens on Sander for a second as his eyes scrunch, refusing to succumb to the sunlight as he presses closer to Sander’s chest.

Sander presses a kiss to the top of his head as he lets out a tiny, whiny hum, still half-asleep as he stretches his toes against Sander’s ankles and blinks.

Robbe’s doe eyes, even while squinty and crusted with sleep, are the most mesmerizing things he’s ever seen. The corners of them crinkle as Robbe leans back far enough to smile up at him before burying his face back in the crook of Sander’s neck. “Morning,” he mumbles. Then he kisses the closest patch of Sander’s skin.

Sander hugs him tight and returns, “Morning. Sleep well?”

Robbe hums again. “Wha’ time is it?”

“I don’t know. Still before nine, I think.”

“Okay,” Robbe sighs, giving him a squeeze. “We still have some time then.” After a pause, he pulls away from Sander again and looks up at him curiously. “Did you go out? You’re cold.”

This last bit comes out as a whine, and Sander huffs. “Yeah. Just for a walk.”

Robbe hums, smiling as he snuggles back into him again, pushing Sander onto his back so he can sprawl out over his chest and lock their arms together. “Taking photos?”

“No. Didn’t take my camera or anything.”

“But you took your phone, right?”

“Of course, I needed music.”

Robbe huffs, but accepts this response without further questions, leaving a smiling kiss on Sander’s chest. He repeats the motion, then starts up a lazy trail, mapping his way across Sander’s collarbone until Sander tugs his hair. Robbe tilts his head up and lets Sander connect their lips, shifting up on the bed and pressing a hand to Sander’s cheek. Sander’s hand moves to cup the back of Robbe’s head, fingers tangling in his curls and drawing him closer. Robbe’s hand moves up his chest to settle in the crook of his neck and he feels suddenly warm.

He skims a hand down Robbe’s back, tracing the divots and dents of his spine, breathing slow under Robbe’s lazy kisses. He palms at Robbe’s hip, and Robbe quickly takes the hint, lifting his leg over Sander’s and settling atop him before letting out a happy hum.

“Good morning,” he says, amused and cheeky, and Sander bites his lip in retaliation.

Robbe giggles and Sander swallows the sound down, tucks it away in the lower part of his chest to be dug up later. He has made up a whole portfolio of these precious sounds, along with a plethora of the most stunning images and a sad imitation of Robbe’s touch. It’s hard to beat the real thing.

Sander soaks up as much of it as he can now and still begs for more, splaying one hand over shoulder-blades and letting the other slide down, curling over the curve of Robbe’s bottom, drawing him down while tilting his own hips up. Now Robbe’s hum is lower, coming from a more guttural place as he bears down on his own, only requiring that initial permission.

He breaks away to gaze down at Sander, tracing light fingertips over his face as he breathes heavily. Sander smooths his hand back up the line of Robbe’s back to tangle both in his hair. This time he makes his way along Robbe’s cheek, feathering kisses against the stubbly skin until he can brush his lips against the shell of Robbe’s ear and nip at the lobe, free of his earring for the moment. Robbe makes a small, mewling noise and tightens his grip on Sander’s shoulders.

“What time are you leaving?” Sander asks, keeping his voice at a murmur so as not to spoil the mood entirely.

“Jens is meeting me here around ten.”

Sander groans. “You can’t make that ten-thirty?”

Robbe huffs gently. He places his hands on Sander’s chest and pushes himself up to sitting, still astride Sander’s hips. Sander would be more upset with the new lack of contact if it didn’t give him such a nice view; Robbe is all clean-cut lines and lean muscle, with skin glowy and soft under Sander’s fingers. “Jens wanted to be gone yesterday,” Robbe reminds him, not unkindly.

“Why didn’t he just go with Lucas, then?”

“Because he agreed to wait around so I could spend the night with you.” Robbe raises his brows. At Sander’s permanent pout, he huffs again, shaking his head. “You can still come with, you know. We’re going to get a break before the end of school. Couldn’t you do with a break, too?”

Sander groans again and pulls Robbe’s pillow over his face. “I can’t,” he moans. “This project is due on Monday. Unless I stayed up all night tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time to finish it.”

Robbe hums. “You’re usually the one begging me to keep you up all night.”

Sander gives him a sour look, even as his stomach flutters.

“I’m sorry,” Robbe laughs. “I really am. But you know Lucas never asks for anything.”

“And you want to go.”

Robbe hesitates, but he never lies to Sander. He gives a tiny nod and an apologetic smile. “I do. And Jens really needs it.”

Sander considers him for a moment, the lovely curve of his lips and the gentle doe-eyes, and blows out a sigh. “You deserve it,” he says softly. He gives Robbe’s ear a tug and allows himself to smile. “And I suppose I’ll survive.”

It only takes Robbe’s grin to prove he’s done the right thing. Robbe leans down to leave him a kiss, light but lingering, and then turns it into a dozen different pecks instead. “You better. Thank you.”

Sander can only lie there and accept the onslaught of affection, laughing as he settles his hands on Robbe’s thighs and squeezes. He meant what he said—Robbe does deserve it. They hadn’t managed to get away over the break as initially planned, so when Lucas invited them back to Utrecht this weekend they had jumped on the offer. Sander had shared the excitement initially, but then had quickly been reminded of his reality, in which he had stupidly chosen to leave things to the last minute.

“I feel more sorry for you, anyway,” Sander mumbles, emitting a low whistle. “I’ll be alone, but at least I’ll have a quiet night.”

Robbe immediately pushes himself up again, wide-eyed. “No. We’re staying at Lucas’s house, with his mom. Surely they won’t…”

Sander snorts, waving at the space around them and raising a brow. “Where are we right now, Robbe?” At Robbe’s blush, he purses his lips together, making his own eyes big in suggestion. “It is a stress-relief getaway.”

Robbe buries his face in his hands and groans. He rolls off of Sander even as the elder protests, peeking through his hands to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m going to come home traumatised. It’ll be worse than the time I walked in on him and Jana.”

“Not if you don’t walk in on them,” Sander laughs. Seconds later, a pillow smacks him in the face. He makes a muffled protest as he’s attacked again, grabbing at the soft material and wrestling it out of Robbe’s grip to whack him back, hearing Robbe make an ‘oof’ sound before breaking out into giggles.

Eventually, Sander tosses the pillow aside and wrestles Robbe instead, getting him flat on his back and moving over him. He slots a leg between Robbe’s and presses their tangled hands down either side of Robbe’s head, and Robbe’s eyelids droop. Then his fingers flex around Sander’s as his lips part. His neck strains as his head tilts up. Sander ducks down, but forgoes Robbe’s lips to lick a stripe up his neck.

“Sander,” Robbe whines, squirming underneath him in protest even as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“What?”

“We haven’t got long.”

Sander hums, pulling the patch of skin he’d been kissing between his teeth to hear Robbe gasp. “We’d have longer if you were going to stay.”

“Sander,” Robbe repeats, this time in sullen protest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sander soothes. “We still have enough time though, don’t we?”

“Did you hear my mom when you got back?”

“Nope. I assume she’s still sound asleep.”

Robbe smiles at that, pleased, and Sander finally grants him a kiss, slow and sensual until Robbe makes a needy little sound and squeezes his hands. Sander releases his hands and Robbe immediately tangles them in his hair, tugging at the strands.

“How many minutes do we have to make up for?” Sander asks him.

“Too many to waste time calculating now. We just have enough time to make sure you don’t forget me while I’m gone.” Robbe winks at him, and Sander huffs and goes in for another kiss, but Robbe is already moving. Sander half expects to be rolled over again, but instead Robbe just shimmies down, licking and biting his own way along Sander’s neck before heading lower.

Sander’s arms tremble with the effort of keeping himself up when Robbe’s lips close around his nipple. He draws his pillow over to bury his face in it as Robbe works a mark into his chest, rolling the opposite nipple under his thumb. Once he’s pleased with his work and Sander’s mumbling his name, he makes his way further south.

The following minutes are quite memorable indeed.

~^~

next

[fabdante]

Not to keep on with this but right so I made a post about Vergil and Bernini  and in that post I mentioned what art works and pieces I think represent the other parts of the DmC trio, Kat and Dante. And I just wanted to follow up on that with more focused posts because yall have no idea, I’m very into this whole thing.

First up: Dante

So Dante I go into a good deal in the Baroque essay already so some of this is a rehashing but I just wanted to go more in depth about Dante and Caravaggio’s Davids. 

(David and Goliath, 1599)

(David with the Head of Goliath, 1607)

(David with the Head of Goliath, 1610)

More about Dante, Caravaggio, and especially that last David under the cut! This one got a little long.

Ok so first things first, like discussed in the Baroque essay, Dante is Baroque and the game is based around Caravaggio’s Baroque to a point where many of his paintings are directly referenced. That last David in particular is referenced directly in the game. See below:

so I’m not really saying anything the game hasn’t really done itself here. Dante is the main character, he is represented by Baroque and Caravaggio. That’s his vibe, that’s the parallel. And it’s a very intentional one I mean in Talexi’s art book he discusses picking Caravaggio as an influence and the overlap between Dante’s whole deal and Caravaggio’s own. But I’m like really into Caravaggio’s David’s and want to talk about that and the neat way this plays with Dante’s whole deal so, let’s do it.

To quickly summarize Caravaggio and the background of his last David: Caravaggio was an angry guy who worked in Rome during the Baroque period until he killed a guy for Reasons (probably a bet, possibly a woman, possibly a tennis match or something, probably the bet). He gets kicked out of Rome, does some stuff (joins a knighthood? at some point then leaves the knighthood?), gets word that the pope wants to pardon him. He goes back to Rome with some art but dies on the way at the ripe age of 38. One of the paintings with him that makes it on this trip is the last David. 

What I like about Caravaggio’s David’s is how different they are then other David’s that come up in the art history canon. Just for comparison I’ll share the famous David but also Bernini’s David from the same time period.

(The David, Michelangelo)

(David, Benini. Pain to get a photo of s2g)

The first key difference is I mean, all three of Caravaggio’s David’s are wearing clothes which I think is neat in that I imagine he would be wearing those given the situation. But beyond that, what strikes me about Caravaggio’s David’s is their youth. In the biblical story, David is more the age Caravaggio consistently depicts him at. Which is about approximately preteen or teenage. The second thing that strikes me is the confidence and power displayed in Bernini and Michelangelo’s David’s evoke. But Caravaggio’s are not confident, not the way these one’s are. And especially that last one. 

Caravaggio’s David is unsure. He’s just done this thing, killed this man, but he doesn’t seem to have quite processed it in the first two. But in the third, he is processing it. And he’s not processing it well. This is a David who is unsure. This is a David who seems to pity the man who’s head he now holds by the hair. This is a David who is not strong and unwavering and confident and elegant, this is a child who just killed a man. This echo’s in the games interpretation of the scene, that same worry echoing in Dante’s brow that’s in Caravaggio’s. It’s a sympathetic David in that he seems to be unsure if this choice was worth the personal toll but also in the sense that the viewer is sympathetic to him, they feel bad for this child who has just been forced to make this choice. 

Reboot Dante’s life is not one about choice, it’s not really something he seems to be able to do often. Sparda put him into the orphanage and the orphanage put Dante into the foster care system. And ever since then Dante has had to fight. Not by choice, but by necessity. It show’s in his combat style, in his clearly untrained movements focused on power and strength rather then tactics. Vergil, if you watch him fight, he’s much more elegant, his style reflecting practice and technique. Dante, though, throws everything into his movements to kill as fast as possible. That if he just swings hard enough, this’ll all be over faster. He even stumbles in his combat because he’s put so much power into his swings, it’s my favorite little detail. 

In the game, it’s mentioned that Dante’s first recorded demon kill was when he was eight years old. It was one of the ‘caretakers’ at the facility he was in. I often wonder if that’s the moment that they were trying to depict in this image, the moment after that. I'm not really sold that he looks eight here but I mean you be the judge of that but bare with me. It’s the mood, that moment right after he’s been forced to enter his new reality for the first time. That he is going to have to fight like this the rest of his life. That bewilderment and regret and just general disbelief that he’s done this, that he’s just killed something. That sorrow for the Dante he was before, like that sorrow that David must be feeling for who he was before as well. 

But there’s a second layer here I haven’t gotten to yet. And that’s how Caravaggio’s David is also thought to be a self portrait. No, he’s not David. Caravaggio has painted himself as Goliath. A portrait of Caravaggio for reference: 

(Caravaggio as depicted by Ottavio Leoni in 1621)

Usually this is read as a tongue and cheek thing to the pope, like Caravaggio is offering himself in the ultimate repentance for his crimes. He’s sorry, here’s his head on a platter. But there’s something about it being a self portrait coupled with David’s pity for this Goliath that feels kinda...sad in a way. 

Further context to this is Caravaggio, on the run or not, did not have a studio. He was a solo artist, which is a bit odd for the period at his level. He did not take students, so his techniques died with him. No one else worked on his paintings, they’re all by his hand. This in particular David was not commissioned either, it was done as a gift. So this was a deliberate thing entirely thought through by him, painting himself as Golith, painting David so full of pity and grief. 

It’s sort of this idea of pity for the monster when you yourself are the monster as well as a sort of self hatred. Which reboot Dante is familiar with. Either Dante, preboot or reboot, kind of has this arc about trying to cope with being half demon while hating being half demon. It’s not a part of himself that he likes. The reboot goes further with this though because he doesn’t even have the solace of being half human, he’s also half angel. Reboot Dante goes from seeing himself as a human being to being told no, your not, your the things that you hate and it’s your job to protect people anyway. You are both the out of control monster and a threat, but also their protector. 

In either reboot or preboot this isn’t like the most explicit character beat, though it does come up. In the reboot we see it peak through in moments like Dante’s interactions with Phineas. The ‘my father was a demon and I’m nothing like him’ mentality. The reboot makes this more pressing to in that like, the reboot makes it clear that demons are not a hive mind. While they seem to vary in intelligence and free will and all that, the game does not imply that Phineas and Sparda are alone in their grievances where as the preboot paints demons like Sparda and Trish as complete oddities. But part of either Dante’s rejection of Sparda is always rooted in ‘Sparda is a demon, and I’m nothing like the demons.’

This is interesting in the reboot because, unlike Vergil, reboot Dante is always visually contrasted with demon imagery. His world is very red. His color is red. The colors on him, even the blacks and grays, are warm tones. His devil trigger is designed in such a way that the abundance of reds in it are even more prominent then his initial design. The only time he’s not is the scene with the graffiti where he’s positioned on the side with the angels. But visually it’s still made clear. Dante is the demonic twin, Vergil more angelic. On top of that, characters in the reboot love to point out how Dante reminds them of Sparda. Phineas does it and Mundus really does it (the ‘just like your father, too big for your fucking boots’ line). Which further puts Dante at odds with his identity. As much as he thinks he is nothing like Sparda, he’s his fathers son. He’s the demon half of this twin relationship. 

I think to like Caravaggio’s David’s just...they don’t want to do this. They’re just kids. They don’t want to kill their Goliaths. But they have to. Which is the spot we see reboot Dante in. He doesn’t want to save the world. He doesn’t want to fight for his life as often as he does. He doesn’t want this. But he has to do it. He might say he doesn’t give a shit, but what’s his choice? When has he ever had a choice? He’s the unwilling savior.

This runs through the game to. Dante doesn’t really want to be here. He makes that clear a lot. And his bravado is constantly a cover to keep him from being too vulnerable, too exposed. But it’s that last fight with Vergil where it all falls apart. He did this because Vergil asked him to, and Vergil didn’t even tell him the truth. And just like everything else, Dante doesn’t want to kill Vergil. He doesn’t want to fight him. But he’s provoked him anyway and got himself in this fight and he can’t let Vergil take the throne. David can’t just let Goliath go.

It’s the end of the game where we finally have Dante completely free of his walls and completely bare and entirely unaware of who he is and what he’s supposed to do next. It’s the same sort of vulnerability that I feel is abundant in that last David. Who is he now after all of this? Does he like this person? What’s he to do now that he knows what he’s capable of, knows what he’s done?

What makes him any different then this head in his hands?

[spvce-cowboy]

drivers license

francisco morales x f!reader - oneshot

rating: mature

3.1k words

warnings: drug/alcohol use, reader is a dealer, age gap, so much YEARNING!!!

summary: a surprise visit from an old friend

a/n: 100 follower celebration!! partially inspired by this post but also the fact that i have been sing-screaming “drivers license” for oh about four days straight now. thank you guys so so much for all the support so far ! 💕

**

A fist slamming against your front door wakes you from a dreamless sleep.

You push yourself off your mattress, blearily checking the time on your phone and cursing under your breath when you see that it’s almost 3am. You sit up all the way, blinking as you wait to see if what woke you up was something you’d imagined or if it were real.

It’s real. It starts again after a second, three sharp raps against the door, followed by some kind of muffled talking. Your heart rate picks up in your chest, you grab the baseball bat you have leaned against the wall as you reach your apartment door. Squeezing one eye shut, you look through the peephole.

The good thing is that it definitely isn’t the cops. You take a relieved breath, leaning away from the door.

The bad thing is that whoever is knocking is hunched on his knees, just outside of the peephole’s line of sight, so you have absolutely no idea who the fuck it is.

“Please open the door,” the man’s voice begs from the other side of the door. You’re about to yell at him to fuck off, but he interrupts you before you can even open your mouth. “Little flower, it’s me, please.”

The nickname makes your heart go to your throat. The bat in your hands falls to the floor.

You rub a hand over your eyes, huffing an exhale in a vague attempt to prevent your heart from ricocheting against your ribs. It doesn’t work. Because as soon as he says it, as soon as you realize who it is, it brings everything back with him.

A set of sturdy, tanned fingers cupped against the knuckles of your grandfather’s hand, the voice went low in a warm but respectful greeting. You didn’t realize how gnarled your old man’s hands had gotten until you had someone else’s to compare them to. You looked back down at the crumpled up dollar bills you’d just been handed, one of them still rolled. Turning to find your bag on the coatrack, you stuff the money in your back pocket.

“My little flower, this is a good one,” your grandfather told you with a small hum that signifies whatever he just said must be set in stone. You hear the sound of him heavily patting the hand cupped over his own in that way he does when he appreciates the presence of something. “He has a decent head on his shoulders, no?”

“Little flower?” You can hear the boyish smile in that all too familiar voice before you even turn back around. “That suits you well, I think. Florita. I like that.”

“Christ, Frankie, what are you doing here?” You rest your head against the doorframe, heart sinking in your chest. You don’t open the door, to protect him or yourself you don’t know.

“I need—”

“You’ve got a kid now, Frankie. I told you I’m not going to sell to you anymore.”

“Ever the moralist,” the bite to his words is so uncharacteristic you can’t help but flinch. He seems to realize this, too. His apology is nearly immediate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re right. I… It’s not…”

You swallow, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around yourself for some bare semblance of comfort. “Please go,” your voice is so quiet you’re not sure he can hear you through the layer of wood separating the two of you. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that you nearly think he’s left. Long enough that you don’t know why you’re still standing at the door and not back in bed.

And Frankie says your name, voice cracking. Your actual name. It’s been so long since you’ve heard it come off his lips you can’t help sink into the door.

A held breath leaves you in a shuddering sigh. Your shaking hands open the door.

The man who spills onto the ground before you is a stranger, yet, heartbreakingly, just as he had been when you first met him. Messy hair, worn blue jeans, gray button-down stretching over the perfect expanse of his back. All that is missing this time around is that lazy smile, that easy, Hey, darling.

In a bar. Right when your grandfather started getting sick.

“Eighty,” you said without him having to continue his sentence beyond his syrupy greeting, eyes trained on the shelves of liquor in front of you instead of having to meet his gaze.

He copped an eighth, tucking the little baggie in a pocket on the inside of his jacket. You went back to your drink, angling your body away from him again and expecting him to return to his table of friends. But then the knuckles of his hand nudged the side of you elbow. He gestured to your beer, the neck of the bottle clasped between your thumb and the hook of your middle and index fingers.

“Lemme buy you your next one, yeah?” He had a hunched lean to his posture, in that way that men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You were mad that it worked. He extended a hand. “Frankie Morales.”

The truth of it was that the two of you became friends, after that. Nothing more. Regardless, it was too close for you to get to someone you dealt to, but you were so lonely at that point in your life—taking care of the old man by day, GED classes at night--that meeting Frankie was a small blessing. Nothing ever happened between you two but God you wish it did.

To describe what you felt towards him as a crush didn’t really cut it, but you were fine with friends. Being completely fair, he was definitely one to send mixed signals—Christ, your weekly tradition of driving to an overlook to split an order of fries and milkshakes on the hood of his truck just about screamed every romcom you were raised on. But despite the occasional prolonged touch, the hand he would place on the small of your back to move you out of the way or guide you forward, nothing happened.

You dealt with it. Tried to be supportive as possible when he met his girl. Frankie broke the news that she was pregnant. The two of you saw each other less and less frequently. Sometimes he would call to catch up. Eventually, you stopped answering when he did. Your grandfather died. You got into a local art school.

It was sad how quietly it all faded. You didn’t know it could, but it did.

And now here he is, literally crumpled at your feet.

Frankie messily pulls himself up off the ground and onto his knees. He reeks of booze and old cigarettes. You freeze as his hands wrap over your hips, as he presses his face into your stomach and murmurs an incoherent apology—for what, you’re not exactly sure.

And when you finally processing what’s happening, what you had begged the universe for years, you can’t help yourself. Your card your fingers through his hair, gritting your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Frankie,” it’s a warning. It’s a reminder. “You’re drunk. You need to go home. Your girlfriend--”

“She left a week ago,” he speaks into the fabric covering your belly. The words burst forwards as if not even he was expecting to say them. It’s a confession. His hands flex from where they hold onto you. “She’s gone.” Your heart drops to your gut, your chest aching. “I need… Just for the night I… Little flower, the house is so empty.”

You keep petting back his hair until his breathing quiets. He keeps holding onto you, even then. The two of you stay like that for a long time.

“Why don’t,” your voice comes out too shaky. Too unsure of itself. You clear your throat and try again. “Why don’t you take a shower, I’ll get you some water and we can sober you up a bit. Okay?”

He tilts his face up at you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in well over a year.

And he hasn’t changed. It’s all there—the soft mess of shaggy hair, dark but kind eyes, the beloved hook of his nose.

One sun-sick evening, you rode your bike to the beach just to get out of the apartment. You need somewhere to sit and think for a while, just until your head feels more clear. There’s enough of a chill in the air that you have to throw on a jacket, it’s nice. It’s like you can feel the wind moving through you. Past you.

When you arrived at the beach, you got off your bike, leaning it against your hip as you scoped out a spot to sit in the sand. You were about to wheel it over to the rack when--

Someone pinched your elbow in greeting. Their steps were so quiet you didn’t even register their approach. It, obviously, startled you, and your hand immediately flew to the keychain in your back pocket. The knife you had attached to it.

When you turned, and it was Frankie’s familiar face, his hands raised in joking surrender.

In that light, with the sun still flirting with the horizon, it rendered his face into shapes and shadows you had only previously seen in the old oil paintings of long-dead greats. You thought it was in the deep bourbon of his eyes, soft when illuminated by a tangerine sky. It was him. All of him. Slightly breathless, hair ruffled by the wind.

“Hey, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he sounded genuinely apologetic. You released a relieved huff of air.

“Fucking Christ, Frankie. A little warning would be nice next time.”

“Did you bike the whole way here? From the apartment?” He asked, there was a tinge of concern to his voice.

You shrugged, trying to hide your embarrassment by lowering your kickstand with the heel of you boot. “It’s not that far.”

“Don’t you have a car?”

“Can’t drive,” you wrinkle your nose. “Never needed to.”

He looked you for a moment, if you didn’t know any better you’d say critically.

“I was just about to get something to eat, if you wanna join me,” he tucked his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “There’s this overlook nearby that has a way better view of all of this.” He motions to the ocean with the tilt of his head. “I can drive us there.”

You regarded him as he spoke, cautiously looking him up and down. And you nodded, smiling slightly. He smiled back, it was big and crooked. It made something in the pit of your belly feel warm.

You step away, holding out your hand to help him to his feet. He complies, stumbling slightly and rubbing his hand over his face as he does so. He disappears down the hall without having to ask where the bathroom is.

Sighing, you go back into your room, pulling out a shirt and a pair of oversized sweatpants for him to change into. You knock on the bathroom door on your way to the kitchen. The apartment’s walls are so thin you can hear the hiss of the shower from all the way down the hall.

“Come in,” Frankie’s voice barely rises above the sound.

You crack the door open, keeping your eyes trained to the floor as you place the folded clothes on the sink’s counter.

“Here’s something for you to change into,” you tell him. He thanks you, the shower turning off right as you close the door behind you. You walk back down the hall and into the living room, making two glasses of water before settling on your couch.

Once, after a night out, the two of you were too drunk and too broke to afford separate taxis home. He proposed going back to his house, split the cost, grab a cab for you once it wasn’t so late and the rates went down.

You agreed, as you did anytime he extended the offer to spend time there. There was something about the quiet, tucked-in nature of the suburbs that was so novel to you. So calming.

The two of you settled on the couch. Feeling bold, you lay your head in his lap and kicked your socked feet up on the opposite armrest as you describe to him the gallery opening you’d snuck into. How you successfully schmoozed to the owner as well as one of the artists.

He asked you if you had heard back from any of the scholarships you’d applied to. You hadn’t, but you’d only just submitted the applications, so it would be at least a few months wait.

You tell him your dreams of becoming an artist. A real one. He already knew that, but you really tell him this time, all the details you usually keep to yourself, too special to you to have the courage to voice aloud. The fantasy of moving out into the mountains, getting a cabin just big enough for a hotplate and a bed and a studio. You’ve lived and breathed LA for your entire life and you were tired of the city. Tired of every street corner baked with the memories of high school and the listless years that followed, of the small humiliations you had to succumb to in order to survive.

Frankie listened and nodded enthusiastically at all the right parts. It was only then that you realized his hands smoothed over the top of your scalp as you talked. You let it continue, it felt too nice not to.

He told you that you should, and if you needed help finding the money he could always--

You cut him off before he could finish the thought, shaking your head. Responsibilities came first, you had people who needed you. A degree to finish. Savings to maintain. You asked him about the new girl he’d been seeing and he eagerly launches into a story about a different, wild night out. You smile and laugh throughout the whole thing, trying to ignore the pang it gives you when he describes the dress she was wearing. He fingers continued to brush over the crown of your head as he talked.

You fell asleep there, on his lap. You woke up before the sun rose, hot and sweaty and still a little drunk from the vodka Redbulls that never agreed well with your heart.

It took you a second to realize you were in Frankie’s bed, alone. When you padded back into the living room, he was passed out on the couch, a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders, using his arm as a pillow.

You left after helping yourself to a shower, texting him a sarcastic good luck with that hangover. You’re about to call a taxi home but something stopped you. You thought it might be the way the sun was barely breaking over the cusp of the smoggy horizon, the sky reduced to pale shades of violet with the coming dawn.

The quiet neighborhood Frankie lived in is all the more beautiful, like this. Subdued, empty, houses in winding but even rows that scale up the mountainside like sets of bad teeth. You decided to walk, just until the sun got a little brighter. Until the people started to shake themselves awake for a new day.

You got a text from him as you were making breakfast, back at your apartment by then. Thanks. Hope you slept well, little flower. Something about the small missive kept you smiling the whole day after.

You mess with your phone until Frankie returns.

“I’m sorry, for showing up like this,” Frankie says as he hovers over the living room’s threshold. The clothes you leant him fit well enough, only slightly oversized on his frame as opposed to how they generously drape off of you. He holds his towel in his hands, looking down at it instead of you.  “I honestly don’t have an excuse and you… you shouldn’t accept any. But I thought I should still tell you.”

You look at him for an extended beat, knowing he’s being honest. You’re at a genuine loss as to how to handle the situation.

“We can deal with it later,” you settle with that. It sounds good enough to you, and when he finally meets your eyes again he looks a little relieved. You nod you head towards the glass of water you placed on the coffee table, he takes your lead and settles on the opposite side of the couch, leaning over to take his own glass.

“So um… how are you?” He asks you earnestly, angling his body towards you.

“Okay,” you take a sip of water, trying to keep it casual. “Cleaning up my act a bit, you know? Going to school, picking up jobs here and there. Trying to figure out what I want to do. Oh! I uh… I learned how to drive--impressive I know.”

“The city flower herself, operating a vehicle?” His face breaks into a familiar, goofy smile you can’t help but reciprocate. “I’ll add every pedestrian in LA to my prayers.”

“You should,” you shake your head as you laugh, leaning into your corner of the couch and pulling your knees up to your chest. You finally relax, giving yourself the small allowance of settling into the comfort that inevitably comes with his presence.

And it really is just as easy as it always has been between the two of you. The conversation naturally ebbs and flows, neither of you bother to broach the heavier stuff. For now, just this it’s enough.

It’s enough to see the spark in his eyes when he tells you about his daughter, how bright she is, how much trouble she gets into—just like her dad. It’s enough to hear about his friends, all those names and backstories that you still vividly remember. It’s enough to bask in the feeling of how he leans into you with laughter, a hand lingering on your knee for seconds longer than it probably should have, as he always tends to do.

It’s enough to see him grin when you tell him about the scholarships you got, how weird it felt being the oldest person in all your classes, even if it was only by a handful of years. He doesn’t ask how your grandfather is, the living room being cleared of all the heart monitors and breathing machines is enough to answer that question. You’re grateful he doesn’t. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep a brave face if he did.

You don’t want time to pass. You want to stay here, with him, like this, in that perpetual state of catching up, in that breathless deluge that has the not-so-subtle undercurrent of this is what has happened since you left. I wish you would have been there. But I am so happy you are here now.

When you can no longer stifle your yawns, you stand to refill your glass of water, speaking on your walk over to the sink.

“I’d love to keep talking but I honestly don’t think I can keep my eyes open much longer,” you tell him as you turn the tap off. “I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you turn to look back at him. He’s staring at you from where he is seated, eyes dark with something that isn’t just from the low light of the living room.

“What?” You ask after a few more seconds of him not responding. He looks away from you, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Your eyes search his for a moment, positive that that was not at all what he was turning over in his head during those few seconds of silence. You’re too tired to press, so you gather a spare set of sheets for him. He stands when you come back into the living room, holding out his arms to take them from you. You wave him away, setting up the pull-out bed yourself. You’d grown up sleeping on this thing, tucking the fitted sheet into the corners was always tricky, and he didn’t know where the bolts of the couch’s frame would cut the shit out of his hands if he wasn’t careful.

Throwing a pillow down, you turn back to Frankie. He’s standing closer to you, now. You have to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“All set,” you tell him. He nods, eyes searching your face for a moment. Your brow furrows. “Frankie, you’re being weird. Stop it.”

His chuckle breaks the tension.

“Sorry—I’ve been saying that a lot tonight, haven’t I?” He takes a deep breath. You’re smiling again, about to agree with him, and without warning his hand is comes up to cup the side of your face. You still, lips parted in an unasked question. “Thank you, little flower,” his voice goes rough again, as it had when you were speaking to each other through the door. “I really mean it.”

Frankie’s hand drops when you nod, lips pressed together. He sits back down on the pull-out. You wish him goodnight quietly and return to your room.

Leaving your bedroom door cracked open, you climb back into bed. With everything in you, you hope he’s still there when you wake. He will be.