#cleaned up a pencil sketch using Rebelle

[neemie101]

The Eyebrow Raise Data gives Fajo as he pulls the trigger is the best part of the episode.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ THE DRAWING ❜

with Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas.

Request: Hi lovely! No idea if this'll make it in for the first 10, but please can I request one with Creeper where you're a bar tender for the club but you draw in your free time. Creep has a crush on you and one day one of the guys tease you because they realise you're drawing Creeper and he defends you because he thinks its super sweet and then asks you out on a date? 💖

BY @mycupoffanfiction

Warnings: none.

Word count: about 1.5k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl, who is making me such beautiful gifs ✨

Masterlist.

You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

“LOOK AT THAT!”

You were peacefully drawing before starting your turn at the clubhouse, sitting on a couch on the porch. In front of your pencil, Creeper was fixing something in the engine of his bike. Until Angel takes off your sketchbook from your hands, laughing and with the clear intention of teasing you, calling everyone attention. Jumping off from the couch, you try to grab it, but when he decides to raise his arm over his head, you know that you're fucked up. You have been badly in love with Creeper since you met him. He used to be extremely kind with you, always taking care of you of whatever you need, without having to ask for it, or without complaining about it.

“Angel, give it to me”. You have one hand on his left shoulder, jumping and trying to reach the sketchbook with the other. But he's so tall, that you can't grab it.

“WERE YOU DRAWING CREEPER?” He starts to laugh louder, feeling your cheeks burning and stopping every move of your body, to punch his chest.

You can't turn at Neron, really ashamed, running inside the clubhouse to hide yourself. Bishop and Taza look at you from the pool table a little confused, until they hear the conversation outside.

“Damn… It's really good”. EZ says, touring with his eyes every minimal detail.

“Let me see”. Gilly holds it after cleaning his hands, nodding in agreement. “She fucking drawn his tattoos, damn”.

“Hey, yo', shitheads!” Creeper takes the sketchbook of his huge fingers, closing it without looking at it. “Yo' fucking assholes, leave the kid in peace”.

“Carnal, you should see it”.

“If she doesn't show me, I'm not allowed to see it. Neither of you all”.

Knowing that you were drawing him really melts his heart, starting to think that maybe you too feel something about him. Walking towards the bar, the president moves his head pointing at the hallway to the dorms, making him nod just one time. But actually, he just has to follow your sobs and the curses in spanish to the closed bathroom.

You're sitting on the floor, against the wall, with both legs curled and surrounded by your arms. The only thought that crosses your head is that, if you could have any chance with him, Angel burned it down. You shouldn't draw him, at least, not without asking. And probably he must be thinking that you're crazy or that it's weird. Or both. You don't even know if you're going to look him at the face again.

The knocks on the door pushes you out of your thoughts, raising your crying eyes terrified. Breathing deep, you get up from the floor, walking slow to it. Slightly opening the door, a tattooed hand appears holding your sketchbook.

“Did you…?” You whisper with a low tone of voice, taking it.

“No, and I'm sorry about what Angel did”.

Finally, letting him see you, he clicks his tongue a little upset.

“I'm sorry too for… drawing you. I hope they don't annoy you for much long”. You have your gaze on your feet, unable to lift it up.

“Can you show it to me?”

Frowning confused, and narrowing your eyes, you look for the sketch with trembling fingers. Turning it under them, Creeper leans forward taking some seconds to admire it. He likes it. Actually, he likes it too much. You have drawn him perfectly, not knowing about your skills with a pencil. He's really fascinated, holding the sketchbook to look at it closer. As he heard Gilly, focusing somewhat better his orbs, he can see the tattoos on his neck perfectly placed over the paper. Even the badge of his Harley is on it.

“Didn't know you… can do things like that”.

“Tell me you're talking about the draw and not about being… creepy”. You mutter rubbing your nose, slowly raising your gaze towards his. The gesture on his face races your heart, with parted lips

He suddenly breaks into hoarse laughs, shaking his head, and you can swear that it's the best thing you have ever heard. Fleeting smiling you tear off the drawing to offer it to him.

“Keep it, if you like”.

“Really?” He asks slightly frowning, moving your hand close to him, insisting. “Yo! Mama… thanks. It's pretty cool. I mean… You draw in an amazing way”.

He holds it between both hands, smirking at you like a child who is receiving the best Christmas gift of his life.

“I was thinking that maybe you would like to share some beers, after finishing your turn”. You can notice how he's trying to hide the nerves in his voice, surprising you for both facts. For the invitation, and for his feelings.

“Ah… Yes… Yes, 'course!” Quickly answering, you nod taking a step to get out of the bathroom.

“'key. So you can tell me about this hobby”.

“Yeah, sure”.

“Cool, ah... I have to go back. See you later”. He says, leaning at you to kiss your cheek.

You can watch him walking away through the hallway, happily focused again on your draw. And you're not sure how to feel, but you're about to have a heart attack.

While working in the bar, serving beers and shots with EZ, you have caught Creeper some times looking at you from his seat, spending more time inside the clubhouse than outside, like it's not normal for him. But what makes you tickle in your stomach is the way he has to push away every Vicki's girl who tries to sit on his lap, or to sit too close to him. And maybe that means something.

“Hey, kid. Table”. Tranq appears through the glass door.

Checking the hour on the screen of your phone, you get somewhat nervous when you notice that your turn is already done. Palming EZ's back, you step out from the bar after cleaning your hands, leading your steps to the inside of the Templo. The olders are there, counting money and dividing it into four rows. One is yours.

“Sorry about Angel, querida”. Bishop says when you're close to him. You just shrug.

Putting inside an envelope your salary of the last two weeks, he offers it to you.

“Yeah, he's a little stupid sometimes”. Taza chuckles, surrounding your waist with an arm and resting his head on your other side.

“Nah, it's okay”. You reply, putting an arm on vice's shoulders.

“You okay with Creep'?”

“Yes, yes. Don't worry. We are gonna share some beers now”.

“Uh, I'm feeling jealous”. Che says laughing loud.

“Nah, you are my fav”.

“That shit hurts, kid”. Tranq adds with feigned annoyance.

“Go get your boy, kid. And enjoy”. Bishop says, before letting you go to have your own party.

The other Mayan is already waiting for you with two cold beers in his hand and a cig in the other, sitting on a sofa next to his brothers. You can feel the same nerves on him that inside you, when you finally meet again. He gets up showing you a huge smile, placing one of his tattooed arms around your back, ignoring a ‘you are welcome’ from Angel. He's actually very proud of what he did unconsciously, looking at you two stepping out from the clubhouse to the sofas on the porch. Falling down on it, you curl your legs over it and against your chest, grabbing one of the drinks to have a sip.

“Why did you start to write?” He finally asks, seeming so interested in it that your insecurities come up.

“My… parents used to fight every day when I was little. I was stressed, so I… started to scratch a paper with a pencil until it was totally black”.

Maybe it's not what he was expecting, but now he looks more focused in every word your vocal chords pronounce.

“But it started to be insufficient. And I found out that concentrating all my senses in drawing, it was like I was alone in the world. So, now it helps me to disconnect, whenever I feel low”.

“You weren't feeling okay this evening?” Creeper asks, sounding worried.

“Yeah, no… I was feeling okay, I mean… I was just stalling and you looked good fixing your bike”.

“Yeah, I saw that”. He can't help but laugh nodding, drinking from his beer after having the last smoke.

“Did they… tease you too much?”

“Nah, I don't care. At least, I earned some kind of date with you”. Crashing softly the two bottles, he makes a toast. “For the first of many more”.

“Okay, next time, I wanna talk about your tattoos”.

“That's gonna be a long one, mama”.

✨ Tag list:

@starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @claytoncardenasbabymama @thesandbeneathmytoes @phoenixhalliwell @thewarriorprincessxo @sugary-x-sweet @multiyfandomgirl40 @imanerdychubbyqueen @iambabyharry @firebenderwolf @itsanofrommesir @noz4a2 @peaches007 @edonaspanca @irenne-stans @skyofficialxx @that-chick212

[hjbender]

What’s up 2021

I started getting a sore throat a few days after Christmas and by New Year’s Eve I had a full blown headcold (just a cold, nothing more). While I’m starting to improve I’m still pretty groggy from all the snot and headache and sinus pain, and the decongestants knock me out faster than a hammer to the skull, but!

Because I’ve been so weak and lethargic I’ve been doing a lot of pencil sketching in bed, and I’m having something of a traditional art renaissance lately. Maybe? All I know is I’ve been sketching and sketching and just scanning in the raw images and posting them and having fun (you can see some of my recent work over at @softpadawan​, which is where I’m posting all my Naughty Bad Dark Side stuff for the Star Wars fandom, Rebels in particular).

Tonight I ordered some supplies I’ve been needing to get anyway, like new kneadable erasers (the ones I’m currently using are at least 15+ years old), but I also got a couple of those neato Kuru Toga mechanical pencils with the rotating lead barrel so the point always stays sharp, so I’m really excited about that.

If only I could find a wire-bound sketchbook full of printer paper, I’d be set. I can’t draw on anything coarser/toothier than plain old printer paper, I’m sorry. I’ve been doing it for too long, it’s what I’m used to, my work is too small and fine, I tend to do more lazy comic-y art with minimal traditional shading than anything with actual hatching and contouring and all that.

Like... I know how to do these things... so why don’t I? I don’t know.

Anyway, if anyone has any good sketchbook recs (top spiralbound, ultra smooth paper with no tooth), I’m open for suggestions.

In anticipation for all my new goodies, I cleaned out my art supply toolbox that I’ve been using since I was in high school.

God, I’ve got art supplies that are old enough to drink and vote and rent a car.

I went through all my Micron pens, the newest of which was bought before I bought my first Wacom tablet in like... 2003? Somewhere around there. It was after I moved into my first apartment in 2002, I think. But anyway. Those things still work fine. I was pretty surprised. I haven’t used them in years.

Ugh, the cold medicine is starting to kick in. I don’t even know who I’m talking to right now. Most likely just myself.

Anyway. At least you know what I’m up to. How is 2021 going for you all? Good and uneventful, I hope.

I’ll answer more of those eyeball asks when I regenerate my brain cell(s) because right now there are none. Yeeks.

[michaelthemadbitch]

Glad to see u writing again!!! just wanna say if you ever get the urge to write 198X again there is at least one bitch left out here who will read tf out of it. Fandom’s dead but god it deserves a revival.

Sam sat alone in the living room. Amanda had moved all of them into her house almost a year ago. It was a month until Halloween and this would be Cas’ first proper Halloween. Their dad hated Halloween, wouldn’t let them trick or treat, wouldn't hand out candy, Sam didn’t even know how to properly celebrate.

“Sammy?” A quiet voice came from the doorway. Sam shifted in his seat and held out his arms. Within seconds his arms were full of a shaky Lucy.

“Hey princess, what’s going on?”

“Had a nightmare,” Lucy curled further into his arms. Sam rubbed her back and let it go. It hadn’t happened often but all the kids occasionally had nightmares, usually as a direct result of their childhood.

“Are you excited for Halloween,” Sam asked quietly as he leaned back on the couch.

“Mhm,” Lucy sniffled a little before looking up at him. “Mike said this year we could get real costumes!”

“That’s going to be so much fun,” Sam said. He sat there and thought about what they all could go as. 

“I was thinking maybe we could go as the Star Wars characters,” Lucy rubbed her eyes and sat up to look at him. “I could be Princess Leia, Matty could be Luke. Maybe Sophie could be r2d2?”

“That’s a great idea!” Sam said, smiling down at her. “You know, Cas and I have never gone trick or treating.”

“Really? You have to go as Obi-Wan then!” Lucy looked thrilled.

“I like it, how about we go and get a cup of cocoa and then get you back to bed.” Sam stood up and held Lucy on his hip. After almost a year of getting constant good food she and Matt had grown quite a bit, but Sam could still carry them around.

“I’d like that.” Lucy curled her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. Sam set her down at the table and set to work making cocoa. Once he was halfway through he realized she had fallen asleep at the table. He quickly turned off the burner under the milk, walking over to the table and scooping her up again.

“Mmm,” she groaned when he picked her up.

“Shhh Luce, go back to sleep.”

“I’m so glad you’re my brother,” Lucy muttered before slipping back to sleep. Sam smiled down at her, before carrying her into her bedroom and tucking her into her bed. He paused in the doorway for a moment, just watching her and thinking about what she said. 

He returned to the kitchen and cleaned up the cocoa before walking upstairs to his partners’ room. He crawled into the side of the bed, wrapping himself around Hannah. He lay there for only a few minutes before he drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sammy!! Wake up!!” He jerked awake to the feeling of the bed bouncing. He sat up and reached out, snatching Lucy and Matt mid bounce and pulling them into a hug. 

“Sammy! It’s breakfast time!!” Lucy squirmed in his arms before breaking away and running to the door. Matt was hot on her heels only pausing at the door to make sure Sam was getting up.

“We’ve spoiled them,” Sam said with a small smile. He hauled himself out of bed and realized he was the only one in there. He made his way downstairs, only to be immediately handed Sophie as he stepped off the stairs.

“Good morning Sam,” Mike said from the table, where plates of pancakes were sitting.

“Morning,” Sam day down at his normal seat, situating the squirmy toddler in his arms.

“So, Lucy’s been telling us about your great idea for Halloween,” Amanda said, pouring a cup of coffee for him.

“Yeah! I can’t wait to be Luke Skywalker!” Matt jumped up in his chair and began making the lightsaber noises as he swung around his fork.

“I thought maybe I could be Han,” Cas said, studying him for a second.

“I think that’s perfect!” Sam said, giving Sophie a bite of pancake.

“Yeah, Sophie can be R2, Mike can be Chewbacca,” Lucy said with a mouth full of food.

“And we can be rebel pilots,” Amanda said, pointing at Hannah.

“Alright, we have a month to pull this off,” Sam said, draining his coffee cup. “Amanda do we have a sewing machine?”

“Yeah, it’s right up in the attic. Oh, and I know the perfect fabric store. Let me know what you’ll need and I can go get it tonight.”

“Perfect,” Sam smiled at his little family. “This is going to be the best Halloween ever.”

They finished their meal, finalizing plans for the holiday. Sam knew these costumes wouldn’t be perfect, be he planned to do what he could.

“Ok,” Hannah stood up and clapped her hands together. “Lucy and Matt, you two clear the table, Amanda you and I can handle washing up. Mike, can you get started on Sophie’s costume?”

“Of course dear,” Mike said, scooping Sophie out of Sam’s arms. “Come on little one, let’s go find the best little box to turn into R2.”

“Aright, Cas you come up with me now, Lucy and Matt when you’re done clearing the table come up to the attic.”

Sam and Cas stood up and headed up to the attic. Sam poked around for a few minutes until he found a tape measure, a pad of paper, and a set of pencils.

“Ok, so you want to be Han. Pair of black pants, whiteish tan shirt, and a black vest. We’ll need to figure out what to do about the belt and gun.”

“Leave that to me and Mike,” Cas said.

“Yeah I can do that,” Sam beckoned her over and started taking her measurements. “I’ll make the practical clothes and you and Mike can work on the props.”

Sam started sketching out a few designs of Cas’ costume. He added in her measurements and grinned.

“You’re all going to look amazing,” Sam started writing out a list of the different fabrics he was going to need.

“Don’t forget you still have homework you need to do,” Cas said before she descended down the stairs to the main levels. Sam turned to sketch out Leia’s costume. Before he knew it Hannah, Mike, and Amanda were standing over him.

“Hey what’s up?” Sam asked, looking up from the finalized sketches. 

“It’s time for dinner,” Hannah said. “You’ve been up here all day.”

“Have I?” Sam stretched out his back before standing up. As soon as he stood up his vision went black and he stumbled forward. Amanda caught him immediately, propping him up on her shoulder.

“Are you ok?” Hannah asked, standing in front of him.

“Based on my lack of vision I’m going to say no.” Sam frantically blinked his eyes.

“You need food and water,” Mike said, scooping him up and carrying him down the stairs.

“I think I got a little carried away,” Sam said, wrapping his arms around Mike’s neck. “You know I did this exact thing with Lucy last night. But I guess she could see. Oh shit, it’s coming back.”

By the time they made it downstairs, Sam could see again. He was unceremoniously dropped down into a recliner in the living room.

“Bitch!” Sam said, squirming around in the seat to get comfortable.

“Stay here, we’re going to get you your food ok?” Sam stuck his tongue out at Hannah before leaning back in the chair.

“You know, Halloween isn’t for a month. You don’t need to finish the costumes tonight.” Cas said from her seat on the couch. 

“I may have gotten a little carried away,” Sam admitted rubbing his neck. He winced as he realized just how tense his back was.

“Scoot forward idiot,” Cas moved to behind him where she could get some of the knots out of his back. Sam leaned forward gratefully, relaxing more every second.

“We’re going to make everything perfect Sammy,” Cas said. “Don’t even worry about it. And no more full day binges.”

“You have a deal,” Sam spun around and tickled her sides. She screeched and frantically threw herself off of the chair and onto the couch.

“Bitch!” She said between laughter.

“You bitch!” Sam said back, leaning against the back of the chair and smiled at her with more fondness than he knew he had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next four weeks, they all worked together to make the costumes perfect. Mike worked with Hannah to make all the props, Amanda and Sam took turns on the sewing machine, making the actual costumes.

“Alright!” Sam called as he walked down the stairs, already dressed in his own costume. “It’s almost time to trick or treat! Come get your costume.”

Immediately he heard them running towards him. He took two steps back and prepared to hand them their costumes. Lucy landed at the bottom of the stairs first, followed by Matt. Cas came down a little slower while holding Sophie.

“Lucy, here’s yours. Here you go, Matt!” Sam handed them both their costumes and turned to Cas. “I’ll trade you. Costume for the baby.”

Cas grinned at him and handed him Sophie before taking her Han Solo costume. She turned and ran off to her own room to change. 

“Are you ready to get into your costume Soph?” He tickled her stomach and walked towards the garage. Out there they had a red wagon with a cardboard box in the shape of R2D2. There was a mini high chair inside so she could sit inside comfortably.

Mike had included several kinds of toys inside the costume so she wouldn’t get too bored, but whenever she did one of the older kids would start carrying her around. He got her all situated in the seat and then wheeled her out to the front yard where everyone else was gathered. 

Mike was dressed up as Chewbacca and standing between two rebel pilots. In front of them Leia, Luke, and Han stood arm in arm, with their baskets sitting in front of them.

“Group picture time!” Cas called, holding out Mike’s camera. Sam pulled Sophie to sit in front of them before taking the camera and standing in front of them.

“Ok group together! I’m going to take a picture of all of you then Mike will take one with me in it.” Sam said, moving towards the porch to take the picture.

As Sam looked through the viewfinder he found himself overcome with joy and great fullness as he saw his little family. He had never regretted leaving his shitty house, but right now, he was over the moon with happiness that they had left.

“Say Happy Halloween!”

“Happy Halloween!” They all cheered.

[themadlostgirl]

NDY AU (2)

*A lot of people wanted me to continue the AU I wrote a while ago so here is a short mini-fic full of fluff while I’m working on the new main story.*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language

*Months Earlier*

I don’t think it was a secret that my life in Storybrooke was pretty miserable. Okay, maybe miserable was too strong a word. It was more boring than anything. Monotonous and routine and insufferably predictable. I think there was a phrase that summed it up perfectly: Familiarity breeds contempt.

Everyday was the same. Wake up, go to school, babysitting all afternoon, go home, do homework, go to bed. Each and every day. I didn’t even get a weekend break because that’s what everyone else did. They were off having fun while I watched their kids.

At some point I finally broke. My alarm clock went off and I decided that I was done. I stayed in bed and kept sleeping. When my mom came up to see why I wasn’t up I told her I was sick. Trusting as she was she decided I was telling the truth and left me to my own devices while dad and her went to work. I heard their cars pull out of the garage and then I got up.

It was stupid. I shouldn’t be skipping school. Not like there is a lot to do around this town in the first place but I needed one day off. One day away from my life of repetition. I threw on a inconspicuous hoodie and was out the door.

I meandered around town dodging the gaze of everyone I passed. I was so nervous about skipping school I thought that if someone saw me out and about they would drag me back and I’d get detention for sure. I decided to take a walk through the woods. I had always felt more at home in the wilderness. Something about the neverending trees and chatter of birds put me at ease.

After a good hour of hiking and getting further away from the trail I heard something out of place this deep in the woods. Music. Not loud blaring music coming from a stereo but something softer. It drifted across the air like a lullaby hushing the birds and stilling the trees.

I walked towards the source curious and found an unzipped backpack. Inside was a bunch of notebooks and an overflowing pencil case. Next to it was a phone with music coming out of its speaker. Fairy Dance? Interesting.

“Didn’t your mommy teach you not to snoop.” A voice from above made me jump. I dropped the phone back to the ground.

There was a boy in the tree above me. He dropped down with a glare. He was kinda cute in a bad boy, scruffy, wrong side of the tracks kinda way. It was his eyes that kept me staring though. They were the most beautiful shade of green.

He picked up the phone and stopped the song before stuffing it back in his pocket. “What are you doing out here.”

I snapped back to my senses and looked away, “I was just taking a walk. I heard and the music and--I’m sorry.” I backed away ready to leave. “I’ll be going now.”

“Wait a second. Wait a second.” The boy grabbed me and turned me back around, “You’re cute.”

“Thanks?” I removed his hand from my arm and kept on walking. Still he followed.

“Do I know you?”

“Don’t think so.”

“You’re right. I would remember a face like yours.” he smirked, “What’s your name?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m a curious guy. I swear I’ve seen you before.”

“Probably at school. Which, shouldn’t you be there right now?” I don’t think this guy could be that much older than me. What was he doing skipping school?

“Nah. Don’t go to school much.” he shrugged. “Actually, if it is a school day, why aren’t you there?”

“I--I--” Crap!

“Don’t sweat it, pet,” he grinned wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Teenage rebellion. It’s a good thing.”

“I’m not rebelling. I just needed a day off.” I shrugged him off once more, “Also, don’t call me pet.”

“Well if you told me your name I wouldn’t need nicknames.” he didn’t try to touch me again but still followed closely.

“Y/N. Happy?”

“Yes. My name’s Peter by the way. Since you didn’t ask.”

“Wasn’t interested.”

“So cold.”

“Only towards creeps like you.” I huffed.

“Hey, hey,” he ran in front of me stopping me, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Really? Do you just not have any sense of personal space.”

“Truthfully? Always been a bit of a problem with me. Guess because I never got that much love growing up that I crave the gentle touch from others.” he winked and I gagged.

“And you wonder why I think you’re a creep. Although with that comment now I’m thinking you’re more of a pervert.” I shoved past him.

“Okay, seriously, I am sorry. I’m just being a dick.”

“Obviously.”

“Y/N,” he cut me off again, “Can we start over?”

“Why do you care? Leave me alone.”

“If you wish it,” he gave an exaggerated bow and stepped aside to let me pass. “I am sorry though. Don’t think badly of me.”

Those damned green puppy dog eyes. He was actually sorry, wasn’t he? “I forgive you. I’m really on edge with skipping school. It’s not something I’ve done before.”

“Clearly.” he straightened up, “If the lady would be so kind as to let a humble delinquent such as myself teach you the ways of a successful ditch day I would be honored.”

“Wow, you are so damn extra.”

“I try.” he winked, “What do you say?”

“Why not? Not like I have anything else to do.” I shrugged. I don’t know why but I felt like I could trust him. Not only to not be an asshole but to take me on a small town adventure.

He offered up his arm and I took a deep breath before accepting it. We kept on with our walk while Peter talked to me about things to do and how to avoid getting caught.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” I asked after a while.

“Nothing. Relaxing. Keep away from the house.” he shrugged.

“And the notebooks in your bag?” At that I got a glare. “Sorry, I saw them in your bag. You write?”

“Sketch.” he grumbled.

“Can I see?”

A clap of thunder stopped him before he could answer. “Shit. Come on.” he tugged me along faster now.

Gotta love this Maine weather. We ran through the forest as rain came pouring down on us. I was drenched and freezing but I couldn’t help but smile. I let out a crazy little laugh and Peter looked back at me with a similar grin.

Ahead of us was a run down trailer. We ran inside out of the downpour laughing like idiots. For being an abandoned crappy trailer it wasn’t that bad inside. It was mostly clean and free of any wildlife.

“How’d you know this was here?” I asked as I stripped out of my soaked hoodie.

“Found it a couple months ago. Cleaned it up as best I could so I had a place to hang out in cases just like this.” He shook out the rain from his hair. His eyes raked over me. I crossed my arms over my chest suddenly aware of how much my t-shirt was clinging to me and what it may be showing.

“Here,” he handed me a dry hoodie from in the small closet. “You look cold.”

“Thank you.” I pulled it on relishing in the warmth. It smelled like forest.

“Looks like the rain won’t let up for a while. Unless you wanna brave the storm we’re gonna be stuck here until it passes.” he collapsed back on the couch.

“Joy.” I sat down next to him. “Got a way to pass the time?”

“There’s a chess set in one of the cabinets but half of the pieces are missing.”

“So nothing.” I slumped further in my seat.

“I got a book in here.” he rummaged in his bag and pulled out a copy of Lord of the Flies. “Don’t know if it’s your thing but it's a classic.”

“Gotta say I’m more a Jane Austen kinda girl myself but this’ll do for now.” I took the book, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” We sat in silence for a long while. The only noise being the patter of rain against the side of the trailer and the sound of Peter’s pencil scritching and scratching in his notebook. It was strangely comfortable. There was no need to fill the silence between us. We didn’t need to.

At some point the rain had stopped but I was so invested in my reading I hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t until Peter tapped me that I came back to myself. “Rain stopped.”

“Oh. I guess it did.” I looked around for something to mark the page with since I refused to be a degenerate and dog-ear it. Peter seeing my struggled ripped a piece from his notebook and handed it to me.

“You can keep it if you wanna finish it.” he told me as we left the trailer. “I’ve read it like five times already.”

“You like a story about feral children murdering one another that much?” I cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a weirdo.”

“You are a weirdo.” I joked.

We walked back to town. School should be letting out about now so I didn’t need to worry about that anymore. Peter pulled me along as we stopped inside the pharmacy for snacks. I noticed him trying to sneak out chocolate bars and smacked him. “I have some cash on me. No need to shoplift sweets.”

We went up to the register and the man scanning the items kept glaring at Peter suspiciously. I would too if I had the right to believe this little shit was stealing inventory. We left and I let Peter take the lead as we wandered around town and talked.

“Alright, I got one,” I said in between bites of my candy, “Would you rather be locked in a room that is constantly dark for a week or a room that is constantly bright for a week?”

“Dark, no question.” he answered.

“Seriously? But you can’t see anything!”

“My eyes would adjust. Besides, the dark doesn’t scare me. Constant bright light would be so annoying though, especially when you’re trying to sleep.”

“Point. Your turn.”

“I got a good one,” he turned to me with that dumb smirk, “Would you rather go back home and pretend to be sick or keep being a rebel and grab dinner at Granny’s with me tonight?”

“Oh…” I felt my face grow warm, “I think--”

“Y/N?” I froze. Dad.

“Hey,” I turned to him, “What’s up?”

“I thought you were sick. Why aren’t you home?”

“Just taking a walk. Getting some fresh air.”

“Uh huh,” he glanced at Peter, “And who is this?”

“Peter...my friend.” I mumbled.

“Sure.” Dad grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Peter’s side. “You’re coming home right now. And you,” he rounded on Peter, “Don’t think I don’t know who you are. I’ve seen Graham dragging your ass into the sheriff’s station on a weekly basis. Stay away from my daughter.”

“Dad!”

“I believe that’s up to Y/N, sir.” Peter smirked wider. I swear I thought steam was going to come pouring out of dad’s ears at any second.

“I will not let my daughter ruin herself with something like you. Now beat it.” Without another word dad dragged me away.

I craned my neck to look back at Peter. He gave me a wink and continued on with his walk.

(1) (3)

[justanoutlawfic]

Where you lead: “Your room looks like a cyclone ran through it.” (Fingers Crossed Wren to Bae, but all the characters in this verse are amazing so any and everything works)

I hope you enjoy this! Some angsty Papafire for you. Takes place when Neal is 13. Trigger warning for mentions of Wren’s childhood…Malcolm’s his dad, we all know how that goes.

Also on AO3

Neal hated how cold his home felt. It wasn’t theactual temperature of the house, rather how things were decorated. There waslots of beige and silver, nothing to play with or even signs that a child livedthere. No, his toys were to remain in his playroom and bedroom. As he gotolder, his toys were for the most part given away and his father turned it intoa study for Neal to use in college. (Because he insisted that he’d be Yalebound and would just be able to live at home.)

13-year-old Neal was at the height of his rebellion. Herefused to cut his hair (or wash it), wore all black and had even begun wearingeyeliner one of his friends gave him. He blasted his Jimmy Eat World and Blink182. Most of all…his room was a complete mess.

Clothes all over the place, his art supplies in everynook and cranny he could stuff them. All of his books had been pulled from theshelf and scattered all over. Normally, a housekeeper would attend to his mess,but he had specifically asked her not to. It was his room and he’d clean it upwhen he was ready.

Neal sat up in his room one Friday afternoon, blastinghis music and sitting on his unmade bed, sketching. The door opened and Wrencame in, making a face at the sight around him.

“Your room looks like a cyclone went through it,” heannounced.

Neal rolled his eyes. “So? It’s my room.”

“It needs to look presentable. It was one thing foryou to ruin the wallpaper with your posters and pushpins.” That had been awhole other screaming match. “And now, Kim tells me that you won’t let herclean it.”

“I’ll clean it when I want to. I don’t want her goingthrough my things.”

“It’s not an option, Neal. This is not how I’m raisingyou. If you have no respect for your appearance or your surroundings, how doyou ever expect anyone to respect you?”

Another eye roll. “Maybe I don’t need the respect of yourstupid friends.”

Wren cocked an eyebrow. “My so-called stupid friendsare how I build connections and how I was able to become so successful. Do yousee me showing up to court with greasy hair and a wrinkled band t-shirt?”

“And what if I don’t want to be a lawyer, Pop?” Nealpushed himself up so he was sitting up straight. His pencils and sketchpad droppedfrom his hands. “What if I don’t want to go to Yale?”

“Every Gold man has gone.”

“Well, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be somestuffy lawyer who can’t handle a little mess.”

Wren gritted his teeth and stepped forward. “I know Idid not raise you to talk like that to me.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Neal had rebelled in the past, but he had never gonethis far. When he was younger, he would’ve simply given up and caved to whathis father wanted. At this point in his life, he wanted to be the exactopposite of his father. He would do anythingthat he didn’t want him to.

Wren knew this. His mind flashed back to his ownfather. He would’ve gotten the crap beaten out of him after the first snottyword. He had vowed to be better than him, to have more patience. He had doneall of that, so why did his son resent him so much? Why was he so determined tobe everything he wasn’t? His father had been a conman, only gotten all of hissuccess from trickery and dishonesty. Wren had always taught his son to do thingsthe right way, the fair way.

And Neal didn’t want any part of that. Wren couldn’t figureout exactly where he had gone wrong.

“You’re not leaving this room until it’s spotless,” hesaid, firmly. “And you’re not going to leave this house until you wash yourhair.”

“I’m supposed to go out tonight!”

“Well, I guess you’re not then.”

“You can’t tell me how to look! It’s my body!”

“And you’re my son. When you are out there, it’s areflection of me.” With that, he walked out of the room.

Neal stayed locked up in his room for the rest of thenight and tried to leave the following morning, but Wren refused. Neal stuck itout the rest of the weekend, refusing to budge if his father wouldn’t let him.Wren wondered what he was going to do on Monday.

Luckily for him, when Monday morning came around, Nealcame downstairs with his hair washed. He was still wearing his punk clothes,but they were clean. When Wren peeked into his room, the mess was cleaned up.

The distance between the father and son only grew.

[cutiesonthehorizon]

Exorcist Fic - The Price of Vision part 3

I’ve posted the third part of my fic, if you are interested, you can find it under the cut or on AO3 - Price of vision 03. The chapter cuts of at a strange place, but the scene was too long so it’ll continue in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy and let me know your thoughts:)

By the time they reached the motel, Tomas was lightly dozing on the passenger seat. Marcus wasn't planning to wake him before they got a key, but turning off the engine was incentive enough. Tomas blinked and looked around with some confusion. It was late at night and there were only few street lamps lighting the road and the unfamiliar building.

 "What's going on?" he asked sleepily and Marcus wondered if he was confused from waking up or if it was because of the concussion.

 "At the motel. You okay?"

 "Yeah, sure," came the answer even as Tomas winced and reached for the door. "Want me to get a room?"

 During their six month journey it was usually Tomas who took care of the motel, the collar often bringing a warmer reaction and fewer questions.

 "No, I'll take care of that. Stay in the car."

 "Why?" Tomas paused, the confusion showing on his face and Marcus rolled his eyes.

 "There's still blood on your face," he explained, pointing at his own face. "Right now, my tired old mug looks less suspicious than your bruised one."

 "Oh," Tomas gingerly touched his face and felt the flakes of dried blood on his skin and hair. "You might be right on this one," he admitted, receiving a snort in reply as Marcus left the car.

 Five minutes later they were both inside a warm apartment.

 "We have our own kitchen, fantastic." Marcus stated and went to look inside the fridge. It was of course empty except for some bottled water, but there was also a stove and a microwave. "I can cook us some breakfast in the morning."

 "As long as you get to buy the eggs," Tomas muttered, looking around. Once again they had to share a room with two beds, though there was also a comfortably looking couch in the living room. While usually Tomas didn't mind sharing a room, he had a feeling tonight would be anything but peaceful for him. Maybe he could just fall asleep on the couch and let Marcus have a quiet night. As if reading his mind though, Marcus headed right for the couch and flopped down on it, bones creaking and all, not leaving much space to share.

 "Think I'll grab a shower and lie down," Tomas said with a sigh, heading towards the bathroom, when Marcus' voice stopped him.

 "No shower!"

 "What?" Tomas turned around, a little bit miffed. "You wanna go first?" he asked with a confused frown, only to get another eye roll. Man, if Marcus continued with the eye rolling Tomas would get dizzy just from that.

 "No, you idiot. The doctor super glued the wound on your head... you're not supposed to shower a few days. Or at least not get the wound wet." Because not showering a few days in their type of work and living in close quarters with another bloke was quite out of the question.

 "Oh. I forgot," Tomas admitted, then frowned. "I doubt the doctor used Superglue though."

 Marcus shrugged the smirk back on his face.

 "They used it in the war, so who knows." Marcus stood up, stretching his back then headed towards the door.  "Just wash up and go to bed, I'll wake you in few hours, to make sure your brain isn't leaking."

 Tomas wanted to answer 'Yes, father,' just because it seemed so ridiculous getting ordered to bed, but thought better of it. That would open a whole new can of worms.

 "Where are you going?"

 "We haven't eaten the whole day, if I don't count that junk food in the hospital. There's a 24/7 around the corner, I'll grab us something to eat. Anything you'd like?"

 The thought of food slightly turned Tomas' stomach, so he grimaced and shook his head.

 "I'll pass, thanks. Maybe tomorrow."

 Judging from Marcus look, the 'maybe' tomorrow was not going to be accepted. Shrugging it off, Tomas walked to the bathroom. He looked into the mirror just as the front door closed shut, so Marcus didn't hear the muttered swear when Tomas got a first good look at himself.  Now he understood why Marcus didn't want him to go to the front desk. The bruise looked vile and the dried up blood didn't help. He was lucky that hammer didn't do more damage. The doctor told him the same that being mid motion might've saved him. Though if this was just a glancing blow, Tomas really didn't want to think about how taking a full blow to the skull would look like. He grabbed some paper tissues and turned on the sink, rubbing the blood off as gently as possible, wincing at every touch. Finally looking a little less like a victim of a robbery gone bad, Tomas cleaned up the sink. He was about to throw the dirty tissues into the trash, when his head started spinning and he had to lean against the wall for support.

 Taking several deep breaths, trying to push back the sudden nausea, Tomas slowly slid down the wall, eternally grateful that the bathroom was properly cleaned. Closing his eyes proved to be a mistake though as all he could see was the glint of the hammer heading his way and there was a ringing sound in his ears eerily reminiscent of Harper's screams. Tomas pushed his fists against his eyes, trying to push back the images that assaulted him. His head felt like it was going to explode. All he wished for right now was to get into bed and get some sleep, but he really didn't think he could make it there without throwing up. So he let his aching head rest on his knees and tried hard to think about anything else but the last 24 hours.

 He must've fallen into a light doze, because he didn't hear the rattling of the keys in the door, or Marcus putting down the groceries. What he heard was a rustle of clothes dangerously close and the swish of air as the door opened...

 "No-" Tomas jerked, pushing his back against the wall, eyes wide and disoriented.

 "Tomas?" Marcus spoke, his voice as soft as if he was back in the house, talking to Harper.  He was leaning down, the place too cramped to allow him better access to the young priest, but he still managed to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it lightly. "It's me, Marcus." There was worry in his eyes and Tomas felt stupidly guilty for being the cause of it. He seemed to feel guilty for a lot of things lately.

 "Sorry," slipped out of his mouth, but it seemed to only make Marcus frown more.

 "Are you-"

 "I'm fine," Tomas quickly said, still trying to calm down his wildly beating heart. "Sorry for... I didn't hear you return."

 "Maybe we should get your hearing checked out as well," Marcus said with a small grin, but it quickly vanished.

 "Why are you on the bathroom floor, Tomas?"

 Tomas looked around, hoping to come up with a totally natural answer, but there was nothing. His brain was mush and he was just happy to see Marcus.

 "I just... felt like it?" he said with a grimace and earned a sigh.

 "Do you perhaps feel like getting up now?" Marcus asked, offering his hand. Tomas grabbed it shakily and with Marcus' help managed to stand up. The room once again went on a merry ride and he felt himself leaning against the older man, worrying that they would both fall, but Marcus was steady as a rock. Tomas thought he should tell him that and so he did. Marcus chuckled, the action causing Tomas to sway a bit.

 "Okay, you are definitely off your rocker," Marcus said with a sigh and wrapped his arm around Tomas' waist, helping him toward the bedroom. Tomas was quickly deposited on one of the twin beds. The motion made him clench his teeth and groan in discomfort.

 "If you feel sick, tell me. I'd rather bring you a bucket than clean up vomit."

 Tomas mustered up enough strength to glare at the older man, who just raised an eyebrow challengingly.

 "Well?"

 "I'm good, thanks," Tomas uttered, hoping he won't regret it later. Once he was lying on the bed, unmoving, the spinning lessened, but he still felt queasy. He winced a bit when he felt the bed dip and opened his eyes, only to be met by a studious look.

 "Did you lose consciousness while I was gone?" Marcus asked, his voice lower than usual, as if knowing that any loud sound was currently making Tomas wish for a quick and easy death.  

 "No. I just got dizzy... that's all. Thought sitting it out would help."

 "Good. I won't have to call an ambulance then," Marcus said, suddenly sounding chipper. "Here, take this," he handled Tomas the pills they got at the hospital and some water. Once Tomas dutifully sipped it down, he leaned back and hoped his stomach won't rebel.

 "Thanks," he muttered, eyes already slipping closed. He heard a soft 'You're welcome', then felt Marcus standing. His boots were removed and a blanket was thrown over him, but Tomas was already out.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Marcus wasn't really planning to sleep. Finding Tomas on the bathroom floor gave him a scare he didn't wish to repeat and the confused state of the young priest made him worry, even though the doctor warned them about it. So after whipping up some quick dinner for one, Marcus settled on his bed and pulled out a sketchpad he used for his drawings. Maybe putting some of the images on paper would stop them from haunting him during the night.

 Sketching helped him focus, to put his thoughts in order. He wished for the relaxing sound of his cassette player, but knew Tomas wouldn't appreciate it right now. Maybe if he felt better tomorrow Marcus could use it as kind of a payback for being a smartass earlier. With that thought in mind, Marcus let the pencil slip from his fingers as his head fell back on the comfy pillow.

 The nightmare was expected, but it hurt nevertheless. Standing in his old house and watching his parents argue was something Marcus was used to seeing. It was one of his usual nightmares, always ending the same way... with his mother lying dead on the floor, her head bloodied and squishy. Marcus still remembered seeing the broken pieces of skull protruding from the wound and the grayish mush of the brain matter peeking out. In the dream he was still a seven year old kid, watching as his father took the hammer and bashed his mom's head in. He was the seven year old kid reaching for the poaching rifle and shooting his father dead before he could do him in as well. Most nights the nightmare didn't end there. Most nights, the gruesome scene with both of his parents dead turned into any of the other scenes from his past. He was back at the orphanage, back in the catacombs with only the demon for company. He was back in Mexico trying futilely to save Gabriel.  Nowadays there was also the nightmare of a possessed Casey Rance staring at him with a double pupil in her eye.

 Tonight though the dream went different. Tonight, instead of his mother lying on the floor with her head bashed in it was Tomas, and instead of Lorraine it was Marcus' mother holding the hammer. His father was standing next to Marcus, arms crossed on his chest and a sick smile on his face as he turned to the stunned seven year old.

 "See? I knew she was a bad seed. You should have just let me kill her." With a shrug of his shoulders the man turned back to the scene, looking on as his wife used the hammer to beat Tomas into an unrecognizable pulp.

 Marcus wanted to scream, to stop the woman he couldn't even recognize anymore, but he was frozen in place.  All he could do was stare with his mouth open in silent scream as the scene went on and on. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, something in the corner of his eyes moved and he saw Harper walking slowly towards the rifle on the wall. As she took it off the wall and checked if there were bullets inside, she spotted Marcus looking at her. With an impish grin, she put a finger to her mouth in a universal gesture of silence.

 "You took care of mine, I'll take care of yours," she mouthed and pulled the trigger.

 Marcus woke up with a gasp, the sketchpad falling from the bed with a thunk. His heart was beating fast and his ears were still ringing from the sound of the shot he heard as Harper fired the rifle.

 "Holy hell," he muttered half breathless and sat up, looking towards the other bed. Tomas was still asleep but judging from the grimace on his face and faster breathing he was in the grips of a nightmare as well.

 Marcus rubbed at his eyes, trying to push away the images from the nightmare. Seeing Tomas alive and albeit bruised but with his skull still in one piece was a relief. Being able to speak with him would be even better, but Marcus was still too shook up to face a possible conversation in the middle of the night. Still, Tomas seemed to be fighting some sort of nightmare himself. When he winced in his sleep and a small whimper escaped him, Marcus couldn't stop his hand from reaching out. Resting his palm on Tomas' chest he was surprised to feel how wildly his heart was beating.

 "Hush," Marcus soothed as Tomas reacted to the touch. "It's okay, it's just a dream." He knew that what he was doing was illogical. After all, Tomas wasn't a child in need of soothing. He was an adult man having a nightmare and the best thing would be to wake him up or let him work it out himself. But after his own nightmare, Marcus needed some reassurance that none of that was real and feeling the heart beating under the palm of his hand was reassuring enough.  Tomas also seemed to sense his presence, because he was starting to calm down. It seemed like he and Tomas shared more than just their faith in God. Although the young priest surely didn't have such a turbulent childhood as Marcus, he wasn't immune to nightmares either.

 Marcus waited until the heartbeat slowed down marginally then pulled away his hand as if burned. After everything that happened, he should try and keep his distance, keep a cool head so to speak. But it seemed that he was doing quite the opposite.  With a shake of his head, he headed into the bathroom. He could feel the sweaty shirt sticking to his skin. The cut on his arm was stinging like hell too. While he wasn't about to turn on the shower in the middle of the night, throwing some cold water on his face and changing shirts sounded just about heavenly.

 When he left the bedroom, Tomas looked to be sleeping almost peacefully. When Marcus returned five minutes later it was a whole different picture. Tomas was either back in the throes of a nightmare or he was having some kind of a fit, because he was trashing like mad and groaning as if in pain. Marcus cursed his previous decision not to wake him up and rushed across the room, worried that with all that trashing his protég�� would end up on the floor.

 Grabbing Tomas' face in both hands, Marcus gently slapped his face.

 "Hey, wake up! Tomas? It's just a nightmare. Come on, wake up!" Marcus repeated several times until the brown eyes opened, unfocused and hazy but still a welcome sight. For a second Marcus thought he would see only the whites of the priest's eyes as happened earlier in the hospital when Tomas connected with the demon in Cindy. That blind look still gave him the creeps.

 "Harper?" Tomas asked, blinking and looking around searchingly. Marcus could feel his pulse beating hard under his fingers.

 "She's okay. Calm down, it was just a nightmare," he said but Tomas still seemed disoriented, caught in some dream. His eyes roamed across the room then finally settled on Marcus. Brown eyes focused on the familiar face as Tomas grabbed one of the hands still holding his face.

 "Marcus," he sighed and some of the tension left his body.

 "The one and only," Marcus quipped with a smirk, hoping to calm the man even further. "You back with me?"

 "Si," Tomas gave a shaky nod and Marcus finally let go of his face, though Tomas still kept his hold on the older man's hand, using it as an anchor.

 They sat there for a minute in total silence, unmoving. It was Marcus who gave a gentle pat to Tomas' chest and gave him an inquiring look.

 "Are you alright now?"

 "Y-yeah, fine," Tomas answered and as if just now realizing he was still holding Marcus' hand as a prisoner, he let go.  A little bit shaky, but he managed to sit up without any help and Marcus stepped back, giving him some space.  

 "What's the time?" Tomas asked, rubbing at his eyes then wincing from pain as he managed to hit the bruise on his head.

 "3:20 am."

 "Damn," Tomas looked up with a grimace that quickly turned into an apologetic look. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

 Marcus didn't comment. He just stood back, giving Tomas the look.

 "What?" Tomas asked, perturbed.

 "What was the nightmare about?"

 Tomas looked at Marcus and his teeth clenched.

 "I need to use the bathroom," he said after a few seconds, ignoring the question. Marcus watched him go, relieved to see he didn't wobble. While Tomas freshened up, Marcus picked up his forgotten sketchbook and pencil lying on the floor and looked at his drawing of Harper. She looked healthy and dare say even happy on the picture and Marcus wished to get a chance and see her that way. Maybe in few days, when the drugs are out of her system and she'll be on her way to the new family, maybe he'll see that smile on her face. For now he made sure the picture was safely tucked away in his suitcase.

[themadilisa]

mocha task: one

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Full Name: Madison Louise Becker

Nickname(s) and how they got them: Madi, Mads 

Date of Birth: April 28th 1997

Age: 22

Zodiac: Taurus

Gender: Female

Place of birth: Cambridge, Cambridgeshire (UK)

Places lived since: Chicago

Parents’ names & occupations: Louise Becker née Taylor and Tyler Becker

Siblings: No siblings. 

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): Madi’s close with her family. 

Children of his/her own?: No, she’s too young for that!

If so, relationship with child’s mother/father?: N/A

Age he/she became a parent: N/A

PHYSICAL

Height: 5ft 4 inches

Build: Slim

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: English & American

Distinguishing Facial Features: Straight nose & high cheekbones

Hair Color: Ginger

Usual Hair Style: messy curls or worn up in a messy bun. often with strands that are bonded together with flecks of paint. 

Eye Color: Hazel

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks, scars): A few light freckles, pale skin that doesn’t tan at all. A few scars from childhood accidents - she was a clumsy kid, one in particular is a scar on the pad of her thumb when she tried opening up a coconut with a knife... it didn’t go well. luckily it didn’t need stitches. 

APPEARANCE

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Casual

Typical style of shoes: Canvas shoes, typically vans. 

How does he/she dress up?: She has a few night out dresses, short slinky things that she rarely wears. 

Dress down?: Fluffy PJ and leggings with cute slippers. 

Favorite outfit: A band t-shirt that she tucks into an old pair of jeans. each item of clothing has at least one patch of paint on it, but it doesn’t bother her. Her favourite pair of vans and very little jewellery, just a ring. 

Glasses? Contacts?: 2020 vision baby.

Grooming (makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck eyebrows?): Clean clothes? Madi doesn’t own many shirts or trousers that don’t have some sort of paint stain on them. she rarely wears make up. Madi is particular about showering daily, if she has time she’ll even shower in the morning and in the evening. 

Jewellery? Tattoos? Piercings?: Madi’s not really a jewellery or tattoo person but she does have a couple piercings. her ears are pierced twice, and she’s got a belly button piercing from a misguided attempt at rebelling as a teen. 

What does their voice sound like?: She’s got a sweet voice, a little high pitched and all excitable. 

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): She can be a very fast speaker, especially when she’s excited - she’s not really a mumbler and she often doesn’t realise the volume of her voice. 

Accent?: Still very much English - she’s picked up a slight Chicago twinge which is more noticeable when she’s speaking to someone else from Chicago, but she’s very well spoken, accent leaning towards an Oxbridge/received pronunciation accent. (think BBC news presenters)

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless): Madi definitely talks with her hands, she’s known for excited gestures and wild limbs when she’s excitable, multiple cups of coffee and tea have been sacrificed to her hands flying around. She’ll play with her hair with she’s nervous, either push it behind her ear or twist strands between her fingers. 

Left handed or right?: Left handed

What does their writing look like?: Super messy.

Do they work out/exercise?: Not really? She’s often too engrossed in a sketchbook to care about running.

VOCATION

Level of education: College - currently studying

Profession: Sales assistant in retail / forger

Describe their work space: Standard shop layout?

If no job, where do finances come from?: N/A

Past occupations: Various sales positions/temp work. 

Dream occupation: Artist

Passions: Painting

Attitude towards current job: A stop gap to pay for college. (goes for both jobs)

Spender or saver?: Saver (though currently all her money goes to school tuition)

LIKES & DISLIKES

Hobbies: Anything crafty.

Indoors or Outdoors?: Outdoors, she loves sitting outside and painting the landscape - especially in the summer. 

Favorite color: She’d struggle to choose but probably yellow. It’s bright and sunny. 

Favorite smell: Wet paint

Favorite and least favorite food: Pizza / Meatballs 

Favorite and least favorite book:  / 50 Shades of Grey

Favorite and least favorite movie: Girl with a Pearl Earring / The Da Vinci Code 

Favorite and least favorite song: Heart to Heart by James Blunt / Gangnam Style... it’s still overrated.

Favorite and least favorite holiday (and why): Christmas because it’s time for family and giving and enjoying yourself and with all the lights and colours she just thinks it’s beautiful / Valentines Day if that counts... she just thinks it’s a con by the card and gift companies to make money. 

Coffee or tea?: Neither. Hot Chocolate

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: Smooth probably.

Do they watch TV? If so, what?: Yes, she may not always pay attention to it but she watches. Mostly teen shows and bad reality tv. 

Favorite place to hang out: Mocha, isn’t that obvious?

Do they like music? What kind?: She likes pop, and the top 40 really. She’s got a bit of an eclectic taste in that she enjoys a bit of show tunes, a bit of 80′s and a bit of rock as well. but her go to is bubblegum pop. 

Favorite type of weather: Sunny. 

Favorite form of entertainment: Music.

How do they feel about traveling?: She’d love to travel more. 

What sort of gifts do they like?: Homemade gifts, often something she’s crafted or painted. She’s all about the thought you put into a gift over the value of it. 

DETAILS

Type of car he/she drives (or wishes he/she drove): Doesn’t drive. Wishes she had something cute like a Fiat or a Mini

Pets?: None.

If not, do they want any?: Yes.

Most prized possession: A painting her grandmother did of her as a child. 

One word to best describe them: Bubbly.

What makes them laugh?: Memes, friends, quite a lot to be honest.

Any special holiday traditions?: Returning to Cambridge UK and spending time with her dad’s family. 

Do they know how to swim?: Yes

Can they cook (if so, how well and do they enjoy it)?: Sort of. She’s not terrible but she’s not the best cook either. Typical student really, she can cook a few select dishes. 

Is there anything they always carry with them? If so, why?: A sketch pad, because you never know when inspiration will strike.

Ideal vacation: Caribbean

Do they keep a journal?: Nope. In a way her journal is her sketchpad.

Are there any places that hold special meaning to them?: Her grandmother’s home. 

Bad habits: Nibbling her nails. 

Good habits: Drinking plenty of water.

Do they smoke? No.

Drink?: Socially, but not often.

Take drugs?: No.

BONUS

Most important/defining event in life to date: Moving to Chicago/America

Daily routine: Eat, sleep, paint. Repeat. Pretty much. Oh and college.

Sleeping habits (Night owl or early bird? Light or heavy sleeper? Fall asleep anywhere or need specific conditions?): More of a night owl if anything She can fall asleep anywhere, but needs pitch black if possible. 

Typical Saturday night: At home, sat by an easel with paints and a paintbrush in hand. 

Most used word or phrase?: Awesome

What is home like (messy, neat, sparse): Fairly messy, but not dirty. Just lots of painting stuff lying around. 

What does their bed look like? (bed sheets, lots of cushions, king or queen): small double, with lots of pillows and plushies, a blanket and quilt because she likes to snuggle.

What are you likely to find in their purse/bag/backpack/wallet?: pencils, sketchpad, maybe some loose change. 

What about their fridge?: whatever food she can afford

Medicine cabinet?: there’s a few types of painkillers, some bandages, but there’s not a lot in it. 

Glove compartment?: she doesn’t have a car, but no doubt it would be full of cds. 

Nightstand?: a few books. 

If they wanted to hide something, where would they hide it?: in the trunk she uses to store her old art projects.

[viktorbezic]

Constraints Journal: Robert Rodriguez Sold His Body To Science for $7000 To Fund His First Film That Cost Him $7000

Discipline: Filmmaking 

John Carpenter’s Escape from New York left a lasting impression on the young Robert Rodriguez. After watching it, he knew he wanted to become a filmmaker. In school, he would make pencil sketch animations of stick figures in his notebooks to impress his friends in class. This got him thinking about using claymation to create animations as a way to explore motion further. Claymation was a way of moviemaking that Rodriguez thought as within reach for him as a youngster. He could endlessly tinker and not have to rely on actors and hone his skills.

Rodriguez and his friends found the family’s Super 8 camera. They'd shoot a roll of film that cost them $5 and would subsequently pay $7 to get it developed only to come back with unimpressive results. As a 13-year-old kid, it was discouraging in addition to being expensive. In 1979 His first breakthrough came when his father purchased a four head JVC cassette recorder which he took over for his own creative use. He’d make short movies, edit entirely in camera and lay a music track on top of it once edits were complete. An impressive accomplishment pre-digital recording days. Rodriguez would shoot anything around him. Family events, goings on in the household and make mini Kung Fu movies with his friends. Using the JVC was a breakthrough in terms of cost as compared to the Super 8. He could now buy one cassette and get 2 hours of erasable content with sound. His father made the mistake of purchasing a second JVC recorder. Rodriguez would co-opt this camera too. He’d shoot the raw footage in one camera while editing in the other. The critical constraint here is that an edit would have to be completed in 5 minutes. If the JVC camera’s pause button were on for more than 5 minutes, the camera would automatically switch off and cause a glitch in the footage. This is how Rodriguez would edit movies from the age of 13 to 23 (1).

The young Rodriguez wanted to attend college UT-Austin as it was the closest college to him with a film program. Initially accepted into UT-Austin, there were additional hurdles to jump to get into the film program. Students were required to take a variety of courses unrelated to film in the sciences and maintain a high GPA. Rodriguez who couldn’t do anything but make movies found it extremely difficult to focus any of his energy on mastering subjects that didn’t involve visual storytelling. He knew how critical it was to pass the courses with high grades, but he couldn’t compete with the academic types. Denied entry into the film program due to his low grade-point average, his observation during this time was there were a lot of great academics who made it into the program that made horrible films. Around the same time Rodriguez was applying to the program he made the short film “Bedhead” and entered Austin’s Third Coast Film and Video Festival winning the 1st place prize. He showed the movie to the professor of UT-Austin's Film Production 1 course and asked he if could get in despite his grades. Since he beat out notable existing Film School candidates that were already part of the program the professor let him in (2).

Rodriguez’s most ambitious project came when he met up with his friend Carlos on a shoot for a Spanish film. Rodriguez moonlit on set shooting behind the scenes footage in Carlos' hometown of Ciudad Acuña, Mexico (3). They would frequently go to Acuna during breaks and shoot in the streets. Acuna would become the location of his next film. The idea was he'd be able to make the film without a traditional crew doing most of the work himself. Rodriguez also wanted to test script ideas. The key insight that inspired him to do this came from his former photo lab boss.  The knowledge imparted on the young Rodriguez was anyone can become technical, but not everyone can be creative. And if you’re creative and technical, you’re unstoppable. Rodriguez created a scenario where he could write and shoot at the same time to put the scripts to the test. There'd be no sense in waiting for an entire script to be finished to find out whether or not it would work on screen. To hedge his bets he'd be writing two scripts versus having to re-write and polish one script. To test the scripts, he'd create movies for the Spanish home video market to see if one film sold better than the other as a split test. He was way ahead of his time by putting content through an a/b test which is commonplace online today. No one in Hollywood would see these films so it wouldn’t matter if they flopped. Not only would he learn what worked he could also get paid for doing the tests from the sales of the direct to video market (4).

Although Rodriguez was aiming to create really low budget flicks as a student, he still needed time and some capital to produce them. There was no way he could pull this off with his current two part-time jobs. His solution? Selling his body to big pharma for drug testing with Pharmaco. Rodriguez would participate in two separate drug trials that lasted a month each. This included room and board, getting paid for participating in the tests plus provide the time to write his scripts without interruption from friends and family. He would go through two rounds of tests earning $7000 he’d use to fund his 1st film (5).

He knew he had to make the $7000 work and be careful the way he spent it. In his words, you’re more cautious with your own money than someone else’s. He found many ingenious ways to make the film not look low budget with the money he had. Rodriguez noticed lower budget films all looked like they were shot in one room or a tiny studio. Shooting in the streets outside would automatically make it look more substantial than an art school project shot in a bedroom. In Acuna, Mexico they could shoot in the street with little interference. The townspeople were used to seeing Rodriguez and his friend Carlos running around the streets with cameras, so they had no issue with it or no longer noticed. Everything they needed to shoot was within a 2-3 block radius. As this was Carlos’ hometown, they were able to co-opt locations that his family owned like his mother’s ranch. Other clever moves included talking the chief of police into letting them borrow uzis (filling them with blanks) and shooting scenes at the local police station (6). They did this 1st thing in the morning so the police could get back to work. Rodriguez's actors doubled as his film crew. And since he didn’t have a big crew, he didn’t need to storyboard every scene. Shooting and editing the film himself, he knew the shots he wanted to reduce time in edit. Rodriguez kept the camera rolling when mistakes happened as he knew exactly how he’d edit them out. They tested a lot of the stunt props in his friend's backyard before setting them up in the streets. For example, they made a makeshift a zip line with a $12 pulley they bought from a local hardware store. It would later be used in the film's escape scene. All of the scenes, stunts, and experiments would eventually become the film El Mariachi (7).

After filming was complete, Rodriguez would go on to do marathon thirteen-hour editing sessions with his JVC camcorder after he had all the raw footage transferred. While doing some of his edits at a public access station someone from the Texas Film Commission saw his work. He invited him to the 20th anniversary of the Texas Film Commission where they hosted Hollywood producers and showed demo tapes from local Texas talent. He gave him a list of names of people he should meet including the agent Robert Newman over at the talent agency ICM. The event would fall through, but he encouraged him to call Robert Newman anyway (8).

Rodriguez would drive out LA with his friend Carlos and shop the film to numerous Spanish video outlets. It was going so poorly that they thought they would have to stay in LA pitching for a few months. Low on funds, they were on the one meal a day plan. The one lousy cheeseburger a day diet. During this time he did manage to reach the agent Robert Newman, and Newman asked for a copy of the film. After seeing El Mariachi, Newman wanted to sign Rodriguez and represent him. With excitement, he told him, "I look forward to working with you Robert we are going to make a lot of money together." This is where things really took off. The tape spread like wildfire throughout ICM and Rodriguez would have meetings with Columbia, Disney, Tristar, and Paramount. They were shocked that the film was made for such a small sum. At the same time, he was shocked by the amount of traction he was getting. Rodriguez tried to keep a level head during this time. He thought if things fell through, "At least I'll be self-employed, making a little bit of money doing the things I love. That's all I ever wanted (9)."  

Columbia Pictures bought the rights to the movie alleviating the need to go to the Spanish home video market. The film, “cleaned up” by Columbia pictures for a couple hundred thousand dollars, still advertised it as a movie that was made for $7000. El Mariachi would gross $2 million off of Rodriguez initial investment of $7000. It won the Sundance Film Festival’s Audience Award and spawned two sequels: Desperado and Once A Upon in Mexico. In 1993 Rodriguez was 23 when El Mariachi was first released (10).

References 1. Rebel Without a Crew, by Robert Rodriguez, Plume, 1996, pp. 5. 2. Idem, pp. 10. 3. Idem,  pp. 7. 4. Idem, pp. 15. 5. Idem,  pp.  20. 6. Idem, pp.  42. 7. Gochicoa, Frankie. “The Making of ‘El Mariachi’ - The Robert Rodriguez Ten Minute Film School.” YouTube, YouTube, 9 Sept. 2013, www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQE9eEmu1b4. 8. Rebel Without a Crew, by Robert Rodriguez, Plume, 1996, pp. 67. 9. Idem, pp. 88. 10. “Robert Rodriguez.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 27 Nov. 2018, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Rodriguez.

[sclty95er-blog]

KANG HANJAE

florist, 26

born to kang sijin and park yoora, hanjae had a happy childhood. He was surrounded with happiness and care, his parents never limited him to anything and let him do whatever interested him ( believing happiness should be doing what one wanted ). For hanjae – having grown up around flowers – he wanted to do something related to the arts, watching his parents design beautiful and elaborate settings for events and he marveled at the beauty of the blossoms. His parents owned a wedding floral shops and have seen the joy their designs have brought married couples and he decided, that was something he wanted to do -- bring joy to people

from a young age, hanjae had showed a talent for the arts, having won several local art competitions. Throughout his life, he pursued an artistic pathway, exploring all sorts of media to use in his works but his focus was always the same: FLOWERS. no matter the piece, there would always be flowers in his pieces and that became his signature.

he entered university and majored in art and botany, a clear idea that he wanted to enter the family business. he began working with his parents on smaller projects while he attended school, he wanted to desperately work with his parents and see the joy THEIR works bring to people. Working hard to complete his degree and finally join the family business, hanjae drew inspiration from everything he saw and never let himself be limited in media or in inspiration.

misfortune struck in his last year of university…

hanjae was finally presented an opportunity to be a part of a consultation and assist in the assembly of the arrangement as well as bringing it to the venue. It was for a family friend that was getting wedded and he was overjoyed to be able to collaborate with his parents ( in his eyes, it was the best graduation gift he could ever receive ). He took pictures of the final piece with his parents and him – he intended to get that framed and be placed next to his diploma.

despite all the happiness, on the way home from the venue that night, a drunken truck driver veered out of the lane and crashed with their van. Rushed to the hospital, hanjae had been in and out of consciousness before blacking out, all he remembers was sirens and yelling.

when he woke, he was greeted with the beeping sounds of the monitor. Nurses making their rounds was greeted with a confused hanjae, the first question: where are his parents?

….car accident…didn’t make it. I’m sorry. Do you have anyone you’d like us to call?

his world came crashing down and all he could do was stare in shock. He had been out cold for almost 4 days now, his injuries were minor due to being in the backseat but his wounds would scar (albeit lightly), no major injuries to cause immobility, he might feel lightheaded and in pain but he should be fine in a few days.

he spent the next while in absolute agony but not due to his injuries but to his emotional pain. Withdrawn, Hanjae was under the care of his mother’s sisters but was unable to figure out what to do with himself. Suggested to draw out his pain, and let loose, Hanjae would hold a pencil and a pad of paper but nothing would come to him. Whenever he tried to draw, he thinks about the last sketch he worked with his mother…

the floral shop was shut down for several months, hanjae as the only heir had to figure out what to do after he had buried his parents. he sat idle for those few months, every day sitting behind a canvas and staring at the blank sheet. Frustration grew and he stopped trying to force himself to draw and decided to sell the shop. It was too much pain….

returning to the shop after it being shut down, he rifled through the items and found his mother’s sketchbook…on the last page was the last design he made with her. The items they used to make their last arrangement still laid a mess on the table ( they never got to clean up ). And for the first time since his release, he cried his eyes out. He was finally grieving….

deciding against selling his parents’ dreams, selling the only thing that connected him to his parents; he kept it and reopened it when he finally recovered. Starting from scratch, hanjae started getting his name out there by joining competitions, working hard to rebuild the happiness his parents made. This was the closest he’s ever gotten to achieving his dreams…

The sketches of the final project his parents made hung on the shop’s wall along with the photo. It’s his treasure…

personality

a creative spirit, hanjae’s very imaginative and the sky’s never the limit for him. He beliefs whatever he draws down on paper, he can bring it to life. He’s a problem solver, never letting an obstacle stop him in his tracks for too long. Hardworking and determined, hanjae gives his all into his creations so no one gets a half-assed job from him.

he looks tough and gives people the vibes that he’s a rebel but in reality, he’s a really soft and kind person. He’s considerate and always takes his time with his clients to ensure all of their needs are met; it doesn’t matter how, even if it cuts into his break time or its closing time. He gives more than he takes, but that may be because he’s a closed person. He’s a bit touchy when it comes to talks about his personal life and often redirects the conversation elsewhere.