#i spent like two hours drawing different hair styles in detail deciding which one i wanted

[writerswho]

Fanfiction. Title: Of Shirts Shenanigans and Long Overdue Apologies. Word count: 1073. Ratings: Teen And Up Audiences. Relationship: Bakugou & Midoriya, Todoroki & Midoriya. Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: It all started two months ago with a shirt. A simple shirt, with no details other than a phrase, like all the different items of clothing in Midoriya's wardrobe that don't have a hero printed on them. A white shirt with black sleeves in the style of the baseball shirts from the films Shouto used to watch as a child, with the words: “Yelling is NOT communication!” in large bold letters. Bakugou didn't take long to shred it. The following week he turned up with a shirt of his own saying: “Muttering IS NOT communication EITHER!” Links: ao3, tips! Commissions info here!

“Do you see what I see?” Iida asks quietly.

“I do,” Shouto replies in the same tone.

The two watch in amazement as Midoriya and Bakugou prepare Sunday lunch. It's a dormitory rule not to get in their way or the consequences could be drastic (like the time Uraraka distracted the green-haired one, and he accidentally put too much hot sauce in the regular lunch instead of the separate portion he was preparing for Bakugou and him). But such a feat was becoming extremely difficult as the weeks went by.

It all started two months ago with a shirt. A simple shirt, with no details other than a phrase, like all the different items of clothing in Midoriya's wardrobe that don't have a hero printed on them. A white shirt with black sleeves in the style of the baseball shirts from the films Shouto used to watch as a child, with the words: “Yelling is NOT communication!” in large bold letters. Bakugou didn't take long to shred it. The following week he turned up with a shirt of his own saying: “Muttering IS NOT communication EITHER!”

Since then, other shirts have appeared. Some were pretty daft, others no one frankly understood. Their latent hostility and animosity evolved into passive aggression, for which the school's reform funds and Cementoss-sensei were very grateful. The only comment Aizawa-sensei made was that if a pair of odd T-shirts made them stop breaking the rules by trying to smash each other's faces in the early hours of the morning, he wouldn't interfere.

Sunday T-shirts have become weekly T-shirts. Some days, they turn up in new shirts. On other days, they repeat a point that irritates them deeply. Shouto admits that he lent his father's credit card to Midoriya to buy most of his shirts and even placed an order for nineteen shirts similar to the first one that started it all for his whole class to wear when Bakugou is being particularly loud. Other students have other models with their complaints for other people. Kamimari, for example, spent a week wearing a shirt saying he was not an idiot. Jirou stopped calling him that on the first day. Mineta, on the other hand, was expelled from school when all the girls in his class along with the girls in class B staged a protest with several T-shirts on the front showing a drawing of all the places they had been touched by him without permission and on the back all the things he had said to them or near them (the teachers held an assembly afterwards to publicly apologise to the students for having allowed him in school for so long and talked about new policies which ended with thirty more students expelled or suspended). Shouto paid for all those T-shirts. And he did it for a reason beyond just spending his father's money. Personally, Shouto believes that his father's money has never been better spent.

When everyone decided to go to the shopping centre for the first time since the last fiasco where Shigaraki almost killed Midoriya (again), the whole gang decided to wear a shirt with the villain's face on it, where his name became known as “Shiggy, the Crispy”. Unfortunately, because Midoriya was with them and the real superpower of the class's ray of sunshine was to make use of Murphy's Law, they bumped into the villain again, who didn't like their shirts one bit. Dabi and Toga, on the other hand, asked where they could get one (Shouto said he was going to leave a shirt for each League member at the not-so-secret secret place Natsuo uses to exchange letters with Touya-nii).

All these shirts were funny. They were all jokes. They fight about the shirts sometimes, but it's nothing serious, nothing bad. Nothing lasts longer than the time it takes to cook a meal with the force of hatred. But the shirt Midoriya is wearing now is different. Because Bakugou is crying.

It's a simple shirt, like all the others. All it has is the outline of a swan. Nothing else. Just a swan. And Bakugou is crying.

Midoriya is hugging him, apologising. Saying that this, that the shirt has nothing to do with it. Shouto doesn't know what it is, but this makes Bakugou cry all the more. Because Midoriya doesn't seem to have noticed something absurdly important to both of them, something so monumentally significant that the blond is bursting into tears. Sobbing and choking and begging for forgiveness. Shouto doesn't know what to do. Midoriya and he are friends, and the green one knows everything he needs to know about him from the first moment Shouto dumped all his trauma on him. But Midoriya is different, he keeps his problems to himself. He keeps everything to himself until the last moment, and he only opens up when there is no other option because, as Shouto has come to realise, Izuku thinks that everything about him is a burden and the less he can do to be a burden, the better (or worse in most cases). But now Bakugou of all people is hugging the most joyful and merry boy in the class, the same he tried to attack on the first day of school and almost killed on the second day, the one he spent the last school year antagonising and the last few months in a silent battle with personalised shirts, and he's apologising as if his life depended on it.

And the most terrifying part of it all is that Midoriya isn't crying. Midoriya Izuku, the boy who cries about everything, isn't shedding a tear while Bakugou's face is filled with tears, drool and snot.

Midoriya is smiling. It's not an evil or smug smile or something to gloat over the situation. It's the smile of someone who has been surprised. The smile of someone who has received something they never thought they would. The smile of someone who has spent years coming to terms with something that shouldn't have happened, but is now seeing its almost happy ending. Midoriya's smile is the smile that Shouto imagines having on the day that Endeavor finally gets what he deserves and he and his family can live in peace.

Shouto doesn't know what Bakugou has done and won't ask. If Midoriya ever wants to talk about it, he will. But he is happy that his friend has received an apology.

[pechebeche]

no YOU were up until 2 am debating design choices for a first defendant for an athena cykes game that will probably never exist

[all-things-fic]

Spoilin’ for a Fight

A/N: Happy Sunday loves! Hope you’ve all had a lovely and restful weekend. No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you... I have indeed (finally) posted another piece of writing. Here’s 6.7k of Harry riling up his partner all because of a bloody vest.

Thank you as always for all the love and patience everyone has given me. Especially @waitingfortwilight, @haute-romance-quotidienne and @harryfeatgaga. Hopefully this lives up to any hype the sneak peek created! I’m going to disappear again .x 

***

You rolled your lips into your mouth as you watched him walk his way around your master bedroom. His movements were confidently familiar as he tucked his vest into the waistband of his white boxer-briefs and kept his eyes down to the dress shirt and trousers he had laid out across your bedspread, sitting next to choice accessories. 

He was running late. Both you and he knew it. Yet the leisurely motions he undertook would never have told you that if you didn’t already know. The way he had taken longer in the shower, carelessly stepped out of the towel (and stepped over it too, meaning the item was now damp and in a bunched up pile closer to Harry’s side of the bed waiting for someone to put it in the laundry basket) and meandered his way through getting ready. 

Boxers first, then black ankle socks. Then the bloody vest. 

You exhaled through your nose, trying not to release a breath that would catch his attention and let him know that you were becoming slightly vexed by how lackadaisical he was choosing to be.

The vest had to go.

Not even in a sexual way either. 

And it wasn’t the fact that it just wasn’t doing it for you - on the contrary it was quite the opposite, the tight item clearly letting you ogle and appreciate the fine specimen you were proud to call your partner - but it was just how much of grandad-move it was.

You understood how having some sort of undershirt kept his actual shirt looking pristine acting as a defensive layer between his body and his clothing.

But, the vest had to go. 

It just had to.

Blindly reaching down to your dresser for your tube of mascara, you unscrewed the gold lid and coated the wand with product. 

Mouth slightly fallen, you washed your lashes with the High Density Black mascara and quickly made the switch to the other eye making sure to get your bottom lashes too. 

Looking at Harry through the mirror, you wondered what he could be debating as he stood silently in the middle of the room. A soft frown traced his brow, his eyes looking down at the bed. His hands were digging into his waist, as his lips jutted slightly in thought. 

Your conclusion was that he was debating his outfit choice for the evening. 

Lid gently screwed back on, you placed your mascara into your cosmetic vanity, before then reaching out for your brow gel. A quick brush through each side and you were done with that step.

You happened to quite like his outfit choice. It was a little less formal than usual for one of your dinners. Classic houndstooth patterned trousers and smart black shirt. The kind of material that made a scratching noise which was music to your ears as you clawed at your man, wanting him closer. Whether that was in the booth of a restaurant, on the car ride home while you were sat at a red traffic light, or when he had you pinned against the locked door for your house. 

Eyes dropping, you watched as your hands - with freshly lacquered nails - gently drew the opening of your silky-satin dressing gown together as it started to gape. 

From your fidgeting, Harry’s attention was stolen by the movement he had seen in his peripherals and when you next looked up at him in the mirror you were met by his already awaiting gaze.

His face looked worn, as his still slightly damp hair fell across his forehead. Lines lingered in his skin from the way his head was tilted and his arms were bent as his hands faffed around with what appeared to be a trinket box. He must’ve reached for it at some point while you were otherwise occupied. 

Gold cross dipping underneath the neckline of the vest, the width of his chest seemed to be getting wider the longer you kept your eyes on his reflection. In moments like this you always became hyper aware of the amount of tattoos that were scattered across his body - arms, shoulders and chest. If you were able to let your eyes drop lower, you were sure the ones of his legs would be just as vivid.

But while everything else about him just seemed content in the moment, his eyes were different. They were strong as they held yours. Waiting for something. 

And you knew you couldn’t keep his gaze as you let your words leave your throat, albeit with less conviction than you originally thought them.

If you were after a bicker before dinner then he was absolutely going to bite and give you what you wanted. You just knew it. 

“You’re not going out in that, are you?”

“‘S there a problem ‘f I am?”

A charged pause.

Harry’s remark was shot out instantly, on yours as fast as a predator was on their prey. 

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you looked back at him through the mirror. A slant to his lips as he waited once more.

Gentle raise of his eyebrows. Faint but definitely there. Goading. Knowing you would be so aware of every moment, every twitch with your eye for detail. His eyes shone in a way that he was daring you.

Oh, he was spoiling for a fight. Most definitely. 

See, this wasn’t new territory for you and Harry. He knew that it sometimes got on your last nerve in how he opted for a vest to cover his top half as an undershirt but especially when he only wore that as the item of choice and simply slung a suit jacket over the top to complete the outfit. 

Like that one time when he attended The Store X The Vinyl Factory's Transformer exhibition and swung by your then rented London townhouse after said event in the small hours only for you to chastise him on the doorstep for how he hadn’t even put on a proper shirt for the evening. 

That night he had teased you - “‘least let me in the door before you start dressing me down, darling. Especially considering ‘m halfway there with not putting on a clean shirt an’ everythin’” - in that slow draw that maddeningly managed to warm you through even when you were irritated with it’s orator. 

Blinking, you knew you needed to respond but you weren’t sure which route you wanted to take with your tact. 

“Not a problem, ‘s just not my favourite.”

“Didn’t realise we’d become tha’ sorta couple,” he paused, his sentence obviously not finished. When your eyes met his again, he continued, “The kind that tells the other what they can and can’t wear, can and can’t do.”

Sighing, you fiddled with your diamond earrings and spoke, “Forget I said anything.” 

“No, no,” he spoke clearly, ringless hands rising in defeat. “You don’t like the vest, ‘s fine. Allowed an opinion.”

“Nice to know.”

A suppressed laugh spluttered from Harry’s lips as he pressed them together. 

Looking at him again, you watched him wrinkle his nose up at you through the mirror. By now your gaze was flat and you were far from impressed with his taunting.

“Come on,” he encouraged, eyes alight.  “‘S have a row.” 

“I’d rather not.”

“‘S healthy to tell me to piss off every once in a while, y’know tha’?”

“So, piss off.”

“Ouch,” he dragged the word, playing offended. “Could say it wi’a bit less conviction next time.”

“That’s if we make it to a next time,” you muttered, seeing his smirk. “‘M not doing this.”

He watched the way you snatched at your other earring, your hands quick to try and place it gently to your lobe but in your haste you fell foul of losing the item. 

“Shit,” you hissed when the dainty jewellery slipped from your grip and to the wooden floor below with a dull clink. 

“Hang on-“

“It’s fine,” you rebutted any chance of his offering to help, swiping for the earring and managing to make good the second time around. 

There was tension in the air now as Harry remained quiet while you continued busying yourself, ignoring the bubble of annoyance and unexplained upset simmering within you.

Gently scooping at your necklace next, you fiddled with the clasp of the fine chain and tilted your neck down as you raised your hands and arms to place the necklace onto yourself. 

From behind you, Harry nervously chewed at his bottom lip. He knew the outcome wasn’t going to go well as he looked on at your slightly shaking hands struggling to successfully bring the two sides together. 

Rather than point out the possibility of ruining the nails that you had endlessly chewed his ear about all afternoon and constantly stuck under his nose to show off; he waited with baited breath, more than willing to step in if required.

It was when he heard the small and soft growl omit from your mouth with sheer frustration that he decided to change tact.

Gone was the trinket box, tossed aimlessly back onto the bed with a soft bounce. His hands gently placed to rest against taut shoulders, Harry leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head. Nose tickled by your hair he muttered into the silky strands, “Let me, darling.”

You froze as you sat in your seat, eyes still slightly lowered from the way you had dropped your head. Frantically blinking as you mulled over how you were going to play your next move. 

Harry hummed, noticing that you had gone quiet on him, knowing you wouldn’t want to engage with him just yet considering how soon he had previously provoked. He just had to wait it out a little more. 

A slump came to your shoulders at his words, partially irked at how he had been the one to coil your spring - pushing and pressing and prodding - and now he thought he could be the one to so easily offer you release. 

“Let me just-,” he spoke more so to himself, cutting himself off, as he scooped your hair into his hands and mumbled soft apologies considering he knew you had spent some time on styling. 

When he was happy that your neck was open enough and there wasn’t going to be anything to hinder him with your tresses over one shoulder, he reached for the item. 

Harry’s right hand met yours first, his thumb and forefinger easily pinching at the delicate chain that he knew so well having been the person to pick and purchase the item. 

Surprised at how easily you gave up the treasure, Harry darted his eyes to your left side and reached for the other side of the fine chain. 

“Have you got it?” You were reluctant to let the one side of the necklace go, in fear of losing the pendant that was currently bouncing against your chest from the way you held the jewellery item. 

Again, a throaty hum vibrated through Harry’s chest. 

“Which idiot chose the finicky clasp?”

“You did,” you outright answered him.

He chuckled in concentration, eyes zoned in on the way his thumbnail pressed at the clasp to hold it down, and his left hand fed itself to the right. “‘S right, I did. Fucking big idiot over ‘ere.”

You then felt the chain gently tickle the back of your neck as Harry let the item go. “But he’s only gone an’ bloody done it.”

Lightly sighing, you pressed your hand to your chest and felt the necklace sitting cooly against your hotter than usual skin. A soft smile at Harry’s choice of words to let you know he had successfully put on the necklace. 

Slightly inside your own head as you raised it to sit up straight, you quickly busied yourself with returning items that you had been using to get ready, to their rightful spots.

Behind you, you heard Harry chuckle as he gently dropped himself down to sit on the edge of your side of the bed. He was clearly amused at how you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

“Ignoring me now? Not even gonna gi’me a thank you?”

If you hadn’t been so stubborn, and focused on the task at hand you would have heard his question and thanked him. However, given your own bloody-mindedness, you never stood a chance. 

Learning forward, Harry’s hand reached down to one of the four legs that made up your dressing table pouffe - the one closest to him - and swiftly pulled. 

Of course, you squealed. The quick change in motion was enough to cause anyone to omit a noise fit only to dogs hearing due to its pitch. 

“‘Ve got yer,” he spoke around a chuckle, enlightened by your reaction as the chair scraped against the flooring and made it so you were virtually sat in his lap. “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed...”

Sharply, you turned to look at him and pushed at his shoulder. “Hope you’re not implying-“

“Wha’,” his expression was boyishly cheeky as he cut you off with his question, his hand keeping hold of yours that had pushed his shoulder. “What am I implying?”

Nostrils flared as you looked at him, feeling your arm slowly wrap around his neck as he tried to pull you closer once more on the chair. Legs man spread, he managed to slot you in between his thighs and enjoyed the way your soft knees squashed into his inner thigh from how close you now were. 

“I’m implying what the proverb is implying,” he smarmily responded, forever having an answer for everything.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” he turned, noting the way your arm was still draped around his neck.

“Shame that,” you commented. “Cause if you were alluding to the other thing then you would’ve really gotten the fight you were looking for.”

Harry’s eyes cut to you from the corner of his vision, his lips now pressed gently against your forearm. “Would I? If that’s the case, I take it back.”

Again your nostrils flared, as you mumbled a veiled threat of, “Swear to god, Harry.”

“So, so easy to wind up-“

Harry’s voice was abruptly cut off when your fingers came into contact with the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled as hard as you could. His only response was to gently graze his teeth to the skin of your arm and the silk of the gown in the tiniest of nips as he ascended to your neck.  

“D’yeh know how much I love fighting with you?” He mumbled against your skin, “How much I love doing anything and everything with you?”

“Have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” you swallowed around your dry response, feeling his lips quirk against the shoulder of your silk gown as he gently brushed your hair away once more.

With it falling down your back, you became all too aware of the gape to your coverup, revealing your clavicle and the top of your breast, as Harry’s lips rubbed against where your neck and shoulder met. 

Growl-like hum heard from your suitor, you gently pushed your finger through his drying hair. Forcing it in haphazard directions before bringing it back and smoothing it down. 

When he showered you with affection like he was currently doing, it was hard to stay mad at him. Which is why you found the direction of conversation so intriguing. What was he trying to achieve here? Whatever it was, he really was going the wrong way about it. 

“Know why I love fighting?” He felt you shake your head lightly as he brought you back to him with the question. The rustle of your hair against his was heard prominently in your ears as he now lightly rested his forehead to your temple. “Yea’, you do,” he disagreed with your non-verbal response, tone gritty as he tried to rouse once more. 

“‘S cause I love shagging when we’re angry,” he heavily pressed his nose into your cheek, knowing you were watching him through the hooded eyelids regardless of how you wouldn’t fully let your gaze meet his long enough to be suckered in. “How you really dig your nails into my back an’ shoulders when I properly get going - not to mention my arse cheeks - and how it feels when I step under the shower the next morning and wince like a little wuss.”

You laughed breathily, stopping your feelings of joy by biting down on your bottom lip. Laughter however played on your lips, lingering in a soft smile that danced along and up the corners of your mouth.

“Fight me, darling.” 

Amused didn’t even cover it as you pulled your head back in a slightly uncomfortable way to look at him. The smoulder of his dilated eyes that were clearly set on what he wanted, they jarred so evidently against his messy hair that looked fit for a toddler who had woken from a heavy nap.

He seemed awfully whiny for a man who was confident with what he wanted. Supposed to be the instigator of an exchange of diverging or opposite views, creating most likely a heated happening. Then again, maybe he was onto something.

Soft frown set in the middle of his brows, his eyes dropped so brazenly down to your lips. A quick swipe of your tongue had them glistening enticingly for him as saliva lingered and caused his groan to get caught in his throat. 

Hand against the back of your head, he tilted your face down to his once more and let his mouth sit at the corner of your lips. Your breathing and his had started to become staccato, as anticipation bubbled within you both from your shared close proximity. 

“‘M waiting,” you challenged knowing he would rise up to the provocation, as his hand turned you face a tiny amount more so when he stuck his nose against yours, so they would slot perfectly together.

Harry’s vision blurred as he felt your warm breath bounce against his face, licking his own lips now and rolling them into his mouth to take away any dryness. 

Hand drawing you to him and mouth about to take your bottom lip, he felt the soft draw back of your head causing his lips to tweak as his breathy laugh mixed within his short and sharp exhalations. 

“‘S tha’ how it’s gonna be?“

You fought the way your hooded eyes wanted to close at the gruff tone that laced his question, wanting to marvel in the glow that had started to coat the skin of his face. 

“Said you wanted a fight.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth were his lips abruptly upon yours. His hand spread across your entire cheek as your free hand reached for his wrist and tightly gripped. Noses squashed from the force; desperate to have each other. 

Harry's lips were fierce and bruising, his body feeling heavier against yours as he rested his other hand against your chair and gave you more of his weight. 

For him your smell was everywhere, as your other arm wrapped around his neck and clawed at the fabric of that bloody vest. The sweet of your hair care juxtaposed against the woody florals of your perfume that sensually drew and tied him to you.

Knees knocking together, you felt the way his hand stumbled as it peeled away from the chair and clawed at the silky fabric of your gown. Fingers quickly became frantic as his concentration moved to his hands that lifted fabric and slipped underneath craving the feel of your warm, soft skin.

With his mouth slightly slower and fallen as he was pulled elsewhere, you tried to take the lead as his hands wandered and he explored.

His hands were softer than usual, time away from music and instruments meaning the callouses had faded. Short nails were dull as they clawed, fingertips dancing against your plush thighs as they flattened to the seat and then upwards along your hip, scooping around your back and confidently spreading out just shy of the top of your bum.

God, he loved knowing you were completely naked underneath. How with a quick and sharp tug of his hand, he would have you bare to him.

Small press against your lower back had Harry silently asking you to raise and fall into his lap. You ignored him at first, far too wrapped up in the way he gave you his tongue around his quivering lips that were trying not to smile at the way the two of you were shamelessly necking on and he was managing to get his own way. 

Pressing your toes into the patterned antique Persian rug which sat underneath your bed, your body created a break between your thighs and their seat. Harry took advantage of the space without any need for a nudge, his hands curling against the clammier, warm skin as he urged you once more to come to him.

Your knees hit the side of your mattress first, lifting and mounting Harry’s lap and he moaned as he enjoyed your full weight against him. Fingers digging into the skin of your thighs, you felt him squeeze as he started to lower himself down to the bed.

Body laying atop an outfit priced easily in the early thousands, Harry hummed clearly letting you know how pleased he was with himself. This was only solidified by the crack of his hand, as it slapped against you bare bum cheek now on show. 

“Can’t believe you’ve got your arse in the air like this,” he rasped, head lifted so he could leave lingering kisses to the hinge of your jaw. 

Mouth slightly dropped, you could feel the way his right hand danced against the curve of your cheek and the way it dipped as it met the back of your thigh. 

His eyes were on your face, chin soft as he tilted his head down to his chest. You admired him, somehow able to find a stillness woven within a intoxicated, sensual love between the lewdish comments and suggestive wandering hands. 

Lips melding to the skin of your cheek, he asked,  “Who’re you showing it off to?”

“You, ‘f you want it like that.”

The coolness of the room hit your bare skin even more as Harry roughly pushed up the fabric of your gown up as he palmed your cheeks once more, skin massaged and squeezed between his digits.

Raw groan, he found his voice, “Turn over for me.” 

Harry slid himself closer to the side of bed, hands making light work of his socks and his briefs before he turned to throw you a glance over his shoulder.

You had removed your gown, item somewhere now on the floor revealing yourself to him proudly. 

As you lay gently on your stomach, the expanse of your bare back on show for him. He greedily let his eyes wander, the curvature of your shoulders and the indentation of your spine line. 

The way your right leg was slightly bent creating a crease to your hip and your left leg a little straighter. You certainly gave him plenty to devour with his sight. 

He didn’t give it much thought when he joined you back on the bed, his hands pressing into the mattress closer to your head.

Bare fingers caught your attention as you watched his hands scrunch around his expensive dress shirt, the familiar scratching sound music to your ears as it caught against his nails and not yours for once while he threw it to the floor at the bottom end of the bed.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going to make it to tha’ dinner,” he spoke, his words not really warranting an answer. Beside your hips, you could feel his knees as he leaned for the trousers on the other side of you and pushed them out of the way too.

He continued with, “Already late. ‘S no point.”

From the way he spoke you wondered if this was what he had been aiming for all along. To scrap dinner and have his way with you. It wouldn’t have been the first time and definitely not the last. 

Eyes already heavy from the deep lull of Harry’s voice, they closed when you felt his lips hit your back, making light work of inhaling you in. His mouth was wet as he reacquainted his lips with your skin, suckling the lower he got.

Nose gently sweeping down, you found yourself dropping your forehead to your forearm giggling from the light tickle, only to sharply cry out as his teeth sunk into the top of your cheek and your head lifted once more. 

Your hand reached behind you pressing against his forehead, “Don’t you dare leave a love bite on my bum.”

His lips twitched at your squealed but breathy chastise, tongue laving against the startings of a mark. “Always begrudging me of eating, darling.”

A devilish grin laced his features as you dared to look over your shoulder at him and take in his gaze that owlishly looked at you from behind your curved hip. All you could see were his eyes as your hand gently pushed his head while he pulled your hips upwards with him, lips skimming the backs of your thighs. 

“Mm,” he started. “Not everything though, ‘s tha’ right?”

The man simply didn’t want to part from his meal.

“You always did like dessert better.” 

There was nothing more Harry loved than when you let him put his face between your legs. But when you let him do it from behind, he couldn’t even explain the difference yet there was one.

Maybe it was the way he could grab and smack your arse, fingers digging into your hips as he got to pull you onto his face when things started to get hot and heavy. That animalistic grab to your hip bone, loins pulled onto his face as he went to town.

Even better when you would push back against him. So caught up in the way he felt that you couldn’t wait any longer. He could talk to you easier this way too, really coax you not only with the feel of his tongue but the words that dripped off it too. 

And then there was the possible anticipation of assplay. Tongue always ready and willing to stimulate if it were desired and communicated. 

The way his hands massaged you, softly pulling apart your rounded cheeks and opening you to the cool air of your bedroom almost stunned. Your body quickly gathered itself with a warm moan when you felt his warm salvia drip messily down onto your ass and your middle. 

Then he was leaning forward - lapping at your skin - lapping you up. Tongue greedy at your cheeks and folds, building his own desires before he actually ate. 

This was his starter. 

The most feminine gasp exited your open mouth when you felt his mouth land where you needed him the most, somewhat too cautiously for your liking at first but you knew he sometimes liked to play this game. You found yourself wiggling back, Harry’s hands wrapping around and squeezing into your thick thighs welcomingly when he knew you’d caught on. 

He hummed, pleased that you had fallen from his meek offerings and gave you more of his mouth. 

“There’s my girl.”

“H,” you panted, pressing your forehead onto your forearm. 

“Fuck,” he muttered against you, enjoying how you were letting him have a taste. Your sweetness quenching his starved fancy. 

You were wet, but he wanted you wetter. Just wet enough so that you were tacky when he tapped himself against you teasingly. 

With his eyes closed, Harry opened his mouth wider as he pulled your hips back to his lips. His nails dig into your skin as your hands clenched into the sheets beneath.

He worked slowly against you, tongue licking at your wetness and saliva mixing with your early arousal. Nose buried inside of you as he devoured you in a way that had you thinking he had been wanting you this way for weeks. A little bit rougher, grabbing you to him and not in the way that quickies usually brought. In a way that sex selfishly commanded sometimes. 

“God, baby-“ how was it always so- gratifying? 

With his eyes closed now as he tried to focus, Harry felt your body shuffle and his own limbs followed after you without restraint. Your bum became slightly raised as you pressed your arms deeper into the mattress due to the way you began to play with yourself.

Your fingers swiped upwards in gentle pulls against your clit, Harry’s mouth barely letting up. He must’ve figured out what you were doing though from your slight change in position as he hummed against your heat, light mutterings that you couldn’t make out. 

“‘S tha’ feel good?” he asked, voice hot as he pulled back to bring his focus onto the glide of your fingers against your wet and neglected clit. “Couldn’t wait, wanted to play.”

You knew you were slick, you could feel it but rather than feel embarrassed you found yourself without a care as you pushed yourself back again. His chuckle made you feel on fire, “Not done with me? Still need some more?”

His lips and tongue dove straight back in rather than wait for a verbal answer, feeling the way your legs widened further when he licked in a particular way. The smell and taste of you was everywhere, gleaming against him with a tackiness that was the perfect piece of free memorabilia. 

Breathing heavier, you both listened to every small gasp and light moan that was drawn from you. The sound of his lips pulling at you making a heat spread across your chest and down to your core.

Harry knew your reactions like the back of his hand, and was waiting for that one sound that was so sweet and enough to get him to cheekily pull away. 

The thought alone had his lips curving into a smile against you, as he felt you starting to clench against his tongue from your joint efforts of pleasure. 

“Harry,” you whispered, rushed. The slow burning feeling starting to form in the pit of your stomach as your fingers began to move with that little bit more fervour. “Want you.”

His mouth was away from you and against the skin of your bum cheek not long after, lips messily wiping as he moved them up your back leaving a trail of arousal in his wake as you felt yourself fall flat to the mattress as he mounted you. 

Hands pinched into the skin of your back, Harry pressed his pelvis against you. 

Feeling him nestled between the cheeks of your bum, caused your eyes to close. He was so full and hard for you, you couldn’t contain the throaty moan that accompanied his grind into the dip of your bum.

“‘M gonna fuck you,” he panted, hands sweeping your hair to one shoulder so his lips can find your skin again. “Want that, hm?”

Your fingers wove into the hair at the nape of his neck, as he craned his head to look at you. His left hand pressed into the bed, holding his entire weight as his right hand reached down for his leaking cock. 

“‘S this what you want- how you want it?” He goaded in question again, gently tapping himself against the skin of your bum before he slid himself down and watched as you slightly raised your own hips for him and started to reach behind you to encourage him to press his weight on top of you.

Harry lined himself up, pushing forward and shifting his eyes from his sinking cock and up your back to see your head dipping forward to fall between your shoulders. He knew he’d never grow tired of the welcomed blissful moan of ‘yes’ that always left your lips when he finally gave it to you.

Humming deeply, Harry bit around his smile as he started with shallow, teasing thrusts. A series of strokes that you found frustratingly sexy but knew as ones he wouldn’t be able to keep up due to his own insatiable desires. 

He swore, in the least teenage boy way possible, you were always tighter to him like this. Especially if you crossed your legs at your ankles behind him while he pushed into you. 

It was usually the position you adopted when you’d let him take you this way, however in the dusk evening he could feel that you had lifted your legs up so your calves were resting against his bum and holding him to you; cutting his shallow thrusting short to press and hold him deeper inside. 

As his pelvis flattened against your bum, he gritted his teeth and released a deep noise from the very back of his throat. The sound had you giggling, slightly wiggling your hips from beneath him, the moment quickly halted by one of his hands cupping at your skin.

“Darling, steady,” he warned.

“Come on,” you wiggled again. “Fuck me then.”

Pulling back, Harry nudged forward just as smooth, the intent behind his thrust obvious. Eyes dropped down he enjoyed the bounce of your cheeks from the force of his pelvis.

A content hum left your smiling lips as you jolted from each push of his hips; his grunts of exertion delightfully pleasurable as his hands pressed into the mattress next to your waist. 

Thrust measured - slow, hard and deep - knowing what they wanted and needed. How to get it too. Undulating and determined.

Harry’s eyes closed as he felt you squeeze him, your legs dropping away from the cheeks of his clenching arse and down to the bed with a soft bounce. You moved again and he followed, legs opening wider against the mattress beneath you both. 

The way your face was now half buried into the sheets, muffling your moans that were usually hot against his ear and coaxing him to places he was still dumbfounded he was able reach let alone find. 

Teeth gritted once more, he could feel the tightness in his limbs and lower back. The work of his hips was unyielding but you were opening up to him, only making him want to continue the steady rhythm. To push and pull. To chase.

And it was enough. It was nice. Simmering. And if you opened your legs just that little bit wider you could rub yourself against the sheets but you wanted to give as good as you could get. Being engulfed wasn’t going to give you that. 

“Give it to me,” you requested, “Harder, baby.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Really need it, don’t yer?”

He pulled you upwards, hands at the curve of your waist so his fingers indented and left lighter marks against your skin from the pressure.

Now on your knees he could really have his way with you. 

Soon the sound of your skin slapping together only started to add to the growing fire in the pit of his stomach and yours. The sound of it so obscene but so welcomed to both your ears. 

Harry’s eyes raked over your naked body, the pert cheeks of your arse bouncing enticingly against his hips, to the tops of your fingers that were fisting tightly into your bedsheets. Knuckles so prominent due to the unrelenting grip.

He had noticed that your body was on its way to folding in on itself, arms stretching above your head and hands finding purchase on your plush bed pillows closer to the top of the bed that had been reached and pulled for by your own lack of knowing what to do with your hands.

“D’ya love me?”

His question was so gritty. Throat dry from his heavy breathing. You found yourself collapsing again. 

Your body, in its lethargy, started to curl up into itself with hands pressed down and your legs bent as your arse begins to bob more against him rather than thrust itself back.

“Said d’ya love me.”

He was sharp with his thrust.

“So much-“

It was wet and it was gasped. Low moan as he cracked his hand against your cheek.

“‘S tha’ the sex talkin’,” he heaved goadingly, and you knew he was smiling. It wasn’t the sex talking, but it could be. Both so taken by the waves of pleasure that could easily sway even the most sound of minds.

You whined into your arm from his smarmy laugh, a writhe to your hips as Harry licked at his thumb and pressed it enticing against your arse. Gentle rubs had you gasping his name and pressing back, as his thumb slid down to collect your arousal that was sat coating your outer walls and his cock each time he retreated.

As you became more excited, his thumb pressed against you with a bit more pressure, gently popping inside and sitting there. 

“Harry,” you whined, the loudest you could around biting your lips, a soft frown forming against your brow at the pleasurable intrusion. 

“You fuckin’ love it,” he growled, watching as you pushed back against his next thrust. “You dirty mare.” 

Heavy frown against your brow, you dropped your head onto your forearm once more and felt yourself start to clench around him. “Yea’,” he muttered to himself, “You’re coming.” 

Nodding your head against your forearm, you felt his free hand rest onto yours that was pushed above your head. He pressed down, fingers slotting through yours as he grunted in time with his harder thrusts into you.

With shaking thighs and aching knees, you feel your mouth fall as his teeth grazed over your ear and his heavy pants warmed your already perspiring cheeks. 

“Don’t fight me,” he pleaded. “‘S nice to give in.”

His head was heavy against your temple, your hair messily in your face. You felt your expression fall as you teetered, starting to lean slightly more to one side. He was nodding, you didn’t know who to but you knew what about and you found yourself craving his narration of whispered ‘yeses’ but instead you were both overcome and the best he can do was huskily groan to encourage you.

Suddenly it tipped and your limbs started to shake as you pressed back against him both in want of more but more so to ground yourself so you didn’t collapse. He stuttered from your vigour but held you there, feeling you helplessly writhe and mercilessly squeeze around him. His cock grinding and dipping into you, drawing out each tremor, desperately seeking its own sexual gratification.

Your other hand was wrapped around his face, fingers digging into the back of his neck and whispering begs for him to come inside of you. Pleas of how you want him to give it to you. Fill you up.

And you were lewd because sometimes that was how he liked it.

Such a pretty face and pretty mouth - yours - speaking to him in such a way. Admonishment was forgotten. Who needed or cared for it when his balls were pulling up tight with each slap against you. 

And then he collapsed against you. His thighs roughly spread you as he clenched and groaned deeply - guttural - giving you everything he had. 

Blood rushed around his ears as he shuddered and shook, the force of his orgasm causing his hips to continue with little pushes just to be sure he was done. Lost to himself, the silence and his sensitivity. 

He roused to your dirty snicker, one of disbelief. Right hand wrapping behind to feel for his arse cheek and digging your nails there, wanting to keep him deep inside, or just behind you for long enough to feel him pressed flaccid and wet against your cheeks. 

The filthy reminder caused you to flush, as Harry shuffled behind you, lips seeking out your clammy skin. 

“Make you mad more often, ‘f tha’s my private penance.”

His words were muffled, spoken into your shoulder as his hands soothed and massaged over your joints in preparation for the aching reminders tomorrow. 

And the vest was still on. 

[mooniefics]

unforeseen circumstances [ 1 ]

pairing : porco galliard / fem reader

word count : 4.3k

tags : porn w plot, angsty lol, porn w feelings, doomed love

warnings : nsfw

summary : at first it had been necessary, a consequence of getting more and more information out of your target, but now you realize that the time spent with him had developed into a bond that was undeniably something more.

— originally posted 12 / 29 / 20 on ao3 —

intercept, infiltrate, escape.

that was the mantra you'd been repeating over and over again in your head for days. your squad was counting on you—paradis was counting on you—to do your absolute best out on the field, behind enemy lines. and you would definitely say that you had been doing well. you'd picked out your target just fine, maintained your cover effortlessly, gathered a hefty amount of intel that would mark your mission as a success when you delivered everything the commander back home.

in the same vein, you could admit, there had been a few hiccups here and there; a couple slips of the tongue that would've spelt certain defeat if you weren't so good at lying through your teeth, accidentally doing things that weren't in character of a diplomat's daughter, mostly small mistakes, nothing that wasn't easily rectifiable.

but, what was happening right now had to be the biggest hiccup of them all.

your hands were tangled in the thick mess of blonde hair, mussing it out of its usual brushed back style, lips moving fervently over his as you arched off the bed to press your body closer to him. you'd found that kissing him always left you breathless, thrumming with warmth and only wanting more. it was no different this time around when he pulled away, your chest heaving like you'd just run a mile as he pressed a messy line of kisses down your cheek and jaw.

"do you really have to go home after tomorrow, princess?" he murmured between pecks, hands beginning to work on unbuttoning your shirt.

"i told you i'm a countess, not a princess." you giggled, tugging your arms free from the sleeves and replacing your hands in his hair, "there's a difference, you know?"

"countess, princess, whatever, royalty all the same." he mused, giving a soft nip to your shoulder, "can't you ask your father to leave you here with me just a little longer?"

your face flushed at that, feeling a flutter in your heart at his earnest words rather than his impatient hands. it was those little requests, playfully delivered but nonetheless inviting you to really stay in liberio even if for just a day more, that reminded you of the weight of your duty. a small pang cut through the fog of arousal, your fingers tightening their grasp the slightest bit, guilt bubbling up behind the light airiness in your chest.

"you know i would if i could, porco." you replied softly, "but i've got business back home. my family's counting me for a lot of things."

and you weren't lying when you said that. you did have business and family back home, there was so many things that had to be done, and the only chance you had to get back home with the rest of your squad was tomorrow night, leaving this as the final evening you'd probably ever get spend with him like this. you tried not to think about those complicated details, but he made it easy to focus on him as his hands squeezed your breasts, rolling his thumbs over your nipples through the padded fabric of your bra.

"then i'll just have to make sure you remember me, huh?" you could feel him smirking against your skin, "give you plenty of reasons to come back real soon."

you let out a heated sigh at the feeling of him sucking at the crook of your neck, thighs clenching unconsciously from the low pulse of arousal stirring between your legs. you could tell that there was going to be a bruise in the morning, already hearing connie's vehement protests and sasha's prying questions in your head. screwing the enemy once was already bad enough, but this was now the fourth day he'd managed to get you in his bed.

this first night could've been excusable, seeing as you were both quite drunk after a carefree tour of the city, courtesy of him and his overconfidence, despite you knowing every nook and cranny of liberio from your time spent tracking his comrades' schedules. but you couldn't help feeling drawn back to him, and under the flimsy excuse of being able to get more information by being in his dorm, you had ended up back in his room within the next few nights as well. you technically did get a bit of work done, rifling through his belongings when he ventured downstairs to get you both a cup of coffee, but there was nothing of substances to be found besides some explicit magazines under the bed and a picture of his older brother tucked away deep in the drawers of his desk.

you knew you shouldn't get attached to him, you knew that you should just write these evening ventures off as meaningless sex to drive away the homesickness that had begun to set in. but you'd started to find yourself wanting to be around him more and more even before that first night, missing his scent of faint cologne that you could only smell when he held you close to him, memorizing everything from the flustered smile that broke out across his face when you'd kiss his cheek to the fuck-drunk grin you saw from your side of his bed the first time you'd slept with him. sure, he was arrogant and standoffish on the surface, but under that exterior there was so much more, more than you could ever hope to discover in the last twenty-four hours you had left in your stay. so you decided to let him bring you back here again, not even feigning protest when you both fell back into the comfort of his messy sheets and made out like two teenagers after their first date.

you could feel his hands trying to work their way under you, prompting you to arch your back off the bed so he could unclasp your bra. you gave a soft whimper when his teeth grazed over the fresh bruise, letting your eyes fall shut as he lavished your neck and shoulder with teasing, half-pressured bites and firm kisses. his fingers rolled your nipples between them, clearly relishing in the tiny whines and moans of his name that each pinch earned him. he turned out to be much more generous in bed than you'd first anticipated, always giving and giving without any expectation for something in return, seemingly content with just watching you fall apart in his hands, something which he made so ridiculously easy to do.

the moon outside cast a silvery glow through the window, illuminated his figure above you and making the more blonde locks of his hair glow golden. you let your hips roll up to meet his, earning a low groan when they pressed flush against the tenting bulge in his trousers. the places where he left his mark ached in the best way as he made his way down to your chest, earning another stifled whimpered when sucked at the valley of your breasts, fingers not stopping their slow routine that sent heat arcing up your spine. you muffled another whine when he bit at the soft flesh, tongue laving out to soothe the sting.

"ah.. p-porco, that..!" he didn't let you finish before he repeated the action to the other breast, firmly enough to print his teeth into your skin but not nearly enough to be entirely painful.

you were sure he could feel the way you were trembling now, how your shaky hands were tugging meekly at his shirt in a futile attempt to get it off. he pulled away with a chuckle, yanking it off of himself in one fluid motion and tossing it aside, planting a brief kiss over your lips before returning to his previous actions. this time his mouth descended over your nipple, tongue flicking over the pert bud and drawing more small whimpers out of you.

you were only keeping quiet out of the thought that the other warriors were in the dorms, and that they might come knocking eventually to tell you to shut up, but porco seemed more than happy to force more heated pants and moans out of you with little care for their volume. you squirmed under the power of his tongue, already feeling yourself practically soaking through your underwear as he swapped his attention to your unattended breast, hands smoothing down your waist to work at getting your skirt off. he managed to wrestled the lacing free more quickly than you thought he would, touch immediately delving under the loosened waistline and into your underwear.

"fuck," he groaned, thumb rubbing over your clit and making you up buck into his hand, "so fucking wet."

"stop t-teasing me.." you protested, feeling him move to nip and suck more marks at the underside of your breasts. you hadn't thought the skin would be so tender, but you couldn't help the moan that slipped from your lips at the sensation.

"makes sense that you're used to calling the shots," he spoke in a low tone, giving an apologetic lick to one of the larger bruises he'd left behind before proceeding further down your body, "but just trust me, alright? i'll make sure you'll never forget tonight."

you felt your heart skip at his words. "as if i could ever forget you."

you caught his small smile your own words garnered in the dim light, an expression that was boyishly shy yet prideful all at once, another image of him that you wanted to burn into your memory forever. after tossing your underwear aside to join the rest of your forgotten clothes, he guided apart your legs, pressing a soft kiss over your thigh before taking some of the pliant flesh between his full lips, sucking at it with enough pressure to make you whimper.

you knew what he was doing, littering your skin with bruises that would darken by the time morning came, leaving reminders of himself that probably would stay etched into your skin for the next few days, but definitely not more than a week. you assumed that he saw it as better than nothing, considering that the first time he left a mark on you he would always smirk to himself when he caught a glimpse of it, thumbing over it and kissing it when he could— figures that the prideful soldier loved to mark his territory. he took his time with this area, squeezing at your thighs and giving the occasional bite just to watch you squirm and whine, hazel eyes drinking in your visage as he teased you with the prospect of being so close to where you needed him.

"god, you look so good." he muttered after leaving the final mark, deciding that he'd drawn out his torture long enough, "i wish i could keep you like this forever."

you flushed brilliantly at that, your sheepish look garnering another quiet laugh from him before he settled your thighs onto his shoulders, fingers sinking into your soft hips and gently pulling you against him. the first lick was deliberately slow, laving up the entirety of your dripping cunt and stopping just at your clit, taking it into his mouth to draw small circles over it with the tip of his tongue.

you pressed one hand firmly over the lower half of your face to catch to moan that you couldn't swallow back and muffle the sound of your quick breaths through your nose, the other finding his hair and urging him closer. his mouth was exceptional, knowing exactly which places to lick and kiss, applying just the right pressure over you to make your toes curl and your legs shake, each low groan and mutter sending the delightful vibrations of his voice echoing across your skin. you did your best to not clench your thighs too firmly around his head, but your already vain efforts fell apart completely at the feeling of his tongue working its way into you, lapping up at the wetness that was now most likely dripping down his chin and making a mess of the sheets beneath you.

for all his hotheaded hubris, his smart mouth was good for much more than just spouting out arguments to defend his pride and dropping mediocre pick-up lines that would've been terribly cringeworthy from anyone else but were somehow endearing when he said them. one hand moved to replace the stimulation over your clit in his mouth's absence, the other sliding under your writhing form to find the small of your back, offering more support to the way your body arched into his mouth. the heat ebbing out over every inch of your flushed skin was overwhelming, leaving you drowning in the feeling of his skillful tongue and fingers, moans pouring out into the palm of your hand as you tugged at his hair and rolled your hips up into his touch.

"f-fuck.. c-c-can't.. i th-think..!" you could barely form coherent words, but you were sure he knew exactly what you were trying to tell him based on the way he redoubled his efforts over you, drawing out one last muffled whine before you came against his mouth.

you had expected him to let you ride out your high like he always did, eventually guiding you down with a steadily slowing rhythm and soft kisses to your trembling body, but he did neither, not even faltering as urged you even closer to his unrelenting attention.

"p-porco..!" you mewled, having to pull the hand at your mouth away to gasp in sufficient breath, "please—f-fuck—l-let me rest for a m-minute!!"

you met his gaze from between your legs, barely steady enough to match the intensity, not able to see his mouth but knowing he was grinning from the way the corners of his eyes creased. when you tried to unclasp your thighs from around his head, his hands quickly grabbed them and held your legs apart just enough to accommodate his place between them, his low chuckle at your desperate expression sending another jolt of pleasure sparking up your spine.

you couldn't stop the incessant trembling of your body, every muscle wracked with an uncompromising heat that drove breathless, unrestrained whines out of you as his tongue drew you back to that familiar peak in under a minute. each shaky clench on your hand in his hair earned you more low groans into your overly-sensitive flesh, your head craning back as far as the pillow allowed it to and heels digging into the firm muscle of his back as your lids squeezed shut, entirely immersed into the all-consuming heat that was fervid enough to bring tears to your eyes. you felt more than overstimulated as he finally let up and allowed you to fall back down onto the bed in a panting heap, pressing soothing kisses across the skin of your bruised thighs.

"do you need a break?" he murmured, not at all hiding how he was admiring your debauched expression.

"just a little one." you barely whispered back, still struggling to catch your breath and slow your heart.

he took mercy on you, slipping your legs off of his shoulders and stepping off of the bed to wrestle off his pants and boxers, giving you until then to regain your bearings. you let your wandering eyes settle on his dimly lit figure, the shadowed contour of the muscles lining his chest and arms looking even more defined in the faint radiance the window provided.

you would miss feeling the way they would flex under his warm skin when you smoothed your hands over the expanse of his torso, how you could feel his heart thud steadily against your fingers or hear it when you rested your head on his naked chest. just the thought of your departure was sobering in it own right, but remembering what you would have to take part in just after you would give your final farewell made you feel a lump knotting its way into the center of your throat. you tried not to let that dismay show on your face as he took his place over you once again, letting you pull him down into a kiss that was softer, less lustful than all the others that had come before.

"c'mon, getting sappy on me already?" he teased playfully. you didn't even have to open your eyes to know that he was grinning. you huffed, earning a small laugh and another gentle peck.

"no! just.." you met his gaze, suppressing your own smile at the sight of his cocked eyebrow and lofty smile, "just thinking about the next time i'll be able to come back."

another lie, but he didn't know, face softening at the pleasant thought. "you'll hear about it at the play tomorrow, but lord tybur's inviting all of marley's new allies to join hands against that island. things are gonna get busy from now on, and who knows? maybe you might have to come back and make another visit."

"here's to hoping." the hands on his cheeks wandered away to lace under his arms, forearms resting on his solid back and fingers gingerly grasping his shoulders, "i wouldn't mind spending a few more nights like this.."

"no need to be shy, princess," he smirked, punctuating the phrase with a more heated kiss that made your heart pick up its pace once more, the taste of you still discernible on his tongue, "you can be more honest than that, i won't tell on you."

you didn't correct him on your false designation this time, starting to enjoy it as more of a pet name than an official title. you felt the heat of arousal that had been dampened by your foresight flicker back to life when he dipped his head down into your neck, nipping and kissing at the array of marks he'd left behind, shifting his position so he could line himself up with your drenched cunt. you didn't realize you'd been waiting with baited breath until he eased himself inside of you, your shaky exhale drawing out into a low moan, the desire to be quiet completely forgotten as he started out at a slow, deep pace.

"fuck, i'll never get tired of this." he muttered, each thrust driving little pants and whimpers from your parted lips.

he seemed to want to draw out your intimate exchange as long as he could, knowing that you wouldn't last all night but wanting to savor this time nonetheless. and you were grateful for that, just as you were grateful for how he paid such special attention to make sure he always left you satisfied, or how he'd always managed to slip in those stupidly sweet comments that made you feel alight with a carefree airiness you hadn't felt in so long before you met him.

so the evening drew on, a cycle of whispered words and messy kisses, his grunts and groans mixing with your own breathy whimpers and whines, limbs tangling together to hold your bodies close and hips rolling to meet the others'. you came apart in his hands more time than you cared to count, more focused in how he would moan against your mouth when your nails raked down his back hard enough to leave reddened scratches over his tanned skin or memorizing the hazy look in his eyes when he stared down at you with that fuck-drunk grin, clearly spent but not wanting to throw in the towel until he'd given it his all.

satisfaction only came after you'd both finally reached the point of complete exhaustion, sticky with sweat and greedily gulping in gasps of the room's hot air, somehow still finding enough energy to breathily giggle at your tired expressions when you turned in bed to face each other. you waited until your skin had cooled off before you moved over to him, humming contently at the feeling of his strong arms doing most of the work of pulling you closer.

"come to the festival with me tomorrow." he said, voice low as it reverberated in the ear that was pressed to his chest.

"was that not already the plan, soldier boy?" you hadn't expected for your murmur to sound so tired, eyes already too heavy to keep open, the hand that was carding through your hair not making it any easier to cling to your waning alertness.

he let out a small chuckle, whether it was at the snippy remark or the new moniker you couldn't tell. "just making sure, princess."

the silence that settled around you both was natural, almost comforting, allowing you to hear the way his breathing had begun to steady out, and the slow beat of his heart that had just been racing alongside yours minutes ago. despite all your physical fatigue, you found yourself unable to fall asleep with him, the weight of all your thoughts keeping you anchored to consciousness. it didn't feel like tomorrow was the end, you weren't ready for the finiteness of reality to settle in just yet.

you nestled your face closer to his warmth, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to keep in the tears that had begun to well within them. it wasn't right, it wasn't fair, you deserved better than to have this happiness ripped away from you just as fast as you'd found it, he deserved better than the deceit and never-ending series of lies than you'd been stringing him along with.

"porco," you breathed, so quietly that you could barely even hear yourself, "i lo.."

you stopped. you couldn't say that. you couldn't think that.

you felt the tear that had slipped down the side of your face drip onto his chest, your arms around him hugging him tighter as you drew in a few deep breaths to calm yourself. you eventually forced yourself to sleep, knowing that you'd need it for the long day ahead of you, and hoping you'd find an escape from the unforeseen circumstances of your guilty conscious in your dreams.

the next day came and went so quickly, filled with loud music and chattering crowds and so much laughter, a happiness that allowed you to lose yourself in the fun of it all as you and him ate and drank from as many stalls as you could find. there were foods and desserts that you'd never seen before in marley or in paradis, curious instruments and street performances that he obviously wasn't used to either based on the eager sparkle that gleamed in his eyes. your feet were sore by the time the sun had begun to sink below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the entire city as you exited the avenue that had been bustling with life all afternoon now steadily emptying out as everyone readied themselves for the show that lord tybur would be hosting in the square.

you didn't let go of his hand as you both wandered down the city streets towards the square, worried that your palms would sweat or your fingers would tremble, giving away how much you were dreading reaching your final destination. you kept the smile that had been entirely genuine up until minutes ago plastered on your face, unable to come to terms with the inevitable end that was just a few meters and a side street away. and when the lines of wooden benches and large stage finally came into view, you felt that sinking feeling of your heart give way to an cold emptiness caving a hole in your chest, only able to follow him along as he guided you out of the walkway and onto an empty place on the sidewalk.

"i have to go sit with the rest of my unit, but i'll see you after the show, alright?" he told you without a second thought, entirely sure of the fact that he might have the chance to sneak you away for a few more indulgent moments before you had to return to your home country.

you swallowed down the lump in your throat, lips struggling to maintain their shaky smile as you answered. "definitely. we'll meet again here?"

he nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. you tried not to make the deep breath you took to steady yourself obvious, balancing up on your toes to press one last lingering kiss across his lips. it didn't last nearly long enough, only able to catch a hint of ginger and lime from the last drink you'd both shared before he released your hand and started on his trek to his seat, turning to give a wave and a smile over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd.

as soon as he was out of your sight, you pushed down all the conflicting emotions that had been threatening to smother you, not allowing yourself to cry even as you ventured away from the stage. the show would be starting in less than five minutes, and it wouldn't probably take more than ten for eren to give his cue.

you couldn't get that last image of his face out of your head, eyes bright, smiling widely down at you, so entirely unaware of the chaos that would unfold just after the curtain call. buildings would be destroyed, people would die, people he most likely knew and spoke to longer than he was aware of your existence, and a portion of the fault fell on your shoulders. and even from a block away you could hear the vibrant cheers of the crowd as the curtain rose, your brisk pace turning into a near run as you tried to escape the sounds of the townspeople, tried to forget the impending doom hanging over you as the go-time for the operation to lay siege on marley drew nearer and nearer with every step.

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 17 - With Him

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, how will it go in the end?, 4.8k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

One finger tapped on the strap of his fanny pack as Alex listened for the right bus stop to be called. If all those months since he’d seen Willie had been long, this past week had been longer. Especially since the news about Caleb had hit hard and every minute in the studio now felt like the band was precariously teetering on the edge of a cliff. He was going to try not to let any of that get in his way today, though. He’d made it to Saturday and Willie was only a few streets away, and he didn’t care what happened for the rest of the day - it was going to be good.

Finally he heard the next stop announced for where he needed to get off and he pulled the cord that told the driver to make a stop. Stepping onto the sidewalk, his heart bounced around in its chamber like the Tazmanian devil from Looney Tunes. He was glad that Willie lived in the basement of the apartment building he occupied because it would’ve been the worst if Alex forgot which room he was in and spent hours frantically knocking doors.

It was hard to tell if he was moving quickly or if his mind was just racing, but in either case, he eventually found himself at the door. For a second, he simply took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, trying to get a visual of Willie immediately pouncing on him the moment the door opened out of his head. It wouldn’t exactly be unwelcome, but Alex was realizing how desperate he was to be with him and was amazed at how it affected his imagination.

Lifting a hand, he made sure he knocked loudly. Soon after, the door opened, and Alex was greeted with shining brown eyes, silky, gorgeous brown hair styled into two braids, and a smile he could make home in. Willie.

“Hey, come on in!” Willie was saying, standing to the side and gesturing for him to enter. Crossing the threshold, Alex gazed at the humble space, taking in the details with heightened interest. “This is mi casa!” He began showing Alex around. “We’ve got the main living space, very cozy. The kitchen to your left, but no dining room so it’s all criss-cross applesauce on the floor - makes it extra chill. Bathroom through the back. The sink and shower handles will sometimes shock you, so don’t mind all the electrical tape.”

It was surprisingly accommodating for a dingy basement, and Willie had already made little additions that spoke volumes about him without words. A king size mattress sat in the corner of the ‘main living space’ on the floor with a small bookshelf beside it. The bookshelf only had a handful of cassette tapes and a Walkman lying on top, with a few sketchbooks on the middle shelf. Next to that, the dresser had a small collection of vintage soda bottles and a camera sitting on its surface. Glow-in-the-dark star stickers covered the ceiling above the bed. Even a couple cat toys could be spotted on the floor. Immediately, Alex approached the area where Willie’s desk sat surrounded by sketches hung on the wall.

“So these are your drawings?” he asked, although the answer was obvious. They were so good. Willie followed him over, the squinty smile still in his eyes.

“Yeah. Some are new. Most of them are attempts to recover what Caleb tore up.”

Alex looked at Willie apologetically, even though the loss of Willie’s previous work wasn’t his fault. Without warning, a pressure on his leg and the sound of loud purring announced Sheldon’s presence. The cat looked up at him and blinked slowly, already begging for attention. Heart melting, Alex bent down to pet him.

“Hey, Sheldon,” he said. “I forgot how cute you were!” He smiled as Sheldon rubbed his head against his hand with more affection that he’d likely seen from any other creature on the planet. Well...maybe there was one other that matched it. Alex had heard about how pets could take on the temperament of their owners, and suspected this was a clear example. “He’s gotten so big since I last saw him.”

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be almost two years old, if Escobar guessed his age right.”

Standing again as Sheldon pattered off, Alex returned his attention to the wall of art, looking at the pieces more closely.

“So which one is your dad?” he mused.

Willie untacked one of them and held it out for Alex to examine. “This one.”

Holding the edges carefully, Alex gazed in amazement at the detail Willie had caught. The edges were certainly less defined, but the scene inside the truck was so easy to visualize that Alex could almost feel the leather of the seats and the windchill from the window. He wasn’t sure what began burning in his chest as he peered down at the image, but it was profound and complex.

“I’ve thought about seeing if I could find him, but I think with my memory it’s kind of impossible,” Willie told him.

“He looks so happy here. I don’t get why you would end up as a foster kid.”

“Yeah, I wondered that too. Maybe he didn’t have a choice?”

Alex looked at Willie’s face, and he could tell half of him was lost in a world of what-ifs and other questions. He was always trying to seem so easy-going, and to an extent he truly was, but he couldn’t hide the constant sense of upheaval that rested on his shoulders. At least, Alex was picking up on it more, now that he knew the things he did. He may have been biased, but he couldn’t imagine anyone not fighting their hardest to keep Willie.

Suddenly his gaze was drawn to the unfinished work on the desk, and recognized it as a portrait of himself.

“Wow.” The word fell out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Willie started with a hint of shyness. “Obviously that one isn’t done, so…” He reached to put it away.

“You got that far off of memory, though,” Alex said. “I’m impressed. And you make me look good.” He offered an encouraging smile. “Maybe some time today I could be a model for you?”

Willie cocked his eyebrow, surprise and playfulness making an adorable combination on his face. It made Alex’s smile grow wider.

“Well, we’ve got a whole day ahead,” Willie said. “Your wish is my command.”

“Okay,” Alex said, leaning onto his back foot casually, one side of his lip curling with intrigue. “Well, I wanna see where you go around here. You seem to have a knack for finding the best spots. We can play it by ear.”

“What’s that one song with the one phrase?” Willie asked. “‘Any way the wind blows?’” He sang shyly, clearly playing down what Alex could tell was a nice voice.

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” Alex smiled. Willie’s job at the record store was at least giving him a good taste in music. “Don’t worry, you’ll know everything about the classics once you hang out with me enough.”

An emotion flashed in Willie’s eyes and after a moment Alex realized what those words were actually saying. He held his gaze, hoping he could communicate his intentions clearly, unlike the last time they’d seen each other. Willie swallowed, and his expression remained excited as he loaded his backpack and led them out the door, board in  hand. Alex followed him, deciding not to question which direction they were going.

First, they made a stop to buy a bunch of apples. In classic Willie fashion, he went to a bodega, and this time he communicated with the cashier in rough Spanish. Alex knew he was showing off, and smirked at the notion that Willie enjoyed impressing him.

“So what do we need these for?” Alex wondered as they left the bodega. “Besides a ton of apples for lunch.”

Willie’s secretive smile made Alex raise an eyebrow.

“It’s a surprise.”

A little while later, they stood before the most unlikely place in all of Los Angeles: a horse barn. Staring at the building as if it loomed fifty feet above him, hands in his pockets, Alex gulped and a lump of dread landed in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh no,” he muttered apprehensively.

“Oh yeah,” Willie said, turning to him with a thrilled grin on his face.

Alex wasn’t exactly afraid of horses...he just had no idea what to do around them and therefore was not sure what to expect from them. Also, he would’ve worn different pants if he’d known this was on the agenda.

“I promise, they’ve got some really chill horses,” Willie tried to ease his nerves. “I’ve gone on this trail enough times. Don’t worry, you’ll know everything about riding once you hang out with me enough.” He winked as he threw back Alex’s line with a sly smile.

Unable to argue, Alex shook his head and used the hand in his pocket to gesture forward, signaling to Willie he was up to the challenge. He watched him practically skip inside and he had to jog to keep up after him. They signed in and then were led to two stalls.

Willie immediately gravitated toward a tall golden-colored mustang stallion with a dark mane, apparently both already familiar and happy to see each other. Alex watched him gently greet and essentially coo at it while comfortably stroking its nose and then feeding it an apple. He longed to have that sort of talent with other creatures, and simultaneously realized that he yearned to receive that same tenderness.

Once the horses were tacked up and one of the instructors had given Alex some brief pointers on how to ride, he found himself following Willie on a trail while mounted on a painted mare. The only philosophy he could adopt out here was to be gentle and not get lost.

“Not so bad, your majesty,” Willie called over to him.

An extremely nervous laugh elicited from Alex’s throat involuntarily, only making Willie laugh in return. Alex rode a little closer so they were nearly side by side on the trail.

“I’ve been here once,” he said. “I think I was about twelve? My mom thought that it would make me change my mind about taking ballet classes. We rode for maybe fifteen minutes before I got so nervous we had to turn back around and go home. Never made it through the full trail.”

“Man, that sucks,” Willie commented. “I didn’t know you did ballet.”

“Yeah, that and a few other types of dance. I was forced to quit a little couple years ago. That’s about when we got serious as a band, so I just found something else to bother my parents with.”

He could see the gears click into place as Willie came to a few conclusions about his parents and gave an emphatic nod.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to learn how to dance. That was the one thing Caleb had promised to teach me. He’s the worst, but he definitely knows how to dance.”

Suddenly, Alex remembered watching Caleb’s movements when he’d served him and the boys at the diner. Of course he could dance; everything had been fluid and smooth. All he could say to that thought was “huh,” at first. Then after a few moments: “I’ll have to teach you one of these days then.”

Willie’s eyes crinkled at the corners, happy at the prospect.

“Yeah, okay! Add that to our to-do list.”

Alex chuckled. They had a to-do list now. He bit his lip as he continued following Willie along the trail. It was a gorgeous day and in this area the sky was so clear compared to further inside the city. Greatly contrasting his experience from years ago, Alex felt himself become much more at ease and felt confident enough to take greater control of his horse. Willie pulled out his camera and snapped a few scenic photos every once in a while.

Eventually, they stopped at an outlook and Alex had to take in an awed breath. The view was clear for miles all around them. Green hills spanned the landscape in every direction with patches of city speckled in between. Even the ocean line was visible from there. How did Willie know how to find these?

“Hey, Alex!” Willie called, lifting his camera. “Say cheese!”

Turning to face him, Alex flashed a genuine smile as Willie captured him atop his horse against the scenery. He was usually pretty camera shy, but this time he really didn’t mind. Keeping memories like this actually felt important to him, unlike the many times he’d been forced to pose with his family at functions he’d also been made to attend. Those occasions had always felt so insincere - less about enjoying the memory and more about trying to prove their status as the polished, functional family everyone aspired to.

He saw Willie dismount for a moment and stretch his legs. Gripping the reins and looking around in uncertainty, Alex realized he’d gotten on before ensuring he could properly get off. Thankfully, Willie noticed and came up to him, hands raised.

“Okay, so just...carefully lift your foot out of the stirrup and swing your leg over toward me,” he instructed. Sucking in a breath hesitantly, Alex did as he said. “Alright, then...here.” Willie offered a hand for Alex to grab so he could slide off with ease. Landing on the ground, he leaned into Willie to gain his balance, and felt a congratulatory pat on his back. It took more restraint than Alex anticipated to not simply wrap his arms around him and sit like that for an indefinite amount of time. They had all day ahead of them; he didn’t need the sudden fear of losing him to derail things out of nowhere.

“Sorry if I look like a wimp about all this,” he said, letting go of his hand.

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” Willie assured him, shaking his head. “This is...this is new.”

His eyes seemed to take Alex in from head to toe and Alex could’ve sworn the charge in the air between them would buzz if they got closer, spark if they made contact. It was almost like that moment in front of Willie’s door the week before. For a few seconds they remained locked in that trance before Willie took hold of the horse’s reins and handed them to Alex.

“Technically this trail could take hours, but I’m guessing this isn’t all you’re interested in today,” he said. “What do you say we stretch our legs a bit and then ride back?”

Looking from the reins in his hand back to Willie, Alex nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Opening his backpack, Willie handed him an apple and then bit down into one of his own. Taking a bite, it was one of the most refreshing apples Alex ever eaten. They walked the horses a little ways and tried to get good pictures of the different views around them. Alex asked to try his hand with the camera and get a few good shots of Willie. He didn’t consider himself a photographer, but he doubted when the photos got developed that they would turn out badly. The way Willie smiled made him seem like he was made of sunlight from the inside out.

As they rode back to the barn, Alex kept replaying those moments where he’d refrained from making a move over in his head. This had been strike two. If he continued on like this, he was going to hate himself for the rest of eternity, he was pretty sure. Was it some weird kind of side effect of the whole ‘Willie come back to life’ thing? Watching him affectionately say goodbye to his horse once they were ready to leave, Alex looked at his own horse and raised a tentative hand up to her nose.

The mare gazed back, patience gleaming in her eyes. He finally set his hand down on her nose and gently rubbed it up and down, smiling a little to himself. This wasn’t so bad. He could do this - it was just a matter of getting through all the barriers he made for himself in his head. Moving his hands from the horse’s nose, he stroked along her neck, and caught Willie smiling at him from the corner of his eye.

“You wanna try feeding her an apple?” he asked.

Thinking for a few seconds, Alex nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Pulling one out of his backpack, Willie placed it in Alex’s palm.

“Alright, so hold it out in front of you like this…” He positioned Alex to offer the apple. “And keep your palm flat.”

Alex uncurled his fingers and after sniffing at it a little the mare ate it out of his hand. He could ignore the sensation of her mouth touching him because Willie still had his arm around his shoulder to hold him steady. They looked at each other, and Alex wished he could get a proper shot at Willie’s face at that angle with the camera.

“Looks like you’re gonna get the hang of this,” Willie commended.

Alex looked back up at the horse, a little bit of pride swelling in his chest. “Yeah, I think I will.”

Later, they went to the beach at Alex’s suggestion. He was perched on the surface of a picnic table, posed as if he were looking off into the distance. Willie sketched with great concentration, having taken his hair out of his braids so he could run his hand through it. The late afternoon sun brought out all the best color contrasts in their surroundings - one of the things Alex loved about coming to the beach at this time of day.

“So I have a question,” Alex started, trying not to move too much. His tendency to talk with his hands kept getting him in trouble.

“Shoot,” Willie prompted him, not looking up.

“Did Caleb let you go to school or anything? Or did he provide any sort of education at all?”

Squinting, Willie looked thoughtful for a moment.

“So, after the accident, he told me that I’d had to be taken out of school,” he began, continuing to sketch. “Which makes sense, I guess, if I forgot everything. I remember some basic things, like math wasn’t hard to pick up again. Once I was recovered enough to go places, he just let me go to the public library and find whatever I wanted to read. But he always insisted on not having reminders of who I was before and said it was supposed to be helping me ‘become my own person’. He got rid of things like my school yearbooks and old journals and things. I didn’t think anything of it at first because he’d just called it useless clutter and I believed him. As soon as he decided I was fit enough to work in the diner and help out at the hotel, he told me to forget about school. Anything else I picked up was from watching TV, or listening to the radio, or something. Sometimes I’ll just remember I know something after hearing about it and it’s like it was just always there.”

Listening intently, Alex marveled at the whole thing. The fact that Caleb was not only negligent, but actively discouraging Willie from knowing anything, made him wish he could take down the man’s whole career. However, he figured Willie probably had a lot of his intelligence still untapped. If he’d been able to get away from Caleb and somehow create a life for himself in the span of a few months, Alex wondered what else he was capable of.

“What’s something you remember?” he wondered.

“I guess I used to be really obsessed with space. Just planets and stars and all that. I can spout off facts about Jupiter’s moons and stuff like that. Did you know that the moon Europa has a saltwater ocean under a layer of ice?”

Alex shook his head. “No, I didn’t. That sounds really cool though.” He thought of the stickers on Willie’s ceiling and smirked a little before reassuming his pose.

“I sort of wish I could remember being in school,” Willie was saying. “Everyone else seems to just share all of those memories and understand each other that way.”

Alex saw his brow furrow, and could tell he felt left out. He pondered on his own experience growing up in public school. There was almost no other way he would’ve met Luke, Bobby and Reggie if they hadn’t all attended the same schools. While he could easily critique and complain about it to no end, he knew it was a privilege.

“School is definitely hard,” he told Willie. “But I did get my friends out of it, and I guess that makes up for it. If it’s any consolation, you could just complain about Caleb like he was your horrible English teacher who thought he knew more about the subject of your essay, but you cited all of your sources and they proved him completely wrong.”

Willie laughed. “Why? Did that happen to you?”

Alex bobbed his head from side to side and feigned looking thoughtful . “Maybe.”

“I kind of like reducing him to a loser English teacher. He just sounds petty and sad.”

“That’s high school,” Alex confirmed.

Leaning back from his work for a minute to take it all in, Willie brushed a hand through his hair.

“Here, you wanna take a look at it?” he said. Alex hopped off the table and went to stand over Willie’s shoulder at the drawing and was immediately rendered speechless. The detail was impeccable, but Alex was more impressed by the feeling he got looking at it. Willie had managed to make him appear...handsome, and pensive, and fascinating, like anyone else could look at him and create a million unique ideas of who he was. However, it wasn’t anyone else looking at him, it was Willie, and what he’d captured felt like the truth. Alex couldn’t really explain what that meant, only that it was an honest representation.

“Okay, I know I said the one back at your place made me look good, but this is...this is unreal.”

He could see Willie trying to be modest, but the corners of his lips couldn’t stay down. Funny enough, he appeared even more unable to find words, and simply beamed as he looked back and forth between his sketch and Alex’s face.

A sudden impulse came over Alex, and he kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on top of Willie’s skateboard and backpack. Willie sat looking flustered for a moment.

“Wanna swim?” Alex nodded toward the waves, bidding Willie to follow. He didn’t wait for him to catch up as he immediately began running into the waves up to his knees. Alex knew his pants would be even more ruined the second he hit the salty water, but he didn’t care. Now the sun was beginning to set and the chill of the waves was refreshing, and he couldn’t express what he felt just then in any other way.

Willie tackled him from behind, climbing onto his back and nearly knocking him over into the shallow tide. Clambering back to his feet, Alex splashed water at him. They began a playful water fight back and forth, until they were both drenched. Eventually, Alex tried to catch hold of both Willie’s hands in an attempt to prevent being splashed anymore. He had the advantage of longer arms, but before he could get a tight hold of the second arm Willie’s leg swept under his and they both fell just as a large wave washed over them.

As the water pulled back, they sat in the sand in a tangle, laughing. All Alex could think of was how pretty Willie was in this light, hair swept back off his face with tendrils resting over his shoulders, sun gleaming in his eyes and constantly shining from the inside out. The laughter died between them and he caught a look in Willie’s eye that made him wonder if he appeared to him to be just as perfect in that moment.

This time his mind and body worked in sync as he lifted a hand and gently pulled Willie into a short, tender kiss. All the self-flagellation from earlier was washed away in one pure moment, and exhilaration moved into its place. It felt soft and sweet, just the way he expected it should. Just as quickly as he’d let go, Willie went in for another one, a little longer and a little deeper. One hand remained caressing his cheek while the other wrapped around his upper back. Alex couldn’t help smiling into another kiss; he was too happy to care about anything else. Hardly a week ago, this had been impossible.

As they let go, their hands came together and they looked into each other's eyes, both releasing a relieved chuckle. Willie looked at the rest of the beach behind them and Alex’s eyes followed, but at this hour there were too few people around and no one paying attention to them. Turning back to Alex, Willie sighed and shook his head with a smile.

“Wow,” was all he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah, I’d definitely do that again,” Alex smirked, until the joy in his chest converted it into a full grin.

A wave washed over them again and they both stood, shaking out their hair and trying to wipe off whatever sand they could. Heading back up the beach, Willie grabbed Alex’s hand so they could make their way up together. The sun was nearly set but Alex was sure it had just gone into his chest, bursting with excitement. Once they reached the picnic table, they gathered their things and Willie offered to carry Alex’s shirt inside his backpack on the way home. Thank goodness there were a few patches of grass so Alex could try to get a little more sand off his feet before putting his shoes back on.

“So how long have you been sitting on that?” Willie teased as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and they left the beach.

“Shut up,” Alex laughed, knowing he was being called out.

“No, really!” Willie bumped his side jokingly. “I want to know!”

Tilting his head back to try to remember, it didn’t take Alex long to give him the answer.

“Since day one,” he told him.

Surprise swept over Willie’s face as he looked at Alex.

“Seriously?” he asked.

Alex nodded.

“Me too.”

It was Alex’s turn to look surprised. Without saying another word, he took Willie’s hand in his and then kissed it before continuing back toward his place. The whole way they talked about all the different things they needed to do together in the future. Riding on more horse trails, dancing lessons, skating lessons, art modeling sessions, going to band practices and gigs, visiting the record store while Willie wasn’t working, etc. They both agreed that the entire day technically counted as a date, and all further plans would as well. Alex was reminded once again that he didn’t have a notebook to write things down in, and vowed to have one for the next time he saw Willie. Once they reached Willie’s door, they had already put their shirts back on and it was completely dark outside.

“Are you free any time next week?” Willie asked, still holding onto Alex’s hand.

“I wish I could say yes, but probably not. And as much as I’d love to give you my number, it’s really not the best idea.”

“Well, I could give you mine,” Willie said.

Alex shot him a confused look. Holding up a finger, Willie dug into his backpack until he found his sketchbook and tore off the corner of a page, quickly scribbling one down and handing it to Alex.

“It’s actually the one for work,” he said. “But if it’s what we can do for now, I’ll do it. Kyle won’t care.”

Looking at it for a minute and then stashing it in his now-dry pocket, Alex took hold of Willie’s chin and went to kiss him again. It was really hard to stop, but they soon broke apart.

“I gotta go,” Alex murmured.

Willie only nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go and slipping his own into his pocket.

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Once again heading up the short set of stairs to the sidewalk, Alex rubbed his lips together, relishing in the taste of what he and Willie had just done. He couldn’t imagine anything sweeter.

[welllpthisishappening]

Catching the Highlights

It wasn’t like she was nervous, not really. Or jealous, even. Honestly, the entire story was more than a little hysterical and very nearly distracted Belle from the obviously frustrated way Will kept moving his hands at the end of the second period. Still, there was something about sitting in the stands that felt different and maybe hearing about how her maybe-boyfriend made out with Anna Vankald one time was just the push she needed. To make things a bit more real.

———

Word Count: Nearly 4.5K AN: This is a thing I do now, apparently. Write Blue Line! Will and Belle. And poorly photoshop eights into sixes on jerseys. Although I draw the line at making the girl that same photo wear a skirt. Anyway, this continues to be real fun, I hope the five people enjoying it continue to enjoy it and I think I’ve got at least one more idea for these dweebs. So, that’ll probably happen sooner rather than later. Possibly with more badly executed photoshops.

———

It had something to do with his eyes. 

With the way they narrowed ever so slightly, able to thin without causing any sort of furrow between his brow or lines of frustration on his forehead. They’d pinch. His eyes, that was. Make it so it was difficult for Belle to see the brown there or the bits of gold that she was at least ninety-six percent positive she wasn’t imagining and only slightly less confident had something to do with her. 

She’d never really been one for details, like that. 

Strange as it might have been. 

Details were the lifeblood of research. Tiny bits of information that could sway a doctoral defense or prove an argument, but Belle had always been far more interested in the sweeping potential of a very good story, and research had that too, she supposed. To some degree, at least. Although, that was getting existential. Her work was good. She was good. Fine, even. Definitely fine. Nothing to see here. Nothing to worry about. No reason to compare the strange and not entirely unfamiliar sensation of fluttering in the pit of her stomach whenever Will glanced her way to the decidedly still nature of all her internal organs while she spent eight to ten hours uptown five days a week. 

Sitting at her desk, she regularly tried to fit into the mold, everything everyone expected her to be with the title she had, and that required her to think less about the bigger picture. That sounded negative. It wasn’t. Probably. Hopefully. Just required further research. More details and specific examples.

All of them regarding the nature of Will’s eyes.

Even so, she—

Part of her missed it. The sweep. The really good stories. Ones that were less clinical and more fantastical. And the deep breath that always came just seconds before being overwhelmed. By the current and the wave and those were rather similar, as far as analogies went, but all the best stories always left her a little overwhelmed, and Belle’s cheeks were starting to ache as something bubbled out of her. Laughter, in its purest form. Bouncing and bounding and echoing off otherwise abandoned walls, the pair of them tucked into a corner of the Garden concourse because they hadn’t actually decided this was a secret, but Anna Vankald was apparently living her life under some sort of blood oath, all sworn secrecy, and poorly executed winks in the second period.

Like this was hidden. A tiny detail tucked away. Never debated. Never highlighted in the opening paragraphs of a twenty-six-page dissertation. With Chicago-style formatting. 

No one ever knew how to property do Chicago-style formatting. 

Belle might have hated Chicago-style formatting. 

She’d never been to Chicago.

Had never been—

Will’s eyes were barely slits on his face. 

Twisted lips loomed above her, not quite frustration, but inching closer the longer she kept laughing, and she refused to linger on what that meant. The laughing. The happiness. Joy, maybe. She looked up, instead. Let her head bump the wall her shoulders already had, appreciating the soft scrape of what might have been concrete against her hair, like that would ground her or slow her overactive imagination, and his hair was still wet. 

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Belle bit the side of her tongue. Didn’t help, really. With her laughter problem. “Keeping state secrets?” “It happened once.” “Yes, she mentioned that, too.” He might have growled. Some strange part of her wanted him to, relished whatever the technical term was for the sound that eked out between his bared teeth, rolling his whole head in the process. Their noses nearly collided. 

Belle pushed up on her toes. 

To kiss the tip of Will’s nose. 

“That’s distracting,” he grumbled, but his hand had inched under the hem of her shirt, and that meant he’d managed to get the hem of her shirt out of the skirt she was wearing. 

“Should I have worn your jersey or something?”

His eyes snapped. Open. Brown and gold, and that wasn’t a particularly swoon-like combination in any of the stories Belle had memorized while she was growing up. Heroes with royal titles and broadswords quite literally made to challenge dragons and hordes of villains always came with blonde hair and a slight curl, flashing blue eyes that twinkled in sunlight and starlight, and Belle’s hand didn’t shake. When she brushed the few drops of water clinging to Will’s temple away. 

Her calves were starting to ache, too. Made sense. She was still pushed up on her toes. 

And the Rangers had lost. Not—well, not badly. By two goals, and one of those was an empty-net goal, which was a term Belle figured out all on her own. Well before Anna mumbled explanations under her breath, glaring daggers any time the Islanders fan two rows in front of them dared to open his mouth. 

Honestly, that was part of the problem. He kept yelling, and Anna looked dangerously close to staging some sort of public execution in section 204 and Belle had asked. For details. Wanted a good story, or possibly a distraction because she’d noticed the way Will’s hands moved at the end of the second period, staging a rather enthusiastic conversation with a man she’d never met, but his jersey said LOCKSLEY, and she didn’t think the jersey would lie to her. 

She was going to blame the Islanders fan. 

“If you did that,” Will mumbled, in response to a question she’d legitimately almost forgotten about, “I’m not sure I would have been able to get out on the ice.” “Oh, compliment or—” “Definite compliment. Was that not obvious?” “Well, you’re making out with so many other girls.”

Her laugh clung to the letters, pulling her lips behind her teeth to keep from smiling like a total idiot. Something was happening. With the flutters and the overall ability of her nasal passages to get oxygen back to her lungs, and it must have been a trick of the light. The way Will’s eyes flashed, gaze flicking up beneath eyelashes and just above the half curve of his mouth, and Belle’s knees felt a little unsteady beneath her. Fighting against the force of a wholly imaginary, even more staggering wave. 

“One time,” he said, straining on every letter, “it happened one time, and—seriously, why was she talking about this with you?” “Asked for a fun and interesting story about her.” Will’s eyes bugged, another shift in his voice that was much more like a crack as he nearly shouted, “And that’s what she came up with?”

“Said anything she had to tell me about her childhood was boring. Mostly because a lot of it would focus on KJ, because—”

“That’s Cap.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Wow, thank you for that. What would I do without you?” “If you wore my jersey, I think my head would explode.” “Not the compliment you think it is, either. That’d be a lot of blood. Who would even clean that up? Couldn’t make someone here do it; that’d be mean. Cruel and unusual, probably.” “I like your skirt.” “Better,” Belle laughed, in spite of her best efforts. Which were really lackluster, quite frankly. “Anyway, the childhood was apparently super boring, and there were shenanigans of rookie season to discuss.”

“She grew up in a mansion!” “Yeah, we got to that part eventually, although technically, I think it was just a brownstone.” “Rich kid description.” “You can tell her that if you want, I’m sure,” Belle reasoned, but his lips were back to twisted, and she was already on her toes. Made sense to use that to her advantage. Pressing kisses against the edges of his mouth, alternating back and forth until it felt a little like a rhythm she could time the rest of her vaguely unsteady breathing to, and she certainly did try. Didn’t work, but something about effort and attempts and those were—

Details, really. 

“I like her,” Belle added lightly, mouth moving across a stubble-covered cheek. Part of her felt ridiculous. Always did with things like this. She wasn’t the story. Will wasn’t the hero. He and his teammate had gotten into a fight at the end of the second period, for God’s sake. And this wasn’t—well, it wasn’t a fairy tale. No matter how much sweeping there might have been. With its butterfly wings and salt-filled waves, all of which existed solely in Belle’s subconscious. 

But there was this other part. 

Part of her that didn’t always linger behind her desk. Flitted through imaginary scenarios and stories stored in the back corner of her brain, the same one that could still smell salt air with startling clarity, and remembered the precise taste of freshly-made taffy from that one restaurant on the beach. Details. She remembered those details. Held them fast, afraid they’d disappear otherwise, and made sure they played prominent roles in every daydream. 

For fear of what would happen if she didn’t. 

How they’d fade. Grow grey and thin, and it was a contradiction. Right in the middle of her. And that scared her just a little bit, because whatever was happening now, right at that moment, with a hand flat on the curve of her hip and her heart doing its abject best to beat its way out of her chest, she felt the same exact way. Sweeping and detailed and not the least bit jealous. 

There was no need to be, really. Not when she was fairly certain she could drown in the golden flecks of Will’s eyes. Constantly staring at her as they were apt to do. 

“Do you want to hear the gist of the story?”

Will’s lips pursed. Stayed that way even as Belle’s lips continued their path across his face, spending at least two seconds at the side of his left eye and the still slightly damp area surrounding his right temple. She started picking up speed. Quick kisses that she could only hope felt as strongly as the prickle of her lips suggested. But then Will’s fingers tightened. Not much. Just enough to be obvious, and Belle grinned against his cheek. 

“I lived it,” Will argued, but there wasn’t much fight in it. He’d done that already, anyway. They’d get to that part, eventually. 

“As the story goes, though, there was some less than savory libations involved, and—” “I’m still not convinced that vodka was legal in the continental United States.” “Suggests it’d be fair game in Hawaii and Alaska, though. Possibly Puerto Rico. I’m not sure what the rules on that are. Maybe the US Virgin Islands. What about Guam? You think your alcohol would be fair game in Guam?” “I’d have to check the label.” “You still have it?” Belle balked, almost fully and entirely prepared for the flash of amusement and the precise angle of eyebrow jump. Almost being the key word, there. Another burst of laughter tumbled out of her, lips on her cheeks that time, all blazing and prickling, and that one wasn’t inherently positive, but she was slightly worried her hair was going to get caught in the concrete of the wall and she could not possibly be expected to think when Will’s hand kept doing whatever it was it was doing. 

“No, no, we did a very good job of drinking that entire thing, but I’d know that bottle anywhere.” “Where were you buying illegal alcohol? Also, how did you not die drinking hundred-proof vodka?” “Pure force of will.”

“And bad hockey games.” “Those too,” Will admitted grudgingly. An edge crept into his voice. Likely born in the second period of this game. She kissed the bridge of his nose. The tip. Between his eyebrows. Waiting for some of the tension to leave his shoulder blades, and that was all she got. Some. It was enough, for now. 

“You want to talk about that?” “Losing a playoff game my rookie season? That happened a bunch of times, babe, this was just—” “Don’t be an idiot,” Belle interrupted. 

He grinned. Tension kept pulling taut between his shoulders and the slope of his cheekbones, the second of which was really starting to offend Belle on an almost fundamental level, but his smile looked legitimate, and that was enough. 

“Should I go defend your honor in the locker room, darling?” The grin widened. “Trying to get a rise out of me, but gender is a social construct, so I don’t think it affects nicknames, and I’m a real big fan of that one, actually.” “No rise,” Belle promised, fingers hovering above his shoulders, and they both flinched when he winced. “Going to be honest, the hitting sort of freaked me out.” “Locksley wasn’t going to hit me.” “Well, yeah, then I’d have to punch him in the locker room.” “Keep your thumb inside your fist,” Will suggested, “that way you won’t break it.” “Right, right, naturally,” Belle mumbled, and she didn’t know how they managed it. Stayed upright while his hand shifted further up the back of her shirt and her teeth grazed the curve of his jaw. She was on something of a mission, now. To cover every inch of his face. With her lips. “Anyway, as Anna told this wholly fascinating story, there was a lot of vodka involved, a very bad loss, some card game—” “—Kings.” “That’s a drinking game.” “Well, now you’re getting into unnecessary specifics.” Her body shook. Against Will’s. Who almost immediately groaned. Presumably at the location and exact angle of her hips. “Ok, so there were cards involved in your drinking game. Pizza was eaten, alcohol was downed in alarmingly large gulps.” “Editorializing a bit, mon bonheur.”

“What’s that one?” “Happiness.” “Oh, that one’s nice.” Will huffed. “They’re all super nice; I have a very large crush on you; I don’t want to talk about making out with Anna Vanklad anymore.”

He said it quickly, rushing over the words. Some might even say sweepingly. Where Belle was the some. In that instance, specifically. Someone, more like. She didn’t care. Was not spending even a second on proper sentence structure or appropriate internal grammar, was far too preoccupied with the circumference of Will’s eyes. And that one muscle in his jaw. Jumping with startling regularity, really. Totally different from her heart and her pulse and it was difficult to catch her breath. 

Felt a bit like she’d played a hockey game. 

A walking contradiction. 

Where she also wasn’t walking anywhere. At all. Had absolutely no intention of walking away. From this.

“Was it not a good make-out?” “I honestly don’t remember a lot of it,” Will sighed, another roll of his neck. Something cracked. “That’s not game-related,” he added, and she could only imagine it had to do with the look on her face, “anyway, it was just...there was that vodka involved, and Vankald spent a ton of time at our apartment. She wasn’t Cap’s sister-in-law yet, but they’d grown up together, was my friend, and he’d fallen asleep, so…” “Figured you just make out?” “Not a lot of thought involved in it. She was a fixture, y’know? Shit, that sounds shitty. Does that sound super shitty?

“Drifting toward shitty, yeah.”

“Anna came to visit a lot because no matter what she may claim, she worries about Cap as much as anyone. Even El and Leader, and that’s—” “Wait, you have an Alien Leader you all report to?” “You’re ruining this story.” Her laugh got caught. Directly between them, all mouths and that goddamn hand, Belle’s neck tilting back on what might have been instinct and need, and she’d gasped more in the last four hours than she had in her entire life. “Tell me more about your Alien Leader, please.” “He only acts like an alien.” “Huh, that cleared up absolutely nothing.” “You should keep kissing me.” “Compare and contrast, huh?” Will groaned. Again. Part two. Let his mouth drag down the side of her throat, and Belle couldn’t stop laughing. Happiness poured out of her, new and a little strange in its quantity. As if she was made of the stuff, even worried as she was through all three periods. She’d kept wringing her fingers together. At one point, Anna had to hold her hand. 

“Ruining,” another kiss, “this,” teeth on her collar bone, “baby girl.”

Suggesting that she lit up in a way that reminded her of a Christmas tree was—

Farcical, maybe. 

Nothing inhuman happened. There were no bells. No whistles. No flashing neon lights suggesting this was the moment and a conversation regarding the man with his hand currently inching towards her right boob drunkenly making out with someone who wasn’t Belle should not have been so—

Fun. 

God, it was fun. She was having fun. With him and because of him. Hockey nonsense aside. 

Because, since coming to New York with her invisible tail tucked between her legs and the near-desperate desire to get away from that seaside town with its ghosts and its demands and its plan for a future that simply did not fit her anymore, Belle had tried. Really. To shed that persona. To be someone new. Hard as she tried, though, there were ties. Those lingering memories. Ones that dug in their heels, while she gripped others with both hands. She was, and she wasn’t. Small town and big town, a librarian who couldn’t care less about details while focusing on  specifics with everything in her. 

And none of it ever really made much sense. 

Hurt her head to think about, everything she tried to contain and the worry that ate away at her sometimes. That she’d messed up, ruined all of it and—

She didn’t kiss Will’s mouth. 

Peppered his face, instead. With her lips and the feelings behind them, mapping the space until she was certain she knew it as well as her own, and she wanted to. Wanted to learn everything about this guy who felt as jagged as she did, made up of right and wrong and mistakes and possibility and she knew it was only a matter of time before he got impatient. 

She liked that about him. 

That he didn’t always wait for her to catch up. Just knew that she would. 

Plus, his tongue in her mouth was really something Belle was starting to appreciate. In an obsessive sort of way. 

She might have groaned that time. 

Fingers scrambled against the front of his shirt — team-branded, again, and that shouldn’t have been charming, but it was and likely would continue to be, and there were goosebumps on her skin. They were really very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. 

“I like you, too,” Belle said, and it was a strange thing not to be embarrassed by the breathless nature of her voice. 

Will’s chest was practically heaving, though. So that put them on even ground. Common ground, at least. 

“You’re not mad?” “Give me some credit, sweetheart.” He chuckled, warm air against the top of her shoulder. “Was a very long time ago, for whatever that might be worth.” “Twelve galleons.” “I don’t know the conversion rate of that.” “No one does, so I think we’re all in the same boat.” “You don’t think Jo knows the conversion rate of her own fictional monetary system?” Belle shook her head. “I absolutely do not, because she was a shit world-builder and also a fairly terrible person now, so—” She shrugged. Will beamed. Some joke about a Christmas tree.

“So,” he echoed, “the thought of making out with Little Vankald has never once again crossed my mind.”

Someone scoffed. With entirely false indignation.

Using Will’s shoulder as leverage — the non-bruised one, naturally — Belle got enough height beneath her toes to see Anna cross her arms. And scowl at the pair of them. Badly. The scowl lasted all of five seconds before it evolved into its own rather uproarious laughter, another echo that filled the empty space of a concourse Belle could not imagine they were supposed to be standing on. Only a matter of time until someone else found them. 

She wasn’t sure that was a bad thing, actually. 

“That’s super rude, Scarlet,” Anna hissed, muffled footsteps that only lost their volume because of the overall status of Belle’s heart. Still trying to fly out of her. “But I want it noted, for the record and all that, that I don’t want to make out with you ever again, either.”

“Do you remember it being way wetter than it should have been?” “You problem, absolutely.” “I haven’t had that issue,” Belle argued, mostly to guarantee the quirk of Will’s lips. Worked like a charm. Or something less lame sounding. In her head. Most of this commentary was in her head. 

“Lucky you,” Anna drawled. 

“C’mon,” Will whined, “no one told you to start with this story.” “Start with, huh?” His eyes. Were becoming a serious problem and a growing majority in the basis for most of Belle’s heart-related issues, but she forced herself to meet his gaze and tilt her chin up and she didn’t think she imagined the way his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. In an appraising sort of way. 

“I really would have told you. Eventually” “I know.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Belle repeated, “and I’m really not threatened by someone who you still regularly refer to as Little Vankald.” Anna flipped him off. Or them, maybe. As a collective unit. Belle wanted them to be a collective unit. “I could order a jersey online, right?” “Nah, I know people, don’t waste your money.” “Could probably get Kris to help,” Anna added, “as the physical form of my apology.” Belle waved her off. “It was a good story. Highs, lows, drama, does your—do we call him your brother-in-law? He’s not the Alien Leader, right?” “You mean Liam?” Will’s laugh was more like a barely-contained snort of humor and shoulders that were tight for a reason that did not involve pessimistic emotions. Belle’s lips twitched. “Just knew that off the top of your head, did you?” she asked. 

“If you knew Liam, you’d understand. Was Scarlet suggesting we’re all aliens?” “Nah, just him.” “I did no such thing,” Will objected, another glance in Anna’s direction, “Cap looking for us?” She nodded. “Locksley too. Should I be worried Mom and Dad are getting a divorce?” “You’re the most dramatic person alive.” “Lots of hand moving between the two of you, your girlfriend was worried.”

It was Belle’s turn to tense. With what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Some sort of emotion, she assumed. Adrenaline, maybe. Hope, possibly. And it wasn’t like she was waiting for labels, but she’d come to pretty good terms with her ability to counter herself in the midst of her own silent monologue, and Will was staring again. Straight through her, it seemed. 

Or maybe directly into her. 

That was sentimental, though. 

“Does Killian know that you two made out once?” Anna hissed. “If you tell KJ about this, I will actually have to strangle you, no matter how much I like you and how much Scarlet wants to date you.” “Aren’t we dating already?” Anna opened her mouth, what Belle knew would be more sarcasm and the teasing nature of her and Will’s relationship, but she had more pressing issues, and he answered, anyway. “Yeah, we totally are, plus I like you way more than I hate Ariel’s inevitable victory lap, so I mean, that’s—” Cutting him off was rude. Not nice. Inevitable. 

Based solely on the size of his eyes and their gold-like nature. 

“I, uh—” Belle started, “I know we’re not supposed to accept the set-up, and Ariel’s going to be so annoying, but maybe we could…” She shrugged. Tried to stay focused. And upright. Continued standing seemed important in a moment like this. “We’re both kinda messed up, don’t you think?” “Little,” Will murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I know that we’re...I mean, this is good, and I’m mostly good with it, but also, I was super nervous during the game, and what were you guys fighting about?” “Fighting is a strong word. More like discussing how Locksley should learn to keep his stick on the ice so he can get that tip from my slap.” “Weird turn of phrase.” “Slap shot.” “No time for full terminology, huh?” “How goes the understanding icing battle?” She was going to sprain her cheeks. Maybe Ariel could help with that. After gloating. Ariel was absolutely going to gloat. “Getting there,” Belle promised, and it was not about hockey, “don’t you think?” “Mmhm.” “So, uh—I don’t know what you do after games, but…” “Little Vankald is totally here to drag us uptown because Cap regularly challenges her in the dramatics, and I bet he’s hungry.” “You eat after games?” “Ariel’s husband owns that restaurant.” “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s how I met her actually. Good onion rings. Weird we didn’t ever see each other there at the same time, though.” Will hummed. Stuck out his lower lip. Challenged her without saying anything, and Anna was still standing there, and security had to be aware of them, but Belle was in the middle of something, and it was good and great and made absolutely no sense because she was not a pro sports girlfriend, but the labels really weren’t important, and it was all—

She gasped. For, like, the four-thousandth time that night. 

Saved the best for last, though. 

Will’s mouth found hers in a crashing sort of way that altered the cosmos, or at least Belle’s perception of the world around her. Particularly when her hands were suddenly more like barnacles, gripping his shirt as if she was afraid he’d disappear otherwise. Knuckles cracked and breath caught, everything spinning and staying frustratingly still, and one of her heels popped out of her shoe. Pressing back up on her toes didn’t do her calves any favors, but she wasn’t bruised and they were both a disaster, and the tongue thing really was pretty fantastic. 

Tracing the inside of her mouth and the seam of her lips, Will’s rumble of pleasure echoed between her ribs, enough to spur Belle’s arm up as she slung it around his neck. Her fingers found skin and short hair, nails scratching so she could hear that sound again. 

She closed her eyes. 

Let the details seep in, and settle into her soul. 

Until Anna coughed, and there was a security guard standing next to her, and Will’s head dropped to Belle’s collar bone again. He kissed there, too. Before spinning on his sandals, all confidence, and bravado, a reasonable excuse that someone, somewhere, would probably believe. Not this security guard, but that probably wasn’t important, and Belle had helped Will make an Instagram account. 

So, something about a cat and a bag and—

His fingers laced through hers. 

“Wanna challenge Locksley to a fight for my honor?” She scrunched her nose. Pretended to grimace when his lips pressed against her cheek. Anna gagged. “Yeah,” Belle said, “that’s exactly what I want to do.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect. 

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him. 

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him. 

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed. 

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching. 

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head. 

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes. 

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.” 

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket. 

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“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen. 

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands. 

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way. 

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground. 

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous. 

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back. 

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night. 

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“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister. 

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river. 

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping. 

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend. 

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position. 

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink. 

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it. 

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore. 

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt. 

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

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

Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face. 

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance. 

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.” 

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago. 

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

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

“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters. 

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late. 

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them. 

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position. 

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur. 

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

[thewolfmanslayer]

Honestly the amount of people who say artists and writers should do stuff for free, or try to rip them off on comissions still royally piss me off.

I think the worst part of it is the entitlement, I dont want to make this too much about generations but a lot of commissioners are millenial/Gen z's who grew up on the "steal and pirate everything" mentality, take everything that you can because no one else is going to hand it to you. which I can get behind, when you are screwing over MULTI BILLION DOLLAR COMPANIES. NOT THE STRUGGLING ARTISTS AND WRITERS who are trying to keep food on the table as desperately as you probably are!

It's simple, you wouldn't walk into a restaurant, order food and tell the server "sorry I don't have any money, but I've got like a few thousand followers on social media, I can get your name out there, get the restaurant some exposure" NO! They don't need "exposure" they need you to pay the damn bill!

On top of that, most of these artists and writers ALREADY HAVE FOLLOWINGS. They already have thousands of people following them, waiting for the chance to get a commission, who are willing to pay for said commission, they don't need "exposure" when they're already out there! He'll even the artists and writers with a few hundred don't need it, they'll get more followers as time goes by, their skill alone will see to it.

And what is with people trying to get free art and writing? It's not going to work! You can't harass someone until they cave, trust me, you'll be long since blocked before you even have the opportunity. I don't do comissions, online anyways, but my own friends and family, people who actually know me STILL PAY ME whenever they ask for me to do art for them because they KNOW it takes TIME AND EFFORT.

How many times do we need to have this discussion???? Like when is it going to finally click that people who need to pay their bills just as much as you do AREN'T going to do this shit for free!?

Here's the thing about art and writing, that you've heard a billion times but still aren't getting; IT. TAKES. TIME. AND. EFFORT. TO. GET. DONE. the art isn't going to magically appear and the writing isn't going to suddenly write itself, if either were so convenient YOU WOULDNT BE ASKING AN ARTIST OR WRITER IN THE FIRST PLACE!

Look at that, you see that? The first picture I did back in 2012-13, the picture beside it? I did that TWO YEARS AGO. I didn't suddenly know exactly what to do, or had anything close to a god given talent for drawing (I'm not that talented). The first picture WAS THE ABSOLUTE BEST I COULD DO AT THE TIME THAT I MADE IT. In the time between these two drawings I admittedly took a break from art, but then I got back into it four years ago. EVEN STILL that was four YEARS of starting over from the basics, relearning everything, learning new things, wanting to actually improve my art.

Which, guess what, DID NOT HAPPEN OVER NIGHT. It was HOURS UPON HOURS of my limited free time as an adult drawing over and over and over and over again, every single goddamn day to get to the point that I was able to make that redraw look as good as it does in comparison. He'll, my art now puts them both to shame! Because I spent the time improving my quality!!

Now look at these artists doing comissions, they've probably put EVEN MORE of their time to get that good! They've put in LITERAL YEARS of sweat, blood, tears, frustrations and dedicated hardwork. Some did the same as me, self teaching and lots of practice, others probably had to go to school, which definitely wasn't cheap. But all of us put in that time and effort TO REACH THESE POINTS. Of being better artists, developing our styles, getting faster at drawing.

And maybe you think that this is super easy, right? That I or every other artist can just fire some art off and boom its good and done in like an hour?

FUCK. NO.

Even now it takes me several hours a day OVER MANY DAYS to make something exceptionally good! It doesn't matter how good an artist is, it still. Takes. Time.

Maybe the issue is that you don't understand how much actually goes into art, let me break it down for you, the steps that most people follow to finish ONE drawing.

-Rough draft: general character outline, get a feel for what I want to draw.

-Rough sketch: I start doing a bit of pencil to start filling in details like mouth, nose, eyes, hair, clothes. Ect.

-Penciling: I go over the rough sketch and clean everything up, maybe do some editing, this is when you can start making out all the details.

-Ink: I trace over the finished pencil with a pen tool and actually have the line art, everything looks clean, presentable, it actually looks like a character now. I'll spend time editing this and possibly redoing the inking many times over to get to a point where I like it.

-Flat color: I decide on which colors to use for skin tone, clothes accessories. Ect.

-Shading/highlights: I figure out where my light source is and how strong it is, I then apply the correct amount of lighting and shadows to the color to give it depth, I also have determine the texture of skin, clothes and accessories to make everything look real and natural.

-Blending: I smooth out the shading and highlights so that it looks more natural and isn't too hard (noticeable difference between color) so that it looks as natural as possible.

-Finish: I go over last minute details, finish any editing or corrections that need to be done. Once it's good I call it a day.

Each process is longer in length then the previous, with the exception of the final editing (as long as everything looks good) and even the rough draft can take some time. Over all this is SEVERAL HOURS of work for a SINGLE DRAWING.

So is it sinking in yet? How much is put into doing even a single character drawing? God forbid if its done with background. This isn't a "scratch a pen around and be done with it in ten minutes" kinda deal, no, this is SEVERAL HOURS OF SOMEONES LIFE BEING PUT INTO THIS

And if you still have the AUDACITY to try and wrangle free art from an artist then there's no helping you, you're just a selfish piece of shit, no question and I want nothing to do with you.

Someone might say "But I got free art/writing from.-" look I don't give a shit if someone did something for you THAT ONE TIME, these other artists and writers? Totally seperate and different people. You're one freebie experience does not, and should not apply to other artists and writers.

"But what if I really want this commission but don't have the money right now?" Well, that's tough shit. Save up and properly commission them when you can, it's not their problem.

"But what if I'm in a really bad financial situation and really want it?" That sucks, and I'm sorry, but again, not their problem. Chances are this is their only source of income and they need to make money so that they don't end up in a similar situation.

"They have a gift! They should share it!" What kind of cheap ass- LOOK, just because someone is talented or really good at something does not automatically obligate them to do anything for total strangers in anyway shape or form. These are living, breathing people, the same as you. They need to eat, they need to pay rent/mortgages, they need to pay vet bills, send their kids to college, do their taxes and everything else that YOU YOURSELF need to do. Asking anyone to spend their time doing something for free, when that something is how THEY ARE SURVIVING is beyond asinine. Not only that, this obviously isn't a hobby to them, it is very clearly THEIR JOB. Would you want to do a job where you didn't get paid at all? Doing a shit ton of work for absolutely nothing? No? Didn't think so.

"It shouldn't be about the money!" Well unfortunately, as with almost every other job, it is. We live in a world where we desperately need to make money in order to survive. That's the painful fact of the matter. If money never had to be an issue ever again then this would be a very different story. But it's not, plain and simple as can be.

Look, these people are just like you, artists and writers who are just trying to get by in a shitty ass world, using the one thing they have that let's them have an income. Leave them be, don't try and trick them, guilt them, or cuss them out when you don't get your way. Either properly comission or leave them the hell alone, plain and simple.

[nowaynoee]

at least i got you in my head

also on ao3

the typical clichè: very gay Maya falls in love with her very straight best friend Lola but it’s actually easier than they think.

enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

this work is inspired by this gifset 💜

She doesn’t know exactly when her feelings for Lola started to bloom.

For what she can remember, it happened quickly and her self control got thrown out of the window. Maya did try to repress them, to convince herself that she was just a whim and that sooner or later they would go away as rapidly as they came. Truth is that after almost four years her feelings are still there, strong and apparently irremovable. The thing is that while she’s confident about her being a loud and proud lesbian, as far as she knows Lola is straight, very straight, and she’s also her best friend. What a situation.

Maya met Lola the first year of high school. They sat near each other for a while before starting a conversation and as soon as that happened they got inseparable. It’s special the bond that keep them still attached even after years and both of them felt it immediately, since the first word spoken with a hint of shyness. Maya was there for Lola when her mother died and Lola was there for Maya when she came out to her foster family and they threw her out. Coming to terms with her sexuality was easy. She always knew she is attracted to women. Let’s say that when she met Lola, well, she had another confirmation.

Maya even lived with her for a short time, while she was searching a job and another place to stay. Probably the best moments of her life. She left school at the end of the second year, soon after she started working and living alone in the tiniest flat ever. Her friendship with Lola continued, maybe even stronger than before.

As said, she can’t remember the exact moment her feeling bloomed but she can remember that little istant in which she admitted to herself that no, Lola wasn’t just her best friend.

They were having a sleepover at Maya’s apartment, the very first time Lola slept there. She mocked Maya a few times about how small it was and she was right but in a way it felt like her little nest and safe place. They laughed all night long, eat here and there and did an extreme marathon of movies wrapped in a huge blanked, side by side. Maya was about to turn off the tv when she realized Lola already fell asleep and her head was comfortably placed on her shoulder. She gazed at her: her face was relaxed, her mouth slightly open and she was breathing calmly, the warmness of it directly on Maya’s neck. Lola looked beautiful like this. Maya lost herself for god knows how much to take in all the details of her. When she came back to reality, she knew. I’m in love with you . ...

Same bed two years later, she’s still in love with Lola. It’s summer and her duvet has been replaced buy just one white sheet. Lola is under it, her hair splayed on the pillow and her eyes closed in a deep sleep. The shine caused by the sweat looks surprisingly good on her and Maya has to hold herself back from caressing her cheeks. The outline of her small body is evident under the light fabric and the little top and shorts she’s wearing doesn’t help hiding it. Maya feels like a creep when she looks at Lola like this. It’s not like she doesn’t try to not do it, she does, but when you’re in love with someone you have an hard time with that. It’s even harder to accept that nothing is going to happen and you have to let go of the hope it will. She fantasizes sometimes about confessing to her, about finally be able to kiss her and call her her girlfriend. Lola lives in her mind rent free ans she wants to punch herself for letting her in in the first place.

...

“I hate it.”

This is the third outfit Lola tries for the night and once again she’s undressing only to redress again with another pairing. Maya gives her advices through it, her already having chose what to wear for the night. She knows Lola’s room by heart but every time she’s in it she always finds something new. A photo, a drawing, posters of her favourite bands. Is on those that she centers her attention while her best friend changes clothes because the view would be too much for her gay panic.

“What do you think about this one? ╴Hey? Earth to Maya?”

She turns her gaze towards Lola immediately, realizing only then that she has zoned out once again. “It’s very much your style.” She replies with a small smile curving her lips. There’s nothing special about what her friend is wearing, it being a normal pair of black jeans and a top that cuts right before her navel, still Maya can’t take her eyes of her. “I think I’ll go with this one, then. Do you still want to do my makeup and hair?” Lola asks her and Maya nods, sitting up from the chair and leaving it to her.

She loves this part of the preparation. Firstly because she gets to do what she likes and secondly because it allows her to be close to Lola without it being awkward. Sure, they cuddle sometimes but Maya always interrupts it as soon as possible: it hurts her to have Lola cuddled to her in that way. It makes her feeling want to erupt.

“Do you remember the last urbex party we went together?” Lola asks her, bringing up her eyes to let Maya putting the kajal on the lower rim. Maya does remember it, well even. It was three months ago. “You were so mad because you spent like an hour doing my makeup and the rain smudget it like thirty minutes after we arrived.” She chuckles and suddenly stops when Maya gives her a little punch to not mess up what she’s doing. “It was one of my best works! It looked so good.” because it was on you , she wants to say but doesn’t. Instead they keep small talking until Lola’s ready and they get out of her house.

…

The party is crowded, like really crowded.

Once they arrived they met up with Jo, Max and Sekou and headed directly to the bar. They all took something to drink while Maya, as always, decided for a simple soda. Maya doesn’t like dancing that much, she definitely enjoys more listening to the loud music and laying on one of the free couches. Max and Sekou usually stay with her while Lola and Jo get crazy on the dancefloor for hours. “ ╴so, no target tonight?” Max’s voice gets her out of her thoughts, at least enough to take a look at the whole place in search of someone interesting. It’s not like Maya waited for Lola all these years, at least not apparently. She had a few night stands and one relationship even. It didn’t last that long and plus, Lola hated the girl in question. They mocked each other all the time and they were practically in an ongoing competition of who knew Maya better. Lola won each and every time.

“I don’t know.” Maya answers because she really doesn’t. There’s really no girl that attracts her that much and them being in a random club and not into a gay one makes things a little difficult for her. Better to keep some distance from straight girls, right?

“Oh, come on Maya—“ before Max can finish the sentence, Jo comes running towards where they’re seated, spreading herself in the free space they left for her. “God, I’m sweating from every pore, I swear! The drink I swallowed in one go didn’t help either, my head spins so bad right now.” She cups her face with her hands and Maya brings one of hers on her back, moving it in small circles.

“Wait — where is Lola?” Maya asks her as soon as Jo seems to feel better. “Mmh, she’s with a guy, I don’t even remember his name. He was cute though, she has taste!” Her words make her sigh, fortunately the loud music covers it. It doesn’t take to much of looking to find Lola in the crowd, pressed against the wall with a guy literally eating her face like there’s no tomorrow. Maya feels her stomach clenching and a sharp pain right where her heart is placed. The nausea hits her suddenly and she has to take a few deep breaths to swallow down the food she ate a few hours before. It’s not the first time she sees Lola with a guy, she has seen her with plenty flirts and even in a short-term relationship. This time hits different though. Maybe because it’s been three months since the last party they went to and she didn’t have to see her making out with anyone for all this time.

“I’m going out. I need some fresh air.” She blurts out, sitting up. Her head spins and tears are threatening to come out each second that passes.

“Maya, wait.” She hears Sekou say and she stops, turning around only to find that all three of her friends are looking at her with a concerned expression.

“You can’t keep going like this. You have to tell her what you feel.” He adds, signing her to sit again with them. They knew from the beginning what was going on between her and Lola. Even before Maya admitted it to herself. At first, when they tried to bring up her feelings, she brushed it off saying it was just in their head. Obviously it wasn’t. Jo, Max and Sekou mocked her about her crush for Lola for a long time when she finally told them they were right all along. Only when they realized that it wasn’t just a crush but that Maya really fell in love with Lola they stopped and tried encouraging her to tell her everything.

“I can’t, I can’t tell her what I feel. I would lose her! She doesn’t love me like that.” She said the same exact words a million times but it still hurts her to repeat them out loud. If Maya was sure that she wouldn’t lose her by confessing her feeling, she would at least think about it. The truth is that just the idea of not having her in her life is worse that having Lola just like a friend.

“It’s just what it is. I’ll get over it.” All three are rolling their eyes and Maya can tell they’re truly done with her bullshit.

“I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

Maya recognizes Lola’s voice as soon as she hears it and she finds Lola right behind her, bringing her arms around Maya’s neck and pressing herself on her back. The sitting position which Maya’s in makes Lola more comfortable and she leans in to her fully. “Are you tired?” Lola speaks in her ear to make herself be heard only by Maya. The latter nods, tilting her head up to see her friend’s face. “Guys, I don’t want to ruin your fun but tomorrow I’m working. I really need to go home.” It’s a lie , Maya thinks. She knows that Lola doesn’t work on sunday and probably the others know too but don’t say anything. They gather their things quickly, none of them too sorry to leave. During the ride home she gazes at Lola sometimes, the image of her kissing the stranger still very vivid in her head. She can’t seem to ignore it like she did in the past.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Lola whispers, their bodies tangled in a tight hug in Lola’s bed. Her best friend is caressing her hair, scratching her scalp from time to time, till she drags her finger under Maya’s chin to make her turn up her head.

Everything about this is wrong. Everything that she’s feeling is wrong but Maya can’t say it. She can’t bring herself to form the right words. Even thinking about that hurts her. Lola knows something is not right and Maya can see her questioning and concerned look. She gulps and looks away, trying to escape any further question. “It’s nothing.” She brushes it off, placing her head again on Lola’s shoulder.

“It’s not nothing if it bothers you.” Lola murmurs in her hair, her breath warm against it. She always knows when something is wrong and doesn’t leave it until Maya actually talks. It’s not the first time Maya feels like this, jealousy striking her until she almost stops breathing and shame after because they aren’t even together. She managed for a long time to swallow it down, to cry even when it all became too much, without Lola seeing it but she can’t seem to bring herself to do it now.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Maya mutters, voice so low she’s not even sure Lola heard her. “I’m sorry.” She adds after a few seconds. A tear escapes and she’s fast to dry it out but not fast enough for Lola not to notice.

“Maya…”

Her heart clenches at hearing Lola saying her name and when one tear starts to become a full on crying session, Lola just holds her tighter. Maya grabs Lola’s shirt with her fist, as a way of saying please don’t leave me as her cheeks dampens, leaving a wet stain on the fabric.

“It will all be alright Maya. I promise.” She whispers and for the first time Maya can’t bring herself to believe her.

…

It’s been a week since her breakdown in Lola’s arms. They didn’t talk about it again, Lola deciding to leave Maya her privacy and time to come to her when she’ll be ready. Except that she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready. During the last seven days she kept some sort of distance with Lola, trying to shake off the image of her from the last saturday. Maya even tried to go on a date to remove the said girl from her mind for at least a bunch of hours. Her date was cute, hesitant when she pressed her lips against Maya’s ones, only to start kissing her deeper when she felt her hands pinching her waist. They spent the night together and the sex was good, it served its purpose. Maya didn’t call this girl again. As soon as she left in the morning, she put the bedsheets in the washer and brought herself under the shower until the girl’s perfume wasn’t on her skin anymore.

When Jo sent her a message proposing her to go out again on saturday, she initially refused. Parties weren’t fun anymore. Jo, being the chaotic girl she is, tried again, this time asking her to do a sleepover at her house. She wanted to find an excuse but she couldn’t keep ignoring her friends and Lola. Maya’s flat is small but it can handle five people if they squeeze enough to sleep. One thing was for sure, Maya wasn’t sleeping near Lola again.

...

“Never have I ever… Kissed someone of the same sex.” Jo speaks first, getting immediately puzzled looks towards her. “Seriously Jo?” Maya jokes, laughing quietly and drinking from her cup. Max, Jo and Sekou have vodka in their cups, Lola has it too but barely drinks it and Maya can tell because she doesn’t see her swallowing down the liquid when she should be. Maya, as always, has a simple soda. “I know you did, you silly, I just wanted to know if I was the only one that didn’t. Apparently I’m not!” As soon as Jo lets out the last words, she takes a look at Lola which has her gaze on her glass and isn’t drinking. It’s late night and Maya can see she’s tired of playing this game as much as she is. Fortunately it doesn’t take long until their three friends collapse on the mattress she placed in her living room. The only two that sleep doesn’t take are Lola and Maya.

They remain in silence for what it feels like an eternity. It’s uncomfortable but at the same time it’s not if it’s even possible. They’re facing each other while sitting on Maya’s small couch but they both are keeping their eyes down, avoiding the other’s looks. The unspoken weights on them like a million bricks and neither of them is  courageous enough to lift it. At least that’s what Maya thought.

“Never have I ever fell in love with my best friend.”

Lola’s voice isn’t loud but Maya hears it amplified ten times more than it actually is. The implied question leaves her surprised and makes her heart skip a beat. She snaps her head back up, her eyes locked in Lola’s ones unable to move them somewhere else now. Her lips part slightly but no sounds escapes from them. She doesn’t even have the cup in her hands anymore from where she could drink. In a way, Lola trapped her. Lola didn’t say that innocently or without thinking about it. They aren’t even playing anymore so there’s a second ending for sure.

“Why are you asking me this?” Maya ends up saying after gaining enough confidence to form a coherent sentence.

“I remember. I remember everything .”

╴╴╴

Three months ago

Lola’s body was pressed against Maya’s side, while one of her arms was lazily placed around her shoulder to steady her. She felt dizzy but she wasn’t drunk. Or at least she wasn’t anymore, the effect of alcohol slowly left her body during their long ride home. Max decided to bring them and their friends to an urbex party on the other side of the city and the traffic, especially when they were going back home, was unbearable. They had fun that night, Lola dancing as always with Jo and sometimes bringing Maya with her even if she was complaining. She felt Maya’s front against her back and she couldn’t help pressing herself even closer to her, swinging her hips at the rhythm of the music. Thanks to the non-existent distance between them, she could feel Maya holding her breath.

It’s not like Lola didn’t notice that Maya was sometimes awkward around her. She tried to ignore it for some time but not thinking about it made her do it even more. Not only about what was going on in Maya’s head, but also what was going on in hers. She was straight as far as she knew, she has always been with boys and she liked it. Lola knew that Maya was attracted to girls only and she never had a problem with it. At least until her best friend wasn’t near one of them that wasn’t her. Maya’s first relationship was with a certain Charlotte, a girl she met at work. Lola hated her from the first second she saw her and never failed to make that very known. Maya tried so hard to find a common ground between the two of them but she never succeed. She knew that Maya didn’t love Char, she could see it in her eyes. It was just a matter of time until they broke up. When they did, Lola wasn’t surprised.

What she was really surprised about was her — jealousy towards her? She couldn’t explain exactly what she felt at the time, she just realized that she wanted to be the one Maya was holding. She wanted to be the one Maya was kissing. She wanted to be the one Maya looked at. She wanted to be at Char‘s place. Her feelings were confusing and Lola didn’t try to let them out for fear of hurting Maya. She ignored them by throwing herself in the arms of random guys, having even a relationship with one of them for a few months. At the end of the day though, she always ended up in Maya’s arms thinking what would it be like to be held. Seriously held by her.

She couldn’t ignore them anymore that night, after the urbex party.

Maya helped her going up the stairs and when they arrived inside her house she splayed herself on the couch. “This party was awesome.” Lola said, placing her head on Maya’s shoulder when she sat on her side. She could hear her trying to breathe slowly and, when she brought her hand on her friend’s chest, she took the time to feel her heartbeat against her palm. “Your heart is beating so fast.” She murmured, moving her chin until it was placed on the crook of Maya’s neck. Lola knew that with her lips being so close to her skin she could feel her breath against that sensitive spot. Lola’s mind is dizzy but not on alcohol and Maya’s silence is somehow motivating her to not stop. “Maya, look at me.” It was whispered extremely low but Maya must have heard her because she turned her head on Lola’s side.

“Lola, w-what are you doing?” Maya’s voice was unsteady, breathy and insecure. Lola tilted her head up a bit, until she could make their fronts touch. Maya closed her eyes and parted her lips almost immediately but nothing happened for long. They remained like that, enjoying their closeness and the silence that filled the room again.

Suddenly, Lola couldn’t hold back anymore. She slowly got closer and closer, until their lips brushed one another. Maya let out little sigh and that’s when Lola took the opportunity to bring their lips together one for all. It wasn’t more than a simple peck, even if it lasted a bit longer than that, but it still was enough to make Lola shiver.

Yes, she was acting drunker than she was only to make this easier. Only to pretend she forgot about it just in case Maya reacted badly.

Before she was able to deepen their kiss, Maya pulled her back by placing both her hands on Lola’s shoulder. “No Lola, this isn’t right.” She marked, getting up from the couch. It took Lola a few seconds to realize what was happening and when she did a wave of regret hitted her. Tears threatened to come out but she held them back as much as she could. “I’m bringing you a blanket.” She heard Maya say but her voice seemed like it came from afar. She felt the warmness of the fabric enveloping her and her back pressed on the couch cushions.

“You’re drunk, you need to get some rest. You won’t remember anything in the morning.” And she placed a kiss on her forehead, delicate as the tone of her voice.

She wanted to scream: no, i will. Sleep took over her before she could even part her lips.

╴╴╴

“You remember that you —“

“I kissed you.” Lola mutters, letting out the words that Maya can’t seem to pronounce.

Maya is in full on panic. Lola was drunk as far as she knew but apparently not as drunk to forget the moment they shared together.

She thought about that kiss a lot in the last three months, she couldn’t get it out of her head. For the three seconds it lasted, she was the happiest person on earth. She leaned to the touch of Lola’s lips even, soft and plump just like she imagined them, and she lost herself for a moment. Her heart was ready to burst out of her chest and her body was shaking from excitement and relief. It all came crashing down when she came back to earth and realized that none of that was true and felt. Lola was out of it, she had to carry her throughout the stairs and help her to sit on the couch. Probably the kiss was nothing more than an induced action caused by the effect of alcohol. Maya obliged herself to forget about it but she just couldn’t. After their kiss, at least, she didn’t saw Lola entertaining herself with a guy for a long time. Until the last party they went to.

Now Lola is there, saying that she remembers anything and the only thing Maya wants to do is to run through the door. She doesn’t want to handle rejection. In a way, it’s better not to know and still have a minuscule hope than knowing that nothing is going to happen ever because her best friend is straight as a line.

“Let’s not talk about it, okay? It doesn’t have to mean anything. It was just a kiss.” Maybe the reverse psychology can work to get her out of the situation. Maya tries to brush it off as nothing important, as something they can forget because it didn’t have to mean anything for their future. They were still going to have a future, right?

“Just a kiss.” Lola repeats and Maya can hear almost disappointment in her voice. She doesn’t get it, though. Lola shouldn’t feel disappointed. After all, none of them talked about it after it happened and even if Lola remembered chose to not talk about it.

Lola is suddenly closer to her and she fails in the intent of backing off from her. She feels paralyzed all of the sudden and confused too. Their eyes lock again and the intensity of Lola’s gaze is almost unbearable for her poor heart. “Lola…” Maya manages to whisper when one of Lola’s hand come to rest on her cheek and, unable to think in a rational way, she places one of hers on top of her friend’s. Their forehead touch, just like they did three months ago and at this point Maya is too far gone.

Words become unnecessary when, in a surge of courage, Maya closes the distance between her and Lola. I’ll probably regret this in the morning , she has barely the time to think. Their lips meet in an innocent kiss, a soft press that is enough to send sparks all through Maya’s spine. She doesn’t dare to deepen it but in the end she doesn’t need too because Lola is doing it for her. She brings the other hand on Maya’s free cheek and uses it to move her head how she wants it. If it wasn’t for Lola’s firm hold, Maya would probably already stopped to see any sign of discomfort in Lola’s face. But her tongue is licking her bottom lip and Maya lets her in, giving up any form of resistance. It’s heavenly and it feels good but she can’t bring herself to enjoy the moment fully. She feels dirty, like she took advantage of the vulnerable moment to do what she wanted the most for years.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I-I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” Maya parts their lips abruptly and almost immediately she can see that Lola didn’t expect it. It took her a few seconds to open her eyes and realize that Maya wasn’t kissing her anymore. She still tastes the delicate vodka flavour of Lola’s mouth and the softness of her lips against hers. The thing is that she can’t handle all of this. She can’t handle to be kissed passionately by Lola just because she feels sorry for her and her stupid feelings she can’t ignore. If Maya could go back in time before she knew how having Lola that close to her felt, she would. Three months ago she wouldn’t have let herself lean into her friend’s touch even if she thought that she wouldn’t remember it. Lola tries to mutters something but nothing escapes from her lips but a sigh.

“I have to go.” Maya forgets for a moment that she’s in her own house and there’s nowhere she can go. The flat is so small that there’s no way to stay far from Lola how she would like to. She ends up locking herself in her little bathroom, like a baby, and drags her back on the door until she’s sitting on the pavement. Her head bumps on the wood as she tries to inhale and exhale without shaking. She wants to punch herself, again.

She hears a knock on the door and then a dragging sound on it. Lola is in the same position as she’s in. “Maya, please. Can we talk?” Lola pleads, her voice shaky. Maya wants to let her in but doing it also means making her dreams crush after almost four years. There’s no way Lola feels the same for her, she doesn’t even know what it means to be in love with someone and not being able to breathe because they’ll never be yours. There’s nothing in the world she would like more now than to be held by her, to hear her voice saying that it’ll all be alright even if it’s a lie, to feel her fingers caressing her head and making her eyes flutter in the process. But Maya can’t. Her heart is already too broken. In the end, she doesn’t answer. Instead, she closes her eyes and lets a tear run on her cheek. A tear that quickly turn into many and quiet sobs escape her mouth.

On the top of it all, she overhears Lola getting up.

…

Maya ended up passing out on her bathroom floor.

When she wakes up god knows how many hours later, it takes her a few minutes to remember what happened during the night. She feels her skin dry as the sahara and her eyes burning from all the crying she has done. The shame hits her before she can even get up and it all goes downhill from there. She looks at herself in the mirror, her face tired and sleepy, and she’s still wearing the clothes from yesterday. She doesn’t know what to do now. Lola probably run away from her after the improbable reaction she had and Maya has absolutely no intention of talking to her. After some minutes of self pity, she splashes ice cold water on her skin and washes her teeth in an attempt to remove every little particle of Lola in her mouth.

Surprisingly, she isn’t alone in her flat. The first thing she sees going out of the bathroom is Max figure fumbling with something on the table and judging from the sweet smell he’s preparing breakfast for both of them. “Morning.” She murmurs with a sleep voice. Max turns to her as soon as he hears her and a small smile curves his lips. “I made breakfast. You need to eat something.” His tone is concerned as much as his face is. There’s no way he doesn’t know what happened. Or at least, there’s no way he didn’t notice that Maya didn’t get out of the bathroom for the whole night. “I fucked everything up. You have no idea how much I fucked it up.” She admits, sitting in one of the table chairs.

“Maya, listen.” Max starts while putting in front of her a mug full of coffee. “You hid your feelings for her for four years. Do you know how much time it is? People get together, get married and divorce in even less than that.” He takes a sip from his espresso and Maya can’t help but signing. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?” She asks him, visibly annoyed. “No, this supposed to make you realize that one day it’ll happen anyway. You’re sensitive, you feel everything ten thousand times amplified. Keeping all in isn’t doing any good to you.” He knows he’s right. Maya too. Keeping her feelings to herself made her slowly spiral in an infinite vortex of what if instead of living in the present and actually making her reality go in the way she wanted it to. Maybe it is the time to get out of her comfort zone, get out of the sea of doubts that has been drowning her and finally make a move. After all, it can’t be a case it all happened.

“I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her everything, this time for real.” She gazes at Max and finds in him nothing but an expression of support and fondness. “I hope she won’t leave me.”

“ She won’t , Maya.”

…

Two days passed since her conversation with Max.

She was still convinced that talking with Lola was the best thing to do but bringing herself to do it required a bit of work. Maya spent these days taking care of herself. After the night with Lola and breakfast with Max, she took a long bath and thought about what to say to her best friend. Sorry if I locked myself in the bathroom, I’m in love with you was lame and made shame rise up at the pit of her stomach; I’m in love with you but I know you’re straight and I didn’t know what to do, so I fantasized about you kissing me for years and when that happened I got scared made her look like a creep. Maybe it was better if Lola never knew about her fantasizing. Who can blame her though?

If she couldn’t have Lola for real, she could have her in her fantasy. Maya used to dream about her a lot, especially at the beginning when she was starting to realize that what was feeling for Lola wasn’t exactly platonic. She dreamt about them in her bed, during one of their many sleepovers, legs entangled and busy lips. The heat of their bodies pressed together no matter the outside temperature, their curves perfectly fitting in one another and their fingers intertwined in a tight hold. When she woke up in the morning, she felt extremely guilty for those images running in her head, even more if Lola was by her side sleeping peacefully. She usually went to the bathroom to wash her face and to step out of that sleep induced fantasy, until she didn’t feel bothered anymore. Even if Lola couldn’t hear her, she always whispered a little I’m sorry .

Going back to the present, Maya is torn on what practically do to talk to Lola. She thinks about going to her house and wait there until Lola let’s her in or sending her a simple message, or even going to her workplace because suddenly waiting a few more hours seems unbearable. She goes for the second option in the end, hoping that Lola won’t take too long to reply.

to Lola: hey, can we talk? i’m sorry for what i did last time, it was stupid. i panicked and i left you without a word. i’ll explain it all to you, i promise.

She sends it before she can even read it again. Not even one minute later, Lola reads it. Maya’s fingers start trembling and the hold on her phone becomes precarious as she sees Lola typing, and typing, and typing.

A few second later, Lola’s not online anymore and leaves her on read.

…

Maya doesn’t even have the strength to be sad or get angry at herself anymore. She just stares at the screen, hoping that she’ll see Lola online again, but that doesn’t happen. Million thoughts spin in her head as she lays on the couch, the very same couch they kissed two times on. It’s half past eleven and Lola left work at least five hours ago. There’s no way she didn’t have time to reply to her text. She simply didn’t want to reply. Maya understands her, really. Finding out that your very gay best friend is in love with you, getting kissed, being left out of the bathroom without an explanation and, on the top of it, being completely straight must not be easy to handle. Probably if she was in the same situation as Lola, she would have reacted the same way.

Even after all that occurred between them, Maya can’t shake off the feeling that it can’t be done. If she got to know Lola as well as she thought in these four years together, it can’t be done. Maya knows her and she’s not the type to leave unfinished business behind her.

The ring of her doorbell gets her out of her thoughts and she quickly goes to open the door. Her heart clenches when she sees who is outside her flat this late. Lola.

“Hey. Can I come in?” Lola asks out of breath. She run for sure because she’s sweating and considering the five ramps of stairs to arrive to Maya’s flat is not that improbable. Maya lets her in with a welcoming gesture and as she enters her apartment, she never looks away from her. Lola doesn’t sit, instead she stands in the middle of the room, her chest still going up and down. She brings her look up, until she meets Maya’s one and takes a long breath before talking. “I want to talk first. Please, let me.” Lola says and Maya never heard her talking with such a firm voice. She simply nods as she places herself in front of her best friend.

“I met you when I was fifteen years old and I was in a bad place back then. My mother was dying and my family was breaking right in front of my eyes. I started high school thinking that I would hate every second of it but then you sat next to me and we started talking and I immediately knew that you would ruin me for everyone else. The special connection we have is something that I’ll be forever grateful for.” Lola stops for a second, a smile curving her lips. “When my mother died you were there for me and I was there for you when you came out to your foster family. We’ve been there for each other always, you are the best friend I could aim for. The truth is, though, that there is something more to it.”

Maya feels stuck, incapable to move every single muscle. So Lola did really understand it all from the beginning, maybe even before she admitted to herself that she was in love with her. She listens carefully to Lola’s words and as she asked, lets her talk.

“I knew you were having a few night stands but one day you came to my workplace with Charlotte and I was surprised. I never saw you that physically close to anyone before, not even me and I don’t know, I felt something that I’ve never felt before. I realized only later, after fighting with Char countless of times, that I was simply jealous of her. At first I thought it was because she took away most of the time we used to spend together but after truly thinking about it — this wasn’t the reason.” She takes a big, deep breath before continuing. “I was jealous of her because I wanted to be the one you kissed. I wanted to be the one you held your hand in the street with and I wanted to be the one you cuddled back home. Three months ago I shoot my shot and I kissed you on that couch not because I was drunk, not because I wanted to have fun with you. I did it because I fucking wanted to. I had to act on what I was feeling, I couldn’t hold it back anymore for fear that you didn’t feel the same. When you rejected me I felt so bad. I thought you didn’t want me.” Her voice trembles at the last words and she gulps down the lump in her throat. “ — then the other night you kissed me first, this time a real kiss, and It never felt so right with anyone else before. I know that I always told you that I was straight, trust me I truly believed it. I tried to say to myself that maybe what I was feeling for you was just affection but Maya, it’s not. I think I’m in love with you and I’m so fucking scared I have ruined everything between us.” Lola is crying, full on sobbing even but she doesn’t bother to dry her tears from her cheeks, she just leaves them stream out freely.

Maya takes in Lola’s words and has to pinch herself to make sure she’s not dreaming. Apparently, there is a universe where hers is not an unrequited love and she’s lucky enough to live in it. For all these years she was convinced there was no possibility of her and Lola together, together as a couple. She suffered so much. All those sleepless nights, all those hurtful fantasies, all the times she wanted to tell her how she felt but couldn’t because the fear of rejection held her down each time. Maya couldn’t know, though. Lola had always maintained a very good straight facade but after hearing her words, she understands why she did it. They were both scared of losing each other and Lola was most possibly confused with her sexuality, which is not something to underestimate. Maya wants to say a million things and at the same time remains silent to enjoy this moment for a little bit more before it ends. She parts her lips in an unspoken word and from her watery eyes she can see Lola’s figure blurred.

“Please, say something.” Lola’s voice is pleading, loud in the silence of the flat.

She takes a big breath, while the words in her head start to make enough sense to be spoken out loud. “Lola, I’m in love with you since the first time I saw you. It took me some time to admit it to myself but I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you the exact moment my eyes met yours. This is so cheesy but it’s true.” Maya can’t hold back a tiny chuckle. “I spent the last four year asking myself why I fell in love with a girl I could never be with. I always saw you with guys, you told me you were straight and I never suspected the contrary. I fell in love with you anyway. You’re the best person I know, beautiful inside and out. You have no idea how many times I dreamed about you saying exactly what you just said to me, I swear. Maybe this is some law of attraction shit, I don’t know.” She takes a few steps to be finally close enough to Lola to wipe away her tears. She’s still crying but has her signature smirk on her lips. Maya leaves a kiss on her forehead and caresses her hair, bringing them back her ears.

“You better kiss me right now.” Lola whispers, an inch separating their lips. “ — and don’t even think of locking yourself in the bathroom again because I’ll fucking break that door.”

Maya lets out a little laugh but she’s quick to close the distance between them just like she did a few days ago. This time, though, none of them has any intention to separate. This kiss has nothing innocent about it. It’s passionate, a bit sloppy and their teeth clashes together but they don’t care. It’s perfect in it’s own way. Delicacy left the chat a long ago. They stumble to the bed soon after and it’s all fast and blurry from there. The very same bed where everything began, where Maya realized she was in love with Lola. Maya’s fantasies quickly were becoming a reality as they lost themself with the moonlight shining from the window.

…

The morning after, their role switched. This time was Maya feeling watched in her sleep. She slowly opens up her eyes, revealing Lola’s figure on her side, her head laying on the pillows and her eyes towards her.

“Were you watching me sleep?” Maya murmurs with a sleepy voice, shifting under the covers to get even closer to Lola. “Yes. Just like you did for the past four years with me.” Lola laughs and it’s the best sound Maya could hear this early in the morning. So for all this time Lola knew that she was glancing at her while she was asleep but never said anything. Maya’s cheeks turn red in an instant but Lola is quick at brushing off of her the embarrassment with a peck on her lips. “Is this some type of revenge then?” Maya asks jokingly, reaching out for Lola’s hip under the duvet and pinching it. “Oh, stop!” Obviously Maya doesn’t, and keeps pinching her hip and her stomach. Lola tries to get away from her, failing miserably, because Maya’s hold is strong enough to keep her exactly where she is. When they stop laughing, she sees Lola face changing, the same face she does when she wants to tell something but doesn’t know how to.

She talks after a while, hesitant. “About tonight —” Before she can continue, Maya puts her lips on hers in a reassuring kiss. “Hey. You’ve never been with a girl before, it’s normal. I won’t push you into doing anything you don’t want to do.” She whispers, placing a hand on her cheek and caressing it with her thumb. Maya remembers that even if she was sure about her sexuality since as long as she can remind, her first time with a girl was still all tentative touches and embarrassment when she didn’t know what to do. Lola was no different but honestly Maya can’t care less about sex when she is with the person she loves the most in the whole world. Plus, they have plenty of time ahead of them to experiment with each other.

“But — I do want to touch you.” Lola mutters on Maya’s lips, as her hands travel on the side of her body. Maya shivers and kisses her again, again and again.

…

They get out of bed around noon with the intent to eat something but instead they find themselves sitting on the couch again. Lola is cuddled between Maya’s legs, her back on Maya’s front and her head gently placed on her chest. She’s running her fingers through her hair like she always does, letting the brown strands wrap around and then letting them go. She knows Lola loves when she plays with her hair, it makes her feel extremely relaxed and cared for. It is also their way to tell one another that something was wrong when there are people around. One of them puts a hand on the other hair and they know. They sneaked off so many times with this technique and all of them they found themself alone in a comfortable hug. Today is different, though. The hugs and the cuddles that used to be platonic aren’t anymore and Maya doesn't have to dream about the softness of Lola’s lips.

“Hey Maya —” Lola starts, turning her head enough to see Maya’s face. “ … Now I can stop calling you my best friend, right?” She ends up asking and Maya smiles against her forehead. “You better.” She imitates Lola’s tone of last night, when she told her to kiss her. Maya lost count of how many times she pinched herself already. She always does it when Lola can’t see her because she knows she would mock her for her entire life if she saw. It’s just that she still can’t believe she gets yo have Lola like this. It feels natural with her, it feels like home, but after four years of desperate longing and gay panic when she found herself a little closer than normal to her, you can’t blame her.

“I want to tell the others about this… About us.” Lola adds, shifting from her laying position on a more comfortable one straddling Maya’s lap. Maya’s hands travel from her waist to her thighs, while she locks eyes with Lola. “I’m not sure I want to do it now, though. It’s not because I’m scared of how people will react seeing me with a girl, I want to make this clear.” She clarifies, playing with the hem of Maya’s shirt. “I want to take the time to live all of this for a while, just the two of us.” Maya couldn’t agree more. She is out and proud but has nothing against Lola needing some time to process everything privately. She doesn’t care about how Lola will decide to define herself or even if she won’t at all, the only important thing is that Lola’s happy and if she can be the person to make her happy… Well, so much better. “I’ll give you as much time as you need.” Maya smiles and Lola makes their noses brush against one another.

“Thank you.” Lola murmurs on Maya’s lips and then she cups her face with her hands, bringing them together in a delicate press. Maya doesn’t answer but she’s sure that her lingering touches on Lola’s back and both of them deepening the kiss enough to get lost in it once again is enough to reassure Lola that she isn’t going anywhere,

that she’s here to stay.

[mysticsparklewings]

The Dream Crosser

Surprise! NaPoWriMo didn't kill me (and I'm not abandoning dA because of the incoming Eclipse update either, more on that situation here), I just needed a week off to recuperate...and obsessively play Animal Crossing: New Horizons... Admittedly, I actually drew this well over a month ago (and wrote up the majority of the description!), not just before NaPoWriMo but before I actually had New Horizons in my grasp. The plan was to post it the day I got the game. Which was supposed to be much closer to the game's launch (March 20th). That ended up not happening and the day I got the game was the first day of NaPoWriMo, but 1. I messed up with the non-uniform prompts and spent all of the day trying to catch up so I couldn't even play the game yet, and 2. As a side effect, I ended up having two posts that day and a lot of work to do to catch up the second, and I hardly had time to think about posting this. And even if I had posted it, it would've been drowned in the incoming NaPoWriMo posts. And so, here we are. Really, really, I do have to mention that I truly feel for anyone else still waiting on the game for whatever reason. You have my deepest sympathy and I'm so sorry I can't just give you the game right now and make it better.  I know the wait was hard enough for me, being this is the one game I highly anticipated in over a year and I essentially had the rug yanked out from under me. But I'll save that story for after I talk about the art itself since I'm sure that's what most people are here for and not my pre-order frustrations. So in case you don't know or couldn't tell, this is the lovely Luna from AC: New Leaf's Dream Suite. From what we've seen of New Horizons since it's release, the Dream Suite's functions and purpose have been mostly absolved into the Airport and Dodo Codes, and so I'm very doubtful Luna will actually be in the game in any capacity, which makes me sad. A typical player (including me) wouldn't even necessarily interact with Luna that much in New Leaf unless you really enjoy visiting other towns using Dream Codes, so I'm not sure what it is, but for some reason I just really like her. That's why I picked her to draw to celebrate. I very nearly drew her a long time ago when I was on an Animal Crossing kick in 2018, but at the time I didn't like the idea of pressuring myself into drawing all and/or multiple AC characters just because I wanted to be "fair" to them all (much the same reason I don't draw Pokemon very often), so I ended up drawing One Little Spark, a crossover of the Disney character Figment drawn in the New Leaf style, instead. So in a way, she's had this coming for quite a while. At the time I started working on her, (way back in early March, because I was hoping beyond hope my pre-order would arrive to me actually on launch day, but ha ha ha look who's got egg on her face for that ) I was running a bit dry on artistic motivation, and so while I tried to draw her in my usual manner: Making a sketch, transferring the sketch onto different paper with finalized lines, then picking whichever coloring method I was most into at the time), I was struggling with the sketch. I've had days where I have to work on a sketch for a really long time before I can get something I'm happy with, but this day I was just so not into the whole sketching process. I wanted to create, but I wanted it to be quick and easy and simple. I didn't want to have to poke at it for hours and hours and then still maybe not be happy when I was done. So when I got discouraged enough, I broke away from trying to draw Luna and just drew mandalas instead. (As had become my art-block crutch for a little while.) Somewhere in me, as I worked on other things, I kept going back and forth on what to do about Luna, though. I did still want to draw her, but my usual formula just wasn't working for me. Not for her. I even tried briefly to draw her linelessly, digitally, as what was supposed to be a quick and simple experiment, but that went downhill even faster than sketching did. Although, for some reason, the lineless idea wouldn't leave me alone after that. Finally, I decided to try something completely different. I was going to try and free-handedly draw her, without lines, traditionally. With, primarily, alcohol markers. Honestly, the thought minorly horrifies me now just as much as it did before I started. And yet, here we are and I actually like how it turned out. Allow me to explain how this came together: So, since I wasn't sure how this was going to turn out once I decided to try it, I opted to use my not-so-great mixed media paper so I wouldn't feel guilty about wasting better paper if I ended up hating it. Naturally, this did lead to some notable limitations, but not enough to discourage me from trying. I dove right in with the dark brown for her head and body, focusing on getting the general shapes down. I'd noticed some glaring mistakes in my mostly unproductive sketching when it came to Luna's body proportions, so I tried to keep those things in mind and adjust accordingly as I went. It was scary because there is no erasing this way short of using white paint and because this paper feathers pretty noticeably with markers. Then once I got to a certain point, I had to switch and bring in some pink and off-white markers to draw in parts of her dress so I knew where to put her other arm and her legs. And here is where I technically cheated; I did use my "clear" Stardust Gelly Roll pen to do most of the outlines for her dress. I needed some kind of guideline, but pencil tends to get yucky when you put markers on top and at the time I couldn't really think of a better option. (The joke was kind of on me because somehow I still got a nasty gray line that looked like pencil under her bust that I had to gently edit out later in Photoshop, but I digress.) As I went with the markers, I was also doing some light shading. Not too much, because this paper is really fussy with layers and blending, but enough that I felt like it didn't look completely flat and I could tell where one shape ended and another started. Though, for her nose (trunk? I believe Luna is supposed to be a Tapir) and her raised arm, I had to get a little creative and I used a white brush pen meant for glass/ceramics to put in the lines so you could actually see them. And later I would use the same pen in 3-4 layers to add the white back in for her eyes. With the base for her body, dress, and the bun part of her hair done though, then I had the task of figuring out what to do for her shoes and the details of her face. (Without having to mix and use specific paint for those tiny details.) In the end, I opted to mostly use my classic red Gelly Roll pen for her shoes, and a little bit of a dark red alcohol marker for shading. And then I got to experiment with mixing the classic red and one of the Moonlight Gelly Rolls for her lips so that the color would be visible and not just a dark lip-shaped "what is this." This was because the classic Gelly Rolls don't show up super well on dark surfaces and the Moonlight ones do, but I didn't have the right color straight out of a Moonlight pen. It did take 2-3 careful layers, but I think I managed well enough in the end. I used just one black pen, a Prismacolor brush-tip fine liner, for her eyes, though in-person the white base underneath makes her pupils look about a shade or two lighter from certain angles, which was a very unintentional nice touch. My answer to everything else ended up being gouache, although I did try to come up with pen colors for her eye shadow and the blue dots on her cheeks before admitting defeat that I just didn't have the colors I needed. Originally, I had actually been thinking of trying a lineless art piece with gouache, as I think it would work particularly well for that look, but I wasn't ready to fully commit to the idea, mostly because I seem to be even worse at mixing a non-excessive amount of a specific color with gouache than I am with acrylics, and that sounds like a fantastic way to waste a bunch of palette space because I mixed too much but it's gouache so it can be re-wet and re-use it and I don't want to just throw it away...  (Although I suppose this could be half-way solved by getting a bigger palette specifically for mixing gouache, but I also don't want to have to buy yet another palette when I have some perfectly good ones...If I could just use up all the paint in them already...) Anyway. Point: This is kind of a step between a full lineless gouache piece and not doing one at all. Baby steps, yes? I knew from fairly early on that I was probably going to have to use gouache for the front part of her hair/bangs, since I did not thoroughly plan ahead enough and didn't leave a gap there to do it with markers. Fortunately, I didn't have to do much mixing since my gouache already has a nice yellow ochre color included, and I could use a bit of the other two browns and one I had some leftover mixed already from Roses in Your Eyes for shading. (White for the flowers, too, thank goodness.) And I actually ended up going over most of her bun with gouache too since, by comparison, the marker didn't look like it had much shading and it was bothering me. I did have to mix my own blue and pinky-purple for her makeup, and I ended up with a lot of leftover pinky-purple. But it's kind of okay because by itself it's such a pretty color I'm sure I'll find an excuse to use that one. After that, I just had to do some minor tweaks where the gouache had gotten a bit away from me and then I went ham on the shading for the dress based on my reference photo. Then I realized I wanted some kind of background because this seemed awfully boring without one. And, naturally, I hadn't really planned ahead for that, me being me and being in habit of doing the background last... At first, I wanted to do something hot pink, since her official Amiibo card has a hot pink background, but then I thought that might be a little too loud and I wasn't really sure the best way to apply one without potentially messing her up. And also, this isn't watercolor or paper thicker than 140 lb, which immediately threw watercolor out the window unless I wanted a very uneven paper when I was finished. I'd already pushed my luck with the gouache and been very careful about not using much water with it; I decided it was best not to push my luck any farther. Also, I couldn't use my pink PanPastel, despite that being maybe my best option, because it is still perpetually screwed onto the little Pan Pastel stack with no hope of getting unstuck anytime soon. (One of these days I swear, I will order either another set like the one I have or an individual Pink one to solve this problem, but until then, I am going to bring it up every single time as a caution to others to please be very careful when screwing and unscrewing your own Pan Pastels if you store them screwed together.) And I didn't feel like dragging out some of my drawing pastels and/or makeup that's too expired to use on my face and very slowly building up color and hoping it'll do what the Pan Pastels do. With no better ideas coming to me, I decided I'd leave the drawing for the night and come back to it the next day. After yet more brainstorming the next day, I finally settled on doing a glittery rounded rectangle and filling it with washi tape stripes. This plan did change a little as I figured out which tapes I wanted to use (a purple-y, champagne gold, and light pink ones, the latter two of which look more different in-person than they do on the scan) and as I actually started applying the lines. Partially because this tape is a bit thin and partially because I'm not used to cutting tape around very specific shapes, it took a very long time to both place strips of the tape and then get them cut to fit right up to Luna without looking strange. Once I got to a certain point going in one direction, I realized my next couple of cuts were just going to be too hard for me to stand. I had a choice: Ditch the tape, or figure something else out. Taking a risk, I decided to try and salvage it by doing an almost-plaid/checkerboard with the tape, specifically leaving out certain areas where I knew it would be too tricky to cut the tape. This also turned out to be a good way to use up some of the pieces of tape I'd already cut off that were too small to be used the other way. It's still not the greatest background solution I've ever come up with, but it does the job of making it look less empty, and that's really all I wanted anyway. And you know, compared to official images her proportions look wonky, but by herself (meaning, without comparing the two) I think Luna looks pretty good, actually. (Though, I admit I did have to tweak her right ear in Photoshop because it came out entirely too long and there wasn't really a good way for me to fix it by hand.) To think, this piece started out as such a mess. Or rather, I was such a mess when I started. And yet, here we are, and it looks kinda okay. Okay enough that I finished it and am posting it, at least.   I have no idea if I'll be returning to this style/method for art-making in the future, but even if I don't it was a nice experiment to try, and that's what art is really all about isn't it? Experimenting, trying new things? Speaking of experimenting though, about those pre-order frustrations I mentioned now that I've covered everything about the art itself...(in small text for those that don't care to easily skip over) Back in February I tried twice to pre-order New Horizons from Target, since they were running an ad where if you pre-ordered the game you'd also get an AC themed journal with it, and that combined with my family member's employee discount made it the cheapest/best value way for us to buy the game. As I said, I tried to order it twice. Both times, it was sold out. My family member had even tried to go to the store and have them order it before then, to no avail. After the second time, which was the day after Target sent out the sale paper with the new ad in it, while I was still frustratedly wondering how on earth do you sell out of a pre-order?? I kept refreshing the page every so often just to see if by some fluke it would miraculously not be sold out. I got very lucky around 3 in the afternoon and we managed to get the order in before it sold out again. Now, we're a relatively cheap family, so we didn't pay for the "express shipping" or whatever. Although, this was a $60 game and we were ordering it three whole weeks (on March 2nd) before release. If you ask me, the least they could do is have it shipped out either on launch day (March 20th) or the day after. Especially if I can pre-order a book on Amazon with three days' notice and they can still get it to me on release day. But, okay, I could live with waiting an extra day or up to maybe three if I had to. (And, to be fair, this was all before a certain virus exploded into chaos here in the US.) Much to my dismay, a week before NH release day, I checked the order status with Target only to be told I wouldn't get it until the 26th. A week later. That was pretty disappointing at the time, but it didn't really bother me until the day before and the day of launch when some people were getting their pre-orders early from places like Amazon and Best Buy (and some of them didn't even pay for the express shipping option from their selected source). If those two companies could plan around virus constraints to do that, why in the heck couldn't Target? But, okay, fine. Maybe the virus had something to do with it and they were really doing the best they could. Whatever. A week. Fine. I'll wait a week. A few days later though, we got an email saying: Surprise! Don't expect your dumb video game until April 3rd because we couldn't get our act together! (Okay, that's not what it really said, but that's what it felt like.) And I know, I promise I so know there are much more serious issues going on in the world right now and a video game about talking animals isn't exactly a priority shipment. I know. But it was still massively upsetting after I'd already waited so long. And, honestly, I feel like they had plenty of time and notice to take care of the game before everything else exploded and messed it all up. Again, especially if other companies already had time to even ship orders early and/or get the games to people on launch day. Or the day after. TWO WEEKS after launch, and you don't tell me about the secondary delay until the week I started expecting the game to already be in the mail on it's way to me? The only tiny silver lining is that as I was checking the order to make sure it didn't miraculously get pushed back to sometime in 2021 (because I really had no faith in Target's time estimates at this point) is that it did get bumped back up to April 1st. Although, I did think that it would be the absolute least funny April Fools' Day Joke ever if the day came and it was late because screw me.  But it did arrive to me on April 1st as promised; I just had a million other things to do before I could play it. ) And I will say, I know I could've just canceled the pre-order and bought the game digitally, but it was enough of a hassle to order it in the first place, and if I did that I'd also lose my pre-order bonus. And all that aside, I specifically wanted a physical copy to begin with. I always prefer that when it's possible. So people on the internet that want to eat me alive for not canceling when the shipping got screwed up, there are my reasons. Take 'em or leave 'em. (Seriously, I've seen some people be really rude about this just because they didn't like hearing people upset that they didn't have the game yet...when they already had it themselves or didn't care about AC in the first place...) Moral of the story: Don't pre-order from Target. Or, at least, don't expect the item to actually get to you right around release day. Account for at least two additional weeks of not having the thing. ...Seriously though, how do you sell out of a pre-order?? At least, when it's a highly anticipated game and you're a big company and not some small indie company with limited resources! Sheesh! Anyway. I have the game now, I've been playing it as much as possible and enjoying it. I still have a ways to go before my island is "complete" per se, but it's coming along nicely and I feel more comfortable now taking some more time away from it to get back into the swing of making art and things like that. So hopefully I'll be getting back into a regular posting schedule and you'll have that to look forward to. 

____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[jack-fruit]

Paint the Stars

Hey gamers this fic is apart of my personal swap au which I also wrote this for. You really don't need to read that one to understand this one, but its short lol. All you need to know that's mentioned there is Aziraphale is a bat demon so like

-----

When the starmaker first learned to paint, he was going by Anthony. He had no reason to go by an alias, but he had grown rather fond of it after providing it to a rather polite demon. His decision to dip his fingers into what was the original sorry excuse for paint, however, had nothing to do with his name, but everything to do with his title.

He had hoped after the fiasco with Adam and Eve, She would allow him back into the expanse of space to make stars once again. She told him he had more to do on Earth, much to Anthony's chagrin. So he walked among man bitter and with hands itching to create.

They'd only been a few generations into humanity when a girl first found that mixing together egg yolk and red soil would make a substance that would trail bright and stick to the rock. She used it to make crude drawings, which Anthony watched, impressed.

It wasn't until there was a suitable array of colors avaliable that Anthony felt the tug of longing hard enough that he sheepishly approached a group painting across an expanse of cave walls and scooped up some of the yellow paint.

He created starbursts across stone and nebules across rock. He didn't have all the colors he wanted to work with, but the thrill of a challenge only spurred him on. He may have also been there to nudge the Egyptians in the right direction of finding blue paint, okay? Sue him- blue was one of his favorites.

-

It wasn't until around 300 BC that Anthony picked up a paintbrush. There had been other attempts at something similar before, but all the crude sticks and leaves could not capture the fine detail a brush of a fingertip could.

Anthony was perfectly content using his hands and fingers, just as he always had, but the man selling the brushes assured him they were intended for caligraphy. The angel picked up the thin bamboo with animal hair attatched to one end, and decided that perhaps a certain demon would get a kick out of it. After all, Az loved the written word, perhaps he would like a tool to help create it.

He had originally only meant to try it out. To make sure it worked as advertised, but as he dipped it into the ink that he'd purchased alongside it, he slowly realized things were not going to go as planned.

The gentle sweep of the brush across parchment was a sensation he liked almost as much as fingerpainting. And it kept his hands blessedly clean. He created a void in the paper, a sinkhole from which there was no return. He then got up, grabbed his paints, and wove a galaxy around it. He tucked the concept into the back of his mind, deciding to ask Her to let him abandon post for just a while to play around again.

-

He was going by Raphael when he realized that he could paint more than just space. He had been out in the cosmos for a few decades, having gotten the okay to return to where he belonged. He had ended up quite liking the brush idea, which is where the staff came from.

His staff was a long piece of carefully maintained bamboo that he was able to miracle from brush to staff with minimal effort. The staff worked a bit different from an actual paint brush, it didn't even have a proper brush end, really, but the angel would push his power through it in arcs and waves in ways he hadn't really been capable of before.

But he missed Earth, much as that fact irked him. He missed the browns and the greens and the greys. He missed the food and the wind and the sounds. Above all, he missed the sparkling darkness of a certain demon's gaze, which he would certainly never admit.

So he returned to earth and decided to give a new name a whirl. Raphael. When he told Az about it, he laughed, but did start calling him by the new name. It put something at ease in his chest, that approval.

Raphael had known that people painted things other than space, of course he did, but he never thought to do it himself until he saw a man painting a landscape.

"Mind if I join you?" Raphael had asked without thinking. The man looked at him, curious, but nodded his consent and offered Raphael the paints he was using. All earth tones, nothing like the angel liked to work with.

Withholding a sigh, Raphael decided to paint the same landscape. It was more challenging then the colorful and shapeless bursts he was used to, but it was easy enough to get. Sharp bursts of brown-green, yellow spikes of grass, grey-brown bark. It was the same concept, the pallete was just different, the angles a bit sharper.

"What are you doing?" Raphael jumped and whirled to face the fanged grin of his adversary. The original painter and his canvas had vanished.

"Why are you here?" The angel tried very hard not to sound pleased.

"I asked first, Starmaker," Az said, taking his brush from him and narrowing his eyes at the carvings on it. "Are these snakes?"

"Snakes are cool," Raphael hissed, turning back to his painting. "And I'm painting, now you."

"Oh just spreading some chaos here, michief there."

"Which I will inevitably thwart," Raphael noted. "You know, maybe-"

"No! No we are not..." Az's voice dropped to a harsh whisper, "we are not teaming up Ant- Raphael."

"Antraphael?" The angel teased momentarily, before his expression turned thoughtful. "That sounds like an angel I knew- a principality. Wonder what happened to him...haven't heard from him in ages."

"Doesn't matter," Az snapped, aggrivated. "I know what heaven is like. They find out you're helping the enemy and you know what they'll do? They'll toss you out, and thats if you're lucky!"

Raphael's brushstroke shot up, ruining the entire painting.

"Let's go get drinks," he grumbled, waving the project away. It would be years before he would finally rediscover, fix, and finish the damn piece.

-

The name didn't last, of course it didn't. Anthony knew Az was really quite uncomfortable with the name Raphael, despite his insistance of it being fine. The closest the angel got to an answer was 'reminds me too much of someone else. Not you.'

So he was Anthony again when he realized how truly and utterly fucked he was. It was the 19th century, and realism- true realism- was coming into style. The more detailed and real looking a painting looked, the better. And for the first time since paint had been invented, Anthony couldn't master a style of art.

Of course, he would eventually, but at the present everything he painted looked cheap and fake. The concept of shading was new to him, nothing cast shadows in space and his landscapes were more stylized than anything. Along with that, still life was a bit drab to him- lots of looking and staring at inanimate objects doing nothing and feeling nothing for hours.

In contrast, portraits had the opposite issue. The subject was too squirmy, and the constant annoyance and boredom that flared up would effect his brushwork.

Plants were a good compromise, just alive enough to entertain him, but not squirmy enough to distract him. He spent hours trailing greenery across his canvases, adding bursts of color where flowers decided to plant themselves.

He ended up surrounding himself with plants, expresing his annoyance if they began to wilt, which would quickly make them perk up once more. He accidently scared the plants, he thought, what with all his frustrated yelling and the torn canvases strewn across the floor, but it did lead to them looking exquisite. He'd be lying if said he hadn't been hamming up the dramaticness that came with destroying his less than perfect works.

Az had come over once, sitting properly in a plain, stiff wooden chair he summoned while Anthony sprawled out across his own sofa. Az was looking at a half finished painting of a plant.

"Do you ever paint anything other than plants?" Az asked suddenly. Anthony sat up and followed his gaze.

"Space."

"Other than space and plants."

"Like what?"

"People?"

Anthony snorted and fell back against the cushions, "nah, people move too much."

"Oh," Az said. The two fell quiet for a few minutes before Az spoke again. "Well if you like, I could...you know, model for you. If it would help."

"I- you- what?" Anthony sputtered. The demon scowled at him.

"Mind out of the gutter, Anthony. It's simply that...look I can hold much more still than any human could, I would be an easy model to start with to get the human-esque form down."

Anthony was quiet in his consideration. Much as he loathe to admit it, it did make sense. And as much as he loved painting plants and stars, he did want to branch out, if only to prove he could. He was a stubborn bastard that way.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Just...stay there, then," he launched himself off the couch and collected his paints.

"Now?" Az asked, and when Anthony turned to face him, his dark eyes were curious and wide and just...beautiful.

"I- er- that okay?" Anthony asked, taking his brush and twirling it in his fingers. Az nodded; Anthony nodded back in reply. The angel turned his easel towards the demon and, with a slow breath, began to paint.

He had always found Az remarkable- with his intelligent eyes, his soft, slightly singed curls, the curve of his delicate pink lips...

He was practically in a trance, looking more at Az then his canvas. It felt like no time at all before he had finished enough for Az to move if he wished. The demon cracked his neck at an inhuman angle, then stood to look over Anthony's shoulder.

"Oh...Anthony," his breath ghosted across his ear and he had to surpress a shiver, "this is perfect, how have you been having trouble?"

Slowly, Anthony tipped his head back. He let his curls brush against Az's shoulder as he did so, and when he looked to the left he could see how close the demon really was. With his eyes that reminded him so much of his night sky that it hurt.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

"S'not done, still time to mess up," he said over his mounting panic. Az laughed that soft laugh of his and grinned, revealing those delicate little fangs perfect for-

Anthony's entire brain ripped like a canvas in a desprate attempt to get that image out of his head. In the meantime, Az had pulled away and offered him an apologetic farewell. Anthony was still sewing his brain back together when the door closed firmly behind him. He was still stitching his sanity back into place as he found himself setting up a new canvas. He was still lost in a daze as he found himself wondering how many years it would take to draw Az perfectly from memory.

-

The first time he wrote out the name "Anthony J. Crowley" had been on the deed to his studio. A studio he had not planned on getting at all, but when a giddy bat demon bounced up to him only about 60 or so years after the whole gay crisis thing Anthony had no choice but to follow. He wasn't sure if the blindfold made him more or less eager, if he was being honest.

"Watch your step!"

"I can't see, idiot, there's a blindfold over my face."

"Stop sassing me or I'll gag you, starmaker."

"Kinky."

"No!"

Anthony laughed, feeling a warm flutter in his chest as Az very firm stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Then, he removed the blindfold.

"Tada!"

"A...building?" Anthony raised an incredulous eyebrow at the demon.

"It's for your studio!" Az enthused.

"My-?"

"I originally bought it thinking about making a bookshop out of it, but then I realized thst would require me to, um, you know, sell my books? And so I thought instead I'd give it to you. I've already found a quaint little cottage for my books And I to stay, so I have no need for it, obviously-"

"Azzy..."

"No need to thank me, you're just taking it off my hands," the demon pushed on, shoving a deed into Anthony's hands and then bolting like the devil himself was after him. Anthony looked at the deed, then at the building.

It could use some paint...

-

1967, he'd been going by Crowley for 25 years as far as close friends were concerned. Well, close friend. After tonight, though...

He leaned heavily against the door to his studio, against the painted grasses and flowers that stretched across its surface, growing towards glow and the dark stars. Against his chest, Crowley clutched a jar containing a single, wild spark of hellfire. Uncontrollable, untamable, and all Az's.

'What, not going to offer me a lift?" Crowley had quietly asked, sitting behind Az on his motorbike.

Crowley moved as if he were walking through the thickest of oil paints. He entered his room, set the jar on his desk, then returned to the studio itself. Half finished projects were littered everywhere. Crowley looked at them and felt empty.

A soft, pained laugh. 'I know I go too slow for you, Crowley...' Then, the most heatbroken admission, 'I am... quite unsure if I will ever be capable of catching up with you.'

Crowley's whole body began to shake. Hands balled into fists, and then he screamed. He grabbed a wooden stool that Az could often be caught sitting on and threw it right into one of his paintings. It splintered and ripped and Crowley felt good.

He tore paintings from the wall, shattered frames against the floor. He ripped apart each brushstroke, each secret hope. He only stopped when he tore his paintbrush off the chain around his throat and tried to snap it. Lucky for him, past Crowley had enchanted it to be basically invincible, so his efforts simply drained him. He let it expand into his staff so he could lean heavily on it as sobs wracked him. He was angry, he was heartbroken, and he had never felt less holy.

-

In the years leading up to the apocalypse, Crowley hadn't been painting much. Any attempts to bring his brush to the canvas were hindered by the fact that the world was ending, and that in less than eleven years all these things he was making would be destroyed. Again.

He thought maybe after everything, after escaping heaven and hell, he would be able to paint avain. Yet, as he sat with a sketchbook in his lap in Az's livingroom he felt no spark, no drive.

Well, that wasn't true. He felt something, but it wasn't the need to create. He took a swig of wine and looked up to where Az was quietly contemplating his own glass.

"I-"

"It's Aziraphale."

"...what?" Anthony sat up straight for the first time possibly ever. Az flinched.

"My- my name...my angel name. I never," he bit his lip, "all the other demons were changing their names, but I never meant to fall. I liked the name the Almighty gave me, even if She...so, so perhaps you can call me Aziraphale from noe on? Since I guess I'm technically not a demob anymore..."

The name was familiar. It brought Crowley the memory of a flash of white wings and blue eyes watching him work. However, that image very comfortably faded to fit the face of the demon he so loved.

Aziraphale.

"Aziraphale," he spoke it in a way that made one think of blasphamy. He caught the demon's shiver. Slowly, Crowley set aside his sketchbook and his wine and he prowled forward.

"Crowley?"

"Yes, Aziraphale?" He breathed, close enough to count the lashes framing Aziraphale's dark eyes. They fluttered closed.

Lips pressed against lips, soft and full of longing and hope. It took Crowley a moment to realize he hadn't been the one to close the gap. He framed Aziraphale's face in his hands, like the work of art it was, and kissed back.

A gasp and then hands fluttered against his back, gripping at his jacket as the angel pushed him back in his chair, thoughts scattered so only one thing remained.

Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale.

-

They laid in a bed conjured earlier that evening. Aziraphale didn't own one, since he was used to hanging upsidedown from the rafters when he slept at all. He made an exception tonight, though, and was now curled up fast asleep in Crowley's arms. He traced the blue-purple-red bruises scattered across his lover's skin and smiled fondly as Azirphale wrinkled his nose and turned in his arms. Slowly, Crowley untangled himself and moved towards the easel he'd put in the room back when Aziraphale was sleeping for a century. He had wanted to be around the demon, even if he was fast asleep with no plans to become concious again until he thought his books were in danger.

He brushed the dust off a blank canvas and set it on the easel. It was facing out the small window, revealing the expanses of space for Crowley to record again and again. He hesitated a moment before changing the angle of the easel, pointing it towards the bed where Azirphale was still curled up.

He looked over at where his brush had been reverently placed on the nightstand at contrast with everything else he'd been wearing previously. He looked at it and then shook his head. He opened a pot of red paint and dipped his fingers into it. The excess dripped from the tips before Crowley set then to the canvas, and he began to paint.

[nh935]

Creepy America Episode 1: Worlds of Wonder

Introduction

Today marks the twelve year anniversary of the last episode of Creepy America. I know this because of the article I'm reading, recounting the strange and bizarre tale of the webshow. My webshow. My life, for the better part of four years. And even though it arguably destroyed me, brought me to this point where I live alone, working hard jobs to keep this tiny, shitty one person apartment, news of Creepy America never ceases to bring me joy.

Except today.

Which brings me to the reason I am writing.

This morning, I received a letter saying that the server charges for the official Creepy America website had gone up once again, this time to a level that I couldn't even convince myself into thinking I could pay. My complaints have been ignored; I am positive that a silent actor has been forcing the charges to increase, regardless of the actual cost of maintaining the site. This is no doubt the same person who broke into my apartment and storage locker and stole every remaining physical copy of the Creepy America episodes. I wish I could muster the energy to be outraged, or even horrified, but I knew this day would come sometime.

Barring any action from my co-host to stop these actions, something I know will never happen, this would be where the webshow dies. But I'm a stubborn bastard and I'll be damned if it does.

So here I am, alone, in a small, dark room, writing my memoirs of the craziest, scariest, most dangerous, and happiest years of my life. My goal is to preserve the memories of "Creepy America": those days and nights spent in the R.V., traveling from city to city, investigating, finding, and recording the secret places that the world does their best to keep hidden. It's only this way that those days will stay alive. Files corrupt. Memories fade. Even history can be re-written. But if the show has proved anything, it's that words will exist forever, even if they aren't supposed to.

To the Newcomers:

I imagine that most people who track down these stories will be the life-long fans. However, I imagine that some will simply stumble onto these stories by accident. That's okay; it's actually what I'm counting on.

But that means that there's a good chance that, if you're reading this, you don't know what "Creepy America" is. I don't want to delude myself into thinking that everyone who reads this will have memories of the show, especially given the fickleness of internet fame, so I want to take this time to explain what the show was; veteran Creepers, feel free to skip ahead.

Creepy America was a webshow, published and broadcasted online. It was big back in its day. The show generated enough revenue to make money off of, and it's popularity caused a few "War of the Worlds"-styled hoaxes.

To the outside world, the draw of the show was obvious. Based on the creepypasta explosion that made the world obsessed with Slenderman and others, Creepy America combined professional-level special and practical effects with the low-budget style of found footage to make for a scarily realistic horror series. The actual recording team was kept invisible, placing all attention and credit to the two co-hosts of the show. The mysterious mythos that was hinted at several times but never fully explained also added to its popularity and quite a few people praised us for our clever writing and dedication to preserving the illusion.

Of course, this couldn't be further from the truth. Creepy America was just a low-budget production. Zoey and I were the only ones who worked on the show. Nothing was scripted. As our show gained attention, a choice was demanded of us from powerful forces: stop filming, or tow the "fake" line. We chose what we believed to be the lesser of two evils.

Things escalated, though. I won't try to summarize the details here; they will be explained better in the stories to come. But twelve years ago, we were obligated to end it, and the show has slowly faded into obscurity since then.

To the Veteran Creepers:

Before we begin, I have to give you a warning: if you're looking for answers, this isn't the place to find them.

The events and things we uncovered during Creepy America remain unexplained to this day. I have spent the better part of twelve years researching various aspects of science and parascience trying to find those answers, and I am no closer to finding them than I was when we decided to stop our broadcast. Red Eyes, Reverend Jones, even the Archangel Foundation: I don't know what the truth is. So if you expect a book explaining how everything fits together perfectly like little puzzle pieces, I'm afraid you're going to be sorely disappointed. I have my theories, and I have my hunches, but, as I've stated on the show before, speculation without proof is worthless. As it is not my intention to further confuse an already bizarrely muddled and misunderstood set of facts, I will leave my ideas to myself and simply report on what happened.

What's inside is is a collection of my memories about the strange occurrences that we filmed in our four years on the road. I know that there have been many requests to elaborate on some of the details that were left out of the show: what happened during our streaming blackout, the exact location of Devil's County, what we learned about Voltaire's DNA sample from the scientists. I can answer a few of those questions, and I intend to. Some things, unfortunately, are gone. My records are lost, and even my memory is beginning to turn fuzzy. I have also lost contact with my associate, meaning that unless she publishes her own statements on these events, I have no witnesses to back up anything. Given how things ended between us, I doubt that will ever happen. You will simply have to trust that what I say is true. If you've stayed with me this far, though, I think that you're willing to take that leap of faith.

Which brings me to my last point: everything was true. Some of you believed, but everyone had doubts. I don't blame you. We marketed ourselves as clever writers whose fictional tales contained just enough details to seem plausible. After the threatened lawsuit, we had to place a disclaimer on our show's opening. Even those of you who are going to find these stories are going to find it described as "fiction". There are reasons we did so, good reasons, reasons that are detailed in this book. I'm tired of lying, though. Even lies told with the best of intentions will eat through your soul. I'm not sure how well this admission will go over with the higher powers in charge, but I no longer care. As Zoey herself once said in the show, consequences be damned.

*******************************************************************************************

So to newcomers and old fans alike, here it is: the bare truth about "Creepy America", all three years of our journeys across the United States. Once more I say to you the line that began every episode since our second broadcast: get your flashlights out, and get ready to shine some light on the darkened corners of the world. Welcome to the America you never knew existed.

Welcome to Creepy America.

-Liam Foster, co-host of Creepy America

Creepy America Episode 1 Worlds of Wonder Hammond, Indiana

Perhaps one of the stranger tales to tell about our time creating Creepy America was simply how it got started. Unlike how it was sometimes insinuated, we didn't simply wake up one day with the idea and the passion to start the show. In fact, Creepy America wasn't supposed to be Creepy America at all. It was supposed to be "Faces of America", and it started with a simple question:

"Hey, do you want to do a road trip?"

We were sitting on the porch of Zoey's house, drinking beer and catching up. Zoey and I had been friends ever since grade school. Over the years we had gotten pretty close, especially during high school, but at this point it had been awhile since we had seen each other. I had gone to Indiana University because of a generous scholarship opportunity while Zoey went to our local community college. We remained friends on Facebook and messaged each other back and forth, but that summer we decided that I should go back to our hometown to meet for what might be the last time. We were both getting pretty far into our degrees and that meant that soon we were going to have to decide on jobs in those fields, at which point there would be no summers to catch up with.

"What do you mean, a road trip?" I asked. In case anyone is curious, I appeared the same way I always did in the show: curly brown hair, white skin, green eyes. It was a pretty hot night out, so I was wearing shorts. Other than that, I can't remember much.

Zoey took another swig of her beer. "You know, a road trip. A road. A trip. The works." She appeared the same as she always did, too. Pale skin, lots of silver piercings in her face, blond hair with one side dyed in neon rainbow colors. She smiled with one of those sweet smiles she always had.

I miss those smiles.

"Yeah, that sounds glamorous. Long hours on the road in a cramped car. Fast food every night. Seedy motels as far as the eye can see." I scoffed and downed some more beer.

"Actually, I was thinking of an R.V."

That caused me to raise an eyebrow. "You're serious aren't you?"

She picked up her laptop that she had beside her. "You remember that video essay I did for my Video Production class?"

"The 'Faces of Ivy Tech' one? Yeah, I remember. That one was pretty good"

"My teacher thought so too. So much so that he actually sent it to some fancy art group." She clicked on the track pad and squinted to read something. "The Film Board of America. They loved it so much that they want me to do another one, but across the country, with different people in each state. A 'Faces of America' thing. Even gave me a grant to do it with."

"How much?"

"Um… 50 grand, about-ish."

"Wow… that's uh, wow."

"Yeah, I know, right?" She closed the laptop. "Anyway I also have an uncle who sells used R.V.s He's willing to give me a pretty big discount if I pay cash for it. And then I remembered you. I figured we could take a year off and travel the countryside. You know, before I leave this town and you turn into one of those boring number people."

"Accountant" I corrected.

"Isn't that what I said?"

I sighed. "Zoey, I don't know. I'm in the middle of school and to just postpone my degree like that…"

She rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, come on Liam. You have the whole rest of your life to be a boring adult. This could be our one last chance to do something big and exciting before we get those stupid nine to fives. An adventure, right? Like what we talked about in fifth grade." She looked at me with bright eyes.

I paused.

"Well?" she asked.

"I… I'm sorry, I just can't. I've got too much to worry about right now."

*******************************************************************************************

She frowned and looked down over the edge of the porch.

"Hey," I said. She looked back up at me. "I'm still gonna be here for the rest of the summer, okay? Let's try to enjoy that time."

She nodded, but the disappointment was still visible on her face.

A few days later we were shopping at a thrift store. Zoey had mentioned something about "various odds and ends for the R.V.", so we ended up driving to different Goodwills. We were at yet another one and the constant looking at towels and silverware was driving me a bit nuts, so I took a break from Zoey's company and headed over to the far corner of the building where a bunch of posters and paintings were located. I flipped through them. Most of them were pretty standard fare: big inspirational words and prints of famous artworks. One of them made me stop, though.

It was a smaller canvas and an actual painting. I could feel the texture of the brush strokes. The picture itself was done in various shades of blue and silver. Two large planets encircled in swirls of gas hung in the sky joined by a pale moon. Mountains surrounded a beach with a large palm tree off to the side. Two dolphins, mid jump and shiny gray, were suspended in the air, all completed by an illegible signature in white.

It felt oddly disturbing to look at. Like a CGI figure that's almost, but not quite, perfect. There was just something... not right about it. Curious, I turned the canvas over, hoping that there would be something on the other side to shed some light on who exactly painted this piece. On the back was a tiny printed sticker.

"Worlds of Wonder. #2 of 59."

I flipped it back over to study the artwork more and traced my finger over the signature. I couldn't even begin to make sense of it. All it appeared to be was a series of large messy loops. Glancing over the rest of the painting didn't help much, either. I'm no artist, so I couldn't really figure out anything that way. I stared at one of the dolphins.

I could almost picture it falling back into the ocean…

"Whatcha got?"

I jumped. I had been so engrossed that I didn't hear Zoey walk up behind me.

She laughed. "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."

"No, it's okay," I said. "I just… uh, got caught up in looking at this thing."

"Here, let me see." I handed the canvas over and she held it up. She smiled. "Wow, talk about strange."

"Yeah, I know." I walked over to the cart to see what Zoey had picked up while I was gone. As I prodded through some of the miscellaneous housewares in the basket, the painting suddenly joined them.

I raised an eyebrow and looked at Zoey. "Really? You're buying that?"

"What?" she asked. "I've got a niece who goes crazy over this kind of stuff."

"Dolphins on different planets?"

"Well, dolphins at least. Plus, she's like five. She'll flip over this."

"Are you sure? It looks kind of… creepy."

Zoey raised an eyebrow at me. "Creepy?"

"Yeah," I was beginning to feel stupid, but I soldiered on anyway. "Creepy. It just… I don't know, it doesn't look right."

She lifted the painting out of the cart and looked it over again. "I don't see anything 'creepy' about it. Weird, yeah. I mean, it is kind of out there, but…"

"Never mind, let's just go. These lights are beginning to hurt my eyes."

*******************************************************************************************

Zoey ended up dropping me off at my house late. It was either midnight or one. I had bought a few things from the thrift stores, mostly just old paperbacks that had been on my list of things to read and, bags in hand, I walked up the steps of my parent's house, unlocked the door, and headed upstairs to my room. Once inside I put the bags down and started taking things out. That's when I noticed the painting again.

It was in one of the bags, lengthwise so it would fit, nestled in between two books. The cashier must have accidentally placed it in my bag when we were checking out. I picked it up and looked at it again.

The dolphin looked back at me. The black eye seemed to almost glisten,

I yawned, then shook my head. "I'm getting freaked out by fake dolphins. I need to go to bed." Painting under my arm, I headed back downstairs and leaned it against the front door so I would remember to give it back to Zoey. Then I headed upstairs, put the new books on my shelf, and flopped onto the bed, still in my clothes. I was out before my head hit the pillow.

*******************************************************************************************

I felt very, very cold. I could only see black. I realized that my eyes were tightly closed, so I opened them.

I was standing on a beach at night. The whole landscape was awash with silver light. The white sand glowed with it. A few feet in front of me stood the water, tranquil and clear. Large blue palm trees swayed behind me, and behind them were grey mountains, also shining in the pale light. Looking up, I saw a huge multitude of stars, and hanging there like overripe fruit were two large gaseous planets.

I was inside of the painting.

Sure enough, just in time to punctuate my thought, a pair of dolphins leapt from the water. Diving back in, they swam away, chasing each other and leaping again.

The mist of the ocean combined with the night air made me shiver and I could see my breath in front of me. Clutching my arms, I turned around and almost tripped when my foot snagged something behind me. It was a sign. Well, sort of. It was more like two large planks of wood nailed together in a waist-high "T" shape. The top board had a shaky "2" drawn on it.

I figured it was just a weird dream. A very, very strange and vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless. My overactive mind had just taken the painting I had thought was so strange and was spending the night recreating it. No biggie.

Even so, I still felt a little on edge. I had this slight feeling of dread, like the kind you get at the beginning of a nightmare, where you realize something's wrong, but you're just not sure what, and you know something's coming, but you're just not sure when. The movement of the palm trees in the wind was making me jump when I saw it out of the corner of my eye. The planets overhead, hanging in midair and moving slowly, made me feel like I was being watched.

Again, I shrugged those feelings aside. So what if it was a weird dream? It was just a dream. Besides, I was lucid right now. I was in control. If anything scary did happen, I could just think it away.

A shiver went up my body. "Right," I said to myself, "let's get rid of this first". I closed my eyes and imagined warmth.

Nothing.

After waiting for a moment, I shrugged and said "okay then we'll just have to work on that later." I headed along the beach with the ocean to my right. After walking a while, the beach turned sharply to the left, and again buried in the sand was another T sign, this one reading "16". I looked over and the sand seemed to go on in a straight line forever.

There was a sudden splash to my right and ice-cold water washed over my skin. I stumbled backwards, falling over on my butt in the sand. One of the dolphins was in the water, about twenty feet away from me, splashing the surface with the flat of its tail. Once it saw that I noticed it, it made a strange chirping noise, like a cross between a regular dolphin sound and a cell phone ring, and disappeared back into the water.

"This is so bizarre."

A muffled noise sounded off to my left and I looked over. Very faintly, almost blended into the sand, was a figure in white, frantically waving his arms and yelling something. I brushed myself off and started to walk in that direction, but it was quickly growing darker. I looked up just in time to see one of the large planets eclipse the moon, and then the dream ended.

*******************************************************************************************

I awoke in bed with sunlight streaming into my room and cold sweat sticking to my skin. Even though I was under my blanket, I was shivering, and the bed felt slightly damp to the touch. I touched my forehead. Clammy skin.

Was I sick? Was that a fever dream?

I headed over to my shower and turned it as hot as I could stand. I stayed under the water for a long, long time. Gradually, I began to feel better. Almost human. A half hour later, I was fine. I stepped out of the shower feeling great. Placing my hand on my forehead again after drying off, it felt normal. Nothing indicated I was sick.

Strange.

Walking back into my bedroom, I found the bizarre painting propped up against my bed. I picked it back up and stared at it.

"I thought I put you by the front door."

Silence.

"Musta forgot." I threw it back on my bed. "I'll have to remember to take you to Zoey's when I visit her later."

The dolphin watched me as I got dressed. I took it downstairs and set it off to the side as I poured cereal into a bowl.

I noticed the dolphin out of the corner of my eye, still glaring at me.

I put my bowl down and looked at it. "Maybe, maybe I could head over right now. I've got nothing better to do anyways."

In this angle and light, the thing looked… almost angry.

I shuddered. "Yeah, definitely right now."

*******************************************************************************************

"I think it got put back in my bag by mistake."

"Huh. Whoops." Zoey said as she took it from me. "I was wondering where it went."

"What's your plans for today?"

"Camera shopping, mostly. Trying to find the best models at my budget. Usually I just make do, but I've got so much I can actually get a decent model this time around. Want to come?"

I had a flashback of the forks at Goodwill. "No thanks, I'll pass."

The dolphin caught my eye again.

"Are you sure you want to give that to your niece? Doesn't it seem… I don't know, a little strange?"

Zoey laughed. "Are you still freaked out about this thing?"

I decided not to tell her about the dream.

I spent the rest of the day just loafing around. It was summer, after all. That was kinda the point. I played some random video games that I had bought a long time ago but never tried. Once I got bored of those, I picked up a paperback I had bought from Goodwill. I munched on some food. Nothing crazy.

Over the course of the day, I managed to forget about the painting and the weird dream, the details slowly fading with every passing hour.

By the time I had laid my head on my pillow and slowly drifted into sleep, I had forgotten it had even happened.

*******************************************************************************************

It was cold. Again.

I sat up with a start, inhaling the freezing, salt-filled air. I was back on the beach. The moon, the planets, the dolphins. It was all there.

I was back.

"What the hell? What's going on?" I stood up and looked around.

As I did so, I saw a man behind me, leaning against a palm tree. He was a white guy with long greasy black hair and a beard to match. His face was gaunt and thin. He was wearing what I assumed used to be a very stylish white three piece suit with golden pinstripes, but it was now a dirty gray with rips and tatters everywhere. The whole outfit hung on him like a blanket. A very battered matching hat completed the ensemble.

Once he saw me looking at him, he straightened up. "Ah, you're awake!"

I immediately took a few steps back and hit something. I spun around to see the "2" sign again, then faced the man. "What's going on?"

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you, everything's fine."

"Who are you?!"

He raised his hands in the air in a show of non-hostility. "I'm Greg Thornstine. A guy who picked up a 'Worlds of Wonder' painting, just like you."

I stared at him. "Wait a minute, what?"

He smiled and lowered his arms. "Alright guys, it's cool. I think he's done freaking out."

Several people now came into view, standing up behind the small crest he was on. There was a Hispanic man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and older woman in a business suit, a teenage girl in black clothing, and another white guy in a camo jacket and pants. They all looked similar to Greg; thing faces, torn, baggy clothing, long hair and beards on the men. They watched me with a dull expression.

"Alright newcomer, welcome. This is Jose, Anne, Suzy, and Tom."

"Uh, hi?"

They stared at me in silence.

"Oh, um… I'm Liam, I guess. What's going on here?"

"Well," Greg started, "at some point, you picked up a 'Worlds of Wonder' painting, just like us. I'm assuming the sticker on the back said '2 of 59?'"

"Yeah…"

Greg pointed to the sign behind me.

"So what, every time I fall asleep I come here?"

Jose said something in Spanish.

"Calm down," Greg said, turning to Jose, "he doesn't know that yet." Then he looked back at me. "I'm afraid that's just the beginning. You've visited here once before, right?"

I remembered the white figure on the beach. "Yeah. Was that you waving at me?"

He nodded. "This place draws you in threes. First night's sleep, second night's sleep, then on the third day. At some point after you wake up, you're going to come back here. And that time, it'll be permanent."

I looked at the group. "I don't believe you."

The teenager shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You'll come here anyway."

"This is just some weird dream I keep having. That's all."

The business woman rolled her eyes. "I told you Greg, this will get us nowhere."

"Hush, Anne. It's worth a shot." Greg turned back to me. "Listen kid, you've got what we didn't have. Forewarning. So listen very closely to what I'm about to tell you."

I took a few steps closer and leaned in.

"When you wake up, grab food. Stuff your face like there's no tomorrow. Cram your pockets with anything you can think of. The higher the calories, the better, but try to diversify. Meat, fruit, candy. Don't worry about it spoiling, Just have as much on you when you come here. You'll thank me later."

I stared. Then I chuckled. I laughed for almost a minute straight. "You're crazy! Scratch that, I'M crazy, YOU'RE not real! This is a dream. I'm not gonna start binge eating just 'cause my dreams told me it was a good idea!"

Jose began muttering in Spanish again.

"I need you to listen to me. Please." Greg looked at me with concern. "This is your one shot here. This is going to happen. I can't stop it, and neither can you. This is your one chance to make sure your life isn't a living hell when you get here. Please just take it."

"Then answer me this: why has no one thought to try fishing?" I gestured to the ocean behind me, arms flailing.

At that moment, the dolphin jumped out of the water, chirping another mechanical sound.

"Ain't no fish in that ocean." The man in camo said darkly. "And before you go getting any bright ideas, there's nothing in those dolphins 'cept gears and springs. We've tried everything there is to try."

I lowered my arms. "What about escaping?"

The business woman shook her head. "This place is an island. Nowhere to go. And even if we knew where we could swim to, those… things" she spat, looking out at the waves "would tear us apart in no time flat."

"This is insane." I whispered.

"Insane or not, it's happening." Greg said. "And it's going to keep happening. For your own sake, Liam, do what I said."

I moved around the sign and began backing up. "No no no no no no no, this isn't happening. This isn't real. This is just a weird dream, this isn't…" I felt a sudden surge of cold around my ankles, Surprised, I lost my balance and fell backwards into the cool, dark water. I was buffed about by a wave, dragged farther in. I tried to swim up, but I couldn't. The air burned in my lungs. I screamed, and stinging salt water filled my chest. Struggling, I slowly lost consciousness…

…and awoke in my own bed.

It was soaked. Every movement I made caused the mattress to seep salt water, like an over-absorbed sponge. There was a thin layer of it trickling down my body, and I was violently shivering. Even my teeth were chattering.

"W-wh-wha-th-the-f-f-f-f-f" I stumbled out of my bed, fell on the floor, and scrambled back up, putting the shower on the highest heat possible, stripped out of my clothes and climbed in, too shocked to think. After an eternity standing under the blazing hot water, feeling returned to my fingers, and I turned the heat down just a bit. I started going over my options.

What the hell was I supposed to do? Go to the police? And tell them what? I'm going to get kidnapped by a painting? A theoretical physicist might be more help. Or a ghostbuster. I laughed. I felt like a lunatic. I suppose I was close to becoming one.

"Calm down" I said out loud. "We're going to approach this one option at a time. Just think of the next thing to do. After that's done, you can think of what to do after that."

Zoey. I'll ask her. She's handled the painting too. Maybe the same thing's been happening to her, but she just wrote it off like I did. At the very least, she might have an idea of what to do next.

I stepped out of the shower, dried off, and went back to my room.

The painting was hanging above my bed's headboard.

I looked at it, then touched it.

It fell to the ground. The wall behind it had no hooks or nails to keep it in place.

I grabbed the painting and rushed off to Zoey's place.

*******************************************************************************************

"Alright, one more time. Slower please."

I was at Zoey's house, in her living room. Her dad answered the door as he was leaving to go to work. She was still sleeping, so she was talking to me in her pajamas.

"I've told you three times already. Why don't you believe me?" I asked.

"I believe you. Or at least, I believe you think you're telling the truth. You are way too freaked out to be making this up right now."

"So what, I'm crazy?"

She looked at me. "That's definitely one possibility."

I waved the painting in the air. "Then how do you explain this?"

"Well, I'd rather not think you broke into my house and stole it…"

"Are you fucking serious! This is…"

Zoey grabbed the sides of my head and locked eyes with me. "Liam! Calm down! I said it was a possibility! I didn't say that this whole painting kidnapping thing wasn't also a possibility! Now, look at me."

I stopped flailing about and kept eye contact.

"You are NOT going to get stuck in that painting" she said loudly.

"But Greg said…"

She stared at me.

"Right, I'm not going to get stuck in this painting."

"Good." She let go of me and walked over to her dining room table, where her laptop and a bunch of cameras sat.

I jumped up and followed her. "So what are we going to do?"

"You're going to help me test this camera's ability to stream."

"What? Zoey, we need to do something about this!"

"This is something!" Zoey yelled back. Then she sighed and spoke in a much softer voice. "Look, I don't know what to do. This is the best I can think of. This way, I can keep tabs on you all day. If the day goes by and you're still on planet earth, we'll deal with you being crazy. If you vanish and the stream goes out, I figure out how to get you back."

"So that's your plan? Wait until I get vanished then figure out how to pull me back?"

"Until we can think of a better one."

I sighed. "Alright. I'll wait here for you to get dressed, I guess."

*******************************************************************************************

I was incredibly tense the whole rest of the day.

It was bad. I jumped at every little noise. Especially water. Anything moved, I immediately shouted at it. I alternated between filming and heading back to Zoey's computer to watch her compare the qualities of each footage capture. It didn't help that I was shaking the whole time, making the videos look pretty much incomprehensible.

The worst was when Zoey told me to go out into the neighborhood far away to test the range. Every time, she had to assure me that if the stream went out and I didn't come back for five minutes, she would assume the worst had happened. When I was done filming, she would text me to come back, and I would bolt. Even though it was only five minutes, I swear they took forever. Something about being alone made me feel vulnerable.

Zoey, for her part, was holding it together remarkably well. She alternated between shouting directions at me and calming me down, then do some stuff on her laptop like nothing was wrong. Still not 100 percent sure how she did it; my behavior alone should have been enough to unnerve her.

It was about five at this point and the sun was just barely beginning to set.

"Alright Liam, I need you to go behind that shed."

I looked over to the small building in her backyard. "That one?"

"Yeah" she looked over at me. "Don't worry, I'll be watching the footage the whole time."

I inhaled. "Okay." With the camera on my shoulder, I slowly crept up behind the shed and stepped around.

Darkness.

Suddenly, silver light bathed the landscape. It was that damn painting again. I twirled around, pointing the camera in every direction. "ZOEY! ZOE! ARE YOU SEEING…"

A fist suddenly landed square on my jaw. There wasn't a lot of power behind it, but it surprised me so much that it caused me to lose my balance, falling over on the sand. I looked down to see the gaunt Greg fishing through my pockets, with the rest of the group behind him.

"Damn it! Nothing! Not one single thing! WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?" He slapped my face hard, hard enough to sting.

"I..what…who?"

"Come on, Greg, your little experiment didn't work." The business woman took out a sharpened shiv. "Time to do what we should have done originally."

He glared at me. "Not even a single pack of Oreos? Come on, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

The teen girl scoffed and she drew out a similar shiv. "Like we wouldn't have killed him if he did."

"No, but, fuck, I miss Oreos." Greg scowled and revealed a large hunting knife.

I panicked. Out of pure, primal reflex, I squirmed out from under Greg and kicked him in the face. He was surprisingly light and flew backwards, a sickening crunch coming from his face. I scurried to my feet and grabbed the camera, not sure why, and sprinted away on the beach.

"SHOOT HIM TOM!" I heard Greg yell from behind me.

"Only got four bullets left."

Spanish.

"No, but just sayin'…"

There was a bang of sound and I felt a stinging sensation at my arm. I saw blood running down it and had to readjust my grip to keep the camera. There was another, and I felt a similar sensation on my leg.

"AGAIN!"

"Stop it Greg! We've only got two bullets left! Let him bleed out."

I kept running, but the beach seemed to go on forever. My muscles felt sore, My lungs were on fire. I felt close to collapse. I tripped over my own feet and fell face-first in the sand, salt and grit going up my nostrils and into my mouth. I started to get up, but I couldn't. Despite the cold, I felt like I was burning up.

"See?"

"I'll get the fire going. Good eating for once."

The heat kept rising. My flesh felt like it was on fire. I began to scream as my vision turned red.

"What the hell?…"

Darkness overtook me.

I woke up in Zoey's back yard.

"Liam, Liam, holy shit are you alright?"

I coughed out bloody sand. "Never better. I'm just gonna…" My vision faded into black again.

"Hey, HEY!" Zoey slapped me. "Stay awake. C'mon, we're going to the hospital."

"Wonderful" I muttered as she dialed some numbers on her phone.

******************************************************************************************* 

As we waited for the ambulance to get there, Zoey made me recite a cover story about how I had accidentally shot myself with her hunting rifle while she was showing it off to me. I later learned that this had two reasons: one, to keep me conscious until the paramedics could do their thing, and two, to give a good cover story to the police. As she told me later, "The last thing I wanted to have happen that day was to get my stuff ransacked from the Men in Black or something."

Because I kept trying to fall asleep on her, she made me recite it over and over again. Good thing, too; I ended up telling it so well that when the cops had finished taking my statement, one of them told me "Sorry to trouble you, but it's procedure. We just want to make sure this wasn't something else."

I smiled and told them I understood.

I spent a week or two in the ICU. The nurse told me that the shots were, luckily, grazes. Neither managed to strike any vessels, muscles, or bones, so all I needed was some blood and stitches, then some observation to make sure there were no complications.

My parents visited once or twice, and even Zoey's dad. Zoey, however, stayed the most by my side, usually in a corner fiddling with her cameras or laptop. When I told her she could go home, she just scoffed and went back to whatever she was doing.

On the second day, I started feeling better and actually started to stay up instead of briefly waking up and then passing out. When Zoey came back to my room to hang out, I smiled and waved at her.

"Hey, you were right."

"About what?" she asked.

"I didn't get stuck in the painting."

She shook her head and laughed. "Liam, I honestly thought you were crazy. I was gonna show you the stream footage after the day was over and then try to convince you to check into an asylum." She sat down across from me and filled me in on what happened from her end.

Apparently, when I went behind the shed, the streaming didn't stop. In fact, the camera showed Zoey everything that was happening: the beach, Greg, all of it. Later in the week, she played me the video that was taken, proof that I wasn't insane. It shows everything, including the air going orange, dark, and then suddenly reappearing in the backyard.

As soon as Zoey saw this landscape with me in it, she freaked. She ran upstairs, tore up the painting and broke the wood canvas, and ran back to the yard, where her laptop was. When that failed to do anything, she ran back inside and got the painting scraps, threw them in the backyard, and set them on fire. After a second or two, the fire erupted and doubled in size, and a few seconds after that, the video turned orange. The fire died down and I was lying there, unharmed with the exception of the gunshots. Somehow, I managed to hold onto the camera the whole time.

"Good thing too, or I would've thrown you back there" she joked.

Both the SD card in the camera and the stream footage recorded the same thing. We spent a long time talking about what had happened, and we ended up deciding not to show it to anyone else. At best, they probably thought we were trying to pull some elaborate prank. At worst… who knows?

It must have really stuck in Zoey's head, though, because after a few days, she asked if she could post it online, under the guise of a short horror film project and write out what had happened before that as a creepypasta-like story. She promised to change all the names. I didn't see a reason not to, so I said sure.

After a few days, when I was no longer recovering but just under observation, the visitors stopped coming, and even Zoey showed up less frequently. Bored, I spent some time online, looking up "Worlds of Wonder."

Nothing showed up.

The only thing I found was on Greg Thornstine. Apparently, he was once a multimillionaire heir and art enthusiast. He disappeared one night after acting irrationally and was never found. I read his whole story on an article entitled "10 of the Most Mysterious Missing Persons Cases in History." No mention of the painting.

I couldn't find anything on anyone else. Just a factoid that at any given time, around 90,000 people are missing in the United States.

I stopped searching after that.

*******************************************************************************************

One week later, I was out of the hospital. The doctor told me to avoid alcohol for the time being, so naturally, Zoey wanted to celebrate with beers at her place. I told her I'd come but not drink. She laughed and then told me she had something to show me.

We were once again sitting on her porch. With a flourish, she pulled out her laptop and showed it to me. It was the footage from the beach, uploaded to Youtube. It had 100,000 views.

"I just uploaded this, like, three days ago!" she exclaimed. "It's already blown up! This thing is everywhere! And everyone's talking about the story too! How it's so weird and creepy! It gave me an idea: why don't I do this stuff while I'm filming the 'Faces of America' thing? I'll already be going place to place. I could do this, like, video pod format where each episode is a different city or state and I'll talk about the urban legends and maybe even find something! Wouldn't that be cool?"

"Zoey…"

"Before you say anything, I'm not trying to rope you into it. I mean, I already know you can't come, but…"

"Zoey!"

She stopped.

"I'm in."

Zoey looked at me. "Liam, don't mess with me."

"I'm serious. Zoey, I just saw something that shouldn't exist. And nobody would know about that painting if you hadn't have posted it. It makes…" I could feel myself blushing a bit, but I continued. "It makes me wonder what else is out there."

Zoey didn't respond. She just looked at me. Then she hugged me. Hard.

That's how Creepy America started.

[houseofvans]

SKETCHY BEHAVIORS | Interview with VALERIE SAVARIE

Denver artist Valerie Savarie creates intricately carved book sculptures that she painstakingly maps out and cuts, forming her own unique narrative creation. Each of her unique sculptures can take her from 40 hours to over 100 hours to complete. Not only one thing, Valerie also runs a collective gallery, Valkarie Gallery in Colorado, where various artists in the community show and share work. We find out more about Valerie’s book sculpture process, what her favorite tome creation is, and the things that inspire her. 

Take the leap below! 

Photographs courtesy of the artist. 

Introduce yourself Howdy! My name is Valerie Savarie and I create carved book sculptures. I live in the Mile High city of Denver, Co, sharing a house with two cats Meelo and Varuka and my ever loving and supportive husband Matt. As cats are insatiable creatures when it comes to food and attention (which can turn into a zero creativity day), I eventually relocated my studio to Lakewood where it is connected to the collective gallery I run (Valkarie). I believe in lots of vitamin C to keep me healthy and creating (coffee, carrots and chips). Random fact: most of my tattoos are beyond the legal drinking age.

What was your introduction to art like? I was fortunate that my parents got myself and my sisters into art as kids. During the summers instead of wasting our time in front of the TV, we were enrolled in art programs. The city where I grew up - Madison, WI – also had this (and still does to this day) awesome thing called the Art Cart that would find its way to various parks over the summer and have free art projects – my favorite was the plaster casting of our faces at the beach. My dad also took us to many galleries and lectures. I can remember being in third or fourth grade and attending a Georgia O’Keeffe exhibition.

How did that eventually lead you to creating your own works and specifically your book sculptures? Honestly, I have an older (not too much older) sister that was always the artist so I shied away from art for years. Sure, I was a professional doodler, yet I wanted to be my own person and struggled with the sibling rivalry a la Jan and Marcia for years. I turned to creative writing in high school and the first go around of college. Finally, I moved away, and moved away again, tried college a second time majoring in interior design and minoring in scenic design (secretly I wanted to be an architect) and ended up having a professor that had an MFA – Robert Work – who I am still friends with (god, it has been over 15 years since graduation). He reignited that artistic spark in me. I even applied to grad school for art and got rejected from every school I applied to yet I still made art.

A few years down the road I met my husband and he really pushed me to get my art out in public, which was frightening. I ended up joining a co-op where I experimented with various mediums and styles. I created some cube sculptures (bartered autocad drawings for them) and I was in love. 3D art took over my heart, unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to buy the cubes out right and my cabinet maker friend didn’t need any more drawings. So I sought out something that I could afford for material, something that was also easy to come by and easy to manipulate. A thrift store junky, I decided to test my hand on carving up books. That was just over 7 years ago.

What is the process for book creations? From start to finish, how long does the entire piece take? My pieces are formed by three different processes of creation: what it is, what I want it to be and it will be what it will be. What it is means that the story in the book inspires me. What I want it to be means that I have an idea that I need to find a book that fits the visual story I want to create, whereas it will be what it will be means I take a book with no idea in mind as to how it will turn out and intuitively start cutting.

I would say about 67% of the books I create fall into the what I want it to be category so that’s what I will describe. I will get an image stuck inside my head and think about it quite a bit before I will put pencil to paper, working out basic concepts in my head and then creating a very rudimentary sketch (mainly so I don’t forget the idea). I then head off to the stacks – a very unorganized collection – in search of a book whose story has some of the same elements as mine. This is a daunting task as I have no idea as to what the content of at least 97% of the books I house is.

Sadly the adage “you can’t judge a book by its cover” is all too accurate. Titles can be misleading, the content seems like a good match but the cover has illustrations that are in conflict with the vision, and heaven forbid I can’t find any information on the book on Google and then have to decide if I have the time to invest in reading a few chapters or should just keep looking elsewhere.

After hours and even days of searching, I find the match – the perfect companion to my vision. I leaf through most of the pages, book marking those passages, illustrations, lack of text or unique text layout for me to revisit as I cut layer by layer, page by page. Then a slightly more detailed sketch is created – and then comes the point of no return …

I draw the shape of the cut out on the cover and with book and blade in hand, the transformation begins. All cuts are done with a craft knife – yes, even the cover. It is cut by scoring multiple times and then stab and drag, stab and drag. Sure, there are easier ways to do this - the not so occasional accidental sacrifice of blood still doesn’t deter me - I prefer to use my hands, to be able to pack up to my art, take it anywhere I chose to create and not worry about access to electricity. With the cover hole cut, I take out my file and smooth the opening, refine the curves and lines. Then another sketch of how the piece will be laid out is drawn on the front leaf of the book. This can be especially handy to have in more complex designs where I use the image as a template or stencil when cutting the many layers.

From then on out, it is just a matter of cutting one to three pages at a time. The number of pages is determined by the quality of the paper and over all design. Admittedly, this can become tedious if the depth of the layer is greater than ¼” but it is also important for me NOT to rush through the cutting of pages stage as phrases and images easily hide from view when I first go through the book in search of the elements I want expose.

Accidents do happen – the occasional over cut of a section or completely cutting out a page I meant to keep. I am very rigid in my creative process – if the section has been completely cut through, I just walk away from it – even though it would be quite easy to simply glue that section to the page below. The story can develop plot twists during this time as the layers start taking on a different life and their shadows start telling a story of their own as I cut deeper and deeper.

This, the lengthiest part of the creation process, I mentally start to flesh out what the painted characters – or inhabitants – of the book sculpture will look like (I can easily spend over 40 hours of just cutting the pages and so have a lot of “free creative brain time”) . How will they interact in the environment, what will their facial expression be? I dare not start painting them until all pages that will be cut, are cut, as I want the character - be in human, animal or other worldly - to look as if they had grown up in the book sculpture and has called it home forever. The characters are painted with acryla gouache on sheets of mixed media paper or directly onto the book page. The latter is more of a spirit creature – a ghost that is still very much part of the life force of the book. These little paintings are then mounted to illustration board for rigidity and cut out (again by hand with a craft knife).

Once the book cutting is complete and the character painted, I move on to the last creative piece which ties the story together (literally) - the stitching. Each altered book piece has some thread or string (occasionally wire is substituted) added to help in the visual story telling. It can be very elaborate such as sewing branches and leaves onto the cover or something as simple as a few blades of grass. The drilling to create the needle holes in the cover is (again) done with a hand tool called a jeweler’s drill. This nifty device has interchangeable bits from the diameter of a hair to 7mm lead. I believe the longest recorder amount of time I have spent drilling/stitching a single piece is 15 hours.

Now it’s time to do all the boring stuff that makes the piece ready to hang. All the pages are bound together, I create a little wire coat hanger in which the piece can be hung and sew it onto the back of the book as well as stitch in the publication and rebirth years. Both covers are glued to the bound pages, clamped and by the next day, what was once an orphaned book, now rid of its shell, is a three dimensional sculpted piece of art!

And that is how my book sculptures are born.

How long? On average 40 hours a piece. A few take less time and I have spent over 100 hours on a piece more than once.

Where do the books come from? Are they from collecting or via donation? How are you inspired when creating these intricate piece? Are they inspired by the book or from an idea you jotted down? My books come fro various sources. Initially I would get them at thrift stores, the rule was that they had to be as old as me. I normally still stick to that rule unless it is a commission or a piece created for a specific themed show. More recently, I have had a lot of books donated to me – some because the thrift stores won’t take them any more and others because the former owners’ had cherished them and hoped that they could find new life in my hands. On rare occasions I do order from Ebay. I prefer the hunt, stalking down the perfect book, taking weeks and even months. Sometimes, I don’t have that luxury due to deadlines.

Normally I have a concept I want to develop, I look through my stacks (which numbers in the 100’s and shelved at random) hoping to find one that has a similar story line. Since I don’t have time to read each one, I go online and do research – reading the synopses – as well as skimming the books. This can be dangerous as sometimes the books I am sorting through pull me in and new inspiration is born from the written word.

I see my pieces as more of a collaboration between myself and the authors and illustrators. I use their art form as an inspiration stream and add my own twist (or chapter) to create the stories anew.

Is there a piece that was directly influenced by a memory or experience you’ve had or story you’ve heard? It is rare that I remember my dreams but a few years ago I awoke and remembered having a very strange dream about tiny cyclops octopuses and tea cups. Shortly there after I stumbled across a Reader’s Digest collection that contained 20,000 leagues Under the Sea and so I had to create the little cyclopes – sans teacups. I really want to revisit that dream in art form again – with the tea cups – as of yet, I haven’t come across any books that would fit.

What’s the perfect day at the studio like for you? What kinds of things would we find in your creative space?

A perfect day would start around 6pm. I prefer to work at night until the early hours of the morning. I would have a nice cup of endless coffee at hand, a bag of baby carrot and raw nuts available for snacking (separate bags) and some left over Indian food for later in the evening/morning. The original Twin Peaks is playing in the back ground (i pretty much have the dialogue memorized) and my shoes are off and slippers on.

Spread around me on the floor (I work sitting on the floor) is a brand new cutting mat that smells of childhood summer beach toys, an assortment of craft knifes with brand new blades (I rarely use new blades as I have learned to sharpen them) and a vintage book begging me to caress its pages, ogle its inner beauty and then skillfully and slowly start to transform its story from the 2D writing into a 3D world it never knew it could be!

Within my studio I have quite a nice collection of small art (besides my own of course). I use it for inspiration and feed off the remnants of creative energy that the artists left with each piece. There are books, LOTS of books that have no rhyme or reason to their shelving locations or book neighbors. I have quite a few orchids which may or may not be in bloom – all of which were gifts. I have a cool vintage love seat which normally is a place for art to lounge on along with the occasional visitor. A nice collection of coffee mugs – with at least half of them needing to be washed- and of course a coffee maker. I also have an old radio from probably the 30’s that I occasionally plug in and turn on – the sound is great but there aren’t that many am radio stations with strong enough signal that are worth listening to.

What’s one of your favorite creations you’ve made and why? I created a piece based on Pan’s Labyrinth. It was the first piece of fan art I had ever created.

I rarely actually watch movies or t.v. - I listen to them but my eyes and hands are busy creating art. I don’t like foreign films that have voice overs, there is just something unnerving about them.

So with Pan’s Labyrinth, it is something that I actually had to watch. It is a visual masterpiece – as is everything that Guillermo del Toro does.

Creating art based off of something that is already a magnificent piece of art is quite challenging. I didn’t want it to be obviously fan art it was important I make it my own. I ended up using a book in Spanish about the Spanish Civil war. I also used some techniques that were new to me – removing the decorative fabric only from the cover to create pattern, adding color and even adding the cover of a larger book as a backdrop. Oh yeah, and a drop of blood – my fingers tips are pretty callused from art making it took a little more effort than I liked to get that blood.

It was exciting to use new techniques and to push myself to be precise and exact – an actual labyrinth with tiny stairs down to the portal – and at the same time use my imagination to explore concepts that I could only see (movie) and not read and translate them into my own design.

What’s your main tool for making art? Is there a medium you’re wanting to try? A craft knife with an Excel blade – the brand REALLY makes a big difference. In a tie would be a good mat – still looking for the perfect one.

I took a class last year on wood block cutting and would really like to do more with that. I think it would work well with the book page scraps I collective (I have many many boxes of them) plus it is another substractive art techniquewhich makes sense in my brain.

Who are some artists that you’re inspired by and have influenced you throughout the years? Edward Gorey is my main influence. Partially because he was both a visual artist and a writer. I love how dark his images are and the same time laced with humor. His black and white color palette obviously works for me as well. There is a simplicity to it and at the same time it is so masterfully done that the work appears much more expansive than it already is.

As far as artists that are alive and kicking today, my local biggest influences are Aria Fawn and Nicole Grosjean. They are completely different in everything they do and at the same time such masters of detail and story telling.

Aria creates surreal and fantastic worlds in watercolor, largely inspired by the beautiful and violent balance of nature and wild things and the cycle of life, death and rebirth. There is such organic and natural beauty in her style, a freeness that I strive to incorporate into my rigid calculated creation process. I probably own more of Aria’s art than anyone else's - I have multiple pieces by her in my studio and home. She is constantly with me, always inspiring, motivating and energizing my creative spirit.

Nicole on the other hand, creates tiny worlds from hand cut, hand painted paper – which she considers three dimensional illustration. Sometimes there are over a thousand individually cut and painted pieces of paper in one work of art. She is so precise, so CLEAN I have no idea how she does it. I have a very tiny praying mantis in a watch piece from her as well as a larger dragon that I got for my husband as a gift to cover all holidays for several years.

My my top three non locals are Jolene Lai, Jason Limon and Kristen Egan. They all are completely different from one another – Kristen creates magical creatures from gourds. I am dying to get my hands on one as 3D art really needs to be experienced in person to feel the texture, see how the light and shadow changes the mood of the piece. She makes it look so seamless – at first glance I thought the were ceramic.

When I first saw Jason’s work I thought it was the most amazing paper cut art I had ever seen, then I realized it was a painting! His playfulness along with social commentary paired with his insane talent to place highlights and shadows it something I strive for. I feel that my painted characters could be so much more influential – a better actor one could say – in the dioramas I create if they appeared more three dimensional. I am lucky to own one small original that lives with me in my studio.

And then there is Jolene. I would consider her one of the greatest artists of all time. There is so much emotion, energy, story telling in her paintings. Her use of color (and again light and shadow) makes her works hyper realistic to me – I feel sucked in and transformed as an active participant in her paintings. I own two beautiful graphite pieces of hers which live at my house.

What’s your experience been like with the art scene in your area? How is the artist community? I LOVE the art scene in Denver. We are a “new” city that still has not lost its small town connectivity in the arts. Artists support other artists, galleries support other galleries. It is not an us vs them mentality here and I really think it will stay that way.

I got my start in a traditional co-op gallery that sadly just closed this year after being open for nearly 30 years.

They rejected me the first time around and told me what to change for the next application round and I got in that second time.

Even at Valkarie we host a drop in creative night every Thursday – going on almost five years. All levels of artists come, from doodlers to professionals, painters to jewelry makers. We openly give feedback on what we re working on and share calls for art and discuss booth set ups for conventions – what works and what doesn’t.

How do you stay inspired on those days when you’re feeling uninspired? To be honest, it has been years since I felt uninspired. I think because of the super supportive art community I always have someone to run ideas off of. Also, the books themselves are full of written and visual inspiration, an unending supply of it. And all that awesome art I collect, for me it’s not a lack of inspiration it’s more a lack of what I want to focus on – too many bees buzzing with ideas in my brain.

When you’re not working in the studio, what are you doing? What do you enjoy? Truth be told, 83% of my waking time revolves around art. Besides spending time with my own art and running Valkarie Gallery, there isn’t much time for anything else.

In that 17%, I enjoy making pies from scratch with my husband, getting out into the mountains to escape all the compartmentalizing of city life and being servant to the cats – if they had their way, I wouldn’t get any art done at all.

If I ever find “free” time again I would love to get back into creative writing, pick up the violin again and go on more bike rides. Nothing sporty, just peddling around town with no destination in mind.

What advice would you give someone who is thinking of becoming an artist? Start young – before you get tied down with a house, spouse or kids. It is much easier to get by on less while you are young.

Don’t feel like you have to get a degree in art (I know I will catch flack for this one). Do take art classes, marketing classes, get involved in with meet up art groups and build community. Some of the most successful artists I know have no formal art degree. Their talent, passion and drive have given them much success without a pile of debt and they tend to be the most active in artist groups.

Know that rejection is 90% of the game and don’t get discouraged. It doesn’t mean you aren’t good at what you do, it can mean that you weren’t what they were looking for. If you are really passionate, you will always create no matter what others say about your art.

Develop a style that is unique to you. This can be the most difficult especially with everything being available to anyone with a smartphone, computer or tablet. I think it is one of the reasons I keep creating the book sculptures and expanding what they are.

What are your FAVORITE Vans?  It really depends on the weather and where I am headed. If it is snowy or raining and am headed to the studio, slip-ons are best, so I can easily take them off and on multiple times a day (sitting on wet shoes is a mistake only made once). In good weather, any Vans are comfortable enough to wear evening while squatting on the floor creating art.

Finally, can you tell us about any exciting things you’ve got coming up? This year I have had my art in five different states and at the beginning of December I will be showing in my sixth. I will have a booth at the Recycled Art Market in Santa Fe, NM. This will be the first time showing my art there and think I will come back with some pretty exciting new ideas on how to incorporate other repurposed items into my books and maybe even find some new resources for creating my sculptures.

I also have two commission coming up that I am really excited to get going on. Will be doing A Clockwork Orange piece and The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe(for two different clients). It has been decades since I read either but I think these two both warrant a reread before I start them (I really do my best to avoid watching movies of books for inspiration).

FOLLOW VALERIE SAVARIE | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE

[zahinazara26]

Dragon Tattoo

Jungkook x reader

You are a normal tattoo artist working hard, until one day a guy comes to your tattoo room, asking for a dragon tattoo on his back. It takes you a while to realise that he is the member of one of the most famous boy groups of all times, BTS! A friendship will flourish between you, but could it become something else?

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

PART 1:

"Hi, (Y/n). How's it going?"

"Hi, Max" you said, entering the tattoo studio. "What do we have today?"

"You don't have a busy evening, a group of girls coming for some group tattoos. And then a guy coming for a design at nine."

"Nice, when are the girls coming?"

"Half an hour. I left the designs on your table. Easy stuff."

"Nice, thanks Max."

"Anytime, (Y/n)."

You entered you room, taking off your black leather jacket, leaving it on your chair. You looked at yourself in the mirror, the full-length mirror on the wall, while tying up your long black hair. You were wearing your ripped tight jeans and one of your white shirts, with your favourite black Vans. Your shirt leaves your arms tattoos out, full sleeve on your right arm, half sleeve on your left arm. You are still working on finishing the latter, working on some designs to finish it. You have many tattoos, the ones on your right arm extend to you back, you have also an under-boob one and a few more on your thighs. You've done some of them yourself, the rest are Max's. You wouldn't let anybody else tattoo you.

You heard voices outside your room. Female voices giggling. Those must be the girls. You checked on the designs Max left. Yeah, small tattoos, few words, geometric design, easy stuff. Just like Max said. This won't take long. You wanted to spent some time finishing your left arm tattoos. If the girls don't take long... I could begin with the new ones, before the next client comes.

"(Y/n), the girls are here" said Max opening the door.

"Yeah, send them in."

Young female voices filled your room. There were seven of them, they looked a few years younger than you between 17 and 18 years old.

"Ok, girls. I'm (Y/n) and I will do your tattoos" you said with a smiled. They all greeted me and bowed. "Please, show me your ID's and those who are underage, I need your tutors official consent, ok?"

They all did, they were indeed between 17 and 18 years old. They looked like a group of friends from the same school (they were wearing the same uniform).

After that, they begun, one by one, sitting on the stretcher and getting their tattoos done. They behaved quite well, they were scared and shook a bit, but they took it well. They all had them done on their arms, it's not an area with high pain rates, but still. They behaved quite well.

At seven you had already finished, Max had a few other appointments, but it was generally a calm evening. You sat down in front of your iPad. You'd been working on that design for a while now, it was almost ready. You gave it a few more touches... and done. It was finished. It was not very big. A set of lotus flowers on your forearm, from your wrist to almost the elbow. You had decided to add a few colours, but that will have to wait for another day, that evening was only for the black lines.

The tattoo was printed quickly, carefully you began putting the pattern on your arm. The machine was already on, sweetly buzzing. You began tattooing. The familiar pain was almost silenced by the sound of the machine. You were completely focused, carefully following the line of the pattern. You loved tattooing, there was something therapeutic on it. Creating something that will be there forever, on somebody's skin. The evening passed without you even noticing. Your tattoo was almost done, just a few more touches on the petals. There was knocking on the door, dragging you out of your focus.

"(Y/n), the guy is here!" said Max. "Do I send him in?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm almost done here. It's okay."

Just finish the last flower, these two petals...

"Hi!" said a voice behind you.

"Hi! Please, come in. It's just a minute and I'll be all yours."

"Okay, no hurries."

You finished your tattoo. It's perfect, the best one yet. You were very proud of that one, you'd been thinking about it for almost a year. It was very gratifying seeing it taking form on your skin. You finished wrapping it up, carefully and...

"Yeah, I'm done. Sorry to keep you waiting" you said. You turned around, a young man was there looking a bit lost. He was wearing black sweatpants and white shirt with a huge denim jacket. He was very handsome, bright eyes looking everywhere around him.

"It's okay, really" he said.

"I'm (Y/n), nice to meet you" you said offering your hand.

"I'm Jeon Jungkook, nice to meet you too" he said shaking your hand with a huge smile on his face.

"Okay, so you wanted an original design for your tattoo" you said, inviting him to sit down next to you, in front of your iPad. "What were you thinking about?"

"Well, I wanted a tattoo on my back, the upper part. I was thinking about a Chinese dragon, a big one, like in zig-zag. I don't know if I'm explaining myself."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. Do you have a specific style in mind?"

"Yeah, actually... I've been doing a lot of research for this and I've seen your Instagram account and... well..." he looked a bit embarrassed, you couldn't help but smile. "I've become a huge fan of your art, you know."

You laughed.

"Thank you, it's very nice of you."

"Yeah, well... I've seen the designs you did in like a sketch kind of style? and, yeah... that's what I was thinking about. I wanted it to look like a half-done sketch, like a drawing. Would that be possible?"

"Yeah! Yeah, definitely. It's a great idea."

"Thank you." He looked relieved.

You began looking for drawings and designs and different types of dragons, trying to figure out what he wanted. He seemed to have a pretty clear idea of what type of dragon he wanted, it didn't take long before you had a clearer idea of what he was looking for.

"Okay, so now. Show me exactly where you want it, so I can have a clear picture of the size and the form of the dragon."

"I wanted it on my back."

He stood up and begun trying to show you where he wanted it. You stood up with him, touching his back, trying to get a mental image of the design. You could feel his muscular back, he had taken off his jacket, so his white shirt revealed a broad and strong back. His arms were strong too, bigger than they looked with the jacket on. Who is this guy? He moves like a dancer or something.

"Okay, I think I have a pretty clear idea" you said. "It will take me a day or so to have the full design, so I will probably contact you tomorrow evening or the morning the day after."

"Really? That's great!"

"So, should I give you a call to the number you contacted us?"

"No, that's the number of my company, I'll give you my personal one."

Company? It definitely looks like he's a dancer or maybe a singer too.

He took a pen and wrote his number and his name on a shit of paper.

"Here you have" he said, handing you the piece of paper.

"Okay, I will contact you soon with the first draft, it doesn't matter how much it will take us. Any changes you want to make, say it and will do it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Well, then if that's all..."

"Yeah, I think so" he said. "One more thing!"

"Yes?"

"Could I... see your tattoo? The one you just did."

"Oh! Yeah, sure" you said extending your arm.

He took your arm carefully, raising it towards his face. He is very handsome. His hair was messy, but neat, and his eyes, dark brown, like shining. He had a bright smile, he genuinely looked happy and young and nice.

"It's beautiful" he said.

"Thank you... uh, it's not finished yet, I have to had the colours."

"It's amazing, it will look incredible when it's done. What colours were you thinking of?"

"Oh, I have a few options actually."

You reached to your iPad, looking for the different designs you had. He situated himself behind you, you could feel his breath on your neck. Your heart began beating fast.

"Here"

He took your iPad.

"Wow. They are beautiful. Are you going to do it all yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm planning on it. I'll ask Mark for help if a need it, but in principle, it will be just me."

"Amazing." He was looking at you now. He's very intense, oh my god.

"So, tell me" you said. "Which do you like the best?"

He looked at your iPad again, frowning a bit. He looked cute, focusing on the drawings.

"Well, I like this one better, but I think it will be too dark. You have very light skin, so I think this one will look better. I love that red, it will look amazing on you. In fact, I think it will combine perfectly with the tattoos you have on your upper arm."

He said that touching your arm, your tattoos, comparing them with the design on your iPad.

"Okay, I'll think about what you've said."

"Great" he looked very pleased. "I hope to hear from you soon."

"Yeah, it won't take long. I'll send you a message as soon as I have it finished."

"Okay, thank you very much. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, so nice of you."

"Goodbye, (Y/n)."

"Goodbye, Mr. Jeon."

"Jungkook, just Jungkook it's fine."

"Okay, Jungkook."

He winked and left your room, carefully closing the door.

That night, you arrived home thinking about Jungkook's design. You wanted to create something special, it was going to be one of the biggest tattoos you had ever done. Not particularly complicated, but still challenging.

You changed to some more comfortable clothes, prepared some instant noodles and begun working on it on your couch. Your TV was on, just to have some kind of sound in the background. You began drawing the dragon, the way he had specified. He had pretty good taste, all the details he wanted worked very well between them.

After an hour or so, the first sketch was almost done, your noodles finished. You looked at the time. Almost 1 am. Time to go to bed. You left you iPad on your table, making sure you saved the drawing. You reached to the remote to turn off your TV when...

"The most successful kpop group of all times, BTS, just announced that they have begun working on their next album. Millions of fans are waiting for their next hit..."

Wait a moment, that is... Jeon Jungkook! It was him! The guy that came to your tattoo room! It was him! Oh my god! Well, I knew he was a dancer or a singer of some sort. I was not mistaken. Dear god, BTS! That's huge!

END OF PART 1

[rkxluda]

  Group Performance: nct u - boss          Lee Luda #4033 –– (distribution / song+outfit inspo / hair+make-up)   Team: 4007, 4017, 4023, 4037

The results of the first group battle had her in shock. Luda hadn’t expected her team to be first… but last? She found it upsetting and was unable to see how that could be right for a while. But ultimately it made sense. Choosing the song they did… it was a very difficult one. It would’ve made sense with all-around strong dancers, but not for them. Not for her. Why didn’t she think this through better, why didn’t she realise?

For the rest of the Friday, she’d laid on the couch with her mum and watched movies, though she couldn’t remember which. Why did we choose this song? Maybe no one would have been eliminated, had they thought about this better. Luda kept thinking about the results, but she didn’t blame anyone from the team. Only herself. She shouldn't have chosen a song only because she liked it. Even her singing hadn't been on her usual level, which she didn’t realise until afterward.

“You made it through this round, so you should show them that it was the right choice to keep you,” her mother tried to motivate her.

As Luda approached TRCs building for the new teams first meeting, her expression said all. Her smile wasn’t present, as her eyes darted over the building with furrowed eyebrows. There was no spring to her step either, though the burning sun was partially at fault. Just like when she’d first met the first team, Luda had brought snacks.

The building itself already had a very different feeling to it. Somehow she thought it was scarier than Nova’s. Just like walking towards the practise room. What if they chose a song way over their or at least her head again? Choosing a song too difficult for her to perfect, she thought, would definitely get her eliminated this time.

Approaching their first meeting, only a few steps away from the door, she could almost hear her heart beating. She was glad at least Kyungri was part of it again. It made her feel calmer and she ended up staying closer to her, asking her for help more often than the others. Looking around the practise room for the first time, she noticed that it was designed way simpler than Nova's.

Yoojung was an incredible dancer and choreographer and they chose Taehyung as the leader. It seemed like he was worried about Kyungri and her and she really appreciated it. He often offered water or assistance and even took them to the side to lift their spirits. Luda wasn’t one to be sad for too long, but sure it still helped. 

At first, she'd thought that their skills were well mixed, but they soon faced the problem of finding a girl group song for two rappers and three singers. The song she'd had in mind since the theme was announced, was “I'm So Sick”, but that obviously wasn't an option considering their two rappers.

They quickly dropped the idea of doing a girl group song as they couldn't find anything with enough rap. It made Luda realise how similar groups and songs could be these days. Their ultimate choice was a song she hadn’t heard before and she didn’t know much about the group either. They had a couple songs she liked and that's all the girl knew. But their criteria was met – a good mix of vocal and rap parts and a nice dance that luckily didn’t seem that difficult.

She hoped this would be a good song choice – she couldn’t imagine having been high up on the judges or any fan's list after this. Regret kept boiling in her stomach but she tried to push it back for the sake of concentrating on the challenge ahead.

Her first impression, “Oh, that dance looks do-able!”, however, was smashed by hard reality. Sure she’d somehow managed to not completely mess up the choreo of “before the dawn”, but this was a new choreo and just because there was no scorpion thing going on, didn’t mean that made it easy in any way.

Somehow Luda managed to get a little bit more sleep over the week. But she still stayed to practise for a crazy amount of hours. This time she balanced dancing and singing a lot better and she really looked forward to her vocal part. Of course, she still practised dancing like a madwoman, but she put a lot more effort and attention on her voice and how to use it. Singing was her way to shine after all.

Just like last time, she spent the small breaks in the practise room trying out different expressions to see what would fit the performance best. After looking at a few live performances of the sing, she decided on aloof-confidence for the most part – however that could be achieved – and a sly smile or wink here and there. The wink wasn't a problem… the other two definitely were. Her first try at a sly smile looked rather hilarious and she had to chuckle at herself. The cool-aloofness wasn’t exactly her strong suit either and she threw a Flynn Rider-esque smolder-face into the mix, purely because it seemed fun.

It seemed like the few added hours of sleep she got worked wonders. Concentrating was easier and she memorised both lyrics and choreography faster. Of course, that didn't mean she instantly had the details down or that she got everything right, but it was progress.

She still had problems with the energy of the dance and to make the moves big enough. The girl tended to be a bit shy when she could see herself dancing, making some moves seem wishy-washy, when they needed to be strong and big. She also tried to get a more masculine feel while dancing, but her feminine side was something she couldn't quite erase – and after a lot of consideration – she didn't want to erase.

The day of the performance seemed to arrive even faster this time. Luda was nervous, being worried that somehow they would get last place again. That she'd be eliminated this time. Or that they would get last and MNET decided to cut the whole team. And there was always the concern that it could be her fault. She did her best to stay calm and having a team around her certainly helped. Luda stuck closer to Kyungri, and they were already joking that the elder had adopted her. It really helped her to stay calmer while waiting. They prepared so much, she did the best she could over the past week and they just had to perform well.

At least not last, at least not being eliminated.

Even though their turn was one team later than last week, the time seemed to have passed faster. She'd made sure to eat and drink enough, to have strength and their stage outfits were coordinated well. She liked the mix of military-style jacket and slightly fitted shirt and added a thin choker. Hair and make-up looked good as well. Nothing should go wrong – she could only give her best to not make any mistakes.

They got up on the stage and introduced themselves. Their team name was “Baby Boss” – she was sure at least one of her friends would be so nice to point out that the “baby” half suited her very well, once the episode aired. Only being 1.57cm tall and all. It wasn't the best name. But in her opinion, the performance itself was a lot more important, than spending hours trying to come up with a better name.

When it was her turn, she bowed.

“I'm falling for you! Hello, I'm Luda! ” the girl introduces herself – albeit furrowing her brows in embarrassment at the introduction she'd come up with – showing hearts with her thumb and index fingers on both hands. Somehow seeing the audience made her arms and legs feel tingly and she couldn't wait to start performing. Thousand people were still a lot, but as she remembered the feeling on stage while singing, while dancing, somehow she looked forward to it now, rather than being afraid.

If she messed up, at least she would do so having fun.

With their introductions out of the way, they got into formation and the lights dimmed. The song started. She aimed for the aloof expression she'd trained in the practise room and at home, focusing on her movements switching between flowing and strong. The flowing ones, she was definitely better at.

She smirked while facing the camera and starting with her part, stepping forward and eyes narrowed a little to make her gaze stronger

Whatever I touch, I take The moment you feel my body heat You’ll fall for me yeah

This was one of the parts where she didn't always get the details of the choreo right, so she remembered to bring her arms fully stretched out over her head, in a circle. After that part, she stepped back again and mentally prepared for the first “leg-wiggle”, after her next, shorter line.

World is ours

Continuing on, she paid attention to make full, energetic movements, to not have her arms bent when they shouldn't be and such. She still wasn't a dancer, so of course her dancing wasn't perfect. But she didn't step out of line or into someone else's space and that was already a win in her opinion. For this performance, she'd left her hair open. The choreography had her shaking her head here and there, causing her to have to run her fingers through her locks every now and then – as far as the fast choreo allowed her to. It made her hair look a bit tousled, which was not a bad look while practising, she found. It surely took away from her soft features which didn't fit the song perfectly. At least it helped a little.

(Draw out an even bigger us yeah) As if everything has been born again, come into my world Like fish in water, everyone sings

She stepped into the middle of the circle, winking at a camera. Her voice was silvery and she carried the notes well. Her focus was singing after all, not her dance and it showed. She put attention to looking at the audience whenever the dance allowed her to, which she'd learned from the hours of watching survival shows like this. She was tempted to gaze at the camera more often but was worried she'd overdo it.  

Now close your eyes Breathe in my world that will spread before your eyes You’re beautiful enough Just as you are

She focused on looking at the camera again and bit her lip before looking to the side, then held the next note. High notes were her thing after all.

Yeah

Luda honestly hadn't been so sure about the song choice at first, wondering if she could pull it off. But while practising, she'd started to really like it. It was fun to sing and fun to dance, even if it was still a difficult dance to her. And most importantly, she had fun on stage – something that now, in retrospective, she couldn't say about the previous team battle. She really liked the former team and she really liked this one as well, but with the extremely difficult dance, she'd been too concentrated and worried to enjoy herself as much as she could now.

So anyone can come inside this circle I wanna send you my song

She would never be a main dancer, but after her last line, Luda gave the rest of the performance – specifically the dance – her all, trying to end the stage well.

After they broke their end pose, she started grinning. At first, she'd tried to keep her facial expression in check – she was sure she'd made mistakes here and there and didn't want to appear overly proud of herself – but she couldn't hold the smile in. She did feel proud, even though she couldn't see the mistakes she had made while dancing. They weren't massive mistakes and she surely danced better than last week, but of course wonders couldn't be expected after only a week.

But her appearance had changed this time. Enjoying a stage surely made a difference and she felt like on a high, smiling at her teammates. This time, Luda didn't even cry – and she didn’t ever want to miss performing. She wanted to go on, to stand on the stage again.

[ahainesmajortwo2021]

ANIMATION FILM - DEVELOPMENT

(LONG POST)

After my tutorial I knew that I had to find a way to incorporate all the work I had previously done with my drawings and animation so I went back and looked at the works I had done, considering them now alongside the rotoscope animation I had. I wanted to find a way to bring these animations together and also consider how this could work with sound. I decided to go back to my dads original archive of scanned documents and images that he had given me at the very beginning of the project. I looked through these all again and came across this image...

I then started to think about how a ‘cassette’ could offer a way of structuring and bringing together my drawings. As we discussed in my tutorial I wanted to make this edit more... raw... less ‘clean cut’. This idea of a visual and sonic collage really stood out to me and I felt like the idea of looking through my dad’s cassettes could really work to bring this all together. 

From here I then considered that a timelapse/colour animation of just my dad and another of just Dave would work as a way of ‘introducing’ them and their roles. i went back to procreate and re made another two time lapse drawings which I then developed further into two colour animations.

original photo

The first drawing I completed of my dad. To create the smooth time-lapse drawings I first have to do one full drawing which I can then open as a new image, lower the opacity all the way down and then redraw over the top - this is how I am able to create the smooth visual of the drawing coming together. This took around 3 hours to complete. I then went on to recreate the colour animation in the same style as my previous. I decided with both of these images to exclude some detail from the original image as I wanted these to be simpler and the focus to really be on the people. I also wanted the final image of them together with ALL the detail, to stand out from these. 

This was my first version - I actually realised after putting it into the sequence that my original animation was much lighter and more textured - and typically - less neat ! Also the hair and skin was animated too which I hadn’t done here so I went back and re animated the colour.

This was my second attempt - much better !

original photo

Here is the line drawing I completed for the picture of Dave. This image had a lot more detail originally - all the brick work from the viaduct, and also my dad was stood in the background so I decided to not include him in the drawing and to simplify the detail. Again this took around 3 hours to complete and then also create the time lapse video. From here I created the colour animation.

Again - this was my first attempt - same situation as the first one of my dad. I later went back and re did it. 

Again - much better!

As this picture was black and white i decided to use my imagination for the colour. i spoke to my dad and found out the shoes Dave was wearing were actually bowling shoes - so for these I did the colours accurately. All in all I spent the best part of a day developing these animations - it was easier in some ways this time as I already knew the style and processes that I needed to do so it was very much just a case of executing them. Though it did take a lot of time I think these really helped to bring my film together.

From here I started putting together my animations in premiere , initially experimenting with different music and speeds of the time-lapse. I went back and did A LOT of listening through again of the hundreds of songs and IDEA tracks from my dads archive. I was doing this while drawing my two animations (above) as this definitely helped when it came to putting them into premiere and thinking about the sound overall. I listened to an earlier version of ‘seventh floor’ , one of my dads more finalised songs that i am quite familiar with. And it stood out to me for the clarity of the vocals and simplicity of the production (quite contrasted to the final version that I know). I decided to try this alongside the time lapse of my dad and decided to time it only as long as the initial instrumental - prior to the vocals beginning. This is when it begun to come together. I was considering how the time-lapse of dad could transition into the one of Dave and I thought back to the cassette tapes and decided to use the sounds almost as sonic punctuation to the images. I used the sound of the cassette being re-wound alongside the time-lapse image being reversed at a faster speed - this then brought the image back to the white screen and allowed me to bring in the next image of Dave. I synced this with the start of the vocals and created the same sequence style again with the next section of the song. I felt that this logically lead into the final DETAILED drawing of the two of them in the studio which could come in alongside the final version of Seventh Floor in all its loud and full glory. 

In a way my images and drawings were reflecting the process of the song making, and the use of the cassette sounds really helped synchronise and gel these elements together. I then decided to play around with animated titles. I really loved the written titles in the film I had previously looked at ‘My Dead Dad’s Porno Tapes - so I wanted to re-create something similar in my own style. I think these really added another element and visual texture to the film, and worked really well. I then went in and incorporated the full colour animations too as the ‘climax’ of each time-lapse drawing.  

As the final drawing is much more detailed and overall a much fuller image - I decided to make this time-lapse slightly longer - also being with the final version of seventh floor I wanted for this song to remain for a longer time too. I then played around with the -re-winding / fast-forwarding again as a way of bringing in my full colour animation - also it acts as a way to slightly subvert the expectation -  by this time the re-winding element has become established so it is to be expected it will repeat this again, instead the re-wind doesn't quite finish before it fast forwards back in. 

At this stage I still felt that it wasn't quite ‘together’ as I wanted it, I felt the cassette sounds worked really well as structural /punctuation to the images, but  as it stood I currently just had sections of white screen splitting up each section of the animation (bar the titles for dad and dave). I initially considered another rotoscope animation of a cassette being loaded into a player.. I spent some time scouring the internet for a suitable video clip.. eventually settling on one which I begun to animate in procreate. However as I was doing this I felt it would just be far too time consuming at this stage and actually the clip just didn't feel right in the overall film. I then re considered again that I was being too literal in this sense and actually just a visual of the cassette with the titles for each song on would work a lot better and help to tie together the sound of the cassette. I removed the titles as I had made them for the songs and created new animations for these sections. 

I also feel that these animations really help to tie in my original rotoscope piano animation, but they still retain this ‘collage’ feel to the overall film. 

FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF THE DRUM MACHINE ROTOSCOPE ANIMATION:

After putting together the rest of the film around my original rotoscope I decided to re-visit the colour image I did of the drum machine and actually decided to place it over the line drawing instead within the animation. I felt that with the colour in the other three animations, adding this would help tie them all together. I had also really wanted to include this colour image as it was another one I had done that had taken some time and I was really happy with the outcome (even though you can't really see it for very long in the animation). 

I also decided to play around with the words slightly. My original intention had been for the screen to be ‘split’ as it were, between dad and Dave - the bottom half is the music (dad), and the top half are the words and vocals (Dave). After watching the animation back with a friend she questioned who it was ‘laughing’ so this is what lead me to moving the ‘*laughter*’ to the lower half and playing a bit more with that placement - which I think actually works a lot better.

(END OF POST)