#i could’ve sworn it showed them as kids in the boiling isles

[rdawnn]

something about toh i never understood is if caleb and philip entered the demon realm as children then why and how is there a statue of them in connecticut as adults

[97sunsh1ne]

train ride (one shot)

➳ graffitiartist!bangchan x student!reader (gender neutral) 

➳ mild fluff & flirting

➳ wc: 2k

➳ inspired by one of @/cloudchans captions on ig, she said something about graffiti chan and i couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

It was rare for you to take the train home after class, and tonight, for some reason, you couldn’t remember why. 

The seats were wider than on the bus, it was cheaper than taking an uber, and it sure as hell beat walking home from your 7:30pm Figure Study 200 class. The streetlights flew past, flickering like lightning bugs. You clicked the home button on your phone, skipped to the next song, then checked the time: 9:45pm. 

Your stop slowly rolled up, and you politely excused yourself past the teenager with his legs crossed in the isle. You stepped off the platform, and onto the sidewalk, suddenly realizing that this stop- recommended by Google Maps- was still a 20 minute walk away from your apartment. But, you swallowed a breath, and grabbed your backpack straps. The air wasn’t too cool, and you were wearing your old sneakers; you could handle this. You queued a few songs, and started on your trek. 

After a few blocks, the street lights got a little dimmer, and the people became much less friendly- but, you shrugged it off, and kept walking, maybe a little quicker. 

However, when you came upon a construction sign blocking the only through street, you realized that the only way to keep going was to walk down a very appealing dark, ominous ally. And you remembered, this is why you didn’t take the train. 

Walking down the ally, you saw a shadowy figure looming near a very fun looking brick wall. Your body was screaming to turn back, but the adrenaline pushed you forward. You moved closer, and you picked out a boy in some ripped jeans, and a baggy sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up, spray painting the side of the building. You pulled out your earbuds, and approached with caution, staying in the shadow of the opposite building. Although you were pretty close, he appeared not to notice. His brow was furrowed, and his arms moved with such vigor as he sprayed the wall. You inched closer still, until you could see just what he was painting. 

You let out a gasp. It was a city skyline, with the setting sun in the background, and black buildings dotted with lights in the foreground. The contrast danced in front of your eyes- the pitch black skyscrapers and bright, white lights, with the sunset, splashed and writhing with colors: yellow to orange, red, pink, then to purples and violets all across the wall. Below the building, there was large, bubbled letters, classic graffiti style, but they were unfinished. You hadn’t been expecting his painting to be so- captivating. So intriguing, that it caught your breath in your throat. 

He turned quickly- you swallowed and felt the sweat on your palms as you saw his sharp jaw, and defined forearms that were sprinkled with tattoos, but you could see more crawling down from his biceps. 

“Shit- uh, I’m sorry, I was just going-” you fumbled out. He raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head upward. Son of a bitch. He’s hot. 

“But, I- erm, really like your painting.” You could hear the blood rushing in your ears. What am I thinking? Jesus, this guy could have a gun- oh my god, he’s gonna shoot me. I’m gonna die and my last words are going to be “i uH rEaLLy LiKE yoUr PaiNtiNG.” 

However, he chuckled. 

“Thanks.” 

“I like the lights, on the buildings. Oh- and the colors, the way you blended the orange and pink here is really pretty- and the hint of the sun there, it’s like it’s glowing.” As you spoke, you stepped forward, into the minimal light there was. You got a better look at him, he had a fluffy platinum mop, and his hands were covered in paint. 

His eyebrow was still cocked as he spoke, 

“Thank you, but what the hell is someone like you doing around here, especially now?” He gestured to your clean yellow sweater and white tennis shoes. 

“Oh- I’m uh- walking home from class. I took the train, and the next street over was blocked.” You nervously fidgeted with the strap of your backpack.

“Ah, I see. You should probably get going then. Unless, you wanna call the cops on me.” His voice had an edge, like he was daring you to tell on him.

You felt your cheeks flush, and sensed your bravery boiling dangerously in the pit of your stomach. 

“No, actually, I think I’ll stay. I want to see how it looks finished.” 

This time, his cheeks flushed in the moonlight, and he looked taken aback. You realized- he couldn’t be much older than you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The letters. You haven’t finished them.” 

He glanced back to the wall, and his face softened.  

“Oh- that. That’s like my signature, I guess.” 

You moved closer to see, but still keeping your distance. You asked, 

“What does it say?” 

“CB97. My nickname.” 

As he said that, a small smile appeared on his lips. With a blush, you saw how pretty they were- full and pink in the low light. And with a boom in your chest, you saw the dimple in his cheek. All at once, you felt both embarrassed and bold.

“What does it mean? If- if you don’t mind me asking.” What the hell has gotten into me?

He looked at you sideways, as if he was deciding if he could trust you. Apparently, he deemed you trustworthy. 

“It’s my initials- my name’s Chris Bang, and the ‘97′ that- that’s the year I was born.” Was he nervous?

“I like it. My name’s Y/N.” You chuckled, and he smiled- bigger than last time. You tried not to gasp. 

“Aren’t you going to finish it?” 

He looked down, and squinted at the bottom of the mural. 

“Yeah. What color should it be?” His voice dipped so sweetly as he spoke, and you felt your palms begin to sweat- again. 

“Yellow, and then fade it into orange at the top. To- uh, match the sunset kinda.” 

He bent over, and dug through his duffel bag, then pulled out two cans of paint. 

“Cover your mouth, you’re downwind.” He flashed his dimple. Your chest tightened. 

He worked, and you were captivated all over again. The way his face pulled together, and how he bit his bottom lip in concentration. How his hands worked swiftly and silently, the only sound the mist from the paint. Most of all, how the moonlight cascaded across his blonde curls, down onto his moving forearms, and landed gently onto the blending colors. With all the spray from the paint clouding around his hands and being caught by the light, it almost looked like he was doing magic. 

He pulled back, and wiped his hand over his brow. 

“How is it?” 

“Beautiful.” You were in awe, your face in total amazement. 

He was admiring the look on your face. And he enjoyed knowing that he had helped to put it there. 

He liked working at night, because nobody was around to bother him.

He loved the sound the cans made, and how the paint splayed onto the building. When Chris had first started, it was him and a few of his friends. Back in high school, they would sneak out at night, and run around the streets of their neighborhood, smacking their nicknames everywhere they could find to put them. The cops would chase after them, sure, but they always got away. They were kids, but they knew these streets better than anybody. 

Until one night, when his friends got away a little too fast. Instead of taking him in, the officer said, 

“I see your name everywhere. I’ll tell you, kid, you’ve got some real talent. These other jackasses, they just scribble their name and bounce. But you? I can aways tell it’s you- ‘cause it’s always different. You do all kinds of fonts, and colors- last week you even did a background of flames, and, hell. It looked damn good, kid. I won’t bust you, as long as you promise me this. Do somethin’ nice, okay? This area isn’t the prettiest, we both know that. And I can bet that your house ain’t exactly the kind of place that fosters fine art. Give these people somethin’ to look at. Somethin’ they’ll be happy to have on their wall. If you’re gonna come and write your name out here, make sure it’s somethin’ you’d be proud to have your name on.” 

Now, for the most part, he painted alone. 

Sometimes, his friends would come with him, if he had a big mural planned, and needed help. But he did like the feeling of being alone- just him and his paint. 

“I’m glad you like it.” He shot a toothy grin at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Oh, here. You have some paint on your forehead- let me get that for you.” You pulled the sleeve of your sweater, and before you could stop yourself, you were right next to him. You had to stand on your tippy toes, and you reached up to wipe his brow. 

His face went slack, and you thought that maybe you had gone too far, but he swallowed, and leaned his head down for you. You rubbed the paint off, and you could feel his breath on your nose. 

“There, got it.” 

Your breath hitched as you slowly lowered your hand, your faces inches away, neither of you moving. 

His eyes were brown. Gentle, sweet, mocha brown. And, god, you could’ve sworn they were sparkling. 

You looked down, and turned away. He swallowed, and cleared his throat. 

“Um- is this it? Like- is this the only thing you’re gonna paint here?” You asked. 

“Oh, no, actually. I wanted to add some more pieces around it, and eventually connect them- like one big mural, you know? There’s so much wall space here, and the brick works really well- I like the texture. The colors blend really well.” 

The way his face lit up when he talked, you thought your chest would burst. 

“And, there’s not really many people who walk down this way often-” he laughed, 

“Well- ah, except for you.” 

You giggled. That same courage you had been filled with since you got here came rushing. 

“When are you gonna work on another piece? My next night class is Friday, maybe I could come see you work?” 

He smiled. God, his dimples. 

“Yeah, I’ll be here Friday. What’s your, uh, class?” He stuttered. 

“Figure Studies 200. I’m an art student, but I’ve never painted like this.” 

“Maybe I could show you how...?” He mumbled, looking down, and running his hand through his blonde locks. 

“Only if you want to, y’know? It’s kinda dangerous, all the fumes and stuff- uh, I bring a mask sometimes for bigger pieces, but for smaller ones like this I just kinda deal. But- I could bring an extra one, y’know, and uh- maybe you could help me, with uh, y’know, figures?” He rambled, and you thought you might start floating. 

“Yeah. I’ll be there. I’d- uh, better get going, it’s kinda late.” You checked the time on your phone, and looked back up at him, smiling. 

“Oh- yeah. Be careful, at the end of this ally. If you can, you should go right three blocks and then take a left, it’ll take you right back to the main street. More lights.” He pointed, giving you directions. 

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” You smiled up at him, and then started walking. 

When you were almost at the end of the ally, he shouted,

“Hey! Thanks for the colors, you were right- with the orange and yellow, I really like it.” if you had taken a picture of his face right then, you doubted you’d ever need a flashlight again, how bright he was beaming.

You looked over your shoulder, and shot him a generous grin. 

“Anytime!” 

As you took the directions he had given you, and made your way back to your apartment, one thought lingered in your mind: 

You were so glad you took the train.