#i also cheated on the shading some. they should be in a lot more shadow but i wanted their colors to pop | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ushsblog · 20 days ago

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Alright, you're right. In fact, that's very true. You don’t magically get better; rather, you start noticing things that help you improve. I hope this doesn’t sound obvious or silly, but here are some things that have helped me a lot:

1. Line Quality.

This is something I changed thanks to a teacher in school, and I'm infinitely grateful for it. "Line quality" (in Spanish, "calidad de línea" – I’m not sure if there’s a different term in English) refers to making the line thicker or thinner depending on:

a) Light and Shadow: Areas where light reflects on the character should have thinner lines, while shadows are marked with thicker lines.

(I personally use a thicker outline around the character to separate them from the background, especially when there's a lot of line detail in the background.)

b) To Create Depth and Separate Planes: To some extent, this feels basic, and I might be stating the obvious, but using a lighter line for distant elements helps to avoid drawing attention away from the main character or object.

I draw the closest objects with a thicker line and the distant ones with a thinner line or sometimes broken ones.

Line work should be intentional; it’s not about randomly varying line thickness. Proper line quality truly enhances a drawing, especially in line art, adding an extra dimension.

2. Volume Lines, Hatching, and Planes.

Volume lines, which follow the form of objects, are something I started incorporating this past year. It may be subtle, but it’s there. Following the shape with lines, like drawing a tube with curved lines, gives volume even without color or shading. The same applies to bodies. I also use this approach to emphasize planes in solid structures by marking the directions that follow the form. It may sound simple, but it genuinely makes a difference.

I also use hatching to darken elements in the foreground to bring them forward. Separating planes is crucial in scenes with many elements; objects in the foreground appear darker, while those in the background are lighter. Of course, there are exceptions, but generally, this is what I do. Varying the direction of lines also helps to avoid a monotonous look, and variety always brings more life to a drawing.

3. Positioning the Character and Marking Ground Perspective.

Positioning the character in the environment always adds more context to a scene than leaving the background blank. It can be subtle, just a couple of lines, but it really enhances the drawing.

I often indicate the ground's perspective or surfaces like roofs, walls, or tables. I can’t explain it perfectly—sometimes, I don’t even set up a vanishing point but imagine how floor tiles would look. A teacher would probably say this is wrong, but it works for me.

(although you probably need to learn perspective anyway, I'm on it too)

For this maybe is better watching tutorials on YouTube, particularly about storyboarding, since I can't explain it very well.

4. Use References.

PLEASE USE REFERENCES. Don’t believe the myth that it’s “cheating.” References are invaluable! Download apps with 3D models, take photos of yourself, or ask a friend to pose. I have countless photos of myself posing for scenes in my mini-comics, and most artist-friends I know do the same. There’s nothing wrong with using references.

Of course, it’s also useful to study some simplification techniques by artists like Lewis, but understanding real body dynamics helps avoid over-simplification.

About Comics (from my self-taught experience):

1. Thumbnails and Page Layout Design.

This helped me a lot because, at first, I used to draw each panel in detail individually, which led to me getting a) exhausted and unsure of how to proceed, and b) having repetitive and boring panels.

Creating thumbnail sketches helps visualize the overall look of the pages and clarifies how you want events to unfold. It also enhances "page design", ensuring that each page layout has enough variety to keep the reader's eye engaged. This helped me let go of rigid planning and arrange sequences better. While things often change during cleanup, thumbnails reveal what works and what doesn’t without getting bogged down in details.

2. Varying Types of Shots and Camera Angles.

Variety is crucial in comics. Using different panel types and shot compositions (like close-ups, medium shots, or full-body views) along with camera angles (high, low, frontal, etc.) strengthens the narrative. It would be a long explanation, and a YouTube video or a good read (like Dave Gibson’s work) might help more, but essentially, shifting perspectives refreshes the visual flow.

(I didn't find an image in English that was what I wanted to say, sorry)

Dave Gibson even advised that at least one panel per page should show the character's feet. This ensures that your panels aren’t just head-and-shoulder shots.

While this rule isn’t strict, it encourages variety. Specific angles also support the story; for example, drawing a character from below can make them look intimidating, while drawing from above can make them seem vulnerable. Personally, I like to focus on the eyes during dramatic moments. These sound a bit basic too but there are good videos explaining it.

Personal Tips and maybe bad habits I learned.

1. Don't Wear Yourself Out with Detailed Backgrounds (for mini-comics).

Sometimes, you only need to suggest elements. For background characters, silhouettes often suffice. At least that's what I do and it allows me to move forward faster.

2. Not Everything Has to Be Perfect (for mini-comics).

It was hard for me to accept, but not every panel in a comic will come out perfect, and that’s okay. Letting go of that expectation speeds up the process. Think of the comic as a whole, not individual “perfect” panels.

I looked through some of the comics I like and I realized this, that even in those comics there are scans that don't look perfect, but you know what? It doesn't matter.

3. Don’t Take Drawing Too Seriously.

Recently, my drawing class introduced the idea of “un-drawing” and allowing imperfections. Some things can be left implied; it’s a relief from the perfectionism that can hold us back. Of course, it depends on your goal, and there’s nothing wrong with a polished result, but loosening up has reduced my self-imposed pressure.

To conclude, yes, practice and keep drawing. But be mindful of why you do what you do. Analyzing your style can reveal interests that guide improvement. Also, remember not to stress too much. A teacher shared a quote from Eduardo Galeano with us that I think about from time to time:

“Utopia is on the horizon. I walk two steps; it moves two steps further away. I walk ten steps, and the horizon runs ten steps further. What, then, is the point of utopia? It is to keep walking.”

Our teacher explained that drawing is often a negotiation between our vision and our abilities. You may not achieve the exact result in your mind, but that ideal pushes you forward. The utopia is there to keep you going, even if you never fully reach it.

While it may sound overly sentimental, I genuinely encourage you to let go of the fear that something won’t turn out well. I used to avoid making comics, thinking, “I’ll never get it right” and although I have not yet reached what I would like them to be, I wouldn’t have progressed without trying.

It’s always challenging, and there are moments of doubt. But remember, stumbling is not the end, and others progressing faster doesn’t mean you aren’t making strides. Take a breath and keep practicing.

Anyway, I hope something here is helpful! I feel like those videos titled “I went to art school so you don’t have to” talking about things they learned there, haha.

Although I'm not that good at explaining things lol.

'ohh i practiced so hard i got better' - WRONG. YOU PRACTICED SO HARD THAT:

YOU NOTICED THAT YOU CAN ADD THE THIRD COLOR WHILE MIXING AND MAKE IT BRIGHTER TO AVOID MAKING THE TRANSITION DULL;

YOU NOTICED THAT TO COLOR SHADOWS YOU NEED TO MOVE THE BASE COLOR ON THE COLOR WHEEL AND TO COLOR LIGHTS YOU MOVE IT IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION;

YOU NOTICED THAT IF YOU PUT GRADIENT MAP OVER YOUR GREYSCALE DRAWING YOU CAN PUT IT ON HUE BLENDING MODE NOT TO LOSE THE TONES;

YOU NOTICED THAT ADDING RED ON TERMINATOR WHEN YOU COLOR SKIN LOOKS JUICY AH;

YOU NOTICED THAT CYAN AND YELLOW LOOK VERY BRIGHT ONLY WHEN THEYRE LIGHT ENOUGH, OPPOSITE FOR BLUE AND PURPLE;

YOU NOTICED THAT COLOR THEORY IS A SCAM BC YOU CAN COMBINE EVERY COLOR IF YOU REALLY WANT.

#I don't know if they are art secrets but things that I do and that are useful to me #Now this is what I have understood with my silly brain

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lubdubsworld · 3 years ago

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Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Namjoon Werewolf Au !

Alpha werewolf!

Heavy angst.! Pregnancy, unrequited love, hate to love, prejudice, mental health issues.

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There is a tide in the affairs of men, which , taken at the flood leads on to fortune. Opportunities had to be seized and made use of and you had to be bold and confident in order to lead your people to fortune.

Namjoon, as the head alpha of the Kim clan, knew this better than anyone else. Which was why he was here, in a meeting with alphas from the three neighbouring clans lining his boundary lines, hoping to get permission to access the seven or so aquifers that lay to the east of the packhouse.

The rains had been kind to them, the reservoirs were full but he wanted to make sure they had a backup plan just in case things went south in some way. His father had taught him that. Being prepared for the worst was second nature to him now. The land around the aquifers was rich and fertile and Jungkook had already let him plant tangerines and apples in the area for the little ones. The harvest was generally shared between the two clans and Namjoon was grateful for the easy camaraderie that the alpha of the land offered him.

The land belonged to alpha Jeon , a dear friend by all means and he knew that Jungkook would grant him permission as he always did . But still it was never a certainty. The council members had the final say and many of them held a grudge when he refused to marry Jungkook's sister last spring. That had been a no brainer for him. Junghee was beautiful but also like a sister to him, besides being incredibly intelligent. He didn't need a wife like that. And that was why he had picked, Jiah.

Sighing, Namjoon glanced back at the campsite where the women were gathered, sitting in small groups and laughing around a blazing fire while a few alphas hung about roasting meat and passing out moats of wine around . His eyes fell on his wife, timid and shy , sitting away from the rest and regret churned. He had been impulsive. She was ill suited to be his wife , and the last three months had been a bitter wake up call. Namjoon was well read, eloquent and bold. His wife was barely illiterate, with a stutter and shifty eyes that never met anyone's gaze head on.

He had chosen her because she had seemed docile and pliant and while she was definitely that, she was also ....at the risk of sounding rude and unkind, very very boring.

A simpleton. She seemed to know nothing about anything, content to disappear into the shadows, to hide and hang back and practically become one with the upholstery when he asked her to sit next to him.

It had been three months and they had barely spoken beyond a dozen words. It was awkward and stilted and just plain uncomfortable, sleeping with her. Sex was supposed to fun and passionate and filled with excitement and desire but with her , it was a chore he couldn't wait to cross off his list.

Leaning back against one of the poles holding up the makeshift tent, he watched her as she scooted away from one of the older omegas in the Jeon clan, the lady looking startled at the reaction. He shook his head in despair. He hadn't even wanted to bring her along but his mother had insisted. Something about her being young and innocent, too shy to stay behind with strangers for two whole weeks while he traveled to the Jeon's .

How was he supposed to explain that they were strangers as well ? That despite the label of mates, despite the fact that he had been the one to choose her, he felt nothing for her? Not even the idle curiosity one felt for strangers?

It was partly her demeanour, but mostly her appearance. She wasn't well groomed and it always made him frown. He had hoped that she would at least keep herself presentable, maybe hire the weavers to make her a few new tunics .

Something colorful and patterned like the ones the other omegas wore during festivities. The Kim clan had a lucrative fabric trade with the Min pack , and Yoongi and Hoseok always kept the most luxurious and vibrant silks and fabrics for him.

Jiah had shown a brief and fleeting interest in the luxurious threads, when his mother had brought her along to the tailor to get her wedding trousseau done....but the moment the young beta had asked her questions about her likes and dislikes, she had recoiled and went back into her shell. Namjoon had watched the whole scene, annoyance growing with every passing second. He wanted her to be pliant but also independent. Low maintenance . But apparently he would have to hold her hand through everything.

And that's when he'd begun to actively distance himself from his wife. He didn't have the time nor inclination to help her navigate her new life. He was busy, what with autumn coming to an end and the first chills of winter already beginning to permeate the air. The betas and alphas in the pack were already occupied with hunting enough meat to last them the winter, the women busy with curing the meat with spices and salt.....

He should have left her behind with them.

" A coin for your thoughts, Alpha Kim?"

Kim Jisoo came to stand by him, her scent of floral dust and vanilla cloyingly sweet on his senses. She had helped him with many a rut and he had always nurtured a sweet spot for the omega who was well versed in many languages. She was also one of the courtesans they had brought along for the evening entertainment. Jisoo slipped her hands through his arm and he smiled, letting her brush close to his torso.

His gaze went to his wife, who was staring at him, eyes blank and lips parted softly. She looked a little upset.

Which was understandable but still annoying. They weren't in love or anything and he wasn't cheating on her. Jisoo was a friend. He was allowed to have those. Jiah had no right to look at him with suspicion or with entitlement. He didn't owe her all her time. He wondered if she would react if he were to confront her now. As it is , he let himself stare right at her, half wishing that she would talk back to him.

But the moment their eyes met, Jiah looked away, entire body shifting as though in embarassment. He frowned , but lightly patted the soft fingers curled on his arm. He turned to Jisoo with a smile, taking in the pretty elfin features. The perfectly curled hair , threaded with gold and jeweler pins fell in soft ropes around her face, her lips tinted red and her cheeks brushed rose. She looked enchanting and unreal and he felt his blood stir in arousal, the need to feel her under him suddenly overwhelming.

He glanced back at Jiah and she looked a little green , her face ashen. His eyes narrowed when she shifted and looked around in a mild panic. Oh God, what was it now?

Irritable, he gently pulled away from the beautiful omega next to him.

" Excuse me, dear. I need to check on my wife." He said apologetically and she frowned staring at where he was looking.

"What's wrong?" Jisoo asked sharply but he ignored her, already moving to his mate.

Which was just as well, because the moment he reached her, her eyes rolled back and she toppled right into his arms.

She had fainted .

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" I'm sorry we had to cut this short but I hope your mate feels better soon, hyung." Jungkook's voice was laced with genuine concern and Namjoon nodded, hugging the younger alpha tight.

Junghee looked just as sympathetic, next to him.

" She'll be fine . I tried to get her to stay but she's been panicking a lot and refuses to let any of the healers here examine her. I think she'll be more comfortable with your pack healer. " She said gently.

Namjoon nodded, glancing back at Jiah who sat side-saddle on one of the smaller ponies, her eyes wide and face still ashen. He had tried to tell her it would be okay , but she had insisted on going home. The stark terror on her face had unsettled him deeply. He didn't know why she was so scared of the Jeon healer? Could it be because he was a man? Whatever the reason she hadn't let him examine her and because he couldn't ask her to just forget about the whole thing ( he was still head alpha , he still had to set an example as a caring mate. ) Namjoon had been forced to arrange for their return back home.

He had left Seokjin and Taehyung behind to carry the talks on his behalf, and Jisoo stood a few dozen feet away looking annoyed as he gave her

an apologetic smile.

The journey back to the Main village would be a couple of days and he had packed enough food for the both of them.

As he turned back to mount his stallion, he caught a glimpse of her face as she stared at him.

She looked lost , apologetic and clearly upset.

And he wondered if he would have to spend the rest of his life reading her face, trying to figure her out.

He has no interest in either.

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The journey became incredibly tiring, especially when the skies opened up on them. Rain Lashed the ground , intent on soaking the earth and Namjoon watched her shiver, trembling as they all huddled beneath the shade of some trees, blankets wrapped tight around her thin torso. Why was she so thin? Why did she look at food like it was poisoned?

They were only a mile from home but had to stop, the deluge was far too strong for the animals to see ahead of them.

Namjoon himself sat next to an omega from the clan. He recognised her as one of the maids his mother had given to Jiah.

" Is your mistress doing well?" He asked gruffly and the omega startled, bowing twice in respect before answering.

"I...she ... She doesn't say much, alpha." The girl blushed under his gaze, looking away nervously and he frowned, glancing back at Jiah.

So it wasn't just him, then. She didn't trust anyone. He stared at her till she felt the heat of his gaze and looked up, eyes wide like a startled bird, like one of the starlings that nested in the wooden beams of his hut. She looked surprised, then terrified, eyes darting away at once and he tried not to growl in sheer frustration.

He wondered if it was because of his face.

Namjoon had no large feelings about his looks but he knew he was far from beautiful. ( A/N : A whole lie , I know but please bear with me for the story :*) it was one of the reasons he had wanted a plain looking bride. But perhaps his own chosen mate had , had dreams of marrying a very handsome man? Perhaps she had been infatuated with someone like that , from the clan?

It wasn't a far fetched idea. But still, she had been free to refuse his proposal. When he had first met the clan's watchkeeper, old man Gong in the humble hut on the outer borders of the pack land, he had made it clear that it wasn't some kind of order. She was free to refuse.

But she hadn't.

She had merely bowed and agreed and promptly appeared with a satchel full of her things and followed him back to his own home.

So why did she continue to act like she was here against her will?

It irked him no end.

As the skies cleared, they began their trek again and Namjoon pushed thoughts of her out of his mind. He had to plan for the winter, make sure there was enough food and also make sure they had enough herbs and liniments and oils in the apothecary. Mind drifting off to the countless things he was responsible for, Namjoon forgot all about his awkward mate and the reason they were going back home in the first place.

Which is why, when they reached home and he took his bath, cleaning himself up and finally settling down to some delicious food from the kitchens , his mother's words made him drop the chopsticks in shock.

" She is with child."

Namjoon stared at his mother in complete shock.

Fuck.

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Authors Note : I had this idea and just had to write it. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

#werewolf namjoon drabbles

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vioarry · 2 years ago

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Hi, I would really want to learn more about rendering because it's what I struggle with the most. Would give some tips or explain how you do it? If you had some time of course. I love your works and you are genuinely such a good artist. Have a good day!!

Thank you! First of all, if i have to be honest, i don't know exactly how to give a good advice on rendering. For me It becomes almost an unconscious process (or subconscious at least).

When i first try to actually do rendering, it was because i accidentally turned off the lineart layer. And i discovered "oh! It brings such a great effect without the distracting of the lineart, but also add up to have an equivocal result" thats when i thought i was missing out something on what i called "render" at that moment.

So rendering is the final steps to improve ur drawing. Simply, the advice on it is trying to find your weakness (something that you can fix in the finals steps)

My personal advice is to focus on the shapes more than the line art. There are shapes in coloring, shapes in shadowing. Further, what i actually mean is, ignoring ur lineart LOL.

For me when i draw i merge everything in 1 subject into 1 layer, treating it as a canvas, it can be hard at first, but trust me, once you get used to it, its actually the easiest way to draw.

For example i can say if i was working with lineart separate to color, i saw something wrong during the progress: like the hands look off or smth, to fix it i need to fix the lineart and fix the color on different layers, its two separate job(even more). Meanwhile with 1 layer only, it becomes so much easier to resize and replace something.

Obviously i don't recommend "let's merge everything!" Because you shouldn't. There should always be some object that would be easier to draw when its laying on another layer. And it's depending on what you draw. The purpose of working on 1 layer is to make thing easier, if its not, simply don't do it.

My second advice is. Welp, trying to copy. You can try to copy a real life reference, start with small object first can help. When you do that you will realize a lot of thing that could be helpful for your works. (Ex: like reflection of a texture, the logical of a lighting, the deep of a layer. Etc etc)

Last advice. Plsssss useeee reference, fuck anyone who say: "using reference is tracing and cheating!" Fuck them. I studied in an art uni, one of the best in my country and all of my teacher would say the same stuffs:"use reference" don't listen to those who doesnt even know art. (Sorry maybe its rude)

You can't understand everything, you don't know everything. Drawing is the same with writing, when you write, do you often have to do research on certain thing ? Thats reference, so why its cheating when you do the same on art.

Brain can trick you, don't believe it. Sometimes it would say: "blood is red" and in fact, nope, blood is almost a black shade, with a deep red at the edge of it depends on the amount of blood when where it lied down. (Yk like how we see our veins look purple and green under the tone of skin, its bc color changes, layer, color theories) When you realize something is unrealistic, take a reference, comparing, its how to win rendering.

Oh ok final last advice, Brain can really trick you, and it also need rest. I prefer draw straight but its just bc i'm lack of motivation to continue the job the next day.

In fact, if you stare at your renderinf for too long you probably can't recognize the mistake in it. When you draw too much, lets your brain and eyes rest, do something else. Come back the next day and you might see it in a different view and everything will be so much easier. (Its also to avoid burn out too)

Ok i have a lot more to say but i realize i might be rambling a bit too much so it gonna end here sjkwksms. Thank you again for the ask and things ❤✨🙏 hope you will be able to find your way soon! And improve ur drawingggg.

#ry ask #long post warning

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 4 years ago

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Honor him. Younger Mercenary Oberyn Martell x f!reader fanfic. #Writer Wednesday 05/26/2021

Summary: You receive the worst news, Oberyn Martell died, your first lover and the first adventure you lived.

Once when you were younger you ran away from your house escaping an unhappy engagement and the promise of a dull life. But your family hired an elite force of mercenaries to find you not knowing that their leader is a Prince of Dorne.

Word count: 6,5k (ups sorry)

Warning: Blood, violence, Oberyn’s death is mentioned as canon in the book and show, Ophidiophobia(fear of snakes), unhappy arranged marriage, alcohol. +18 SMUT (it means no minors, pls) virgen f!reader, oral sex (f¡ receiving descriptive, male receiving mentioned) p in v sex (unprotected cos there’s no durex in Essos BUT USE PROTECTION IN REAL LIFE PEOPLE) grieving.

A/N: I'M SORRY I'M LATE this is for #Writer Wednesday, the challenge created by @autumnleaves1991-blog

I read the books a long time ago, yep, I’m one of those people that said “I’ll finish them when George publish them all” so I got ASOIAF wiki and run with it, so buckle up for some bad geography from Essos and inaccurate cultural stuff. I think this is the longest thing I’ve written and the smuttiest, so sorry if it’s cringy.

Honor him

“Apparently he won the combat but the wounds were too severe and he died”

You raise your eyes from the book. One of the young servants whispers to another collecting the dead leaves on the ground.

“What is it?”

They rise from the ground nervously expecting that you will scold them for gossiping

“We heard the news from the world. A bard was chanting them on the market, my lady” she approaches the fountain; you’re seated on the ceramic tile, feet inside the water, refreshing from the blazing sun in this part of Essos.

“And what did he say?”

“He said there was a trial in Kingslanding. For the death of king Joffrey, and it was his cousin...”

“His uncle, the imp” clarifies the other and the other girl rolls her eyes

“Yes, his uncle was on trial for his murder. And Prince Oberyn from Dorne was his champion”

“The imp asked for a trial by combat, you see, my lady” adds the other

“He battled the Mountain; he crushed the prince’s skull apparently”

“But! but! His blade had poison on it so the Mountain died too” says the other girl excitedly

“Oberyn died?” you mutter, your hands are limp and you don’t realize that you have drop your book until you hear the “blop” sound in the water and it splashed your tunic

Your mind travels to years past in an instant: A journey through the vast empty lands of this continent and how you loved for the first time.

The pages of your book are getting more and more transparent while the black trickles of ink disappear in the water. You wish to scream, to rip your clothes and your hair out of your scalp but you do nothing.

“Are you alright, my lady?” the girls look at each other when you don’t move or try to retrieve your book from the water.

You always thought the greatest pain he gave you was leaving you at your father’s door many years ago, but now he’s gone forever. You always thought, while looking from your window at night, that you will see him one day, coming back on his dark horse ready to steal you away again, but now that he’s dead that small hope, that tiny flame that you kept in your heart is gone.

Your childish hopes and dreams of reviving your first love are shattered. It’s true that your life has changed, you’re a grown woman now, wiser and experience but you still fantasize over him, seeing his face and his hands on your lovers.

“We should call physician” you heard them whisper, but so far away

“Where is he anyway?”

“At his clinic, you silly girl, run”

“You do not need to call him” you mutter “I’m fine. Excuse me”

Not caring for splashing water all over the house, you run to your chambers and collapse into your bed. Buried in the soft pillows, you cried, muffling your howls with them so nobody could hear. Late in the night the moon and stars shine bright casting bluish shadows in your room.

Your body is tired but restless and in the night shade a timid ray of white light illuminates that small scar in your forearm in the shape of a half-moon. And you kiss it, at least you will always have something of his carved in your skin.

Many years ago. Essos.

“You’re cheating, boy” the big man slams the table, the wooden pieces and the coins that all the players have laid at the center fall down. He points at you spitting from a mouth full of crooked black teeth “Show me your arms, boy, I know you’re lying”

“I’m just lucky, sir” you raise your blouse’s sleeves and your arms up innocently and somehow it makes him angrier

He insults you in whatever language he speaks and slams the table up, the players run and the loud tavern suddenly gets quite, waiting for the next movement. You’re an ant in front of that enormous giant, when he stands tall and walks menacingly towards you, you freeze, he doesn’t listen to you when you apologize, it doesn’t matter anyway, you just did to gain time and look for an exit but the room is too crowded.

“Here, boy, I’ve also many tricks under my sleeve” he has a dirty bag hanging from his belt and takes it and throws it at you. It lands at your feet and for a second you smirk not knowing what a bag could do to you, but then it moves and in a blur you see a green and yellow thing twisting until you feel it pressing and slithering over your body. The snake, a beautiful, shiny creature with vibrant colors faces you hissing and shows its fangs. Everything happens to fast. Out of instinct you protect your face with your arms and the animal understands this as a threat and it bites. The pain rings like a bell all over your body every nerve in your body aflame.

In a second, cold blood wets your face and you gasp when you see the snake’s head slide to the side separated from its body with a clean cut.

“I’m sorry for the demise of your little friend” A tall lean man stands beside the giant. You can’t see his face, since he’s covered with black turban and his body is in full armor. One of his arms still holds a curved sword that has snake blood on it; the other has a dagger pointed to your enemy’s neck.

“That viper was worth more than you or your little friend and you will pay for it”

“I doubt it. You know my little friend here” and he points his sword to you “it’s worth a lot and if I don’t tend to her wound rapidly she will die and that’s a shame. So, decide now, do you want to be a setback or do you want to keep living your stinky life longer?”

By brute force, the giant decides his fate and tries to disarm the man who in a swift movement cuts his throat and his blood and destiny joints that of his pet.

“You’ve been quite difficult to find, child” he opens the fabric covering his face. His eyes are dark, dark beard covers his defined jaw line and an amused smirk graces his handsome face. “Let me see that arm” he lowers his weapons, shamelessly cleaning his dagger on the back of the dead tall man and walks to you until your back is pressed against one of the tavern columns. Sheathing his sword, his hand takes yours and raises your arm, evaluating the wound and he hums deeply “Oh, sweet child”

“Am I going to die?” you cry

“Probably”

“If it’s my father who commands you to find me, I beg you to let me die; I do not wish to go back. Death is better than that dreadful place” you shake your head determined but terrified at the same time. He looks at you with his brow troubled

“Death is never better than anything” and he drags your arm to his face. His dark gaze fix on you while he sucks on the wound so hard that for a moment you think he’s drinking your life away. But then he lets you go and spits to the ground “Let’s hope that’s enough. You will come with me so I can give you the antidote”

“I told you, I have no desire to return to my home”

“It’s a pity, then, that I don’t care about that” he grins.

He gave you so many small jars to drink. Some tasted sweet some bitter and some other made you want to vomit and not drink or eat ever again. But you’re alive. A few hours passed, and then a day, then two, and you’re irrevocably getting back home.

You’ve learnt that your father, in an attempt to find you, has commissioned this elite group of mercenaries to retrieve you; and he’s the leader. It’s a small company but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. All of them seemed to have many different skills, weapons hidden at every corner of their body, they speak languages you don’t know and you ride your horse tied to it watching each one of them with a suspicious look. After two days riding with them you have decided that there’s no way you could escape now. There’s always one of them standing guard and just a small glare your way gets every thought of escaping out of your head. So, even if it’s dramatic, you decided that your best option is to die. A few days in the desert without water and food and your father will receive a corpse.

“Drink, little girl, you’re withering like a flower” the leader, the man that saved you, says handing you the waterskin

“No, thank you” you turn your head, seated under the shadow of a very thin and dry bush. The orange and violet light announces the immanent sunset where you have stopped for the day.

“You’ve been refusing water all day. You have to drink” he says and pushes the waterskin to your face once more.

“No, thank you” you repeat and he sighs. Thinking you’ve won as he throws the waterskin by his side, you smile subtly until he’s close, crouched down, knees over the sand, looking at you.

“Maybe being a spoiled little flower works for your father, but not to me. Drink or I will make you” He takes your chin and raises it to meet his eyes

“I’m not thirsty” you say, your lips are already dry and they hurt, your tongue is thick inside your mouth and your body screams for just one drop.

“Don’t challenge me, child” he lowers his voice and you gulp

“I’m not a child” you protest, he keeps calling you that and honestly you don’t think he’s much older that you

“Then why do you behave like one? Drink, for the last time” His mouth is a fine line now and his grip on your chin is a little bit firmer

When you don’t answer he opens the waterskin and tucking on your lower lip he pours a small trickle of water in your mouth. The liquid taste sweet, your body works on it own and you open your mouth to drink more with desperation.

“So you weren’t thirsty...stubborn girl” he smirks and you want to slap his smug and beautiful face

He stops pouring water and laughs when you rise up drinking the last drops before he puts the cap on it.

“Look at you, not a withering flower anymore” the mercenary brushes his knuckles over you cheek and you feel them burn “What else do you want?” his thumb caress your chin gathering the small drops of water on your skin and spreads it over your lower lip.

You feel your bones burning, a tension in your lower belly that you haven’t feel many times and that makes you ask for something you don’t even know, so you just answer a timid yes and let him guide you to the fire and the rest of the company.

One of the mercenary is skinning some rabbits, methodically pulling the skin off with blood hands and a deathly gaze fix on you “So she decided to join us” she says

“Oberyn can be really persuasive” another, a big bald man with a beard tinted in blue, adds

So his name is Oberyn, where have you heard that name before?

“Remember that her father is paying for the whole of her, untouched he said” a lean blonde woman, with her face full of black and blue tattoos, is lounged over the bags sharpening her knives

“Well, I hope he doesn’t see her arm, that viper left her with a beautiful scar” Oberyn sits down and helps the mercenary skinning the animals and impales them and puts them to roast on the fire

“I’m not talking about that kind of viper...” she says and the company laughs

“I’m right here” they stop laughing looking at you as if you have done something they deem impossible

“So she speaks” the bearded man says

“She does but it may take some convincing” Oberyn smiles at you over the flames that illuminate his striking and sharp features “If you wish to eat, sweet flower, why don’t tell us how did you escape? We love a good story while we camp”

“Your father was convinced some ragged boy had stole you from your palace” adds the blonde woman

You smile, feeling some kind of pride for your plan, that, looking at it from perspective, did not grant you what you wanted but at least you had a good run. You tell them about how you disguised as a ragged boy lurking a few nights prior your escape so that the servants suspected about somebody being guilty of your disappearing. And how you ran away the night of your betrothal and made it look as if somebody had kidnapped you.

“I ran out of money in Lys so I had to beg, or steal, or gamble for a few coins. And then you found me” you finish your tale, sucking on your fingers, the meat is the best you ever tasted but yet again it must be the hunger from this days refusing to eat or drink.

“I’m almost tempted to let you go, young one, you seem a very resourceful girl” the beard man that you now know as Uhlan smiles at you proudly

“Think about the money” the blonde woman, Rikan, chew on a bone and toss it to the fire

“I’m always thinking about it, why do you think I’m a sellsword?” he jests

“Because you were a street rat with a broad back as broad as your stupidity and it’s the only thing you can do” Rikan spits and Uhlan laughs, a deep and low chuckle that resonates as a thunder.

“She’s a little princess, she couldn’t have survived much longer” the other woman, Shifa adds, the rest of the company has changed the way they look at you, but her. She still squints at you

“There’re princes that have survived worse” Uhlan counters and suddenly there’s a heavy and uncomfortable silence over them. You look at all of them trying to understand and you see Oberyn looking at his feet until he claps his hands together “Let’s get some sleep, we have a long way ahead”

It’s surprising what food, water and company can achieve. You’re smiling more, you almost forget that you will be delivered to your father and future husband within days, Uhlan tells you about his many adventures, how he almost die in Yiti, how he rode once with a Khalassar and that he had seen the great shadow in the East. Rikan has gifted you a knife “a girl needs to defend herself” she said and proceed to show you how to kill a man in many different ways “If you want to kill your husband though, you must ask Oberyn, he’s the one that knows about poisons and how to kill somebody without raising suspicions”

“How does he know that?” you ask, leaning to the right so you get close to her horse, Oberyn rides beside Shifa before you; both of them speaking in a language you don’t understand

“He has studied many things; he’s been all over the world. He was almost a Maester once, but preferred to travel, fight and fuck the world before he gets back to his duties”

“Duties?”

“He’s a prince” she whispers a mischievous smile on her lips “he doesn’t want to talk about it, because it makes people treat him differently or underestimate him. So don’t tell him it was me, blame the big rat”

“Did somebody call me?” Uhlan screams at the back

“You do have a sharp ear when you want, my friend”

You arrive to Myr at dusk. The city is still vibrating, the merchants offering everything you could imagine and the streets smell like thousands spices. And you absorb it all with wide eyes and open mouth.

“It’s a beautiful world, my sweet flower, and you wanted to end your life” Oberyn raises his voice over the people chatting and selling stuff

“If only it could always be like this” you answer, your smile dies in your mouth remembering this is a passing thing. The adventure will be over soon.

“Life gives us many opportunities to dwell in its pleasures; you have only to acquire a keen eye to recognize the perfect moment to seize it”

“Are you implying that I will have another chance to escape?” you scoff

“Maybe...if that is what you want or maybe to enjoy your life as a married woman, who knows”

You sigh deeply trying to ignore the thoughts about your future husband, that drunken bastard, boring and dull that your father chose.

“Or you could run away and avoid your responsibilities; you can create your own destiny, my sweet flower”

“And that’s what you are doing? Avoiding your duties?” you stop in your tracks and he watches you for a moment, chewing on his lower lip

“Maybe” he answers finally

“I’m tired of being treated as if I was overreacting being a spoiled child while you are here doing exactly what I did, ran away, from the duties of a noble life. I’m not overreacting; all I want is to decide if I want to live my life bearing children for my fool husband and maybe die giving birth or out of boredom and disappointment or try my luck in the wild world. Isn’t that what you are doing? Travel, fight and fuck the world? What’s the difference between me and you?” The people surround you, the company has already enter the tavern in front of you knowing they shouldn’t meddle

“Travel, fight and fuck the world seem a pretty good title for a book. Maybe when I’m old I will write my adventures under that title” he laughs

“I’m glad I amuse you” you spat with your arms crossed

“I apologize if I made you feel that I was underestimating you. Do not confuse my laughter with mockery, I know how you feel and I understand.” He comes close to you, each hand on your arms, pressing them lightly “Believe me, I wouldn’t have accepted this job if your father didn’t pay so well. I have to get back home and I want to leave my company with enough resources so they can continue on their own” he explains, he bends his neck so you are so close you can smell his scent, leather, horse and the dessert. “But that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy ourselves while it lasts” Oberyn smiles and passes his arm over your shoulders “Have you tasted the wine from Myr?” you shake your head “It’s the sweetest”

The wine is starting to play with your mind, your smile falls languidly over the corner of your lips and you don’t know why you’re laughing but whatever song Uhlan is singing is the funniest thing you’ve heard. Rikan laughs by your side, her laugh is actually sweet and high making her look less menacing. Shifa is the only one that doesn’t look amused at all and he drinks from her goblet eyeing the tavern, especially you, with hatred.

“C’mon, Shifa, we know you can smile” Uhlan grabs her in a bear hug but she squeezes herself out of it

“Let me alone, you brute”

“You haven’t talked much since we retrieve the little girl over here, tell us what’s going on in that little twisted mind of yours?” the man jokes and the other mercenary glares at him

“I’m going to my chamber” She drinks the rest of her drink and strides to the rooms, pushing the drunken people in her way

“Leave her, Uhlan! She’s just jealous that her prince is not directing his attentions only to her lately” Rikan says winking at you

Oberyn has been absent having a conversation in another table until he comes back with a serious expression

“I’m partially offended that you think our company it’s not worth your time” Uhlan says sliding to give him enough space to seat by his side

“Huh, so I guess Shifa is not the only one jealous” Rikan drinks looking at him over her goblet

“Shut up!”

“Where is she?” Oberyn asks

“She went to her chamber” Uhlan serves him wine “So what was about those ugly bastards that got your attention; I thought you had a very refined taste”

“Those are Westerosi men; I wanted to get news of the world. Some of us still appreciate the pursuit of knowledge, my friend” Oberyn taps on his big shoulder

“I appreciate the pursuit of a good fuck better, my friend. Let’s see if those Westerosi want to share some news with me, Rikan are you coming? I’m always lucky with you around”

“I don’t like Westerosi” she snarls

“I don’t care, I just need you to be there so they take a good look at your ugly face and they get convinced that fucking with me is the good option of the two of us” he jokes with one of those thunder like chuckles

Rikan laughs and she follows him, waddling towards the men’s table.

“I should go to my room” you say, rising too fast and the whole room twists and turns

“You liked the wine, I see” he observes you grab the wooden table for your dear life until you find your balance

“Too sweet, I haven’t noticed it until it was too late”

“Let me guide you then”

Oberyn grabs you by your waist and helps you climb the stairs to the second floor. People gather around the aisle, laughter and moans fill the air and the heat of Oberyn skin over yours and the boldness giving by the alcohol make you pressed your body against his a little tighter than its necessary.

“This is you” he says opening the door for you

“Is it true what you said about creating our own destiny?” you collapse on his firm chest, your hands brushing over his neck

“Yes, sweet flower”

“Sweet flower” you mimic his accent “Say it one more time” your glossy lips, sticky with wine, leave a kiss on the tan uncover skin of his chest. His laugh makes you raise your head

“You need to sleep, child”

“No, no!” you slap his hand away when he tries to push you inside the room “Don’t call me that, I’m not a child. I’m a woman” you try to fix your posture to seem taller but you body stumbles to one side almost falling down

“What you are is a very inebriated girl. Good night, my sweet flower” he says closing the door

“Are you going to Shifa’s room?” the words escape your lips before you can think and he lingers on the door with an eyebrow raised

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t want you to go to her” again the words are out before you process them

“And what do you want me to do?” Oberyn closes the door behind him. And you breathe deeply a mixture of excitement and fear.

“Stay with me” you mutter

“Believe me I would, but you don’t know what you are asking. It is the wine speaking”

“No it’s not” you pout again falling into his arms, hearing how you sound like a spoiled little girl, you cough “It’s not” you repeat

“Right, let me take you to bed then”

You gasp looking at him with wide eyes. Oberyn hugs your body and walks towards the simple bed at the corner until you both fall down on the soft mattress

“Oberyn” you whisper “I have to tell you something before we...”

“Tell me, sweet flower” He lays beside you, posing his head over his fist

“I’m...I’ve never...” you stutter

“No need to worry” with his free hand he starts to brush his index finger from your brow to the tip of your nose so slowly and softly that you feel your eyes closing down

“Are you trying to make me sleep as if I was a puppy?” you slur

“Shh” he continues until the room goes dark and you cannot open your eyes for much that you try

“Sweet dreams, sweet flower” you hear before you blank out.

The sun pierces your eyes as if its rays were daggers. The company laughs at your expense, but yet again, Shifa hisses and insults you in some language but it’s evident that she said something nasty because Oberyn glares at her.

“No more Myr wine for you, little girl” Uhlan laughs helping you get on your horse

“Never” you murmur

The pain in the back of your head and the unstoppable thirst you have makes you moody, and it doesn’t help that you know you’re one day away from your home. But everything is worse with the hard sting of jealousy. It’s not that Oberyn does much, but he rides along side her, speaking in that stupid language you don’t understand, and she makes him laugh, he watches with attention whatever she points at during the way. He looks at her, talks to her. All you want is to rush your stupid horse and take her place.

It gets worse when Shifa sees you observing them; knowing damn well what you feel, she becomes softer, leaving touches on his skin, whispers things on his ear. And you can see the intimacy, the camaraderie that they share and that you will never have. And she’s a woman not a little girl, fierce, independent, and strong; and you cannot stop comparing yourself to her.

You arrive to a small town in between the domains of the two free cities, just hours away from the gates of Pentos.

“We will spent the night here, we need to be presentable for tomorrow”

The town has a small and humble bath house. The simple exterior made of red brick doesn’t show the beauty it has in its interior. The garden inside is made of brick and ceramic creating beautiful arches that frame the pool in the middle; green vines crept over the walls and the tender murmur of water is the only sound you can hear.

“We have rooms to accommodate you for the night once you’re done with your baths” the lady, owner of the house, announces and snaps her fingers towards the servants so they get everything ready.

“Thank you” Oberyn says bowing his head “Wash away the dust of our journey, my friends. Specially you, Uhlan” he jokes, slapping the big man’s belly

“You’re as stinky as me, my prince, but the Gods didn’t give me a beautiful face”

The company strips shamelessly, you think that they’re so comfortable around each other that they don’t think twice before submerge their naked bodies in the fresh water.

You stay by the side, taking off your shoes and rolling your sleeves so you can wash your feet and face. You avert your eyes when you see that Oberyn’s armor is on the floor. Your eyes fixed on the water and the blue tiles at the bottom, but you cannot stop from raising your eyes just a little.

His magnificent, strong, and tight body, his beautiful golden skin is marked in scars in some parts, you see the muscles on his legs tensing and relaxing as he gets in the pool. Your eyes travel through the room to avoid seeing him in his full grace.

“C’mon child, you don’t want to be stinky when you meet your father” Rikan splash water at you

“I-I”

“Let her be, she’s scare of my big cock” Uhlan laughs

“That thing that you can barely get up? C’mon, child, it is harmless” The blonde mercenary swims towards you and grabs your hand to pull you in

“Rikan, leave her, let’s finish and we will leave her some privacy” Oberyn says under the small waterfall brushing his skin with a small piece of soap

“Your husband’s eyes will be the only ones that will see you naked” Shifa says and she swims towards Oberyn. Her body is toned and muscular. She joints him under the water stream and when she tries to touch him, he moves away.

You don’t want to smile, but you do, until you remember that he refused you the other night and tonight is the last night you’ll spend with them. Shifa will have him for whatever time she wants.

Eventually they leave the pool, putting on some fresh clothes and rubbing some scent oils on their skins and they look different, less mercenary and more like elite warriors with a thousand adventures to tell. You will miss them; they are the only friends you have ever had.

“Thank you” you say stopping their banter over who’s going to take which room, they look at you confused “Thank you for rescuing me” you say with a trembling voice

“It’s nothing, child” Uhlan says and you see his big eyes shine

“We will give you some privacy” Rikan nods

When they are away you take off those stinky clothes you’ve been wearing since you escape. You moan feeling the water soften your muscle and you enjoy the strong cascade of water hitting your back until your bones feel like liquid inside your skin.

“I never expected you to thank us for getting you to your father” his voice gets you out of the trance, and you don’t open your eyes when you hear the soft sound of clothes hitting the ground and the splash of water when he gets inside the pool again.

“I didn’t thank you for that, but for rescuing me” you answer still your eyes closed under the waterfall “And saving my life” you pass your hand over the now healed wound, a moon shape scar where he suck the venom out of you.

Oberyn fingers grab your wrist, raising your arm towards his lips and planting kisses alongside your veins until he arrives to the thicker skin of the scar, sucking again on it.

“Do you still believe that it was better to let you die from the snake’s bite than to be back home?” he whispers against your skin, his beard tickling you over your pulse

“I still can run away” you open one eye. Oberyn looks amused at you

“Will you?” he asks saving the distance between you

“I don’t know. Will you come get me if I do?” You approach him, intertwining your hands on his neck

“The world is big and beautiful; it will be a shame that a sweet flower like you rots in a place like this all her life” he turns his head and leaves a kiss on each of your arms

“So that’s a no” you laugh but the pain in your heart is real

“I have to leave Essos soon, I guess the time for adventures is up” he exhales deeply

“Just the last one then” you’re surprised of your boldness when you rise on your tiptoes to kiss his lips

It is soft at first. Just tasting him, tempting him to show you more, and he does. Oberyn opens his mouth and sucks on your lower lip and when your mouth is open he savors you with his tongue. He holds your face on his large palms guiding you softly until the kiss deepens and your hands leave his neck roaming through his back and he reciprocates. His hand caresses every inch from your neck to your arms. You moan in protest when he breaks the kiss but then his kisses move to your neck nibbling your skin. He pampers every part of you with his attention, soft kisses and bites over the top of you breast.You cry out laughing when he grabs you and rise by the waist so he can access your tits. You circle his waist with your legs and you hold yourself on his shoulders.

Any good sense in you, any coherent thought gets lost one his mouth sucks on your nipples and you kiss his head trying to control your panting. The sounds that come out of you seem so far away, his low grunts and moans over your breast melt you and you feel the heat gathering between your legs.

“My sweet flower, you have the sweetest tits” he moans and he lowers you so he can kiss you one more time. You run your fingers over his dark hair, his impossibly close to you but you need more. You need him like those drops of water he poured in you the first time. The hunger, the jealousy and desire you felt these past days have reached its peak and you think your heart will collapse. You repeat his name on his lips like a plea.

Oberyn carries you to the side of the pool, and you feel your cheeks burning, your body in goose flesh feeling exposed and at his mercy now that the water is not covering you. He takes his time admiring you, his brow eyes eating every pore of your skin. Kissing your legs he parts them grabbing you by the hips he positions you just at the edge of the pool. He palms your breasts one more time, gracing each nipple with a small pinch that makes you moan loudly. You get flustered, gaining a bit of your conscience back

“No need to be shy, my love, let go. I wish to hear every sweet moan, drink every drop of this sweet cunt” he plants a kiss on your navel, before lowering his face. His first lick between your lips makes you marvel of the unknown sensation. His eyes are fixed on you while he licks faster and sucks between your small lips, when you tense, every single fiber of your body burning, he changes his rhythm, lapping languidly all your sex and back again, fast and slow, and never too much. Until you’re gasping for air and pushing him away

“Please, it’s too much”

“Let me show you, trust me” his wet mouth bites you inner thigh before he starts again. This time you reach the point of no return faster. A wide abyss before you where you skin burns and you heart beat faster until you fall, crying his name. And he holds you, planting kisses all over you body, every part he can reach. The gasps lead to laughter

“What happe...how?” you ask

“I have many things to show you my sweet flower” he smiles

Oberyn lets you in his room. The warm night breeze moves the white curtains and the moonshine casts its rays so you can see him get on top of you with the warmest of smiles.

“Do you still want this, my flower?” he asks

You grab him by the neck and let your lips answer for you. Lowering your touch you push his back so he presses his body against you even tighter.

“Please, please” you beg on his ear

He reaches between your bodies and brushes the tip of his cock on your lips coating it in your arousal, before pushing gently. You gasp at the intrusion; it’s not pain what you feel but definitively a bit uncomfortable at first

“Let me in, my sweet, relax for me” Oberyn bends his neck to kiss and bite your tits. The pleasure turns your body into a withering mess until you’re full of him.

He moves lazily at first letting you grow used to his length and width while he observes your face

“Is it alright my love?”

“I need more” you murmur

“More?” He rises, pressing the weight of his body on his knees and opens you wider grabbing the soft skin on your hips “Like this?” he thrusts deep and fast with each word and you nod biting your lip. His pace is unforgiving, and you cannot think, all you can feel is him, and his sweet words and praises combined with the slaps of wet skin and the creaks of this old bed. Your fingers scratch softly on his chest trying to hold into something when you feel that abyss again, but this time you let it go and it hits you harder. Oberyn collapses over you letting your cunt squeeze him even tighter, slowly dragging himself in and out until he sense his release coming and he pushes harder once, twice until he spills his warm seed.

You kiss his brow, wet from exhaustion and the pool, in a way the cage he’s forming with his body pressed against the mattress is the freest you have ever felt.

The dawn wakes you up, many years later, a harrowing pain in your chest remembering how he kissed you a thousand times, how you slept caged in his arms for a few hours and then woke up with his face between your thighs

“Does it hurt?” he asked and you flinched, feeling the swollen and sensitive skin “I will kiss it better” he said. And you made love again, he moved you in the bed showing how to touch your body and how to touch him, how to pleasure him with your mouth as he did to you. Until the sun invaded the room and crashed your safe space between the shadows. You could no longer hide from your destiny, it was time to go.

He left you, a small and decent kiss on your hand and bid you farewell wishing you a happy life.

You remember running, not paying attention to your father’s complaints and your mother’s cries while you soon-to-be husband drank wine unbothered by the whole thing. You ran to the balcony watching his dark horse taking him out of the city.

He never looked back, and with his parting figure you promised you will live your life happy even if you have to run for it. That you will live adventures on your own until life gives you the last drop of its joy and pleasure. In a way you promised to honor him without knowing one day it will come true.

So you woke up, older, wiser, in your own house, after many adventures lived, and after a sleepless night mourning him, you grab paper and ink and write:

“Travel, fight and fuck the world: the Adventures of an Unusual Lady”

#writer wednesday #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn martell fic #oberyn martell fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fic #Pedro Pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal characters fanfiction #ASOIAF Fanfic

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docholligay · 3 years ago

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Doc, you always look amazing in your photos and the rare chance my free time coincides with one of your streams. And I'm beginning to think that I might want to get into makeup? I've got about $40 to play with a month for this, but no idea where to start as I normally just do sunscreen and call it a day. Every guide I've tried going through seems to insist on twelve or more different products and it's a bit overwhelming. Is there anything you'd recommend starting with?

You definitely do not need twelve products! If I had 40 bucks, this is how I'd spend it, with stuff I actually use. This is the makeup I wear pretty much every day, even if I'm podling. I jokingly call this "Butch wedding makeup" as it's what I put on Jill/any butch who wants to look a little more airbrushedly handsome.

Sephora Matte Perfection Tinted Moisturizer--18.00

For my money, Sephora has some of the best value around in their house brand makeup. As you might imagine, this is a light coverage foundation, so it looks extremely natural and just evens out one's skintone a bit. I just slap in on with my fingers! I have pretty decent skin so this is all I need, but if you need something with a little more coverage, I recommend their ten hour wear perfection foundation, which is what I wear for formal events where I want to look flawless (Like my new year's pic). This will last you around 2-3 months if you wear it daily.

Sephora Volumizing Fiber Brow Gel -- 12.00

I then just shape and define my brows with tinted brow gel! I have blonde brows for whatever reason--they never darkened up when my hair did--and defining them makes my face look a lot more sharp. Full disclosure, I actually use Anastasia Beverly Hills Dipbrow because it has a shade that matches my hair near perfectly, but the quality of this stuff is great, and it's cheaper. THis will last you, oh fuck, at least six months even if you wear it every day.

Maybelline Great Lash in Brownish Black-- 7.40

full disclosure: I actually use Clinique Lash Power in Brown, but that's 21.00 bucks. Great Lash isn't as long wearing, but is otherwise a pretty good dupe. A brownish black mascara is great for that more "unmakeup" look. This'll last you at least 3 months.

So those are the three things I wear every single day! It's a look that is VERY barebones, and just makes you look a little more perfect than you actually are. If I had forty bucks, that's how I'd spend it. Now, if I had more to add on, month by month, here's what I would add on, in the order I would add it: My femme makeup continuation! This is what I wear most days, when I am en high femme. Same foundation, same eyebrow gel, add in:

Make Up For Ever Eye Shadow in ME-728--17.00

There's really not a good dupe for Make Up Forever stuff in my view because the wear on it is SO GOOD. And also, this eyeshadow will last me, on average, a year. I wear this copper color because it makes my eyes pop blue, so if you have a different eye color, you're going to want to choose a different color!

Sephora Colorful WInk-It Waterpoof liner in Little Black Dress --14.00

This is what I do my cat eye with every day. I think it's honestly just as nice as the other options I see bandied about (Stila and KVD) but much cheaper! There's a learning curve on doing eyeliner, but I find the brush tip of this is great for tightlining. This lasts me about 2-3 months.

KUSH waterproof mascara Mini --13.00

I'm cheating a little bit to make you buy the mini--the full size is 25 bucks--but honestly, I always buy the mini? It lasts about 3-4 months and then I always have fresh mascara. THis makes nice, thick lashes, but mascara is very personal, so if you don't love this one, shop around!

Beauty Bakerie Lip Whip in Mon Cheri--20.00

Finding one’s perfect red is never easy, but as far as longevity goes, I can’t recommend anything more highly than Beauty Bakerie. I sometimes still find myself wearing it the next morning, unable to get it off. I wear Mon Cheri, but all four of these reds are slightly differently tones, so ONE of them will work for you. I bought Mon Cheri, Bowl of Cherries, and Cranberry Stiletto, tried all three, and discovered Mon Cheri was my color. Annoying, but like I said, finding a red is hard. One thing they used to do, that I wish they still did, was have insta pictures on their website of people who tagged wearing the color, so you could get an idea of what women with your tone looked like in it, but they don’t do that anymore. For a casual lip, I use makeup forever’s artist rouge in Sassy Rhubarb

Apparently They Don’t Make my Powder Anymore and This is The Replacement-- 15.00

Powder lasts me a year, and just finishes things off nicely and helps keep it from rubbing off!

If you’re interested in more recommendations if you want to go on beyond this, I can let you know what I do for fancy occasions! But this should at least get you started for day to day!

#Holligay Loves

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years ago

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Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever”

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Notes: Inspired by the Klaine advent drabble prompt "ache". So this is a story I started a while ago, but stopped after chapter 4 because it started to get a little too real. But I’ve started revising, and now I’m ready to finish it.

Chapter 1 (3197 words)

“God! That traffic was insane, wasn’t it?” Sebastian complains, pulling off the highway and onto the less congested road that leads to the heart of Manhasset.

Kurt mutters in agreement, but he barely noticed. His right temple has been glued to the passenger side window the entire trip. Eyes pointed skyward, he watched the clouds pass by as they drove, counted the trees, followed a flock of birds as they flew off to warmer climes far, far away.

Away from here, the way Kurt wishes he could.

“I called ahead to turn the gas on. And the electricity... ” Sebastian has been rambling about nothing for the whole hour and forty-five-minute drive, filling the tense air of the Navigator with verbal static. “We’re gonna want to air the place out for a few hours. The realtor told me it stinks like mold but that there isn’t any actual mold in the house. I hired two separate contractors to go through the place anyway and make sure. I wasn't going to take the guy's word for it. He struck me as a sandwich short of a picnic. I mean, you should have seen him, Kurt! He was wearing a purple paisley tie and brown loafers with a grey suit. And not like royal purple. That would have worked. But puce! Jesus Christ!” He chuckles. It bleeds into a nervous cough. “I didn’t say anything, but it would have been nice if you were there to give him some subtle pointers. Or not so subtle. You know how much I love seeing you in action. Oh, and we'll have to go over our insurance policy. I’m having a second independent appraiser… ”

“Are we there yet?” Kurt interrupts, preferring to focus on how the changing leaves mute the skyline than on a single word coming out of his husband’s mouth. Not that he could catch a one the way they’re sprinting off his tongue like lemmings off a cliff.

The trees soothe Kurt, smooth the rough edges of this bumpy ride. They grow differently out here than in the city: springing up in rows, displaying their fall colors, blending one into the other like an ever-changing river - red tree, yellow tree, brown tree, gold tree…

Their daughter Grace would call out the colors on their long car rides Upstate, conjuring rhymes where there were none. They roll through his memory in her singsong voice.

Green tree… uh... lean tree!

Kurt smiles, clutching on to the sound of her voice.

He's terrified of the day he'll forget what her voice sounds like.

“Just… uh… just a few more blocks,” Sebastian replies, his attempt at chitchat cut short by his husband’s impatient tone. Despite his infinitely expressive voice, Kurt only uses three tones nowadays - angry, impatient, and indifferent. Sebastian hasn’t learned how to avoid any of them, but he hates Kurt’s indifferent tone the most. “Not too far.”

“Good. Because I’m tired of sitting in this stupid seat.” Kurt switches positions, massaging his hip for emphasis. 'Tired of sitting in this stupid seat.' That's what he said. But he meant, 'tired of being stuck in here with you.'

And Sebastian knows it.

Sebastian turns down two streets that spiral together tighter and tighter until he and Kurt are locked in to their new neighborhood.

Locked in to their decision to move here.

“Here it is.” Sebastian pulls up to the curb at the point before the street turns into a cul-de-sac.

Kurt sits up slowly to accommodate his stiff spine and numb ass. Looking around, he sighs in frustration. “Here what is? There are five houses on this block. Which one is it?”

“Guess.” When Kurt sighs again, Sebastian says, “I’ll give you a hint – it’s one of these three,” and motions to the houses on Kurt’s right. Kurt rolls his eyes but turns to the houses closest. They all appear relatively identical – three floors with a pointed roof and a square porch, reminiscent of a gingerbread house. They probably have basements – a huge selling point in this vicinity. But they don’t call them basements Upstate. They call them cellars. Somehow, the word cellar is more refined, and therefore more acceptable than having a dull, run-of-the-mill, drafty basement.

Need that cellar so you can have the most expensive cabernet on the market on hand in case we need to drunkenly judge Sally Jones’s latest highlight fiasco.

“She should have gone with lowlights, Sharon. (sip) Haven’t I been saying that, Kayla? (sip) Haven’t I been saying that she should have stuck with lowlights? But only around her face. (sip) Ha-ha-ha-ha! Please, pass the brie.”

Kurt spent a good portion of his life living in a basement bedroom, so he’s not above the word. But he remembers a time back in high school when he thought that was the person he would grow up to be. He’d start out as one of the New York elite, then become an Upstate snob. When his kids (two of them – a boy and a girl) were grown and gone, he’d start an artists’ colony. He'd retire to a lighthouse, isolate himself in obscurity while being ironically jaded at the world.

Well, he's nearing forty, and he is jaded, but for entirely different reasons.

The house at the curve in the cul-de-sac is painted a sea green Kurt isn’t thrilled with. But that can be remedied with a bucket of paint and some elbow grease. From its position, it probably gets the bulk of the noon sun.

There goes their electric bill.

Kurt knows Sebastian doesn’t care about trivial things like finances, but just because they have the money to spend doesn’t mean they should shovel it out the window. Plus, there's their carbon footprint to think about. But more importantly, there goes his fair skin, which will freckle at every meal while he does nothing other than sit at the kitchen table.

No, thank you.

The house beside it is in a better position, slanted away from direct sunlight. But it’s painted a slate blue that comes across as too harsh considering the neighborhood’s neutral color scheme. Sebastian should know better than to see that house and say, “Yes. That’s it. That’s the one,” unless the inside looks like the Palace of Versailles.

The last house is also blue, but this blue borders on pale grey, a similar shade to his father’s house in Lima. A maple tree has grown through the pavement in front, shading the house and shedding its red-gold leaves all over the front yard.

And this house has a porch swing.

He and Sebastian used to talk about owning a home with a porch swing. It became a prerequisite for the home they wanted to retire in. Kurt pictured sitting on their swing side by side in the early mornings, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

Sebastian, on the other hand, talked about having sex on the thing and scaring the neighbors.

Same planet, different worlds.

“It’s this one,” Kurt guesses, gesturing to the blue-grey house. “The one with the swing. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Sebastian jokes but warily, afraid of what the fallout might be if Kurt doesn’t like it. Sebastian has been climbing a tenuous ladder to make his husband happy. One misstep and he'll plummet back to the bottom, with no certainty that Kurt will let him try to climb up again. It’s his own damn fault, Sebastian reminds himself as they get out of the vehicle. He did this to them, so he’ll let Kurt lash out, let him bare his teeth and his claws, let him dig in with both hands and rip.

Sebastian deserves it.

He leads Kurt up the walkway in silence, past the tree and the swing. He unlocks the front door and pushes it open, standing back so Kurt can be the first one over the threshold. Kurt takes his time, poking his head in first, then taking a hesitant step. This is an all-or-nothing moment for him. In his heart, once he walks inside, there's no turning back.

He sets his foot down, rests his weight on it, and a dozen memories come flooding back: the house he lived in with his mom and dad, the house he and his dad moved into when his dad remarried, the dorm rooms he suffered from high school to college.

The first night he spent in Sebastian's penthouse, the excitement of feeling like he'd found his true home.

The house he dreamed of raising Grace in.

In the end, they stayed in the penthouse for convenience. He regrets not getting her an actual house with a yard and a swing.

Like this one.

The irony.

The room lists, Kurt's head swims, but he wraps his arms around himself and doesn't let it show. He focuses on the here and now. He's taken a step. He just needs to take another. And another. Keep going. Keep moving forward, or else he'll crumple to the ground.

And Sebastian will rush to catch him.

Kurt would rather bury himself under the porch.

Kurt breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, relies on a cold and detached demeanor to help him instead of the strong arms of his husband.

This house has a different feel from the open floor plan of the penthouse they've been living in since college. It's cramped around the corners, with a lot more shadows and a lot less noise. Sebastian likes that better. He’s an Ohio native, same as Kurt. But unlike Kurt, he considers himself a country boy. Even though Sebastian built his identity around becoming a state's attorney like his father, he loved the quiet life: wide-open spaces, blue skies, unhurried, and just plain normal.

Kurt saw Ohio as a cage he couldn't wait to break free from.

Sebastian could have bought Kurt any house he wanted. In that vein, Sebastian feels like a heel for jumping on this one without consulting Kurt first. He reasoned that he'd been the one house hunting, not Kurt. So when a contact told him that the owner of this house, a house Sebastian had had his eye on for a while, was finally selling, it seemed too perfect, especially considering the timing.

Sebastian bent over backward to rescue it from escrow.

Kurt didn't want to leave the city, but it was full of too much pain for him to handle, too many memories, friends and acquaintances who had yet to hear the news, and those who constantly offered their condolences. Few people greeted him anymore without their smiles dropping and the words, “I’m so sorry,” coming out of their mouths, as if joy shouldn't exist around him anymore.

It made his head, his heart, and his soul ache.

Kurt loved New York City, but there was nothing left for him there but the constant hollow thud he felt whenever he saw something that reminded him of their angel Grace. School would be starting soon. All of her friends will be moving on to the fifth grade. But his daughter...

Life ended for her too soon.

“Here.” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s hand, but Kurt reflexively pulls it away, slipping his hands into his pockets to cover for his flinching from Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. “Let me show you why I think you’re going to love this house.”

Sebastian jogs up the stairs to the next level. Kurt follows a few steps behind. When he reaches the top, he sees three doors. They pass the first two without mention. Sebastian opens the last.

“Here.” Sebastian crosses to the opposite side and throws open one of two windows, filling the musty space with the crisp bite of autumn. “I thought this room could be your new studio.”

Sebastian knows him too well. The room is perfect. Even at dusk, it’s flooded with natural light. It looks out over the rooftops of the other houses, giving him a view of the surrounding forests and orchards stretching way past the highway. With a little TLC, it could look just like his studio in their penthouse.

Or he can turn it into something new.

Start with a clean slate.

“What are the other two rooms?” Kurt asks offhandedly. He doesn't need to.

He knows what the other rooms are.

There are only two rooms they can be.

“A bathroom and the master bedroom,” Sebastian answers, watching his husband stroll across the floor.

“So this would have been… ?”

“A spare? A guest room?” Sebastian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to find an easy groove to stand in.

Kurt frowns. No. It would have been Grace’s bedroom if she were still with them. Kurt was trying to get his husband to acknowledge that. Cruelly. But if she were with them, Sebastian wouldn’t have cheated, their marriage wouldn’t be falling apart, and they wouldn’t be running away from their problems.

“I guess I could put a foldout bed in here,” Kurt throws out as he estimates the space.

“You can if that’s what you want,” Sebastian agrees. “Or you’re just saying that to hurt me, which, if you are, you’ll be happy to know, it’s working.”

“I’m not saying that to hurt you,” Kurt eloquently lies. “I’m being practical. I’m not going to have easy access to the Vogue workshop if I live two hours away. If I expect to get a new line started, I’m going to have to pull long hours.”

Sebastian scrutinizes his husband, who’s doing his best to avoid looking at him. “You’re… thinking of starting a new line? You didn’t mention that.”

Kurt shrugs. “Did I have to?”

“No. I mean, I wasn’t sure that you would go back to designing so soon after.”

"After?" Kurt tilts his head inquisitively but still makes no eye contact.

"After... moving. There's going to be a lot to do here. I thought you'd give yourself a year. Maybe more." Sebastian answers so quickly, Kurt wonders if he'd practiced. They talk in code, this whole conversation a carefully choreographed tango through a labyrinth of knives.

Sebastian didn't mean after moving. He meant after the death of their daughter. Kurt practically spent every spare second he wasn’t designing for work designing with her. Kurt has been a designer since high school. Aside from music, it's his passion.

Sebastian feared Grace's death might sever those harp strings.

"I think you underestimate me. Besides, you’re considering going back to working in the city after… ”

Pivot, walk walk, close.

The dance changes. They switch places, and Kurt leads.

Kurt isn't talking about them moving or Grace.

Kurt means after Sebastian cheated.

Kurt only agreed to move out of the city and live in a house he's never seen to keep Sebastian away from the man he's convinced will become too big a temptation to resist the next time they get into any kind of argument. Granted, it took their daughter dying for Sebastian to cheat, but Kurt figures it’ll keep getting easier from now on to come up with an excuse.

Can't agree on where to go for dinner? Have a huge blowout over which cards to send out for Christmas? That's it! I'm sticking my dick in someone else!

“Anyway, I wouldn’t want to wake you by crawling into bed at four in the morning, not when you have to be at work at six,” Kurt finishes when he’s let that dig soak in long enough.

“I’m not going back to work for a while, remember? That’s what a leave of absence is. And even if I was, why would I mind you waking me?” Sebastian risks a grin. “In fact, I was thinking that it might be nice to get back to what we used to do in the mornings before work. I miss that.”

Sebastian holds his breath while he sees how that remark lands. He waits for Kurt to look at him. Kurt hasn’t been able to look at him, really look at him, since hungover Sebastian came home in a taxi the morning after, clothes ruined, their marriage officially in the gutter. Grace passed away six months ago, which means he’s been waiting for a while.

He’s still waiting.

“This isn’t all about you,” Kurt reminds him, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

Kurt didn't yell. But that doesn't mean he's not furious.

“I know,” Sebastian says softly. He rubs his cold hands together, wishing he could stick them underneath his husband’s thick, button-down sweater, and press his palms against Kurt’s skin. A year ago, Kurt would have squealed, “Bas! Your hands are freezing!” But he would have wrapped his arms around himself and held on, would have let Sebastian lean in for a kiss, would have fallen for the line, “Now that my hands are warm, maybe you can help me warm up a few other things.”

Then they would have made love on the wood floor with the door open.

If only he could make Kurt laugh the way he used to.

Then maybe Kurt would love him again.

But going by his husband’s expression, dreary as the olive sweater he holds closed with one hand at the neck, Sebastian knows that now is not the time.

“Is this what you need to make you happy?” he asks. If only it were that simple. If only a house, or a car, or a vacation could turn back the clock and erase everything that happened.

Erase everything Sebastian did, and bring their daughter back.

Kurt doesn't answer right away. He's not purposefully keeping Sebastian in suspense. He couldn't care less what's going on in Sebastian's head. This is his future he's considering.

He's going to take his time.

He circles the room, contemplating the echo of his footsteps on the roughly finished wood, debating whether or not it's a sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. If not, is it worth putting in the time to fix it?

He traces the path of sunlight as it travels across the wall. That brings a new detail to his eye - a torn corner of wallpaper above the open window revealing a word underneath.

Darling.

Kurt eyes it from a distance, tries not to pay too much attention to it in case Sebastian is behind it. It doesn’t look like it was written recently. It's more than likely part of the pattern underneath. But leave it to Sebastian to try to woo his husband back with something syrupy like that.

Something hopelessly romantic.

Something he thinks Kurt will fall for.

“No,” Kurt answers honestly, re-examining the fading wallpaper, the scuffed floors, the peeling ceiling. His gaze glances his husband’s face and settles on the dust-streaked window. He stares out at the sky, the clouds, the trees, the birds flying wild and free. He’s never going to be able to fly away like that, so he might as well accept this cage he's been given. It's what he's supposed to do, after all. “But it’s worth a try.”

He has little else left to lose.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #kurt hummel

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 26

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 26 - Photograph

From the South Third Ring Road overpass, turn right and cross a small road covered by empress trees to reach Shenjiayuan.

The fragments of low-rise buildings and the chaotic street stalls on both sides of the street were standoffish in such a modern city. However, this was one of the country's famous antique marketplaces, and tens of thousands of people came here every day with lots of money to spend, risking being baked by the sun and getting heatstroke by lingering around each of the stalls, hoping to find one or two hidden treasures stashed away in a corner somewhere. It was an industry gaining some traction. There were many speculators, collectors, tourists, calligraphers, painters, and even gamblers among them. They firmly believe that a city thousands of years old hid unknown wealth somewhere. It was this mentality that gave them a similar look; intoxicated and wild-eyed with a long outstretched tongue, drooling over the crude high antique imitations on the stalls.

This was the place where Lin Yan made countless memories when he was a teenager. The middle school he went to was nearby. After school, he often came here alone with his schoolbag on his back. Back then, there weren't as many people. There was a very polluted river nearby that hadn't been turned into a landfill yet. The air was always filled with the smell of stinky salted fish. The vendors who set up stalls hadn't yet learned to casually laze about while sneaking glances at the faces of customers to judge how much money they could cheat out of them.

The old days were like rolls of yellowed newspapers. A young man in a light blue school uniform walked through it, exchanging his pocket money for a piece of colored glaze from the late Qing Dynasty. He squatted in front of a stall to sift through the options. The old man at the stall was smoking a cigarette while telling the story of Liulichang in the late Qing Dynasty. Lin Yan didn't know why he was only interested in street stalls when kids his age were saving up to buy posters of celebrities. Just like when they were gushing over the Belgian chocolates their relatives brought home, he was still obsessed for years with the pot full of honey hard candy the old lady in front of the school had.

The wood, rice paper, and the dusty rusticity of the old objects held a taste of time, and teenage Lin Yan couldn't help but be immersed in it. Like a lone fish in the stream.

The sun was shining on the ground at 3 o'clock that afternoon. Lin Yan carried a bulging bag in his left hand and a cup of roasted sencha milk tea in his right. He paced slowly in the crowd, the grass green V-neck T-shirt and cotton calf-length pants standing out. He didn't know why antique hunters liked to wear black, the dust on their clothes making them look like they had just crawled out of the ground.

"Here, it's weirdly hot. Do you want a sip?" Lin Yan shook the milk tea, the ice cube hitting the wall of the cup with a soft thud. Onlookers thought he was talking to the air when actually there was an invisible person next to him helping take off some of the weight of the bag. That mean, even though Lin Yan was carrying a lot of things, it didn't take much effort.

Xiao Yu lowered his head and took a sip where Lin Yan had touched. He bit on the straw a few times and turned his head.

Lin Yan wanted to laugh a little, and brought the cup back to the corner of his mouth.

A-Yan said that Xiao Yu might remember more following him around, so Lin Yan took him to the antique market after breakfast, hoping that something from his own time period might bring something back. Who would've guessed that, after going through all these stalls, lots of purchases were made but there was no progress with the ghost's memory. Lin Yan glanced at the bag in his hand. It was stuffed with clothes bought from a well-known Hanfu store in Shenjiayuan. They were well-made and expensive. Most people only bought them to complete a Hanfu set for their collection. For Lin Yan to buy these kinds of clothes on a daily errand, that was really a rare sight. Even the clerk couldn't help but do a double take.

Xiao Yu didn't understand the time they were currently living in, so he stood his ground and refused to adapt his style to the times. Lin Yan rolled his eyes and glared at him bitterly. He thought, you're the boss here making me throw away my money while I'm just your servant who follows behind you and pays.

Right after they left one store, before he could recover from the purchase, Xiao Yu suddenly stopped when he passed a woodworking shop. Lin Yan looked at the store’s gorgeous decorations and pieces of pearwood and red sandalwood furniture, whining that he really couldn't afford this stuff. Xiao Yu ignored him and dragged him inside. Thirty minutes later, Lin Yan swiped his card to check out under the watchful eye of the clerk and bought a beautiful Tongzhi wood guqin.

"Oh great ancestor, what more do you want?" Lin Yan tucked the order slip from the woodworking shop into his pocket and glared daggers at Xiao Yu.

Xiao Yu shook his head nonchalantly.

There were more people on the street. Some of them didn't know the treasures that they had found, and they couldn't hide their excitement, sneaking a peek at what they have just bought. Some of them had grim faces, looking like they had been ripped off. There were also groups of foreign tourists wearing Lei Feng hats gathered at the roadside to buy shadow puppets. Occasionally, they turned around and curiously look at the antique city, which was built in the traditional Chinese-style.

In the market area to the south, there were large ancient buildings imitating Ming and Qing style architecture. The bustling narrow street seemed like scene straight out of the Water Margin. The wooden window on the second floor were pushed up, supported by a short stick. Looking up, he could see customers sipping tea. The shopkeeper was a short man, busily carrying a large teapot back and forth.

The narrow street lead to a large emerald-green stall covered with plastic tarps to offer shade from the sun. Lin Yan and Xiao Yu walked under the shadow of the tarps when they heard a familiar voice yelling loudly.

"Look at how green the colour is and how good the water head* is! You won't be able to find another one at this price anywhere in Shenjiayuan!" The peddler selling jade pieces had a round belly, one foot on the stool, holding up a transparent fortune bracelet, spittle flying everywhere. The plainly dressed middle-aged woman in front of the stall looked hesitant. She took the bracelet and took another look at it.

*(T/N: Water head [水头] refers to how light shines through jade. Kind of like how the light would look if it were shining through water. There's a list of transparencies if you want to look at how jade is graded, but basically the best jade has a vivid colour with even transparency across the whole piece.)

"It's too expensive, lower the price a bit." The woman said sincerely.

"It's so green, so transparent, I can't go any lower. Miss, if you want a lower price, it'll affect my livelihood. Don't waste my time." The peddler grabbed the bracelet, his eyes bulging.

"I wanted to buy it for my daughter as a birthday gift. It's too expensive. It'd be a pity if she dropped it. Give me the lowest you can go."

"Here." The peddler rolled his eyes. He took out his calculator, punched in a few numbers, and showed it to the woman in front of him, "Is this all right? I can't go any lower!"

Lin Yan couldn't help but lean over and glance at the numbers on the screen. He let out a laugh.

The peddler squinted at him.

Lin Yan shook his head. He took the bracelet and said to the woman: "Don't buy this, he's fooling you."

"Hey, hey, what are you trying to say? I'm running an honest business here. If you don't believe me, go around and ask. . ."

Lin Yan smirked. He put the roasted sencha tea cup on the stall and held the bracelet at a different angle. The curved surface reflected the light from the plastic roof. He said to the woman buying the bracelet: "Look at the blurred edges of the reflection. If you look closely, you can see that there are very fine meshes on the surface." Lin Yan raised the bracelet to let the light through. "There is purple fluorescence inside, indicating that the reason this bracelet is so transparent because of acid washing and a glue filling."

"Also, notice how the green is only sitting on the surface and doesn't reach the middle. That means it was dyed after the fact. This thing is worth one or two hundred yuan. Don't buy it."

The peddler's nose and eyes scrunched up. At first glance, they looked like a dried walnut.

"Oh." The middle-aged woman hurriedly stuffed an envelope containing the money back into her bag, repeatedly thanking Lin Yan.

When she left, the peddler huffed. Pissed, he turned his head away, not looking at Lin Yan. Even his swollen belly seemed to be flatter than before.

"What else should I do when I notice that someone with money on the street?"

Lin Yan roughly flicked the peddler's forehead: "Everyone here has money. It's embarrassing to lie like this, there's no skill in it."

Several surrounding stalls burst out laughing. The peddler rolled his eyes back to normal. He grabbed Lin Yan’s milk tea and poured a few mouthfuls out of the plastic lid. He muttered while he crunched on the ice cubes: “I don't fool people in this business. It's not my fault their eyesight is poor. No refunds is the standard."

This much was true. Antique jade sales rely on good eyesight. Figuring out which store has more genuine products than fake depends on the customer. They can't return them either so the shop doesn't have to admit they were fakes. Lin Yan clicked his tongue: "These people don't know what to look for. You're just trying to make your father think you're good at this job."

The peddler rolled his eyes, knowing that he was in a bad position and couldn't say anything.

Lin Yan had been a frequent visitor to this antique market since he was a child. Since choosing his major in university, he preferred to come to the small stalls to practice his appraisal skills when he had nothing else to do. See what was selling for a high price but was bought for a low price. He was also kind and helped others pick out the best items, so many peddlers knew him. For example, Lin Yan first met this guy's father, a very honest old man. He even took out the receipt with the price he paid for it when he bargained with customers. Unfortunately, when Lin Yan graduated from high school, the old man fell ill and his son took over the business. and this was the leeching peddler in from of him.

Lin Yan wasn't polite with him. When he walked around the stall, he took out a copper box from under the table. Inside were piles of Ming and Qing paperweights. These objects were all family heirlooms that the original stall owner received from nearby residents’ homes when he was young. Lin Yan had just remembered this box of objects then dragged Xiao Yu over to look at them. Brass mirrors, jade bracelets, thumb rings, snuff boxes, tobacco pipes; Xiao Yu looked over them all and just shook his head. Lin Yan threw the last piece back into the box and patted the dust on his clothes, a little frustrated.

"That box has been there for ages and no one's ever touched it. What are you looking at it for?" The peddler kept squinting at him and was too curious not to ask about it.

"Looking for Ming Dynasty artifacts for my classes." Lin Yan actually didn't know what he was looking for. He moved on and put the box back.

"Ming Dynasty?" The peddler didn't care about the bracelet anymore. "Old man Liu has lots stashed away."

"No, no, no. . ." Lin Yan hurriedly refused, but he thought about it and sighed, "Forget it. I've been shopping all day and haven't gone there. I'll give it a try."

"Don't say the wrong thing. Good luck." The peddler made a face.

The shop run by old man Liu was quite famous in Shenjiayuan. Not just because he was the only antique peddler to sell only sell antique pictures, but also because he was notoriously grumpy. Every day, he'd leave the shop and hang up his old camera in the park to make money. Whenever he went to the shop to buy something, the owner was never there. Walking down the street, he ran into him wearing an old Mao suit, cursing and waving around. His thin mantis-like face was slanted and a pair of glasses rested on his nose at an angle. Sometimes the lens' were shattered like cobwebs, and sometimes the lens' weren't there at all.

His shop sells old photographs of the old city, hung densely from the floor to the ceiling. Because old photographs were difficult to reprint, they were also very expensive. The sub districts of Qianmen, Dashilan, old gardens in the setting sun in 1872, passers-by in long gowns with thin faces and numb eyes. The TV station came to interview him, but only half the program was filmed. From photographers to reporters, old man Liu chewed them all out without exception. The interview never went anywhere, and the shop still didn't have any business. The old man still walked around outside with his camera everyday.

The shop was in the northwest corner of Shenjiayuan and its location was considered unlucky. There was a symbol meant to ward off evil spirits designed by a famous Feng Shui master hung on the door. Xiao Yu couldn't enter and stood at the door waiting for Lin Yan.

Lin Yan looked at the ominous storefront. For the first time, he felt reluctant to part with Xiao Yu.

Unsurprisingly, Old Man Liu wasn't in the shop. A seven or eight-year-old girl in a red jacket was facing away from him. She was pointing at a photo on the wall and muttering something. When she heard someone enter the door, she turned back and grinned at Lin Yan.

Lin Yan was a little surprised. This little girl was his neighbor. Although he didn’t know where she lived, he often saw her running around in the yard downstairs in a dirty red dress. Sometimes when Lin Yan went out to buy dinner at night, he saw her playing with cats in the yard, no one coming to bring her home. He hadn't seen her often in the past month and he didn't expect to see her here.

Was it possible she was related to that strange old man? No wonder no one cared about her playing outside everyday, Lin Yan thought.

"Why are you here by yourself?" Lin Yan knelt down and asked her in a soft voice.

The little girl was lean, her eyes staring straight at Lin Yan, grinning silently. Lin Yan suddenly felt that the little girl’s smile probably made people feel uncomfortable. It didn’t seem right to call it a smile, but just a casual grin. The corners of her mouth were upturned but her eyes were dull. Wearing such an old jacket in summer, she seemed to be left behind by the times, like the rest of the photos in the room.

Lin Yan hesitated on whether he leave and wait outside for the strange old man.

"What the hell you XX, I XXXX. . ." Lin Yan was distracted, and suddenly there was a thud. Old man Liu hugging his broken camera fell through the front door. He fell on all fours in an extremely embarrassed posture, landing on the only part of the floor that had sunlight hitting it.

"A-Are you okay?" Lin Yan rushed over to help. Unexpectedly, the old man gave him a sour look. He rolled over and sat on the ground, patting the dirt on his knees, and continued his tirade of curses towards the door relentlessly. Lin Yan stood awkwardly off to the side, neither leaving nor staying.

The old man felt he had cursed enough. He grunted and got to his feet. When he turned his head and saw Lin Yan, his eyes widened like he had discovered a whole new world, and said with a quacking voice: "What are you doing here?"

"I came to buy something." Lin Yan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Shouldn't that be the first thing the shop owner thinks of when he sees a customer in the store?

"Leave. What is there to buy? Young people are clueless." The old man held his stern gaze and walked around behind the counter, irritated: "Why are you still standing there? You have no business being here!"

Lin Yan didn't want to talk nonsense with the old man, so he pat his back and turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait!" The old man yelled. Lin Yan had just reached the door and was so frightened by the voice that he came to a halt.

"You look good, I'll take a picture of you." The old man suddenly walked out from behind the counter with his camera in hand. He grabbed Lin Yan by the collar and pulled him into the room. After couple of pushes, he stood beside the little girl. He squatted down involuntarily, and the shutter sounded with a few clicks. The old man's furrowed face appeared from behind the camera and he smacked his lips with satisfaction.

After the shutter, several photos appeared from the top of the camera. The old man took one in his hand and glanced at it. He pulled one out and shoved it at Lin Yan: "You take it."

Lin Yan was shown the strength of this old man. He turned his face angrily, trying to walk out, rubbing his shoulder: "I don't want to."

"Take it!" The old man yelled in Lin Yan's ear, making his ears ring.

Lin Yan took it and glanced speechlessly. He saw that in the black-and-white picture he stood like a wooden pole, staring expressionlessly at the wall. The background was dimmed, and the entire thing looked like a horror picture people would share online.

What's wrong with. . .

Lin Yan eyes widened and a nerve in his head popped. He couldn't help taking a step back, looking at himself in the photo. When he looked at the spot where he was standing when the picture was taken, it felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over his head.

The little girl who took the picture with him just now wasn't in the photo. He was the only person in the black and white background straight out of a horror movie.

Lin Yan hesitantly looked up. The girl in red was standing where he stood, wearing an out-of-date ragged jacket, grinning at him biting her fingernail.

"Hehe, hehe." The old man held up the camera to his crooked eyes and a piece of the lens fell to the ground. "Perfect, great picture."

Lin Yan crawled out of the house.

The sun was bitterly hot and the bustling street was swarming with people. Xiao Yu was standing casually by the doorway. Lin Yan couldn't say a word, swallowing hard. He rushed over and wrapped him up in a fierce hug.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #bl novel #danmei novel #danmei

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purity-town · 4 years ago

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Little late getting to these -- that's fully the fault of a class project I spent all of Monday/Tuesday and most of Wednesday working on -- but I finished my project and wrote up some long replies to these!

(Apologies for any funny formatting -- I'm trying out the beta for the new post editor!)

Absolutely not.

Nope! There are a few people who do know (other guides Andrew's met before, the Dryad, and I'd imagine the Witch Doctor knows something's up even if he doesn't know why), but none of them live in Purity Town proper, and the Dryad and Witch Doctor aren't the kind to participate in rumors or spread what isn't theirs to share. The old man is also aware just because he and Andrew have talked about their curses, but he's 1) not currently in town and 2) not going to share even if he were.

Most folks don't know much about Andrew in general; Becca probably knows the most out of the townsfolk, knowing a little bit about his family and where he's from (he has some pretty specific skills as a hunter that betray this, but he doesn't talk about his exact town of birth), but no specifics and certainly not time periods.

Andrew is good at keeping things quiet; he has to be.

I would actually appreciate if you didn't post to Pinterest -- usually I'm fine with people reposting with credit (several of the things I've posted to my DeviantArt have found their way to Instagram, for example) but Pinterest has something of a reputation for stolen art (things being reposted from another Pinterest post without credit this time, or credit being hard to view for users not logged in or just viewing through Google). So reposting elsewhere is fine (though if you repost to Reddit or Instagram, tag me at u/Ariibees or @Ariibees)! I'd just prefer my works stay off of Pinterest.

The terminology related to The Guide/Andrew/The Guardian/The World’s Core/The WoF is all confusing because on some level, they’re all the same being. Kind of like trying to talk about Jekyll and Hyde -- same guy, different looks/actions, haha.

For all intents and purposes, references to the WoF being the barrier/core/whatever behind or within which the spirits of light and dark are contained is equivalent to saying “these spirits are held trapped by the magic of the Guardian, who when summoned appears as the WoF.” I do break slightly from the official lore in how the WoF/Guardian/thing holding back these spirits works (mostly because I don’t really like the idea that the Hallow is a “temporary guardian” or whatever), but the basic concept of “these are trapped by [thing that makes up the WoF]” remains unchanged.

If “loony cultist” is a reference to something, I’m so sorry, but I’m lost on it. If you’re just talking about the lunatic cultist in a funny way, then yes, they’re in here as a very plot-significant character!

I had to google what meme you were talking about, but it did make me laugh.

Andrew’s most annoyed by the nickname because people do like to call him Guide, and for someone who’s dedicated his whole life to his role, it can get tiring. He doesn’t really *mind* being called Guide -- it’s fine, that’s what he is and as long as people are respectful of his job he’ll take what he can get -- but at the same time, he’d like for people to stop thinking “Aah! Monster!” or “Weird academic know-it-all” and just...treat him like a normal person sometimes. So he fights to be called Andrew. And...Malik comes along and gives him a nickname that he doesn’t like and doesn’t allow others to use, save for maybe a small group of people of which Malik is not a part. So, not cool, man!

People love to overcomplicate explaining shading/lighting, and if you wanted to you could certainly go on and on about reflections of light off the ground and shading colors and all sorts of things, but as I’m writing this at 1 AM I don’t really care to.

If you really want to get into shading, I see nice ones on DeviantArt or Tumblr from time to time, or you can always watch a YouTube video on it. Really, though, just keep at it, think about how the shadows should look and work, and you'll get better at it eventually and pick up new ideas on how it all works. (And this is coming from someone who is new to making comics and actually started as a painter.)

Purity Town’s shading comes down to this: simplicity. As much as I’d love to spend hours and hours redrawing the panels I don’t like and carefully shading every fold of fabric and painting detailed backgrounds, I’m a full-time college student and will be working full-time over the summer -- I don’t have the time. So, I cut corners: I reuse backgrounds or use brushes (see: bricks, trees, clouds) that make certain details easier, and I try not to obsess too much over panels I’m not fully happy with. Shadows go where they feel right, and light on the opposite side.

For shading, this comes down to making things quick and easy. For these last few pages, character shading/lighting has only been five layers. One hard light layer for the bluer soft shadows, one overlay layer for darker soft shadows, one linear burn layer for hard shadows, one soft light layer for soft lighting, and one overlay layer for hard lighting. I’ll often also make use of glow dodge layers for lighting, or change the color balance or add more hard/soft light layers if there’s a very heavy color filter on the scene (such as a celestial event, blood moon, or outdoors at night).

Using all the different layer types is essentially a cheat code to fancier lighting -- don’t want to use flat black? Boom, hard light or overlay or burn will give you colored shadows. Want to make your light brighter? Glow dodge will make it burn your retinas.

Sorry that this isn’t a very comprehensive guide, but in my mind, shading and lighting is really something that you pick up over time and it’s hard to sit down and write a guide for it without making it into a massive essay on art theory that I don't even know proper terminology for because I'm not an art student. Of course with some googling you’ll find *proper* guides for this sort of thing from art majors and the likes, and those can be super helpful and technical! But for Purity Town, I just sort of go with what feels right and what's easy to replicate.

Firstly, I’m happy to hear you’re liking the comic!

Secondly, those buttons are actually there due to the theme! (For those on mobile who can’t see it, I have the theme set to only display on desktop as I prefer the current mobile layout on phone.) I’m using the simple webcomic theme (a quick Google should tell you how to install it for yourself) -- except I’m not actually using it for the webcomic features; rather, it’s a case of “this is the most simple, nice-looking non-default theme I could find.”

The previous/next buttons are added by the theme with the intent that the blog is being used as a typical webcomic website, with nothing but comic pages being posted. However, I post asks and other art here too, and I do so with the intent that people looking at #Terraria or their dashboards in general will see it. So...I use html formatting to make the first/previous/next/last links, along with an index and chapter-by-chapter viewing (using /tagged/chapter##/chrono) so that no matter where you’re coming from, you can still navigate just the pages!

If you want to add just the previous/next buttons, I can’t really help you -- web development is not my area of study in the slightest. But you can check out the theme that they come from and if you want to install only them, you can surely find a tutorial on it somewhere!

(As a side note, the comments section is not from the theme, it’s from a site called Disqus. I don’t expect many people, if anyone, to leave comments, but since I link back to this site a lot and many folks don’t have Tumblr accounts, it’s an option I like to make available.)

Hiya! My hike was pretty nice; it was a short and easy one, but that was quite appreciated as the trail is unmaintained from November to April, and the trail was covered in fallen trees and quite rocky. Still had fun, though!

And for backgrounds, it depends! For indoors scenes (or outdoors scenes with buildings) I don’t tend to use references, outside of looking up things like “which side of a door is the handle on.” I will, however, integrate real-life textures (see: the quilt and rug in Guide’s house, the wood walls on the building in the background of this week’s page), and paint over paintings from the Terraria wiki.

For outdoors scenes, for simple backgrounds (such as foliage-heavy) ones, I typically don’t need references. I like the difference between detailed, lined indoor/man-made object scenes vs. painted, messy outdoor scenes. But for things like mountains, I do sometimes look up references to help with color choices and the likes.

The town’s layout is a bit strange in that depending on the scene, the background could be drastically different. One side of town faces more mountainside, one side faces the orchards/open hillside, and the other two sides face various degrees of open space and more mountainside/forest. References taken on top of mountains are helpful to get an idea of what degree of foliage I should include between the characters and the sky.

Though this is very specific to the town of Purity -- other towns/villages will have significantly different-looking backgrounds, even the foliage-heavy ones.

That said, what's even more helpful than looking at photos is looking at paintings. Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron is really good for getting an idea of how to draw grasslands and distant mountains, plus Studio Ghibli movies in general!

#purity town #pt asks #terraria #not an update

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lilyharvord · 4 years ago

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The Secret Correspondence of the Dancing War - Part 5

A/N And we have arrived as the end children. While it saddens us to wrap this up, I think Regina (@elane-in-the-shadows) and I are super happy with it. Here is the final letter to wrap up the epilogue that we decided we knew how to write better than Victoria.

v. Kilorn

[Editors note, Gabriel Jacos: While this letter was written ten years ago, Coriane and Shade Barrow Calore have agreed to share it to preserve it. For context, this letter was written some three weeks after the fourth attempt to kidnap them failed in the year they announced their abdication from their father’s birthright. For more information on the topic of Calore abdication, see section: treaties N/M ii to v v. GJA/. Both were moved to a remote location with their parents known only to very close family. For this reason, there are no omissions in the letter and there is little more to be said other than the few words they asked to be shared: it is their favorite letter that their uncle wrote to them, and he was right about their mother cheating at cards. For further reading on the topic of the Dancing War, see section: letters EITS i to LV v. GJA/]

November 30 345

Cori and Shade,

I hope this letter finds you safe, and while I applaud both of you on your ability to drive your dad up a wall (a pass time that I really enjoyed too when I was younger), I do ask that you try to refrain from making your parents decide that the front lines are easier to handle than you two. For starters, the cabin roof is not a spring board for you two to practice jumping off of, and the woods out back are not a place for you to practice creating infernos Cori. I know how boring it can be to sit around under protective custody, but just know that we all miss you both very much. My office isn’t the same without you two running around playing your games, and distracting me with your laughter. Hopefully all of this blows over soon and you two can be back in time to celebrate the holidays, or at least your birthday, Cori. Your grandmother is already preparing, and she’s counting you and your parents in for dinner. And yes, Shade, I did remember to remind to your grandmother that you hate vegetables. She has promised to include something different for you (although I can’t make any promises on whether or not your mom forces you to eat some).

I’m sure your parents will want a break from you trouble makers when you get back, so I assume I’ll have to shoulder the burden of keeping you little demons under control. While I’ll be pretty busy handling the treaty with the Prairie fiefdoms and reviewing or implementing whatever crazy battle plans your parents come up with, I’m sure we’ll still have plenty of time to wander the gardens on the grounds. Carmadon has been tending to the patch of lavender your planted with him, Cori, and you’ll be pleased to know that it’s doing very well given the storms we’ve had lately. I plan to restock the pond once it thaws too, so hopefully we can spend some time feeding the fish and the ducks in the spring if you two promise not to terrorize them again. I doubt that will happen though. You two know how to terrorize things more than your parents do.

Speaking of your parents, I heard you two have been asking more and more about your namesakes… and about the past. Cori, I heard that you snooped around in your dad’s office and found a stack of letters addressed to his brother who you’ve never met, and only got caught because you put a paperweight back in the wrong place (which is a very small error for someone your age and you should be prepared for a recruitment letter from Elane Haven… I may have mentioned the story to her).

While it’s not my business to share with you the entire story, I can say that much of what occurred left very profound impacts on your parents and the rest of the people you know. Many of us were not always close or willing to share a room with each other. In fact, only recently has your mother been able to speak with Ptolemus Samos for longer than ten seconds. And while your parents probably celebrated the day both of you displayed your abilities, there is still a deep fear about what occurred in the past to people like you. Norta was not always the States, and people like us did not always enjoy the freedoms we do now. I’ve heard your mom tell you both numerous times to count your blessings, and I have also heard your dad tell you not to joke about wanting to kill each other, and they’re right to say those things. While you might not have understood why they both get so nervous when you joke like that, you have to know that they are still healing all these years later. I didn’t want to be morbid in this letter, given what happened a month ago, but as you two get older and grow up, I feel as if you need to be reminded of what we all fought for. Your mother and father both lost brothers to the war, as you now know, but the extent of that loss probably has not been shared with you two. I encourage you to ask them about those people, but be prepared to hear things you might not like. We all did bad things to survive and hurt a lot of people to get to where we are today. You two are certainly a blessing with everything that has happened in our lives, but one that could never have occurred twenty years ago.

The world is still changing, and people are still growing (even me and your parents). I know you both have gotten angry with them for returning to the front numerous times once you were older, but you have to understand that they are still desperately trying to make the world a safer, better place for you two to grow up in. We all are. We want you and your cousins to have better lives than we did. We want you to have the chance to be kinder and more naïve than we were. We don’t want you to have to fight wars that don’t belong to you, or to have enemies because their parents were our enemies. We want you to be able to walk down the street without having to look over your shoulders like we did and still do at times. We want you to be happier than we were.

I know this is a lot to digest, and I’m sure you’re more than little uncomfortable. But that is okay. As your Uncle Julian has told you numerous times: the past and the truth must make us uncomfortable if we are to change the future. There’s a reason that quote was in my first official address. My hope, and your parents’ hope, is that the wars end before you’re both adults. That way you don’t have to think about entering the military, although I have been told not to discourage either of you from wanting to do that, you’re supposed to be completely free to make that choice. But once again, we want you to be able to make a choice.

Now that I got all of that mushy gushy stuff out of the way that I know you’re both making faces at while you read, I do have some advice for you as your favorite uncle.

1. If you do plan to jump off the cabin roof, make sure you have enough snow to fall into (4-5 feet should do the trick), don’t pack it though, keep it loose and try to avoid any icy patches.

2. Your father is terrible at protecting his left side, so if you want to get him (and kick his butt) during a snow ball fight, I recommend sneaking up on his left.

3. If you really want your mother to not be mad at you for jumping off the cabin roof, give her a kiss on the cheek and remind her that she used to jump off your grandparents’ porch with me when we were your age.

4. If you’re going to play wrestle, no biting, or scratching. Shade, don’t pull on your sister’s hair, and Cori try to refrain from pummeling your brother into the ground.

5. No abilities in the house. Wait for your parents to supervise you please. (Shade I heard you and your mother had a good time making thunder snow the other week, don’t try it on your own unless you want a beating from her that will keep you from sitting down for a month)

6. If you two do decide to ignore #5 go someplace where you parents won’t see you and have a really, really good lie planned for when they find you.

7. When your dad says he’s busy, he’s secretly crying for help and distraction. I recommend dragging him outside to play or putting on your best begging faces. Maximum amount of bothering should get him to move.

8. Ask your dad to play “the game”. It involves all the lights being off and being as quiet as possible. You two normally struggle with that but I’d like to hear how it goes.

9. Your mother cheats at card games. Always cheek her sleeves before and during playing.

10. Don’t tell them I told you to do any of this.

I’m going to keep missing you two the entire time you’re away. I can’t wait to see you again. Don’t grow more than a few inches while you’re gone (this is directed mostly at you, Shade.)

Give each other a hug for me (squeeze twice just like I do). I love you both.

@elliemarchetti @inopinion @scxrletguardsdawn @freaky-freiday @petergrantkavinsky @mareshmallow @farleydiana @king-maven-calore @whatsup-gorls @delilahlbard @evangeline-of-montfort @redqueenetwork

#the secret correspondence of the dancing war #*cries causes it over*#you know i had to go hard with this part #MY FISH BOI DESERVED BETTER THAN HE GOT #red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #can't believe Victoria did him like that #one throw away line for the fish boi #no I wont stand for it #he would have doted on Mare and Cal's kids like they were his own #Also did you see what we did there??? With kilorn being the final letter #the boy who couldn't read or write is the one who does the final summary #I love that shit #cyclical and pretty just the way I likeit #marecal #mare barrow #cal calore #kilorn warren #diana farley #coriane barrow calore #shade barrow calore #I had a 1/2 a mind to add a part about them dropping the barrow out of their name #that would have taken too much time though #plus it would have just been him smacking them for something mare or cal woudl do #give me domestic as fuck marecal or give me death

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chaoticneutralwriter · 5 years ago

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Interlude: Second Best

long·ing | \ ˈlȯŋ-iŋ : a strong desire especially for something unattainable guardian demon!Jimin x reader genre: fluff, romance, angst, comedy, supernatural word count: 4.9k Related works: See Masterlist under guardian demon!Jimin POV switch for Jamais Vu A/N: IT’S ANGSTY LOLLL woops and a little longer than i had planned tbh but i hope you enjoy it all the same, because this will give you some insight when the tone shifts in the next couple of chapters :DD Again, thank you SO SO SO much for the wait and support! I love you all!! I hope you like this chapter! 💜💜💜🥺🥺🥺 (also, without meaning to, The Truth Untold really fits as an OST here... LOL)

Tag: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatinagirl @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b

He needs to stop doing that.

Tempting himself with little touches whenever he gets the chance. They’re harmless enough but he might as well be dissecting his own heart at an excruciatingly slow pace.

But he’s come to know by now that he doesn’t have much sense when it comes to you.

Jimin moves through the crowd like a phantom, passing by without so much as a second glance from anyone despite your lack of trust with his choice of attire. To others, he’s just another traveler trying to get to where they need to go. And right now, he’s shadowing you, eyes trained on the back of yours and your friend’s head. He’s got a clear view even when Jimin is a good twenty or so steps back and there’s a wall of people separating him from you, keeping well to his word that he would be discreet enough that you won’t even notice him.

He watches from a far as you and your friend are excitedly chattering away with two girls whom you have never met before as if you have always known them. The entire interaction makes his lips curl with an amused smile. Under different circumstances, Jimin would think it all stupid; not really understanding how ridiculously trusting you were being just because you all shared a common love for a group of musical artist yet somehow, seeing you makes it strangely wholesome.

It’s in those moments that he chances a glimpse of what humanity could be but ultimately choose not to.

Jimin eventually leaves you, weirdly confident that you’re in good hands as he hails an airport limo. One almost immediately pulls up beside him, the man hastily getting out.

“Good morning sir, where are we heading off to today?” The driver asks as he comes around to pull the door open for Jimin to duck in, gliding into the seat.

“The Ritz-Carlton, downtown.”

The man nods in acknowledgement, shutting the door once he’s sure Jimin is settled before jogging back to the driver’s seat. The drive there is quiet, something the demon is thankful for because he’s not in a particular mood to humour anyone. He takes the time to slip the black surgical mask off, finally feeling the cooler air hit against his warmer skin. He exchanges it for a pair of shades he pulls from his duffle, slipping them on before he crosses his arms, sighing deeply and sinks into the plush leather.

The traffic gets noticeably more congested the closer the car comes to the downtown area so it takes a while before the entrance to the hotel comes into view. Jimin hands off a couple of bills to the driver when he opens the door for him again, hauling his duffle bag and jacket as he steps out. The driver courteously bids him a good day but Jimin only has half the mind to offer a grunt in response, heading off into the lobby in long strides to the front desk where a man in a pristinely pressed suit greets him. He’s quickly given the keys to his room and is escorted to the lifts, the bellhop offering to take his things but Jimin waves a dismissive hand, keeping to himself as much as possible.

By the time he gets to his suite, he’s feels unreasonably weary and all but tosses his duffle bag carelessly to the foot of the king size bed along with his shades to collapse into the soft embrace of Egyptian cotton sheets. Jimin shuts his eyes for a moment, hands coming up to rub the bridge of his nose as another deep exhale leaves him.

If he was a normal human being, Jimin shouldn’t be feeling this tired since for majority of the plane ride, he had fallen into quite a deep slumber. But since he’s in fact not a human being, it only raises concerns. Lately, he’s noticed that he’s been sleeping a lot more — way more than a demon should be doing considering they don’t sleep at all (it’s viewed as more of a leisure activity to do rather than something that’s required) and if he’s not sleeping, he’s constantly feeling like he’s got a bad case of lethargy. It’s troubling and also irritating as hell, but Jimin already suspects its the unfortunate byproduct of having completed two acts of the five he needs to do.

And has no idea how to do the rest.

His eyes slip open then, brows furrowing with dark obsidian orbs glaring into the cream coloured ceiling like it would give him the answers. The second act was a stroke of luck on his part, Jimin thinks; a matter of being in the right place at the right time and for very good reasons. He can’t imagine accomplishing the rest in the same manner.

Running a hand through his hair, Jimin contemplates a little longer until he huffs out an agitated sigh. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it won’t do him to mull over this problem endlessly, figuring that he can be at least thankful that there doesn’t seem to be any particular deadline (knock on wood). Glancing at the beside clock, he sees the red numbers reading 1:36PM and idly wonders if you’re still at the venue no doubt soaking in all the excitement and activity going on.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, already imagining you, eyes alight with the biggest grin on your face as you try to take everything in. Finally, he hauls himself to sit up, giving his neck a few stretches before he gets off the bed to make his way to the en suite bathroom. With so much time to waste, Jimin hopes that a cold shower would help wash away a bit of his fatigue, quite literally. Besides that, he hasn’t felt any intense negative emotions from you which more than likely means everything is fine, for now.

He half-heartedly shuts the door, reaching up to grasp his shirt from the back of his neck to pull over his head. The black tee is dropped to the floor without much care, along with the rest of his clothes. He passes by the mirror, catching a glimpse of himself and though it was brief, the image reflecting back at him made him grimace all the same.

The natural glow on his skin had long since dulled, making him appear as if Jimin hadn’t seen the sun in months, the ghost of blue veins and bruises peeking from beneath made even more visible from how pale he’s become. The tattoo crest over the left side of his chest is faded, almost in a way where the ink is slowly being rubbed off a little bit more each day — another indication of his reduced powers. He’s lost a bit of weight, most noticeably around his face and although it’s defined his jawline significantly, his cheeks are at risk of hollowing out soon.

It’s only truly been a day, and yet now he is nothing more than a withering, duller version of who he’s supposed to be.

A cheap imitation.

He scoffs, a humourless sort of laugh. How ironic it is that he’s come to care more on what’s supposed to be a very superficial part of being a demon, perhaps even found meaning to.

When he steps into the clear glass shower stall, Jimin turns the water until it runs ice cold before stepping under. He inhales sharply at the first contact, the shock in the temperature hitting against his more warmer skin but he quickly grows numb to it, grateful for the way the water seems to ease the discomfort growing along his shoulder blades. Jimin doesn’t know how long he stands there, eyes shut and lulled by the sounds of the running shower beating down on him and echoing around in the enclosure.

It’s a temporary respite from his thoughts and when he finally decides to shut the water off, he feels a little more alert. He towels himself off, wrapping one around his slim waist as he heads back into the large bedroom to grab a change of clothes from his duffle.

Once he’s dressed, he dries his hair and by the time he’s done, the clock reads near five. The show starts in two and a half hours, he supposes he should get a scope of the venue. Grabbing the black surgical mask, Jimin secures the ends behind his ears, preparing to apparate to the arena when —

He stops midstep.

Ah, right.

A rush of air leaves his nose, cocking his head as your words replay in his head. He already hears your chastising tone with them too.

He quietly chuckles to himself, then continues walking, heading to his door.

With as much discretion as he could manage (okay, he might’ve cheated here and there by cloaking himself), he makes it to the venue which wasn’t so bad of a walk from the hotel. No one pays attention to him, with the hood of his pullover drawn up he was just another faceless person in the passing crowd. It only really got trickier the closer he came to the epicentre of it all.

He sticks to the shadows and less populated spots, staying out of sight and blending in wherever he can. There are still some large crowds gathered at some of the booths, trying to take advantage of the quickly dwindling number of patrons who have already moved on to getting into the arena. Others are running as fast as their feet can carry them, racing against time in whatever it is they needed to do while it seems like eighty percent of the concert goers are in a line, excitedly chatting and impatient to have the show start. It’s a hubbub of activity, boisterous and charged with energy that even Jimin has a bit of a struggle orienting himself. So not much later, he slinks towards the side alley of the building where the crowds tend to avoid.

It grows a little quieter the further he moves down the path, the jumble of voices becoming more muffled. The asphalt paving is cracked in numerous places with some giving way to potholes that Jimin can only guess is from how often trucks carrying equipment for events pass through here, or even ones meant to empty the dumpsters pressed up against the walls. Weeds sprout long and thin against them in bunches, pushing tenaciously through the cracks and somehow still managing to grow in spite of the lack of good soil. The poor upkeep alone is enough to deter anyone from wandering back here, which means Jimin can peacefully explore the area.

His strides slow without the rushing need to remain hidden, strolling along the alley before his eyes come across a door right beside one of the large dumpsters, perfectly situated so that it’s almost concealed. It lacks any handle, the only thing visible was a metal plate ridge on the side and a silver keyhole. Jimin supposes this meant that the door opens one way, probably for employees to quickly throw out the trash but otherwise is not by any means a point of entry.

Perfect.

He takes one more glance around, makes sure no one is looking and then with all of his concentration, phases through. Immediately his senses are bombarded by the booming of the bass as well as the far off distant hustle of people, but he pushes all of it aside in trying to shake off the fuzzy haze clouding his sight and the light thrumming in his head. Jimin presses a palm to his forehead, shutting his eyes with gritted teeth until the feeling subsides and he straightens himself, a little flabbergasted.

Fuck, this is going to suck.

He pushes the disconcerting fact that phasing through a door was enough to make him dizzy, focusing on doing what he came here to do; find a loophole in security and make sure you won’t get hurt at any point during the night — easy.

With light steps, Jimin makes his way out of the corridor, coming into an area spacious enough to have golf carts driving through (no sooner had he thought that, one goes zooming by). It vaguely reminds him of an underground parking garage except less…dingy. There are a few people walking about, busy with their heads down engrossed in their phones or sheets of papers in their hands and he easily recognizes them as part of the crew from the lanyards that dangle around their neck. A pretty, pastel coloured thing that easily catches his eye against the mostly all black uniform they sport.

He walks for a bit, almost as if entranced by the muffled songs and distant cheers that echo all around him until he comes across the hallway leading to the artist waiting room. It’s much busier and noisier, people scuttling in and out with multiple voices giving orders, updates, laughing, calling out for others in Korean and…is that singing?

The more Jimin listens, the more he picks out the melodic flow of a scale being sung, ranging from high, airy lilting tones to much more deep and richer timbres. He recognizes the tunes, songs you play when you study, get ready for the morning or unconsciously hum under your breath — songs that have grown on him.

Gradually, the singing becomes louder and suddenly Jimin sees an entourage of people exiting out of a room all at once. He instinctively side steps back until he’s concealed by the shadows offered by a large pillar, continuing to watch the scene unfold in front of him that way.

They stand out amongst the many staff members crowding them and not just because they’re dressed in absurdly black sparkly suits. Hair immaculately styled and complexion as pore-less as porcelain, Jung Hoseok, otherwise known as J-Hope, strolls out adjusting his headset before brushing his hands down on his jacket, straightening it out as a woman dabs finishing powder delicately on the tip of his nose. Quick to follow is Kim Taehyung, or V, still doing vocal warm-ups as he comes to stand beside the older member to wait for the others. They’re strikingly handsome in their own distinct ways, Hoseok with his high cheekbones and swooping nose bridge that makes for an arresting side profile while Taehyung with a round face tapering down to a strong jawline and near symmetrical features makes for a face that seems too unreal to be true.

A small part of him is aware that he shouldn’t be lingering like this because the unspoken rule is that a demon should never confront or even come into close proximity of the one they’re masquerading as for very obvious reasons. It’s risky and puts him in danger but there’s a morbid curiousity that’s gnawing at him, compelling him to stay and it’s not long before he sees him.

The owner of the sweet lilting voice that sounds much like his own, yet not at the same time.

Dressed much like his waiting members, BTS’ Park Jimin emerges from the artist waiting room, one hand shoved into his pants pocket, strides so languid and purposeful that one can mistaken the plain, industrial hallway to be a high fashion catwalk instead. He’s singing softly but puts emphasis on certain phrases to get the pitch right, sometimes repeating as if he’s not satisfied with the way it sounds. He’s practically glowing, hair a halo of rich honey blond, styled and coiffed to show his face which is made up of a myriad of contradictions — soft full cheeks are paired with a sharp jaw, full lips and slightly puffy eyes that can drown anyone with a sultry gaze; the perfect balance of lust and innocence.

As a demon, even he has to admit he’s impressed.

Hoseok makes a noise of appraisal, scanning the younger over and it makes a smile bloom, eyes scrunching until they disappear before he gives a light shove to the older man’s shoulder, giggling in clear embarrassment. A playfulness takes over the small group, conversation flowing easily with a few teases thrown here and there that anyone could see the strong familial bond the boys share amongst each other.

It’s so strange, he thinks, watching them as if through a looking glass with his eyes fixated on this person who’s very much real, living out a completely different life than his, beloved by all and equally admired by many.

Someone who you love.

That alone should ignite a jealous flame that consumes him, and yet the only one who he’s spiteful of is himself.

“Oh Jimin are those new earrings?” Taehyung says, reaching a finger out to brush the thin silver chains hanging from the small hoop they’ve been threaded through.

“Ah yeah, I wanted to try out a new style so I combined two of them.”

“They look good.”

Jimin preens at the compliment, a smug grin stretching across his lips as he shakes his head a little, making the earrings twinkle in the light. As his head lolls to one side, something catches his eye for a brief second, making him straighten at attention, smile faltering. The sudden shift startles his friend.

“Why? What’s up?” Taehyung asks, eyes impossibly wide as they flit from Jimin’s face to where his friend’s gaze is trained.

The blond blinks, mouth parted to speak but finds trouble in trying to describe what he saw out of the corner of his eyes. “I— Just now, I thought I saw a person….by the pillar there. But…I couldn’t really tell.”

Boldly, Taehyung takes steps around so that he could get a better angle of the pillar but remain at a safe distance, leaning his weight fully to one side in hopes of catching whatever it is that Jimin thinks he saw, but all there is is just a shadow being cast.

“There’s nothing there Jimin-ah… Maybe you were imagining it? Are you that nervous?”

 “No I’m not!” Jimin punches Taehyung lightly, the gibe taking the edge off a little but just to give himself his own peace of mind, Jimin takes a look as well, finding nothing in the space behind. He doesn’t know what to make of it however, he’s not given the time to mull over it because the rest of his group mates show up and they finally start heading to the stage lift, their eagerness and seemingly boundless energy carries him away, reminding him of other more important matters at hand.

Admittedly though, he can’t help but still feel a little in disbelief over it because he could’ve sworn there was someone watching him.

The show gets under way splendidly, the level of excitement palpable even from where he’s hidden. During that time, the demon has made his way to a spot right at the corner under the catwalk, the low lighting and barricade helps in making it easier for him to blend in as the silhouettes of the security guards posted around the perimeter, rarely having to conceal himself using his powers. Jimin has spotted you a couple of times, your figure peeking in between others and every time he sees you, you’re having the time of your life. The ever-changing spotlights cast pretty colours on you, dancing over your face and making the smile you had seem to radiate even more.

He finds himself caught up in watching you rather than the amazing performance thousands of other people have their eyes fixated on.

The only time he stops is when you push yourself through the crowd in order to get a better view of the idol he’s impersonating. It’s hard not to when the young man does such a brilliant job at commanding the stage, filling it up in spite of performing alone. He watches on, fascinated yet unable to for long as it only stirs up complicated feelings at having to face what he so painfully lacks.

You on the other hand, are completely enraptured; eyes focused and trying to drink in the image of him as much as they can but past the open awe and adoration, Jimin picks up on something that he can’t quite seem to place — something he can only describe as melancholy, like you’re already starting to miss the idol despite him being right in front of you. He doesn’t understand why.

As the music switches up, so does the mood as the hype level rises astronomically. The band members have the whole arena up on their feet, jumping, dancing and singing (or screaming?) to the lyrics. The atmosphere is hot and in more ways than one, with all the lights and the numerous bodies moving in one mass. Jimin swears everyone has worked up a sheen of sweat, even himself who’s yet to really move a muscle. At one point, he had actually snuck a water bottle for a drink, the growing humidity almost suffocating.

He tries to focus in on his heartbeat which seems to beat in sync to the heavy bass but the flashing lights and loud cheers make it hard, his senses bombarded. It takes a while before eventually the staccato thrumming in his chest slows until it doesn’t feel like it would burst through his ribs. It tapers off to a much steadier rhythm, almost as if he were deep in sleep.

But then it continues to slow even further.

Alarmed, Jimin’s hand flies up to press against the spot in search of a pulse, breath suddenly coming out short to find that he can barely feel it there. For a moment, he’s confused until a chill runs through him that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand. His immediate reaction is to look for you, eyes searching frantically in the crowd. It frustratingly takes a while as he realizes he’s lost you a bit but eventually he finds you and what he sees makes his stomach drop.

You’re slightly hunched over like you’re fighting to keep yourself upright on weak knees, standing out so clearly amongst the sea of moving bodies. When you manage to straighten yourself, he catches sight of your flushed cheeks and heaving chest, the sheen of sweat reflecting off of the strobing light and not helping with your feverish look.

And then your eyes roll back and you’re tipping over.

His mouth falls open and the shout that slips past falls on deaf ears, smothered by the music and incessant screaming. Jimin’s reaching out before he could even think about the risk of being found, his panic driving him as he sees you being swallowed by the crowd, the bodies intermingling and threatening to close in around you and make him lose sight of you. It all seems to be happening in slow motion, but what he doesn’t realize is that he’s the one who’s causing the time distortion, his desperation manifested.

In those long seconds, JImin moves purely on instincts, teleporting himself in short bursts to reach you and soon as he feels his hand close around your wrist, he apparates the both of you with every ounce of magic he can summon.

There’s a whistling of air in his ears and the next second, he’s crash landing against a brick wall. His back hits it hard, crumpling to the ground instantly and he lets out a low groan, teeth gritting as his eyes screws shut at the pounding in his head. Everything aches, his body screaming at him from the strain but the only thing Jimin cares about is the fact that he’s managed to take most of the brunt force of his sloppy landing from you who’s safely cradled in his arms.

Fighting through the pain, he immediately directs his attention down at you, blinking away the black spots in his vision hastily.

“Hey…!” Jimin calls out, voice gravelly and still breathless. He shoves down the mask covering his mouth, the first touch of cooler air a relief against his warm, damp skin and it feels like he’s properly breathing now. He cups a hand to your clammy cheek, not liking how the colour seems to have been drained from them as he checks for a pulse, which thankfully is still strong. He brushes the hair away from your face, propping you up in a more comfortable position, softly murmuring words of encouragement even if you might not hear them.

Jimin’s not exactly sure if he should be doing something more drastic than simply hope that you would wake on your own but luckily he didn’t have to resort to such measures when he sees your lids begin to flutter. Slowly, your eyes slip open and though you’re clearly very out of it still, Jimin already feels the pressure on his chest alleviate.

“Y/N….? Hey Y/N, can you hear me?”

It takes a minute before the focus returns in your gaze a little more, but Jimin waits patiently. He takes the time to do a once over on you, noting that your complexion is gradually getting better and from the looks of it, you didn’t seem to sustain any external injuries, much to his relief.

“Ji…Jimin…?” Your voice comes out raw and cracked, drawing his attention at the first call of his name.

No, not yours.

His brows furrow as he pushes away the intrusive thought, his first priority being to make sure you were okay. Jimin uncaps the water bottle in his hoodie pocket, gently feeding it to you until you found your strength, taking and gulping down the rest at an impressive speed.

“Slow down cherub…”

At least you were resilient, he thinks.

The next few moments were spent letting you rest and recuperate. When you were more clear headed, he fills you in on how you ended up out here in the side alley of the arena however, what soon followed after wasn’t something that he had meant to happen.

Maybe it was partially his fault, not truly realizing how high his emotions ran but the way you had shot to your feet, legs only barely holding you up and your first thought was getting back to the arena as quickly as you can, completely disregarding the state you were in all for the sake of…what? Getting a glimpse of your idol? At what cost?

Whatever it was, he would not stand for your recklessness and blind loyalty to the point where you will endanger yourself.

But no matter how hard he tries, his words doesn’t reach you and the mounting frustration builds until it has the both of you screaming at each other.

“Can you just lay off?! I’m fine!”

“You can barely hold yourself up! I’m not letting you put yourself in danger!”

“I DON’T CARE!”

“Y/N LOOK AT ME!”

That was the last straw for Jimin, hands grasped on either of your shoulders as if he could shake some sense into you. You’re both panting, out of breath from the exertion but you’re finally looking at him. He takes in the way your pupils tremble, whether from fright or from nerves, and the way they shine as if with unshed tears.

Why?

There’s a desperation in them, so intense that it almost scares Jimin but no matter how much he gazes into your irises, the question still remains….

“Why….?”

He whispers unconsciously, the one word ringing loud between you, even above the echoing cheers. You don’t respond immediately, overtaken by a flurry of emotions that flit through your eyes so quickly that Jimin has trouble discerning them. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, sentences starting but dying before you can get the rest of the words trapped in your throat out until ultimately, you give up.

You turn away, eyes downcast as he hears you utter weakly, “Forget it…Please, you— you wouldn’t understand….”

He freezes, the statement seeming to pierce through him with a flooding of realizations; the images of you all starstruck as you watch Jimin, the idol, performing come rushing back to him so vividly it’s like he’s reliving it again. And it’s then that he is reminded of the fact —

It’s Jimin who dances with such poise and grace.

Jimin who sings with a voice that entrances thousands, millions.

Jimin who shines on stage, with a sweet smile, a gentle aura and a warm heart.

Not him.

No, he won’t ever be as good as the original Jimin. Especially not now, given how he’s not even sure what he is anymore.

He notices your hand clenching tightly at your side, how withdrawn you are from him and it’s made clear that he's not winning this fight – maybe even foolishly thinking he had that chance to begin with.

He steps back, away from you in resignation, acceptance. “You’re right…. I wouldn’t…”

With nothing more to say, you leave and he only watches until you disappear from his sights. Left to his thoughts, he retreats back into the dark of night, a place of comfort and familiarity.

Perhaps it’s better this way, to have you long for and love the image of idol Jimin, someone much more fitting to be a light in your life and for him to remain the shadow that follows you from afar. This way, you'll be much happier.

Even when, deep down, he wishes so selfishly for you to call him by his true name.

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measureyourlifeincake · 4 years ago

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How do you go about coloring your drawings? I personally struggle with colors, and I really admire your art. I'm curious to know what your process is like. Thank you!

First of all, thank you! It really means a lot that someone out there admires my art, and I will cherish this ask forever.

In regards to your question, I also really struggle with colors (which is why a lot of my art stays as pencils sketches or b&w ink drawings lol) and my process is mostly “fuck around and find out,” so I unfortunately don’t have that much advice to give you. That being said, here is what I can tell you:

experiment! i don’t have a lot of formal training in art (I took one foundation drawing class in college, in which we did absolutely nothing with color, and aside from that I haven’t taken an art class since I was 15, so anything I learned earlier I have either forgotten or internalized enough that I wouldn’t even think to give it as advice bc it seems like second nature), so most of what I know (especially wrt color) is from just... trying stuff and seeing if it works. Sometimes it doesn’t, but hey, that’s art! To quote my foundation drawing prof, art is all about problem-solving.

i know you’re not supposed to shade with black, for some reason. I think it makes the colors look flat? Also, shadows irl aren’t actually black, so there’s that. I usually like to shade with a bluish purple/indigo, particularly when I’m using crayons or colored pencils

speaking of what colors things actually are: observation is important, especially if you’re trying to draw/color realistically. Often times, the color we think something is isn’t actually what it is because our perception is colored (ha) by what color we think something should be, lighting, and the color of things around it (honestly, I don’t follow this advice as much as I should when I’m coloring, but also I don’t really go for realism in colored stuff, mostly bc it’s hard, and also- realism? sir these are crayons. what do you want from me. It is good general advice for drawing, though. like, pay attention to form, value, etc, even when you’re drawing something that you “know what it looks like” or else you’ll just draw what you think the thing looks like instead of the actual thing.)

before you color something, test the colors on the page(/a scrap paper) bc they’re probably gonna look different on the paper than they do in/on the marker/crayon/bottle/pencil/palette/etc

if you’re using colored pencils or crayons, use multiple crayons/pencils for the same area, even if it’s all one color--it’ll make your colors look more vibrant

If you’re doing traditional drawings and posting them online, know when to scan (if you have a scanner) and when to just take a photo. I used to think that scanning was always better, but honestly sometimes scans look like shit and a pic snapped on your phone will look way better.

Also for traditional drawings posted online--photo editing software is your friend! when you scan/take a photo of your drawing, the colors aren’t gonna look the same as they do in person, so monkeying with the color/light/etc settings in some kind of photo software can really make a lot of difference. (also this can be a good cheat to make the colors look even better than they do irl. i’ve done this) I personally really like photoshop express (which is free), and prefer it to the basic stuff that comes with my computer and phone (i find the “dehaze” and “clarity” settings to be quite useful), though it’s still pretty basic and I have admittedly not done much shopping around.

when in doubt, a black & white/grayscale drawing with some red accents is always sexy

ok so that was a lot of words coming from someone who just said they don’t have much advice so uh... I hope that’s at least somewhat helpful?

#i realize that ive only done the 'b&w w/ red accent' thing in 2 drawings that ive posted here #but ive done it at least a couple other times #i never meant for it to be a Thing #it just happens #bc it looks dope #i have sketchbooks full of drawings that im too lazy to post #but lmk if you want to see some of them #anonymous #Rook answers things #life of bea #Anonymous

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land-of-classpects-and-analysis · 4 years ago

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if you have time, i’d love to hear your thoughts on the knight of void!

Now although I have shown to have some strong, but still playful thoughts on Void-bound, I will admit the Knight of Void is a big favorite of mine!

A Knight of Void is one who would protect Void, and may even push themself to protect through it. They are someone who is naturally gifted in their Aspect, though not in the most traditional or even helpful way(s). To be rather blunt, the Knight of Void is the one often looked over and forgotten about - another shadow cast against the wall; another droplet of water in the ocean. Blending into the world they inhabit, the Knight of Void isn’t entirely someone who stands out in the crowd. In the beginning, this is something that could greatly upset and frustrate the Knight, especially due to the fact that they are often put into situations of heroism yet rarely will ever gain recognition for what they accomplish.

Not only that, but the Knight of Void would also be quite the vocal person when it came to their disdain for things such as rules, political structures, and would also throw shades of doubt onto those who believed themselves to be better - if only because these people claimed to know and understand more than anyone else. This attribute of the Knight is something that often gets them into trouble, for not even the darkest shadows can hide or muffle their loudest, most rebellious outbursts against authority. It’s not their fault, though; they don’t wish to act out in such a way, and they hate the consequences that always come from their actions.

Because of this, they would slowly begin to grow disdain for their Aspect - trying to distance themself from it as best they could. They would try their best to turn more towards the Light of the world; becoming more educated and learned on topics, following the instructions given to them, hiding away the ever-growing boiling pressure inside of them that screamed to be let out and be heard. Being in the Light hurt the Knight more than benefitted them, but they knew that if they wished to survive, then they would keep their mouth shut; being seen rather than heard.

However, the longer the Knight lived like this, the more they would realize that this is not the way they should live- no. They learned that they cannot possibly continue to live in such a burning, visible state of living. Yet the darkness scared them - the fear of being forgotten and ignored petrified them enough to fully prevent them from reaching out to their Aspect. All of this fear because, in all the time they spent in the Light, they had forgotten how much safer it was to be with the Void. For it was the sun that burned Icarus to a crisp - not the moon, not the stars, nor even the inky darkness of the ocean below him. It was the ocean that caught him as fell.

What the Knight of Void needed was their own sun to melt away their waxy wings and send them back from whence they came. It would come, eventually, though most likely in a way not many would expect.

The Knight of Void is one of the most trustworthy people when it comes to keeping secrets and other things hidden. Their mouth and tongue always under lock and key, though do not ever doubt their capability of crafting their own keys to unlock such forbidden things. If such a thing were to ever happen, though, chances are it Is an act of rebellion and punishment well deserved. Void-bound, in general, are known to be secret keepers, but no one comes as close as being the best of the best as a Knight of Void - with only the Page of Void having the potential of surpassing them. To protect secrets is a heavy burden, and it is something that most certainly weighs on the Knight of Void everyday that they are alive. It takes a lot to make a Knight of Void talk - and when, or if, they ever do, it is no mere words. It is a symphony of lies, deception, frauds, cheating, and so much more, and all the while during this performance the Knight is one both reveling as the weight lifts off their shoulders, but they are also screaming; for they have broken their one and only oath.

Knights of Void who manage to protect through their Aspect are those who learn to use their Aspect as a blade. What a fine blade the Knight of Void yields, though it is one very few ever get to truly witness, though such a thing should be considered a blessing more than anything. By protecting through the Void they are someone who protects through the shadows and darkness; a hero unseen yet rarely unsung. Their attacks are swift, elegant and calculated, and whatever battle they enter is one that does not typically end with the Knight sustaining any injuries. Creeping in the sidelines, always dashing out from the peripheral vision of those around them, these Knights of Void are often ones heard about rather than ever seen. With such power, very few ever use it for nefarious deeds; quite the opposite, actually. They are the Knights of Void who learned that although they themselves may not be noticed, chances are that the aftermath of their deeds will be what truly matters.

Obviously this is pretty bare bones, but!! It’s the best I can do without turning this into a 10+ page long analysis in an answer dfjvnd

I hope it helps you out for now, Anon!

#Mage Musings #not a full analysis #Knight of Void sneak preview

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weeklyfangirl · 5 years ago

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Frat Boy Pt. 19

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18

You’re a gal on a mission in this one. And you’re determined to get answers one way or another ;) Share this with a friend and drag them them along for a roller coaster ride too! xx

“This is a bad idea,” Renny muttered. We were parked a street away from the frat house, waiting for the boy who’d been ignoring me the past week to appear and get in his car. Granted, I’d only reached out once, but still. He’d never replied. Never reached out. It was the radio silence that scared me more than any gang tags. Ignorance might be bliss, but conscious ignorance was hell.

After our dinner, I’d woken up to my car in the driveway. The windshield clean. Spotless, even. He must’ve hardly gotten sleep.

“Why is this necessary again? Do you think he’s cheating on you?” Renny asked.

I shook my head too quickly at the word cheating, because even if he was seeing somebody else it wouldn’t technically be cheating. We’d never even defined this. The only thing I hated more than knowing I was in the dark were gray zones. I shook my head too soon, though. What else could I tell her? I couldn’t exactly tell her the truth - that I think I’m being targeted as a cause of Harry’s random association with a gang and that we need to follow him to confirm my crazy conspiracies so I can affirm that one, I am not crazy, and two, I can reach a decision about whether I should talk to the cops.

That was too complicated.

“Actually, you’re right. I think he’s seeing someone else.” I let the lie slip from my lips.

“Shit. You think he’s seeing Viv?”

I wanted to smile at the edge in her voice. The first evidence she didn’t really like the girl either. “He already told me they slept together,” I said casually, as though I’d mentioned I ate Cheerios for breakfast again.

Renny almost spat. “Ew!! Seriously? I mean, I guess we kind of already thought that. But still…-” she shivered “-GROSS.”

“Yeah. Gross,” I agreed. Something stirred next to the bins, and I clutched her arm. But it wasn’t Harry. The random associate walked on, blissfully unaware of the two girls watching his every move and so completely disappointed by his presence. We both sighed.

“Wait, he’s behind him!” Renny screeched.

Sure enough, Harry emerged, trailing behind the associate. His hair looked damp. He’d probably showered after practice, then. They did some sort of weird bro handshake and parted ways.

A beep of an alarm and Harry slid into his Maserati. Let the chase begin.

“Still can’t believe he drives that thing to school,” Renny muttered. “I mean I would if I had one, too, but … cheating prick.”

I had to hand it to Renny. Even if someone was the most likeable person in the world, if they’d done something to cross her friends, she’d find a way to make them the most detestable. At least in her eyes.

We waited as he revved the engine and pulled out. He drove fast, but thankfully Renny’s VW could keep up. Grandpa would’ve been a different story.

“Where the hell are we going?”

“I don’t know.” I fought the urge to add ‘that’s the problem.’

We travelled towards the coast before he senselessly veered inland again, ending up somewhere I’d never been before. We trailed him slowly, past locked up storefronts, and tagged alleyways, until he turned into a gritty-looking neighborhood. We slowed around the corner, making sure to keep several streets between us.

Around the bend, Harry suddenly slammed on his brakes. Renny lurched forward.

“What the fuck-” Renny ducked lower in her seat. “Do you think he saw us?”

In the split two seconds I had, I wagered our chances of reversing and getting through this unseen. But my split two seconds were up, and I hadn’t moved.

The motor ran as he got out of the car, calmly, not bothering to shut the door. He’d known. He’d known all along. Time slowed when he faced us, arms crossed, squinting as his judgement penetrated through his Ray Bans all the way through the windshield. He stalked towards our car. No one was around in the rundown neighborhood street to yell at us to get our cars moving. No one could save me from this eternal embarrassment slowly mounting with each step of his black Chelsea boots.

The gig was up.

I rolled down my window when he tapped on the glass.

“Go home,” he ordered.

I scoffed. “Really? You haven’t talked to me all week and those are the first words you’re going to say to me?”

He stepped backwards, acknowledging nothing. “Go. Home,” pointing the direction whence we came.

“We weren’t even following you. We were already in the neighborhood asshole!” Renny yelled.

I couldn’t have it end like this. I couldn’t have another week of silence, of questions unanswered. The plan was to follow him and see where he ran off to, not utterly expose my desperation. But now that plan was obliterated. Was this it? Was this seriously how he wanted to end things so… pointlessly?

I opened the car door, running after his sulking frame. The second I placed a hand on his shoulder blade, he whipped around. I cowered.

He hadn’t needed to bare his teeth or shout at me to be intimidating. This oppressive darkness rolled off of him in waves, knocking me down repeatedly just when I saw the shore. Like a tired sailor, I’d return to the ocean, knowing the damage it could cause, but knowing it was worth it. It would be worth it… if I could only see beneath the surface.

He flinched as I pulled the shades off, but he didn’t look at me. My hand went along his jaw, against the slight stubble that’d made its way through. He relented.

His pupils were blasted, almost shadowing the outer ring of green.

“I changed because of you,” I breathed. Something flashed in his eyes. Something beneath the darkened surface. “I’m not the same as I was before. And I don’t know even know how to… express it. I don’t even know if that’s a good thing,” I admitted. He opened his mouth, but I raised a hand. “I need to know what you’re not telling me. The old me could’ve gone without it, but who I am now? I can’t.”

But it was like he only heard half of what I’d said. “I never asked you to be in my life, Y/N.”

“No, that’s right. You just swindled me into it by pretending to be dumb. You’re a little too good of an actor.”

It was his turn to scoff. “No one’s making you run after me.”

“No one’s making you be a complete and utter asshole right now, either. Besides yourself. Can you just-” I pushed his chest- “PLEASE. I’m clearly tired of getting nowhere.”

Harry looked at his watch, and his jaw clicked. “You know for someone so concerned with their life, you certainly don’t seem to have much of one.” His eyes bore into mine.

I swallowed, hard, unmoving though it stung. “I know Viv’s in on it.”

It was a stab in the dark, but it worked. He nearly growled.

I heard Renny open her door behind me.

“She’s involved in a lot of parts of my life, Y/N. But at least she doesn’t ask too many questions. And she sure as shit doesn’t overstep,” he growled.

“We both know I’m not Viv.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “You’re right…” His eyes levelled with mine. At least she actually fucks me.”

I felt like he should’ve stayed, watch the awful betrayal fill my eyes. But he walked away as the air was ripped from my lungs. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run up to him, push him to the ground and tell him-!

...tell him what?

It was true.

He paused at the car door, not even trying to face me. “Get yourself home.”

I didn’t see him drive away. I just heard the slam of the car door as he left me, halfway up the hill.

Renny pulled the car up next to me, and I suddenly felt dirty. Like I needed a shower. A very hot, scalding shower, that would burn every inch of him off my body forever.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

Clearly, our plan to trail the subject in very deep question had turned out very deeply miserable.

In a close encounter, the sailor realizes fairly quickly that the ocean holds all the power to kill them. But the second they acknowledge that, they don’t abandon what they’re looking for.

“Can you drop me off at a friend’s?” I asked.

They just get a bigger ship.

-----------

The just-built senior apartments were the envy of everyone on campus. Modern architecture and sleek interior made it THE choicest option for the upperclassmen - especially the athletes. It was the next best thing for those not living in fraternities or sororities.

It was also the most expensive on-campus housing available. You could live there if you were rich enough, but more importantly, if you were lucky enough. There was one other way you could live here, though. Chapman held a raffle to “make our housing opportunity equal for everyone.” Which, was bullshit, considering the apartment only reserved four out of sixty rooms for those “raffle winners.” Four raffle winners, out of four THOUSAND upperclassmen.

Felix and Zayn had some pretty insane luck.

I knocked on their door, antsy as I thought of their probable reaction: “Why is Y/N standing beyond our door on a Thursday night without Renny?” She was my strongest link to them. I’d begged her to come up with me, but she wasn’t budging. Though she wouldn’t admit it, she was a little annoyed at spending the whole day only to have found no other woman and to have been told off by Harry - who she now deems worse than Lying Panty Tossing Baby.

A tall athletic-built woman eyed me as she carried their trash down the hall.

Felix opened the door.

“Oh, hey.” It was the awkward I remember you but we aren’t friends dance. “S’been a while. Come in.”

I noticed he was at least 6’ 2” as I moved past him into the foyer where Zayn and Andre paused the video game. They had a whole tech center set up around the T.V. and dull EDC music came from their speaker system.

Andre waved and Zayn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” He moved a pizza box out of his way to head to the open kitchen. Before I could answer, he returned with a cracked beer, handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip out of politeness. Old Da Vinci maps hung on their walls along with tasteful sketches of nude women, and a framed vintage Star Wars poster was in the hallway.

“Where’s Renny?” Felix asked, arms crossed as he sat on the arm of the couch. He’d meant it to be casual, but it wasn’t quite casual enough.

I didn’t want to be the one to break his heart and tell him about Niall if he didn’t already know. And something told me Renny wasn’t cruel enough to rub it in his face. “Uh, not sure. She had to buzz off somewhere though.” To Niall’s bed. I looked between the three of them. “All of you got so. Lucky. With this place. I almost didn’t believe it when Renny told me.”

“Not me!” Andre lifted his beer and dramatically pounded it, slamming it down on the table next to the other four beers.

“Woah-ugh! Pa! That’s mahogany!” Felix spluttered.

“You found it at a garage sale!”

“It’s still mahogany!” he squeaked. His gangly arms flailed before adjusting his collar. “Either I’m never donating furniture to this apartment again - or you’re not allowed back in this apartment again. Or both.”

Andre didn’t answer, just fell flat on the couch. Something was off with him. The energy shifted in the room as the guys eyed Andre. I’d clearly come at a wrong time.

“I can swing by later, I know you guys were in the middle of a... game…”

Zayn swatted his hand. “No, you’re fine. He’s just…”

Andre perked up, awaiting Zayn’s next words.

“You want to tell her?” Zayn finished.

Andre let out an awkward moan. “You know how date night is coming up?”

My brows stitched.

“No??” He cleared his throat, surprised he had to explain. “So Sig Chi’s date night is coming up and basically we just bring a date, and… party. There’s a theme and everything. You really haven’t heard about this?”

I shook my head.

“Huh. It’s kind of a big deal that’s why I’m kind of... huh.”

“When is it?” I asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” I paused, thoroughly confused. Had Niall told Renny about this? And if it was Sigma Chi then… Harry must already have a date. For tomorrow. My blood boiled thinking that could be part of the reason why he’d dropped off the face of the Earth this week. So he wouldn’t have to take me as his date.

“Mine cancelled on me,” Andre said, running a hand over defined black coils.

“Dude, for the hundredth time, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“You’re not the one in a frat, Felix!” He laughed humorlessly before landing in a pile on the couch again. In a rare moment, I laughed with him. It was slightly ridiculous how important parties were.

“Oh-kay,” Felix muttered. His blonde hair flopped on the couch next to Andre. He looked up to me, shrugging. “He’s helpless. Without the distraction of video games. Absolutely helpless.”

Zayn gave me a once-over. “You’re in the sorority with Renny, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. Kind of. Not officially official yet. Kind of in the process of everything right now. Uh, but” -his eyes narrowed from my rambling- “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in it,” I settled on.

Andre came to life again. “Would you go with me?”

“Oh! Uh…”

“You don’t have to,” Zayn offered.

“I can do it. I wasn’t doing anything anyways.” The Netflix I was betraying threw a tantrum in the back of my mind. This weekend I’d been wanting to do nothing but lay low, and preferably, in bed.

But if today taught me anything, it’s that my plans clearly never work out too well.

“Seriously?! It’ll only be a couple hours, I won’t make you stay the whole time. Actually, you can leave whenever you want. Just walk in with me.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, half-smiling.

“Okay, that sounded bad.” He let out a breathless laugh. “What I meant to say was, thank you. You’ll have a great time.” He threw up the finger guns.

Zayn nudged my shoulder with his beer. “Want to go on the balcony?” His eyes bore into mine, and I knew that he knew this wasn’t just a friendly visit. A slight chill ran through me at his perception. It was unnerving how he always seemed to… know. But I guess I shouldn’t judge him for having a keen sixth sense.

I let him lead me to the sliding glass door.

“Oh, the theme’s James Bond, too! So dress like a Bond girl!” Andre called after us.

“Like heels?” I asked. But Zayn slid the door shut behind us. It was dark out, but inside I could see Andre give me a thumbs up before resuming the video game with Felix.

“Saved his life. Mate wouldn’t stop gabbin’ ‘bout how gutted he was.” Zayn muttered. The flick of a lighter grabbed my attention. The slight orange illuminated dark features and hollowed cheeks as he took a drag. There was no denying he was handsome, especially in this mood lighting. He probably could’ve been recruited for any fraternity off looks alone, but something told me he wouldn’t step near the place. His vibe was too… anti-organization. He blew the smoke over his shoulder.

“Very tortured artist of you,” I noted.

His head tilted at tortured as if throwing the title back to me. “Artist, maybe. Tortured, no.”

“What’s a yes for you, then?”

“Yes to whateva you’ve been plannin’ on asking me,” he smirked. “Must’ve been important if you didn’t find me in the studio.”

I looked down, then out at the city. Thousands of little people scattered everywhere. Students crawling from late-night classes on the fringes of campus looked like ants. I held my thumb up for scale. Verified ants. Maybe smaller.

“I came here to find a different perspective.” My hand fell. I faced him square. “Your perspective.”

He took another drag, letting the smoke fill the space between us. “On?”

I was a little surprised he didn’t know.

“Harry.”

If he didn’t know, he also didn’t seem too surprised. He leaned against the railing, hazel eyes undressing desperate thoughts. “What do you want to know?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The ash from his cigarette floated down to his feet, but an unseen wind carried it up again, rolling over and down like dirty snowflakes to the street below.

“I know he doesn’t like you.”

Zayn’s laugh was light, soft, but carried the same fullness as Renny’s. “Perceptive girl, ya? S’not what you want to know though is it.”

“Why is he so scared of you?” His brow arched, and I could tell I was losing him. “What do you know?” I clarified.

Another drag and his shoulders straightened. “Thought you were flatterin’ me there for a second.” Something glimmered in his eyes, something just beyond the surface, and I looked away before I could see anything more than friendly. “Can I ask you somethin’ in return?”

I nodded.

“Why do you want to know?” he murmured.

“I just want to understand.”

“Mm,” he hummed, the treble of his voice like slow-spilling silk. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

I swallowed a little too loudly, but his words hit a little too closely.

“S’all right,” he continued. “S’human nature t’want to understand.” He cocked his head a little. “I actually met Harry before school started during the summer. I was working at Hilltop Resort.”

“Really?”

“I was his server.” He let out a short breath as if he couldn’t believe it happened. “Tipped well, actually.”

“I remember you working there!” Faint summer memories of Renny whisking us away for lunch on our treat yourself day came back, stirring faint feelings of happiness. It seemed so long ago. I felt like I’d aged five years in three months. “So let me get this straight. He doesn’t like you because you’re in the service industry?” I spat.

He winced. “No, s’more like…” He took a breath. “There was a coworker of mine. He wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t exactly nice either. Kept to himself on breaks, never really chatted with any of us except to flirt with the bartender. Anyway, I used to see Harry a lot there, but when Jack got promoted Harry’d only sit in Jack’s section.”

I crossed my arms, the night time air finally sinking in.

“I didn’t think too much of it at first,” he admitted. The cigarette moved in his mouth, hand fiddling with the lighter. “But one night I was running out to give a guest the card they’d left behind, but I saw them together instead.”

Before I could picture Harry and Zayn’s coworker making out against the wall, he continued - “He was giving Harry stacks of cash.”

Flashbacks of Viv trying to pass Harry money in the Catalina Island bar played out like a movie in my mind.

“What’d you do?” I pressed.

He shrugged. “I saw Harry slip something else in his pocket. It looked like a little bag. Must’ve been a bonus.” He muttered the last words.

“A bonus for what?”

“I didn’t know then. I just thought he’d somehow found a way to steal from the manager’s safe and was splitting the profits.”

“Why give it to Harry though?”

“That’s what I couldn’t figure out.” He leaned in. “I saw them together a few more times. The second was an accident. Third, not so much. Harry saw me that time. Then before I left for the night, I searched his locker. Took me a while, but I found some pills. Little bag of coke, too. He came in right when I was putting it back.”

“No.”

“Yeah. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me like he was going to kill me. I got my shit and got the hell out of there. Next day, the boss said they received a tip to check my locker and they found the drugs in mine. You know the fucked up bit? I was fired.”

“But it wasn’t yours!”

“Doesn’t matter. Still found it there.” Zayn stamped out his cigarette, blowing away the last smoke. I guess pity was etched in my face, because he suddenly turned defensive. “Don’t look at me like that. I work at Javier’s now. I’m fine.”

Javier’s was the fancy Mexican restaurant overlooking the Pacific. He was doing more than fine.

“That’s still not fair to you,” I muttered.

“I didn’t want to be involved, anyway. S’better I left one way or another.”

“What was his name again? Your coworker’s?”

“Jack.”

Jack. Why did that sound so familiar?

“He’s not sound, you know,” Zayn added.

“Well clearly if he gave you murder eyes.”

“No, not Jack. Harry. He’s not…”

“Sound,” I repeated. The word felt heavy on my tongue.

Zayn nodded, tucking a cigarette behind his ear.

“I can’t believe Harry got you fired.”

“Well, I don’t exactly know. Jack must’ve been the one to move the drugs into my locker.”

“Yeah, but who told him to?”

Zayn didn’t answer. The facts had been there this entire time, but I didn’t want to see it. I still didn’t want to see it. But Zayn was here, undeniably linking them together for me. Harry and drugs and money were three things that’d been circulating in the same place much longer than I could know. For some reason beyond me, Harry was a dealer. Or ran as head of them. Which meant his association with the men who’d assaulted me was… what? A business deal gone wrong?

“England’s a small country, you see the same faces everywhere. Like here, if you’re perceptive enough. And in each, he’s jus’... involved in something bigger, while at the same time trying to hide. S’like he’s a magnet for infamy to his own detriment.”

“Are you referring to his adoption?”

He twisted the cigarette behind his ear, realizing I didn’t really need an answer to this question and that now I was just testing him for what he knew. “Contrary to what he may believe, I don’t know everything.”

But I couldn’t fight the feeling that he was talking about me. Smooth artist’s fingers fiddled with the lighter again, but he didn’t light the second cigarette. He knew more than what he was telling me.

But even the new me didn’t want to hear much else tonight.

“You don’t want to stay?” he asked.

I didn’t realize I was walking towards the door ‘til his words stopped me in my tracks. Disappointment tinged his words. I felt a little guilty, heading out the door as soon as I’d gotten what I’d needed.

But I was tired. And sadly, unless there was a sketch pad in front of him, I didn’t know what else we could talk about. I didn’t know what else he’d see.

I shook my head, and he lit the cigarette, not bothering to walk me out.

------

Racing down the spindly halls, my heart pounded out of my chest. I heard the cries above the whispers of the Watchers, and they grew louder with a sickening urgency. A gutteral wailing meant for me.

I looked down the hall, awaiting the dark shadow to appear from the walls, when he’d creep closer, suffocatingly closer.

The door wouldn’t open, not past an inch.

But he called for me, this time. My name fell from unseen lips.

“Y/N,” he called. It was hoarse. He was scared. I’d never heard that cry before. This time it wasn’t solid air the door was against - it was pills. Tiny pills, hundreds of them, thousands of them, multiplying on top of each other until they filled what I could see of the room. Until they were spilling out the crack.

“Y/N!!!” His voice was panicked, but muffled. It was muffled now. Why wasn’t he opening the door?? Why couldn’t he reach me?? The shadow drew closer. It surrounded me, outside, every inch of the hall covered by darkness.

My heartbeat was the only sound.

A waterfall of pills. The glint of a knife.

I couldn’t reach him in time.

I couldn’t save Harry.

I couldn’t even save myself.

part 20

266 notes · View notes

azozzoni · 5 years ago

Note

Are you taking requests? If so, I am dying to read Sander/Robbe childhood friends AU. Your writing is so good!

This is hard to fit into a short prompt, but I tried.

Sander is Robbe’s first kiss.

Sander is five and Robbe just turned four, hiding under the slide on the playground, away from the screeches of the other children, huddled under the cool shade. That’s when Sander kisses him, laughs before he runs away.

Robbe doesn’t remember this—it’s what his mom likes to tell him when he’s older, that he came home and announced that he was in love with Sander and was going to marry him someday.

Sander gets his first girlfriend when he’s fourteen and he tells Robbe all about it as they sit in Robbe’s room, rain drizzling down the window pane. He tells Robbe about what it’s like to kiss Lucie, how soft her hair is, the things her smile does to his chest.

Robbe tries to understand but he doesn’t.

Instead, he listens to Sander and wonders at the stirring in his own chest, annoyance and jealousy that shouldn’t be there. Jealousy over a girl he doesn’t even know.

Robbe is fifteen when he gets his first kiss, his first real kiss. It’s a girl from his class, one with dark hair and smooth skin, and she backs him into a corner at a party. Her lips are soft and she smells like violets, but Robbe doesn’t feel anything. No stirring in his chest, no nervous butterflies that he knows should be there.

They date for a couple months, mostly swapping spit and showing up to parties together until Robbe makes up an excuse about not having enough time for a girlfriend.

Sander comes over with a bottle of vodka when he hears and they drink the whole thing, until they’re stumbling and drunk, laughing about nothing as they lean against each other on Robbe’s bed. When Robbe runs his fingers through Sander’s hair, Sander merely sighs and lets his head fall in Robbe’s shoulder.

“There are lots of girls out there,” he mumbles, eyes big and hazy as he stares up at Robbe. Robbe doesn’t care about the girls and he stops himself from tracing Sander’s jawline.

At sixteen, Sander gets diagnosed, runs out on a party and Robbe finds him huddled behind a parked car, shaking and scratching at his skin like he just wants to crawl out of it. Even though Robbe doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t leave Sander’s side until Sander’s mom forces him to leave the hospital, to go home and get some rest.

Robbe feels like his heart is going to explode every minute he’s not there to help.

They’re seventeen when Robbe finally gets it.

Leaning against a wall, Robbe frowns at the drink in his hand. It’s not strong enough, not strong enough to distract him from his thoughts as he watches the couples making out on the couch, against the wall, stumbling up the stairs.

He doesn’t know where Sander is, but Jens is there, talking about Jana and how he wishes they hadn’t broken up. Even though it’s been two years since they were together, even though Jana cheated on him. Jens is drunk, Robbe decides as Jens leans against him, elbow heavy on his shoulder, breath hot in his ear, and Robbe casts a glance around the room instead.

Everyone seems so happy, drunk and pawing at each other like horny teenagers. There are a couple guys Robbe doesn’t know, even one that returns his gaze from across the room, just a second of recognition between them. But Robbe looks away, back to Jens. He’s not going to hook up with a stranger at a party with his friends all around.

“Have you seen Sander?” he asks Jens because he’d rather not think about the guy still watching him, as if he knows his secret.

“Last I saw, he was going to find the bathroom,” Jens says, distracted by Jana across the room.

It’s a big house, and Robbe sighs as Jens leaves him for Jana, unsteady on his feet as he crosses the room and leaves Robbe by the wall.

Ignoring the guy watching him, Robbe turns and heads upstairs to where he knows one of the bathrooms is. He doesn’t know why he’s looking for Sander--he’s probably making out with some girl in a guest room somewhere, and Robbe doesn’t need to see that.

Upstairs is a little quieter than downstairs, and Robbe finds the bathroom, knocking softly. There’s no response and he twists the knob though he doesn’t expect to find anything there.

The door swings open and it’s a sharp pain that stabs Robbe’s heart as his eyes take in the scene--Sander with a guy, Sander with a guy crowded up against the sink, kissing him.

It’s like all the air leaves Robbe’s lungs and he can’t do anything but stare as Sander jerks back from the guy, surprised, and maybe there’s a tinge of red along his cheeks as he opens his mouth to explain maybe or ask what the hell Robbe is doing there.

“Sorry,” Robbe says, rushed, panic gripping him as he meets Sander’s eyes. He wants to say more, to ask why Sander never told him, why he had to find out this way. But his stomach is twisting into knots, angry and jealous and hurt as the other guy arches an eyebrow as if Robbe is interrupting something important. “Sorry,” he says again instead, muttering the word as he turns on his heel and leaves despite Sander calling his name.

Robbe doesn’t remember leaving the party, shoving past people, spilling something on his shirt as he bumps into someone. But he gets out the door, around a corner in the garden before he collapses on a ledge, clutching at his throat as he tries to breathe.

It hits him like a bus, the image of Sander kissing that guy. Digging his knuckles into his eyes, he forces out a breath. It’s always been easy to convince himself that there was nothing between him and Sander besides friendship. Sander likes girls. He’s always liked girls. It doesn’t matter that Robbe has known since he was fourteen that he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter that Robbe never told Sander or Jens or any of his friends.

He can still hear the sounds of the party, the bass rattling the ground, but he can’t go back. He doesn’t want to go back.

“There you are.”

Sander’s voice makes Robbe’s head snap up, white spots in his vision as he blinks quickly. His heart is still pounding, but he can breathe again, maybe can pretend everything’s fine as Sander sits down next to him.

Sander doesn’t speak for a minute, pulling a leaf off a bush and tearing it into tiny pieces.

“Are you mad at me?”

Robbe doesn’t even know what to say. Is he mad? Yes. He’s angry that Sander never told him he thought about kissing guys. He’s also mad he never told Sander he thought the same, maybe missed his chance.

They’ve been friends practically their entire life, gone through everything together. Robbe was there when Sander was diagnosed, and Sander was there when his dad walked out on them. But there are still secrets between them.

“No,” he says finally, forcing the word out, wishing his face didn’t feel so hot. He also wishes Sander wasn’t sitting so close, close enough that their knees are touching and he can feel the brush of Sander’s shoulder as he leans around to see his face.

“Yeah?” he asks, that same puppy-dog look on his face, as though worried about Robbe’s reaction.

“You kissed a guy,” Robbe says, biting down the jealousy bubbling up. “Are you gay?”

“No,” Sander says easily, which just makes Robbe angrier. “I mean, I don’t know. I still like girls too.”

That doesn’t make it better.

But Robbe doesn’t have a leg to stand on. He can’t accuse Sander of keeping secrets when he’s been keeping an even bigger one.

“That’s okay, right?” Sander asks finally when Robbe hasn’t said anything for a minute. It’s the look in Sander’s eyes when he finally looks over that melts the anger he’s holding onto, the worry that Robbe hates him now, thinks it’s wrong somehow. It’s the same worry Robbe always feels every time he thinks about coming out, just telling the guys he’s gay. It’s what holds him back every time.

“Yeah,” Robbe says because there is no other answer.

He feels more than sees Sander’s sigh of relief beside him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek as he watches Robbe. “I just didn’t know how to.”

Robbe knows exactly what he means, knows that tightening in his chest whenever he’s gotten close to admitting his feelings.

“Have you hooked up with a lot of guys?” he asks even though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

Sander looks over, pulling another leaf off the bush and turning it over in his fingers. “Not really,” he admits. “I don’t think I’ve found the right one yet.”

Frowning, Robbe doesn’t reply. Now is his chance to do it, to tell Sander the secret that’s been weighing on him for years. What will it change, though? Nothing between them. And isn’t that what Robbe wants?

“Sander,” he says after a second, and Sander lifts his head, watching him intently. “There’s something I haven’t told you either.”

Sander doesn’t reply, just waits for Robbe to say it. The leaf in his hand flutters to the ground where it sticks to the damp pavement.

There’s a lump in his throat as Robbe stares at his feet instead of meeting Sander’s gaze. He digs his fingernails into his palm, forcing the words out this time.

“I’m gay.”

The silence is broken only by the muffled music from the party in the house behind them. Robbe doesn’t dare look up. He should feel relieved that he’s finally told someone, but it’s Sander, the guy he just caught kissing some dude in a bathroom, the guy he’s shared a bed with too many times to count, seen completely broken down in a hospital bed, the guy who has seen Robbe fall apart and helped him deal with his mother when Robbe just couldn’t handle it. It’s Sander, the guy he’s thought about kissing too many times to be acceptable.

Of all the reactions he expects from Sander, the one he doesn’t is Sander’s hand on his jaw, turning his face, Sander’s face too close to his, eyes dark in the shadows, his lips parted as he leans in and kisses Robbe.

Robbe should pull away, demand an explanation, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to melt into Sander, to give into the heat in his chest, the way his heartbeat is pounding against his ribcage as he feels Sander’s tongue sliding over his bottom lip.

“Wait,” he hears himself saying, getting his hands in between them for a second. “What are you doing?”

He can’t just enjoy things. No, Robbe always needs the explanation, the reason why. He can’t just accept that he’s finally getting what he wants, what he’s wanted for years.

“Kissing you,” Sander says with that playful tilt to his head, but at Robbe’s serious expression, he sighs. His fingers are still on Robbe’s face, and Robbe forces himself not to get lost in the feeling of Sander’s fingers stroking down his cheeks. “When I said I hadn’t found the right one, that was a lie.”

“You mean…” Robbe says, glancing up to Sander’s eyes. He can’t allow himself to hope quite that much. After all, they’ve been friends for years, friends who have done every stupid thing together.

Sander swallows, pressing his forehead to Robbe’s and closing his eyes. “Remember when you broke up with Fenna and we drank that whole bottle of vodka?”

“Mmm,” Robbe hums in agreement, watching Sander’s face, so close to his.

Sander opens his eyes slowly, thumbs brushing over Robbe’s jaw. “I wanted to kiss you that night, but I thought I was just drunk. I thought if I did it then, you’d think I was drunk. Then, I don’t know, the opportunity never came back up. I couldn’t figure out how to tell you I was into guys, or well, you.”

Robbe can’t really blame him, unable to stop his smile as he watches Sander. He hadn’t told Sander either, kept his feelings to himself all these years.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you either.”

“That you’re gay?” Sander asks, pulling back an inch. “Or that you’re into me too?”

Robbe doesn’t know how Sander knows. Maybe it’s been obvious. It isn’t as though he’s dated anyone since Fenna, maybe frowned a bit too much around Sander’s girlfriends. Or maybe Sander is just full of shit as he grins at Robbe.

“Both,” Robbe says after a minute, the word rushing from his lips, like he has to get it out now before he bites it back. “Is this going to ruin our friendship?” he asks as Sander leans back in, lips brushing against his. Robbe sucks in a breath, goosebumps erupting on his skin.

“Probably,” Sander replies, but Robbe doesn’t think Sander cares when he kisses him. And, he thinks as he wraps his arms around Sander’s neck, he doesn’t really care either.

#wtfock #sobbe #wtfock fic #my fic

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