#i ruined a drawing before due to overworking the paper

[irenetheeadler]

Drawing dark skin on watercolor is tricky and but you gotta learn it

[video-killed-the-radio-host]

Nurture and Nature ch 5

 Earl looks around Cecil and his heart sinks.  The large window had been blown in, leaving shattered glass all over the floor. The bed Kevin has been using is on it's side. Books and research papers littered the floor, ruined by the half inch or so of water sitting on the floor. 

Earl runs a hand through his hair and looks at Cecil. "Is….is anyone hurt?"

"Nothing major. Mostly everyone is just shaken up. We haven't had a big storm like that in years."

Earl nods. "That's good. I don't think I have enough supplies to treat many right now." He sighs a little and looks around again. "I have to restock."

"That's a three day trip. I can have Carlos send a guard with you if you like."

Earl turns when he hears a noise behind him. Kevin stands in the bedroom doorway, gripping the doorframe so tightly his knuckles were white. Earl moves towards him. "Are you alright?"

Kevin nods quickly. 

"Okay...i have to take a long trip to get more supplies. Would you like to come?" Earl asks, remembering that Cecil said some time outside would help Kevin feel better. 

Kevin hesitates before nodding. 

Earl feels relief flood through him and smiles. "Alright." He turns back to Cecil. "Could you-"

Cecil gives him a smile and nods, turning to leave. His staff makes small splashes as he taps it on the ground. 

Earl watches him go before looking around once more. "I'm going to salvage what I can."  He says softly, picking up the overturned bed, setting the wet blankets aside. He gathers up the jars that somehow didn't get broken, sitting them on the bed. It'll take days to air the room out. Maybe it would be done by the time they got back. 

Kevin stays in the doorway for a moment before moving forward to help. He gathered the wet plants but most just fell apart in his hand. He frowns. Poor plants…. He jumps a little at the sound of shattering glass.  He turns to find Earl kneeling in the floor, gathering pieces of what looked like ceramic. He puts the destroyed plants aside and moves over to Earl, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Earl jumps at the hand on his shoulder and turns. "Oh. Kevin. Hey."

"Are you okay?" Kevin signs, gesturing at the mess.

Earl sighs. "My mother gave me that mortar bowl. And...she died years ago." 

"Is it fixable?"

"Probably not."

"Can I try?"

Earl sits back,  feeling the cold water seeping into the fabric of his pants. "You can try."

Kevin inches forward and puts his hands over the broken bowl. There's a soft glow as the pieces come back together. 

"Oh." Earl says softly. "Thank you." He picks up the now fixed bowl and turns to look at Kevin. The darker skinned man leaned against Earl and closes his eyes. "Kevin?"

Kevin blinks up at him, a tired look on his face. He waves his hand in a way Earl assumed was supposed to be reassuring. 

"You aren't healed enough to be using a lot of magic." Earl sighs and puts the bowl aside before pressing the back of his hand against Kevin's forehead. 

Kevin waves his hand again, tracing the words on Earl's arm. "You were upset."

"I…" Earl sighs. "You shouldn't overwork yourself. It'll make your healing slower."

"I'm….sorry." Kevin leans into Earl's touch and closes his eyes. "Are you upset?"

"No. I'm not. I'm worried about you."

"Can I take a nap before we go?" 

Earl laughs softly and nods, shifting and picking Kevin up out of the water and starts toward the bedroom. "I'll have to get you new bedclothes." He sits Kevin down on his bed and watches him sink a little into the mattress. "Yours are all ruined from the rain."

Kevin responds by rolling up in Earl's blanket. 

-----.-----

It's late afternoon by the time they finally get to leave. They go on horseback with a few supplies but Earl didn't mind because he liked camping outside. 

They were escorted by Magnus. The tall gentle man was nice to be around because he always had a kind word. He didn't talk nearly as much as Cecil did when Carlos found him on the beach but he was still friendly. 

Currently he was telling Kevin about his wife and Kevin was listening intently with a fond expression. Earl trails behind them, only half listening as he looks around. The sun was starting to set and he's looking for a certain…..

"Magnus I need to stop for a moment." Earl announces before getting off of his horse. 

Magnus stops and turns. "Is something wrong?"

Earl crouches at the side of the path and moves aside some leaves before standing with a small glowing stone in his palm. "A Seod Réalta." 

Kevin gives him a blank look.

"A star gem." Earl explains, offering the stone to Kevin. "They're said to hold the light of a star that was knocked from the sky by an old god because they are needed more here with us than in the sky- Kevin? Are you okay?"

Kevin was staring at him, face flushed and eyes wide, lips slightly parted in shock. 

"Earl." Magnus chuckles. "He's a Fae, remember? Giving a Fae a nice rock is basically a proposal."

Earl looks down at the Seod Réalta and then back up at Kevin. "O-oh. So I can't just give him a nice rock I found?"

Magnus looks at Kevin and goes through a series of hand gestures. Kevin brings his hand up to cover his mouth as if he was silencing a giggle. 

"Alright so you can give it to him but it's a bit weird to propose to someone you haven't known long." Magnus announced. 

Earl sputtered a few times. "I wasn't- " he then noticed the laughter on Magnus's face. "Shut up."

Magnus laughs loudly. "I'm sure."

Kevin takes the rock and smiles as he turns it in his hand. It's warm to the touch and would glow brightly in the dark. He uses his left hand to sign "thank you."

"We should get a little further before stopping for the night." Magnus says, looking at the sky. 

Earl nods and takes the reins of his horse, following Magnus down the path. He glances back at Kevin a few times and smiles to himself when he sees the injured man more relaxed than he has been since they've been there. Maybe Cecil was right. Nature would do him good. 

They get to a clearing and Magnus ties the horses to a nearby tree and gets started setting up for the night as Earl wanders a bit away in search of the herbs he came for. He hears Kevin start to wander behind him. Finding the herbs weren't hard as they were brightly colored but due to it being nearly fall, they were few and far between. Hopefully this winter isn't too bad….

The quiet is interrupted by the snap of a branch and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Earl jumps and turns. Kevin was laying face down on the ground, clearly having tripped in one of the many hidden holes that littered the forest floor. He curses softly and quickly moves over to help. "Are you okay?" He asks, helping Kevin to a sitting position so he can inspect the man's ankle. 

Kevin waves his hands as if to shoo Earl away but Earl ignores it. "You sprained your ankle." He looks up into Kevin's face. "No you aren't fine. I'm going to wrap this and make you a crutch. Sorry I didn't warn you about the holes." He stands. "Stay here." 

Kevin's shoulders rise and drop as if he's huffing like a small child being told no. Earl can't help a small chuckle. "I won't be long."

Earl makes his way back to the camp where Magnus was mixing something in a pot over the campfire. He looks up when Earl returns. "Earl?"

"Kevin fell in a hole and sprained his ankle. Gotta make a crutch." He looks around and finds a large branch near the edge of the campsite. Perfect. He starts to peel the bark off of the branch to lower the risk of splinters. 

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Mostly. We're a little short but I'm sure we can make do."

"Are you ready for the High Moon?"

Earl sighs softly. Six months of no sun. Happens every winter. "Lets just hope people have common sense."

"Shh." Magnus jerks his head up. 

"Wh-"

"Earl. Shut up for a minute." Magnus draws his sword. "Something's wrong." 

Earl looks up. "What is it?" He then drops the branch. Kevin. He scrambles to his feet, running back to where he had left him. He looks around. "Kevin? Kevin can you hear me?" Panic is starting to rise in Earl's gut and chest. I shouldn't have left him alone. He looks around again and something glinting on the ground catches his eye. He kneels down. In the grass is the Seod Réalta. 

[corcordium1983]

I Couldn’t Be More In Love

this started out as a blurb. it is no longer a blurb, I don’t think, considering it’s over 2000 words long. it just took on a life of its own, ok? anyway, it was inspired by the picture above, because it makes me sTRESSED. (this is unedited fyi bc I rly need sleep but also wanted to get it up tonight)

The first time you realised he was a clumsy idiot was when he spilled his drink on you at an after party. He’d been trying to manoeuvre you into his lap with one hand while simultaneously wielding a drink in the other. Thankfully it was a clear spirit, and nothing that would stain, but you were still less than thrilled about reeking of alcohol. He’d apologised profusely throughout the rest of the night, and in his drunken state had offered you his shirt to wear instead. You’d laughed it off and peppered him with kisses, assuring him it was all right. And it was, because he was there, and that was enough to make just about any situation better.

You should’ve expected it, should have seen it coming, based on the countless interviews and gifs that had been sent your way after the news of your involvement broke. Your favourite by far was the one of him tipping backwards on his chair at a panel – you still shoot him a warning smirk whenever you find him leaning too far back on a chair, and it never fails to make him blush.

To be honest, he’s not too clumsy normally. It’s only when he’s exhausted, overworked, or – as in the most prominent cases – drunk that he turns into a bumbling, uncoordinated fool. So you’ve learned his tells, and you’ve taken it upon yourself to keep a watchful eye on him when you feel like he (and his clothes, and other people’s clothes) are at risk. It would be such a shame to ruin a decadent Ackermann suit, after all.

The first time you pluck a champagne flute out of his hand as he leans in to hug some big-shot producer, he gives you a puzzled stare over the man’s shoulder. You offer him a shrug in return and take a sip of the champagne, before handing the flute back once he’s at a safe distance from the producer. He doesn’t question you about your move as you thought he would, but instead seems to let it slip from his mind as others come up to him to mingle. You can’t say you blame him – being Timothée Chalamet seems like a busy life to lead.

The second time it happens, your reflexes are only barely quick enough to avert the disaster. You’re at yet another party, a house party of sorts. You’re not quite sure who owns the place, but whoever it is, they must be loaded. Timmy had disappeared earlier in the night, slipping outside with an acquaintance of his, and returning approximately half an hour later with eyes that were suspiciously red-rimmed and the sharp scent of smoke clinging to his sweater. You’d rolled your eyes, but really, who were you to judge.

The accident, or what would have been an accident, takes place later that evening when he’s more than pleasantly buzzed on both alcohol and other substances. You’re hanging out in what looks to be a living room, and Timmy spots someone he recognises sat on one of the sofas. He bends down to hug the girl, not remembering the drink in his hand, and as if in slow-motion you see the glass tilting towards the expensive-looking dress the girl is wearing. You might have let out a small squeak of horror as you just about managed to snatch the glass out of your blustering boyfriend’s grip in time. He doesn’t even seem to realise that the glass is missing at first, too engrossed in the conversation. After a while, however, he looks down at his hand, then over to the nearby coffee table, and then he glances around with the most adorably confused expression you’ve ever seen. The confusion turns to a sense of realisation when his gaze lands on the drink in your hand, and when he makes grabby hands in your direction you’re not sure whether he means you or the drink, so you give him both.

The third time it happens he’s surprisingly not drunk, just very, very tired. He’s been caught in a carousel of press events across the globe for a month and a half, and now that he’s back in New York the jet lag seems to have finally hit him, badly. You suspect he’s been jet lagged the entire time, but that it’s only really caught up with him now that he has a few days off. It makes your heart ache, to see him so run down. You know he loves his job, and that he’s grateful of all the opportunities that have come his way these past few years, but you gently try to remind him every now and then that you don’t have to love every part of your job, and that no job is worth running yourself into the ground for. Still, the bags under his eyes appear to be here to stay, at least for a little while, and when you bring them up he just laughs and tells you they’re Gucci.

When you find him fumbling with his shoelaces just mere hours after arriving back home (honestly, judging by the state he’s in you’re surprised he even managed to get the correct shoe onto the correct foot), you try to tell him that dinner with his parents can wait. He’s got a few days before he has to leave again, and his parent’s aren’t going anywhere. You’ve got time. He however, in typical Timmy fashion, is stubborn as a goat.

“We’ve had this scheduled for ages, mom’s probably started cooking already,” he argues, and that’s the end of that. You purse your lips as he leans into you for support after getting out of the car at his parents’ place, but you don’t say anything. You trust him to know his own limits, and to act accordingly when he feels he’s met them.

Nicole and Marc are as warm and inviting as ever. The second you step through the doorway Nicole envelops Timmy in a hug. Marc pulls you in for a hug as well, telling you it’s nice to see you again (even though you’ve been over for dinner once every few weeks while Timmy’s been gone). Out of the corner of your eye you see Nicole running her hands over Timmy’s shoulders to smooth out the wrinkles, before her hands come to rest by his neck while she inspects him more closely. You make casual conversation with Marc while Nicole frets over the state Timmy’s in, worrying about the bags and dark circles underneath his eyes.

Timmy shoots you an impish smile before retorting with “They’re Gucci”. Nicole sighs and deems him a lost cause, and moves on to you instead, drawing you in into the same motherly hug you’ve come to expect from her every time you meet now. When you lean into her embrace, you take the opportunity the shield of her body offers to conspiratorially whisper “he nearly fell asleep on the way over here”. She leans back a little, keeps you at half an arm’s length and nods in understanding, before giving you a brief kiss on the cheek. The smile she offers you is one of sincere gratitude, although you’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve it. Behind you you can hear Timmy and his father quipping back and forth in rapid-fire French, and although your French is nowhere near as good as you’d like it to be you still manage to get the gist of the situation. His parents are worried about him. He works too much. He’s kept this insane schedule up for years now, and he needs a break. You can’t help but silently agree as you work your way towards the kitchen in search of a drink.

Disaster doesn’t strike until after dinner, when you’re all seated in the living room. Timmy had been lightly dozing off every few minutes throughout the meal, so once you’d settled onto your loveseat Marc had brought Timmy an espresso in the hopes that it would keep him awake for a few more hours. You warily eye the tiny cup that Timmy’s been sipping from where it’s perched on his leg, not trusting his grip on the cup in the slightest. And sure enough, mere moments later, before you have time to react, there is black coffee seeping into the denim of his trousers, which are thankfully black already.

Nicole and Marc share a look that appears to communicate a million different things all at once, and then there’s a flurry of activity as Marc springs up out of his armchair in the search of paper towels to clean up the mess. Nicole leans in and plants a kiss on Timmy’s forehead, asking us if we shouldn’t maybe stay the night so that he won’t have to sit through the cab ride home.

“There’s spare toothbrushes upstairs, and you should still have some clothes here that fit you.”

This time Timmy appears too exhausted to put up much of a fight, and that’s how you find yourselves crammed into the tiny single bed in his childhood bedroom. Not that you’re complaining, though, because he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow and you’re just thankful that he’s finally getting some sleep. You’re also very thankful for the big breakfast that awaits you the following morning.

After that failed attempt at evading disaster you have a few successful ones, and it seems like Timmy’s finally clocked on to what you’ve been doing all this time. He doesn’t get angry like you feared he might; instead, he gets teary-eyed. You attribute it to the lack of sleep due to awards season, as well as the drink that’s currently in your hand, but that was previously in his. He can’t stop touching you the rest of the night, which isn’t completely unheard of behaviour for him, but this time it seems like he needs constant reassurance that you’re real. In the cab on the way home he leans his head on your shoulder and laughs when you tousle his hair.

“I couldn’t be more in love right now,” he says. The scary part is, you think he really means it.

It’s two months later, and you’re on your third cup of coffee of the morning. You had a deadline an hour ago, and didn’t manage to get more than two hours of sleep last night. Since the deadline has now passed, and you managed to get your script sent off in time, that means that you could technically be sleeping right now. The only thing stopping you is that you’re conscious of your sleeping pattern, and don’t want to risk messing it up now that you’ve finally gotten it sorted to conform with normal people hours. You’ve therefore resigned yourself to a day of chugging coffee in an effort to stay awake until the evening.

Timmy’s got a rare two weeks off, something you both seem equally grateful for, so it’s not long until he pads softly into the kitchen on bare feet. You’ve still got all of your work spread out over the kitchen table, as you’d resigned yourself to working there so as not to keep him awake all night, and you’re now struggling with closing all the open tabs in your browser and moving all of the books and notepads. You spent so long working on the project that it’s difficult to accept that it’s done.

Timmy’s arms around your waist and his cold nose buried in the crook of your neck, as well as the scratchy stubble of his chin dragging against your sensitive skin, appears to bring you out of this work-induced fugue state. He mumbles a quiet “good morning”, his voice still low and raspy from sleep, as he peers into your almost empty coffee cup and silently crosses over to the coffee pot to refill your cup, and to make a cup for himself. You hum gratefully as he sets your steaming cup in front of you, and pulls out a frying pan and half the contents of the fridge in order to make you breakfast. You’ve missed this, quiet mornings (literally quiet, neither of you are very good on the talking-front until you’ve had your morning coffee and at least an hour to wake up properly) of domesticity, of just having him around.

You talk about your work over breakfast – scrambled eggs on toast along with a fruit platter. He’s read the earlier drafts of the project, but seems eager to read the finished product as well. You’re not meant to show it to anyone, but you already know you’ll cave, so you set about drawing it up on your laptop. You don’t even see it happening, but before your brain even registers what’s going on, there’s a lithe hand grabbing your coffee cup and moving it far out of the way. With a slight twinge of panic, you realise that it had been about to topple onto your laptop, and would surely have ruined your precious device. You expect to be met with a grave look when you peer over at Timmy, but the look on his face is a pleased one. Maybe even bordering on smug.

“Finally I got my turn to save your ass,” and now you really want to wipe that smug grin off his face. Instead you just groan, too tired to think, and let your head rest on your folded arms on top of the table.

“C’mon, let’s just go back to bed. If you don’t want to ruin your sleep schedule, I promise I’ll wake you up in two or three hours.

You think it over for a second.

“Fine, but only if you promise to bring me a second breakfast in bed later.”