#i will likely open canvas as soon as i post this & finish in like. 30 minutes

[kitnita]

wanting to finish the rest of my online coursework due on fridays so i can simply write horny fanfiction while at work except the idea of opening canvas fills me with dread

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We Be Lonely Together? Ch.6

A Homelander X Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader fic, but you can see it as a male leaning fic or Homejoe fic, this is a slow burn.

Author's note: this is a long chapter so warning, but on that note I'll be going on holiday for the next 5 days so I prolly post the next chapter next wk. Thx to all the folks reading. previous chapters in #my fic tag in me blog

Sypnosis: You're a mind reading supe who's gotten a little too enamored with Vought's number 1 hero, he just won't like the lenghts you took to make yourself his favorite.

R18+ smut, anal play, bruise kink, S.A mention, cannibalism mention, inmoral everyone, CSA mention, blood.

Chapter 6

Working 9 to 5

Together you wrote my schedule:

8:30 am– head to work

9:00 am to 12 pm– actually do work

12- 12:30 pm– Lunch

12:30 pm and onwards– It was Homelander time whenever you demanded my attention… much to the chagrin of my colleagues.

Your distractions with Soldier Boy, Maeve and Noir certainly meant  you alloted me time to do my job– and my actual duties. My time solely dedicated to doing the job of five people (making my days end at 8 pm at the earliest), and the superpowered nuisance forcing me into overtime… folks too self absorbed to notice how much pressure this department was falling into did not help my grief. It was easier to walk out for a coffee, shoot some Compound V in the Starbucks toilets, and walk around the city to find crimes happening live to send them to whatever chump needed a spotlight, just so I could finish my reports.

Swimming on the same wavelengths, you came to my rescue.

Any amount of stress, any craving for a distraction, support or affection, I was there for you.

You could come into the room, shoot me a text even though I never gave you my number– sometimes watch you type live the messages you had for me just so I could formulate the perfect response. Not that we ever had lengthy conversations. It was mostly just you telling me to go to your penthouse, boardroom, randomly selected location, or to perform some innocuous task that would make me stay past clocking hours… you seemed happy to make me walk, and stress me out just wanted to push my buttons, alleyed when I complied with gusto… and we both got to relieve.

Sitting me in your lap as soon as the doors closed on your servants, sitting on mine if my room was solely occupied by computer screens and us.

Today it was the boardroom, meeting was adjourned, it had been a mundane meeting with the remaining members of the Seven some boring discussions about filling up the emptied slots since Starlights and Maeve’s departure, all you wanted was to be with your son and make your fans happy… or that’s what you told yourselves.

You chuckled and pulled me by the hem of my jacket, making me drop the stack of files you had so urgently requested by your feet, maneuvering my hips with unsurprising ease-- by now I had grow accustomed to how much discipline you had over your own strength, masterfully manipulating just the right amount needed to force my whole weight to move at your whims, I try to hold my laughter forcing some restraint as you purr into my stomach, dropping me forcefully into your lap, gloved hands pulling my dress shirt open, your tongue licking its way to the nape of my neck, nipping at my neck, your breath hot against my jugular, your laugh reverberating all across my body covering me in goosebumps, as leather burns possessive lines on my back, every bruise that faded was just another spot for the Homelander to paint.

Admiring your work, kissing it better, grumbling quietly as you plan your next stroke, cupping my ass forcing me closer as you kiss every bruise you can, every bite, every line.

It was all yours without reproach, a warmth build in your stomach as I held your neck egging you to kiss all that was yours, your kisses gentle as I shuddered from the ecstasy born from agony.

I wanted my whole body to be your canvas, every future glimpse in the mirror I would see your warhols, while you struggled with the fragility of my body and how willing I was to let you break it, your eyes looked at me half smiling as you took my nipple into your mouth. 

Sucking and moaning forcing me to quiver, your tongue drawing circles gasping as you sucked harder wanting something motherly from me.

“Such a sweet boy working so hard to make mommy feel good.” It was nice when you let me control your movements– let me spoil you, mi sol.”

"Spoil me?"

"Rotten."

Letting me pull you into my lips, kissing until my lips turned blue and all I wanted was to suck the spit straight from your tongue, your hand forcing my head still pushing me closer to you, covering my ears until all I could hear was a high-pitch timbre.

You could be so quiet.

"How much do you want this?” you purr into ear, licking my neck back down to my lips making sure to nip my it gently but enough to make it bleed– tell me you silly thing.”

“If you don’t fuck my brains out in the next five seconds I swear to god I'll shave your fucking eyebrows!”

“What did my eyebrows ever do to you?” we both share the same ragged laugh, as you hands finally undresses to pull my pants down– oh fuck.”

“Had an inkling you might be stressed out.”

“That's… you've been walking around all day with six inches?” your neck meets your chin-- to help me?"

“seems... so far doing a better job than you”

From the look in your eyes you took that personally.

Your fingers wet with just enough spit as you thoroughly fucked me, playing around with your speed until I’m left quivering and squirming around your arm while you watch in delight how my mouth struggled to keep quiet. Facinated with how just the right amount of pressure and speed had my mouth looking like a bunch of W’s. trusting deeper as people walked by oblivious to our office debauchery.

Your long tongue spreading me wide, eyes half open watching my every move as my hands glue themselves to my mouth, holding back painful mewls as you force me to cum for the sixth time.

Your cock, hotter than the rest of you, I wanted to be smothered under your heat, happy to be elevated from the stiff surface, cradled around your arms as you trusted in me.

You cried wetly into my lips, filling me up, your cum oozing from within me, kept warm by our mingling heat.

“Be good for me, and don’t spill it.” You closed me with my not-so-forgotten toy– don’t you fucking dare waste a drop of it.”

“I'd rather die, sir.”

This warmth inside me began to feel strange, your hand lingering on mine as we finally parted, Homelander making sure to get a last glimpse as I headed back to the elevator, John snarking at the picture.

Your idea of romantic outings needed some examinations on the occasion you found me outside during your patrols, a simple ding had me running to the nearest alleyway so you could scoop me, and fuck me in some dingy roofstop, but you did bring vodka, and flowers on the occation… holding my whole self with little effort, bouncing me on your throbbing cock by lifting your fingers up and down from underneath my legs, forcing me to scream and sough into your neck, as I tried to hold back.

And when you finally decided I deserved a bed and privacy, you took to entering my home, surprised at how little reaction you earned when you knocked on my window up on the 15th floor.

But it worked for us at the time, for we didn’t have a name yet for whatever this was, sure I understood it would take time for Vought and the people to come to terms with this, plus the timing wouldn’t be right either– not to mention you knew I still had unfinished business with my ex.

By the end of that first evening together I’ve come to realize that you had bad taste in partners, how could they all quit so easily at the first sight of insipid behavior when you could give a hoover a run for its money. You could devour with more panache than needed, greedily forcing me open, sucking and slapping my cunt with your fingers and tongue, until I was mewling, and begging for mercy, the more I cried as you left my entrance puffy, red and drooling– the more you ate, leaving me nothing but hair to pull, shriveling and unsure of what name to call after.

Couldn’t even pretend to run away from you as you had your way with me, all you had to do was give me a glint of red around your corneas, a smirk and you pulled me right back with a finger… quite literally. 

I wanted to run– by now I knew if I let this go further I wouldn’t be happy with just close friends… that I’d grow needy… impatient waiting for you to make up your mind about us. I was content to receive your kisses, to watch you play with the hues of my skin, to fill me up in gold, to let me be the only one that ever calls you ‘the sun’, I knew that as I rested in your arms, wrapped around my quilts, the TV playing one of your favorites “Fight Club” just dozing up to the sound of your observations-- your friend somehow the only one who understood the movie out of the two of you.

Youse always leaving by the time I fell asleep.

But it worked for us at the time, for we didn’t have a name yet for whatever this was, sure I understood it would take time for Vought and the people to come to terms with this, plus the timing wouldn’t be right either– not to mention you knew I still had unfinished business with my ex.

Roman had become impatient, knowing the expiration date on my life began to draw near, I had to continue doing better– I never meant to stumble upon any of these things, finding it hard even for somebody of my expertise to crack these files that both Edgar and Madelyn had hidden so well, whatever it was they’d paid it had been quite a hefty sum for this much encryption, and with Roman’s threats increasingly more virulent this could be my white whale. 

I could’ve send him your files let Roman expose Vought for the crimes against you, I just couldn’t… the whole country would rally behind your pity party, for they knew not of your long list of crimes but their symbol… and if that symbol had been a little boy raised in a metal box denied food, affection, touch, and even a name– It would be easy to spin on your shareholders’s favor.

You see John… I didn’t want that… I wouldn’t… so I had to pray to the gods that this would be worth it, for I was finalizing the details of my escape plan.

The music faded as you took my earphone out, so focused on finishing this report that I’d failed to notice your presence.

It had been weeks since Maeve’s death, and Ryan's introduction to the world… The whole company was scurrying away trying to make your son work, writers running on narcotic stimulants, and energy drinks to try to come up with a story good enough… The real story wasn’t sufficiently marketable.

“Busy?”

“How can I help you, Mister Gillman?” I tried to smile but I was honestly so exhausted.

You took a nearby chair rolling it towards me, you sat taking the mouse from me to open one of the tabs on my screen.

“You hadn’t answered my texts all day. So I thought I would give you a visit… Ashley is chaperoning Ryan around… he wanted to buy some Lego sets, but these assholes decided to schedule an emergency meeting– you wouldn’t have anything to do with what’s going on with the stocks?”

I hand you the spare phone in my drawer after unlocking, for you to see the barrage of abusive messages that Roman had been sending me for the past few days.

“Nope. That’s just the market at the moment. Sorry I missed your texts I was finishing a report… and I got you what you wanted”

Taking a large folder off my pile as a present to you.

“Pink is Best, Blue is okay and green is 50/50… There aren’t many schools in the country that have specialized Supe classes… so most of the schools are still for normal civilians except these ones go to swanky private schools, keeping the search relatively close even tho you and Ryan aren’t limited by distance… I think he’ll really like number twelve.”

“Why?”

“Their school has a film program for High School students… and an equestrian club. Is all in the dozier.” I look towards you as you pretend to skim the pages– kid’s talented he could be the next Spielberg.”

You rolled your eyes, John already had a vision of his future, to you this building was his.

“Still for people. Glad you did this… can’t trust anybody with this… not right now.”

Your paranoia was well placed. You were completely right about what Vought had planned for Ryan, and now that he was around they had begun to plot ways to rid of you, to give him the right kind of origin story. Your demise had to sell tickets, some calculating how much return they would make from your funeral.

“They currently have seven enrolled Supe students, not enough for a class but enough for Ryan to make friends with.”

You gave the folder a couple flicks pretending to give it much attention admiring one of the 50/50 for it was the furthest from New York.

“So I gather you’re looking at real estate for me?” You said cocking your head to the screen– is a bit drab.”

“Needs a bit of love and elbow grease-- is for me.”

“You want to commute 5 hours every day from Rushville? or take a plane from Argentina?”

This I could dread.

“No, it's not like I can fly, mi sol. If I don’t give Roman something juicy soon I’m dead… look… I’ll be resigning from Vought in a couple weeks, once I find a place and figure myself out it is a bon voyage for me.”

“Can we talk about this nonsense over dinner? tonite?” there was an unusual tizzy in your voice, that caught me off guard– we have a lot to dis–

“Can’t tonight I have a work dinner with an old colleague.” 

“What the fuck you’re talking about? With who!?”

“I know is difficult for you to hear this but having you select the kind of information I can leak just so you can catch Roman in a white collar conspiracy is nice, and I mean if he wasn’t one of the richest men in America I’d think your idea was beyond clever, but is not good in the long run. If I can’t get something on Roman… I’m dead. I got an old colleague… His name is Kent Lark, he’s a journalist at USA Today…  he’s the guy I fed info to, and the guy who found me clients and victims to extort. He has some hacker friend who won’t deal directly with me, so I gotta meet Kent to organize such services”

“I’ll kill Roman then. So dinner at my penthouse, or should I organize something…”

“He’s not your problem. Do you have any idea what would happen to Vought, and yourself if you got caught!? If the cops suspected you? Look your lil’ minions can clean up a thousand supes messes, and you can kill anybody you like! but if you kill a billionaire then I assure you that his side will have the money, and allies to make sure you face consequences! Fuck even my plan will only get him off my back for a couple years at most, and that’s even if he goes to jail!”

“What’s your plan then!?

“The IRS… I know Roman has been laundering money using his dozens of charities to avoid paying taxes, especially his wife’s help the homeless foundation… talking ‘bout millions of dollars a year… insider trading will get him what 2 years max… mine will get him 5 and if I’m lucky the state of New York will force him to pay double of what he hasn’t paid. So he’ll be too broke to find a way to kill me, John. Not to mention what it would do to his company, and once the head falls they’ll start investigating the rest...I just need him away from me.”

“So you were always intending to leave?” The way your jaw clenched made a pit in my stomach, your glassy eyes darting away from me as you tried to understand, you looked at my screen– I have a cabin…upstate. I had it redecorated not long ago… you can stay there.”

“I… I… don’t know what to say… I was… I wish… I wish you could kill Roman, and come out with impunity… I mean we aren’t really dating… so why would you risk anything for me?” I took your hand desperate to comfort you– Mi sol… let me handle this myself… I don’t want you getting involved in my affairs if they’ll hurt you."

You became flustered hovering above your seat shaking your head slightly trying to keep his composure.

“So what!? You’re saying I can’t help you!? Me!!?”

Your mind wanted to ask me something else, in your head you had been courting me and in all fairness you did just ask me out for dinner– just a second ago… I still regret not noticing that even right now.

“I cannot let you. If something happens… if anything goes wrong it doesn’t just affect you, but also Ryan… I can’t be the reason he gets hurt.”

“I won’t go to prison for killing anybody! You think they can even contain me?”

“If you want to help… get The Deep to hire more dipshits for this department so I can focus on getting rid of Roman instead of wasting my time doing the job of other people.”

“Do whatever you want!” You marched out still carrying the document.

You left me be for the rest of the evening, I hurried out much to Anika and Wen (the guy with glasses) dismay, I rushed home throwing something nice, and ran even more to make it in time– all while you watched me from afar, I could tell you disliked the desperation in my face as I tried to look good for this man you never met, snarling as I bothered to dry-shampoo my hair and styled it in a way I hadn’t for you, scoffing when I spend a whole minute picking up a shirt– because I never plan my outfits ahead for you or nuthin’.

You followed close-by until I made it to a posh looking restaurant, your brother questioning the absence of light coming from within the venue, it was apparent it was close yet I still met with him.

Your opinion on him was poor from the start, all you saw was a lanky, mild mannered journalist with okay hair, the closer you got the more annoyed you became by our interactions finding it hard to believe I didn’t mind that nasal southern accent… bothered as to why I would want to be so cordial to a chicken farmer, I could go on about the list of things you found wrong about him after making Anika give you a report on Kent.

So you stayed there, and I made sure to sit away from the window.

The restaurant was obviously empty except for my Dolores who you had failed to acknowledge. She brought the first wave of appetizers and drinks, peeved that she didn’t stay to interrupt us.

“Is he listening or watching?”

“Watching… unsure if he’ll leave anytime soon…”

“Jesus he’s insistent but I guess the rumors weren’t wrong… you would be surprised about the amount of missing women and men whose last known location were a square mile away from his bedroom.”

“I’m well aware, Kent.” I handed him a hard-drive– he has a penchant for following  birds he likes… usually gets bored once they don’t live up to his fantasies… don’t fill the void.”

“What a creep.” Kent was teasing you when he looked out the window– and then he kills them?”

“Only if they reject him outright.”

“Should I worry about you, sugar?” He looked at my bruises.

“I’m just a fling. Either way I need those files ASAP, capische.”

“What’s the hurry?” Kent was an easy man to read, he lacked internal dialogue watching the world in pictures– how dangerous is this? Is this about Roman because I got my guys almost done with that atomic bomb. Roman made too many mistakes with the women’s charity.”

“They want him gone. Homelander… They want to mold Ryan to take over, and they’re in a tizzy trying to figure out how to get him out of the picture… permanently preferably. His DNA is patented company property, by extension the young master is property of Vought and being the only natural born supe known to man makes him more than worth the risk.”

“all 'cuz the kid is the next step of human evolution then.” 

“They’ll keep away from him and Homelander, if I can get proof of what they did.”

Kent stopped eating, looking just as curious as you are right now.

“They were more of him… if they failed to live up to their expectation they… eliminated them… from what I could gather from the oldest remaining researchers minds… they were trying since the 70’s using samples from Soldier Boy, Liberty, Mindstorm, Skandia and Five-Oh” I had to take a drink for this part, just skulking my drink and I could hear you thinking I must also find him unpleasant for you knew I only drank when you offered– they used girls… coma patients or runaways… Homelander mom was probably 14 if not 13 when she had him. The kind of girls who wouldn’t even be able to verbalize what they were experiencing.”

“Jesus fuck. You… you sure!?”

“Is hard to track these people, okay? I got some addresses and found some who were still alive… had to take more compound V to get this… but Homelander has been more than happy to let me steal some…especially when he’s being so needy and curious. I did find a lot of files about his childhood, but most of the stuff about the others and the women I couldn’t find out in the “open” but in some memories… look Vought will not recover if the public found out they got some comatose tween forcibly inseminated with high-specs supe spunk! Then kill her kid when they just didn’t show progress. I’m sure if I could've met Vogelbaum I could get some nasty fucking shit out of him… I think we’re looking at at least five siblings just from Soldier Boy alone.”

I feel sick saying those things then and even now.

“What does Soulja Boi have to do with him? And I’ll go back to that Homelander bit.”

“That’s his father… They want Ryan to take the mantle of Soldier Boy, breed him into a better American hero… make him serve in war just like his grandpa… they put a lot of money behind getting something like Ryan into this world, can’t let his dad interfere when he is one bad day away from setting the whole country on fire.”

Now he had the drink.

“There’s also… my current priority… There’s a file I labeled ‘Priority’ one of his board members had a peculiar thought not long ago– what send me down this rabbit hole… one of them thought that maybe Madelyn kid… was his, so I decided to dig… and stumbled upon locked documents, no financial records or recorded evidence Stillwell received IVF treatments outside, yet in an old email she had told her assistant to clear her schedule to attend a local clinic… guess what Kent there’s no record of her using that place, so my only lead was one file saying they performed a couple rounds of ICSI on an unnamed woman… collected a sperm sample from another not so unnamed woman.”

“One of his laids?”

“Seems if he fucks them and kills them they make sure to clean up and collect his leftovers”

“So your only lead is circustancial at best! A clerical error on a file that could be attached to anybody, not just Stillwell” I did dislike his mocking tone– amateur hour. So why does the Homelander know you’re a super?”

“I haven’t told him, he just knows… we’re just pretending that I’m just very good at stealing, and is not him helping me from the shadows… he’s been right a couple times, if anything I think he much rather he wasn’t. Look if this is proof Teddy Stillwell is his son… then that kid is in danger.”

“So Y/N don’t tell me you and that man have more than just a fling. The fucking ice queen suddenly feeling sorry for him just because he grew up like a monkey in a cage!? Don’t pretend this is the saddest twink you ever met! You met worse Y/N, no matter how sad his backstory is… that man is a monster.”

“He is not. I’m worse. I spend every miserable single day of my life listening to some of the worst humanity has to offer, and I can’t help… I tried… you know I’ve tried to do better… but… there’s nothing I could really do– Homelander is just a trigger happy chappy…”

“Bit rich coming from you Kent. You made sure to destroy your husband’s family so your socialite boyfriend would have no choice but to marry your ass, making sure you got his trust fund, poor Bruno.”

Neither of us noticed when she came with the third main.

“And our best friend is a cannibal.” 

“Once he finds out you learned about this… if this is real… is game over.” I hated how confident Kent sounded– you can’t fix him.”

“I don’t want to fix him. I just wanna see where this is going to go.”

“Your funeral.” Kent was right about funerals just not mine… yet.

By the end of my meal I had lost my sanity, thinking of how much I could destroy your life by mistake.

I handed Kent a weapon of mass destruction, and left.

I knew you had left halfway through the dessert tasting.

Somehow there I was back in this fucking elevator, heading to your floor, somehow I had run to the nearest bakery still opened to buy my forgiveness, somehow I even bought ice cream even tho you weren’t a fan, and after I got my change it was all a blur by the time I got back to the building.

I had woken up outside your door, to strange sounds.

Looking back I was quite dense to not notice how early you had given me a copy of your keys, even though I’d already made my own by then. I entered expecting you to yell at me, but there’s nothing but a soft whimper in the air, and the sound of steps.

Everyday I could shut down my powers for a maximum of four hours a day. Why did I waste minutes trying to be silent when I entered your home? 

“What the fuck are you doing here!? Don't you have a date!” 

Probably my sorry excuse for a survival instinct kicking in at the worst hour. I dropped my bag and next thing I knew I was rushing after you, taking your face desperately trying to find out if this blood was yours.

[justkending]

Moral of the Story. Chapter Four.

Summary: Marrying too young out of highschool leads to a naive and failed marriage. Now 10 years later, word comes that the divorce was never actually completed. Bucky and Y/N have to come back together after all this time to settle what wasn’t all those years back. Passive attitudes, miscommunicated endings, and reminiscing of old loves and lives all comes back for the two.

Pairing: Bucky x Y/N

Word Count:

A/N: 

Chapter Four:

Bucky groaned as the alarm blared throughout the room. Rolling over to his side, he threw his head into the pillow. That didn’t stop the beeping like he had hoped, so with a groan he pushed up, smacking the red numbers that screamed at him. He rolled back onto his back and blinked up at the bare ceiling.

Today was the day…

_________________

Y/N couldn’t seem to sleep at all, so she woke up early at 6:30 jumping into the shower. Having the extra time, she took it to have a nice long soak in the hot water. The schedule of the day running through her mind.

The chance of them running into each other was practically at 100%. They had a time frame of 9-10 to get in and sign what they needed. Mr. Murdock said something along the lines that it would take about 30-45 minutes to get everything finalized and copied. 

So yeah… Within an hour frame of needed 30-45 minutes of signing shit and getting multiple copies made, meant Bucky and her would most likely be sitting next to the other as it was done. 

She let out a tired and irritated moan as she finally decided to turn off the water. She had it running for so long, her hands were prunes and the water was becoming lukewarm. The world was telling her to suck it up and move on with the day. 

____________

The car ride there was dreadful. Every stop light just elongated the inevitable meeting. Every turn brought him closer to the terrifying reunion. 

He was running early to begin with, but after hitting traffic from a wreck, he was now running just a few minutes behind. So weaving through the people who didn’t understand New York traffic was his specialty in showing up in time. 

____________

She stopped at the coffee shop by her house before really heading to the attorneys office. The car ride to the place was easy and smooth on her end. From coming from the outskirts of Brooklyn, the inner city traffic was avoided for the most part. So she was there early. She even had a second to sit in her car and drink the latte she had bought. Something about Brooklyn latte’s was 10x better than anything California had.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact they actually had cold weather to pair the hot drink with, whereas where she now lived, the lowest low in temperatures was 70 degrees. 

________________

Getting there with just 3 minutes to spare, Bucky rushed out of the car and walked with a hint of speed to the door that read Nelson and Murdock Law Firm. 

No sign of Y/N yet, but as he walked in, he heard a shout from the street that caused him to turn as soon as he walked in. He didn’t have a second to register what the shout was about as he took two steps in and ran straight into someone’s back. 

“Whoa!” he said, using his hands to brace himself on the mystery person's shoulders, and the other person making the same exclamation. “Oh God, I’m so sor-”

Before he could finish the apology, the women turned showing the face of his matured high-school-sweetheart. 

“Oh,” he let out in a breathy turn. He could tell just from past experience with her, she had a snarky comment on her tongue at the run in, but upon seeing him, the words died on her lips. “Hey.”

She looked great. Like, really great after all these years. Not that she wasn’t a beautiful gal to begin with, but you never know how someone’s going to age. However, she looked almost the same. 

Sure, she had aged some, but just like a nice bottle of the finest wine in all the vineyards of California. Maybe that was her secret given her new home. 

Her Y/H/C hair was styled in loose curls. It was voluminous with a healthy shine to it. She had on an off white, canvas dress that cinched at the waist with buttons going down it. And she had a layered gold necklace going down her chest where the buttons were undone. She looked both professional yet casual at the same time. 

Bucky realized he had been staring when she awkwardly looked around her trying to not pay attention to his analyzing eyes. 

“Hey,” she said, letting out a deep breath. 

She didn’t miss how good he looked either. Even in those facebook pictures that she had found the night before, the ones she found him just as attractive, they didn’t do the real man justice. His hair was just as long as the most recent picture his mother had posted, and he looked more muscular than she ever remembered. The scrubs didn't do his build justice. 

He was wearing a navy blue v-neck tight fitting t-shirt. A brown leather jacket that looked as though it was tailored specifically for him and him alone. And lastly, he had on a pair of jeans that of course, fit in him all the right places. 

There was a very awkward silence as they stood there not knowing what else to say. Neither now looking at the other, but instead looking at every little inanimate object item in the office. 

After what felt like eons of the most tense silence to exist, Bucky was about to speak up again, but was cut off from another person running in late.

“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry guys,” the voice sighed, out of breath from what they presumed was running to get there on time. “Foggy was supposed to pick me up and we were going to ride together, but he got food poisoning last night, so I had to take the train last minute.”

The man had dark brown hair, a nice suit, and a pair of sunglasses on even though it was overcast today and the sun was barely peeking through the heavy clouds. 

“Foggy?” Y/N asked with a tilt of her head. 

Bucky turned back looking at her with the same question on his mind, but watching the small action of confusion brought him back 10 years. God, it had been so long he had almost forgotten the little mannerisms she had that he found adorable. And damn her for still having that adorable action. 

“Oh, right. Franklin Nelson. My co-attorney,” he nodded. “We’ve been friends since we were in college. Friends call him Foggy.”

“Oh, I see,” Y/N nodded with a kind smile. 

“Anyway, I won’t bore you with my morning chaos. I’m sure you two are ready to get this over with and go on about your day,” he smiled, and pulled a walking stick out from around him as he closed the door. One that neither had realized he had been holding until now. “You two much be James and Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Matthew Murdock.

“It’s nice to meet you Matthew,” Y/N replied sweetly.

“Yes, thank you for helping us out,” Bucky nodded, placing his hands nervously in his pockets. 

“It’s my pleasure. I’m so sorry about everything that you guys are having to fix,” he said apologetically. But I’m sure you guys want to go about your day, so please, right this way,” he motioned to the door that was across from them. 

Bucky and Y/N both shared an impressed look on their faces as they watched him maneuver through the office gracefully. 

They followed close behind him and once they were seated in the chairs in front of the desk, Bucky began to fidget in his spot. Sure the office had been redone and really didn’t look much like it had all those years ago, but the layout was the same. And all it was doing to him was bringing back memories he hated trudging back to the surface. 

He subtly looked over at Y/N and saw her sitting in perfect posture watching Matthew as if if she were to look at him and only him, then she wouldn’t have to face Bucky. 

Why did he expect anything less? Of course she hated him just as much as she had all those years. She was probably dreading this meeting just as much as him. That small speck of hope that maybe they could be somewhat normal and civil upon meeting again after all this time, completely faded at that point. 

“Ok, this really shouldn’t take all that much time since Foggy and I went ahead and wrote up all the things that needed signed and double checked. So we should be able to breeze through all this,” Matthew nodded, bringing up a thick file that looked as though it had tabs on the side organizing them. 

Y/N looked over wondering just how he knew the difference between documents and noticed on each tab, there were bariel markings along them. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, out of all places to live, why New York? It’s got to be hard getting around such a crazy busy city given.. ” Bucky asked, but didn’t finish not sure how to word it. Y/N snapped her head in his direction and smacked his arm. “Ow!” Bucky jumped, sending her raised eyebrows. “What the hell?”

“I’m assuming you’re asking because of this,” Matthew laughed casually as he pointed to his glasses. “Don’t worry. You would be surprised just how often I get asked that.”

“Yeah, it was just a question,” Bucky pouted toward Y/N while rubbing his assaulted arm. The two falling back into their old behaviors rather fast. 

“I wasn’t always blind. I mean I have been for a good chunk of my life, but I’ve lived in New York my whole life as well,” Matthew went on to explain as he moved papers around. “If anything it would be harder for me to get around if I moved any place else. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“That’s impressive,” Bucky nodded, getting comfortable in his seat. 

“Eh, it’s either learn or get bumped around the sidewalk of a place full of people who don’t give a second glance to anyone who’s in their way,” Matthew shrugged. “Oh, I need to go grab something before we start.”

He maneuvered through the room leaving the door open as he went across the office. Tension filled the air as they were left alone for a second time in the past 5 minutes. 

Y/N was sitting straight forward, her eyes wandering here and there around the meeting room, but careful not to go over to Bucky’s side of the room. He looked down seeing her hands were fiddling in her lap. She was tapping her thumbs together while his leg bounced up and down.

Bucky had opened his mouth to start to say something, but even he wasn’t sure what was about to come out. Lucky for him, Matthew came back in and went back to his seat. 

“Sorry about that. I thought I had it all, but needed to get some pens and one last paper I left on the printer last night.”

“You’re fine,” Y/N said professionally, but kindly. “I have one quick question, if you don’t mind.” Matthew nodded her on with a soft smile. “What exactly happened to Hammer after all this chaos was discovered?”

“Oh, yes. He, uh, he will not be an issue to anyone else to put it lightly. His license was revoked and terminated and he is currently on trial for money laundering and malpractice,” he answered. 

“Serves him right,” Bucky mumbled, and instead of getting a smack to the arm, Y/N nodded in agreement. 

“Ok, if you two are ready, let’s begin,” Matthew smiled before grabbing the first set of papers. 

The two straightened in their seats and the process began.

After a few minutes of just signing, Matthew started to make notes of updated information for the two. 

“Ok, Mrs. Barnes, sorry, Y/N,” he corrected quickly. “What is your line of profession at the moment?”

“I work at Horizon Labs in L.A. It’s a company a friend and I from college started up. I’m a Sustainable-Conscious Financial Advisor for a lot of smaller businesses as well as some bigger ones we recently just became partners with,” she answered. 

“Horizon Labs, huh?” Matthew said with an impressed look. Bucky turned to look at her as she lightly blushed. “I think I listened to a podcast about them. You guys help companies use recycled goods and find energy efficient technology, right?”

“We just redirect them to people who can help them get those resources. It’s practically just connecting the companies that would work great together in helping the environment,” she nodded humbly. 

“That’s amazing,” Matthew smiled. “We need more people and companies like that.”

“Thank you.”

He made note of that on a computer. “I’m assuming with all that, you have to be a little too busy for a second job, right? I don’t need to make note of another?”

“Uh, actually,” she added, Bucky’s already focused eyes on her quirked at her response. “I just invested in a Woman’s shelter with another friend of mine. I haven’t really got to do much with it, but it is a second job as of lately.”

“Wait? Nat?” Bucky caught on.

“Uh, yeah,” she nodded almost shyly. Probably the second time out of this whole meeting that she actually made eye contact with him. “My company works with them in getting some of the resources and items they need for the shelter. I talked with Nat and I invested into it some to help with some with their financial advisements.” 

“Wow, th-that’s,” Bucky faltered. “That sounds like you,” he said with a breathy laugh thinking about how maybe she really hadn’t changed all these years. That being one of the ‘reasons’ they had broken it off, how people change and all. But that’s a story for another time.

Y/N didn’t show a response to his words, but she did take them in. 

“So you run a woman’s home and you run a well-off business that promotes eco-friendly resources for the environment?”

“Well, I don’t run the woman’s home. That’s all my friends doing. I just help where help is asked if I can,” she answered once again humbly. No sense of egotistical pride hinted in her explanations or answers. 

“That’s extremely impressive Y/N,” Matthew gushed some, and Bucky noticed the smallest form of attraction come off the lawyer. He straightened at that. “I’ll make a note of it. And you Mr. Barnes. What is your occupation?”

Bucky relaxed his shoulders and focused back at the issue at hand. Trying to not get jealous of something that wasn’t even his to be jealous of. 

“I’m one of the head occupational therapist at Stark Theracorp,” he answered. Now it was Y/N’s turn to look at him intrigued. “I run the geriatric occupational therapy floor and manage our equipment and employees. ”

“Two very impressive people in the work field from what I’m getting,” Matthew chuckled some as he made the notes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to ask about income from the both of you for the record. If you want to write it on a paper and hand it to me you can or if you are comfortable saying it outloud that works too. Either way, I’ll have Foggy add it in later to the finalized papers.”

“Wait, so we aren’t finalizing it today?” Y/N asked, somewhat shocked. 

“Did Foggy not tell you?” Matthew asked. “I thought he reached out to you before this meeting.”

“I don’t believe so,” Y/N shook her head. 

“Well, the reason this one is so quick is because I just need a few signatures and updated notes on you two. After that, I’ll make the altercations for the official papers and I’ll send those to you both on their own to get the final signature. You can either bring them to me here, fax them, or have them sent via mail after you signed off on them.”

“Oh, I see,” Y/N nodded. The look of defeat in her posture and facial expressions.

It hurt Bucky a little seeing her reaction to it. Did she really want to get away from him that bad? Was he that much of a nuisance in her life? I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be divorced 9 years ago, but he didn’t want it then and it still hurt seeing just how much she wanted it now. 

“That’s not an issue is it? I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” Matthew apologized. 

“No, no. It’s ok,” she said in reassurance to him. But she let out an almost bitter laugh before she spoke again. “We’ve been married for the past 9 years apparently. What’s a few more days?”

“I guess that’s true,” Matthew laughed with her. 

Bucky rolled his eyes discreetly. He really hated how she was reacting with all this. It wasn’t surprising, but doesn’t mean it hurts any less seeing how badly she wanted out of the situation.  

“Mr. Barnes, are you ok with that?” 

“I’ll survive a few more days, I guess,” he returned just as bitterly as Y/N. The two looked at each other one more time, but this time, anger and annoyance was clear on both of their faces.

If you would like to be tagged in this series, please send an ask! It keeps things more organized for me. If you comment, I most likely will not add because I loose them:)

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Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624 @leyannrae @lonerlovescompany @jessyballet @angstysebfan @tita127 @semistablecentenarian @im-a-light-child @alyssahowden @studiesinspanish @natyvwe @rebekahdawkins@fanfictionjunkie1112 @millennial-teenybopper @scotlandasshole @aquariusbarnes @shinykoalacat​

Marvel Tags:

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My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​  @laneygthememequeen​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @carls1022​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @anise-d-castle6​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​ @alyispunk​ @princess-annna

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​

[just-here-for-the-moment]

You just had to bring the symbol of Victory into this didn't you?!???? Is this some sort of euphemism I should look forward to or!??!?!?????

Yes!! Let me “paint you a picture” (groan)... Also, I sat down to draft my response and it's somehow *gestures at this whole mess* 2300+ words!?? And confession time! I’ve never even SEEN "The Mentalist"! Everything I know about Marcus Pike has come from cute GIFs and the Internet and fanfics… so… I don’t even know what’s going on with me today. But thank you! :D

(This is leaking over from this post if anyone needs to play catch-up)

Paris

Word count: 2300+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Marcus Pike x “You” in Paris, reader is an Art History Professor (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow burn; cute Marcus Pike; coffee and pastries; kissing and stuff; public-ish sex in the Louvre after hours; spontaneous P/V sex (probably unprotected, idek) we're all adults here, wrap it before YOU tap it!

It’s like, you and sweet Marcus have definitely hit it off and you’re really into each other after that field trip meet-cute and your date, but you haven’t slept together yet. He gets called away for a case, so you wish him good luck and hope that you can see each other again soon.

A few days later it’s spring break and you have a trip to Paris planned to complete some research for your next publication. You email Marcus while you're waiting to board. You let him know that you’re going to be out of town for a few days, but that you hope his case is going well, and maybe when he's back you two can pick up where you left off?

You land in Paris and check your messages, and you see that Marcus has replied to your email. He says he can't share the details of his case, but that he hopes he'll be wrapped up by the end of the week, and that he definitely wants to see you again. He asks about your research trip, so you shoot a quick email back to fill him in on the details.

You get to your hotel and sink into a hot bath with your phone. You open your emails, and your brain tells you that you're just checking to confirm the details of your appointment with your research contact in the morning... but the little uptick in your heart rate tells you that you're actually looking for another reply from Marcus. And it's there. He says that he loves Paris and that your research sounds exciting. He asks where you’re staying? You give him the name of your hotel, and tell him that you haven't stayed there before, but it's cute.

Before the water even gets cold you have another reply, sending the butterflies behind your navel into a tizzy. He says that he's stayed there once or twice and that the café in the lobby has excellent pastries. You smile and let yourself imagine a vacation with Marcus, here in Paris, sharing pain au chocolat over a little table in the café. You refill the tub with hot water and sit daydreaming for so long that your fingers prune up.

You get out of the bath and wrap yourself in a plush robe, and sit on the edge of the bed. You email Marcus back, wishing him a good night and telling him that it's late where you are, but that you promise to try one of the pastries in the morning with your breakfast coffee. By the time you're in your nightgown and ready to sleep he's responded, wishing you sweet dreams and hoping that your research goes well. You smile and reply, "Thanks," and then drift down into pleasant dreams.

The next morning you take yourself to the little lobby café and treat yourself to a café crème and an almond croissant. Marcus was right, and you nearly moan aloud as you wrap your mouth around the flaky pastry. You open your email and send him a picture of your croissant with one bite missing, and you joke that you blame him for ruining you for any other boulangeries you might visit during your trip. By the time you're done with breakfast he's responded with a wink emoji and a quick "Sorry I ruined you," and you desperately want to email him back and boldly ask him to ruin you in other ways. You stop yourself, and your brain can't think of anything appropriate, so you just don't respond and you leave to go to your research appointment.

The day is long, and the dusty archives and a few misfiled papers cause small irritations. But you find a few of the things that you needed, so you call it productive enough. You break at 3 p.m. and decide to start again fresh in the morning. Maybe an early dinner and another scalding hot bubble bath will set you right. You decide that the weather is nice, and that your hotel is close enough that you can stroll back and people watch, disconnect your brain from your work and transition into relaxation mode along the way.

You arrive back at your hotel and go to your room to change. There is a card slipped under your door, the front desk letting you know that you have a delivery of some kind to pick up. You try to remember if any of your colleagues or your boss mentioned that they would send you anything? Is it paperwork? Some kind of file for your research? You decide to shower and change into a nice dress to lift your mood, and then head back out for dinner.

You take the card to the lobby desk and hand it to the desk clerk and he disappears into the back office. When he returns you're surprised to see that he's holding a floral arrangement, not huge or ostentatious, but lovely and cheerful and somehow your favorite color exactly. The clerk sets the vase on the desk. You reach for the card and open it.

"Good luck on your research. -Marcus"

You break into a wide grin and you practically float back to your room. You set the flowers on the room table and open your email to thank him. You send him a photo and an effusive "Thank you!" and a winky kiss emoji. Is that too much? No - if one little emoji scares him off then he's not the guy you thought he was.

He responds within minutes, a quick "You're welcome. Glad they arrived in one piece." and his own winky kiss emoji. Your heart flutters and you reply immediately, "They're really lovely. Thank you for thinking of me."

A moment later his next email pops up: "Can I take you to dinner and pick up where we left off?"

You reply: "Absolutely! I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in town!"

He responds: "No, I meant tonight."

You hesitate, does he want to call you and chat on the phone while you eat dinner? Some kind of video call, like a virtual date? Before you can type your reply, a new message pops up: "I'm actually in Paris. My case is here and I arrived a few days before you did. I didn't want to scare you off or come to your hotel unannounced, but I'm free tonight and I'd love to see you."

You throw your head back and laugh. This is definitely way more fun than eating alone and people-watching. You message back an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'm ready when you are!" and he emails you and says he'll see you in 30 minutes in the lobby. When you get downstairs he's waiting by the front desk, all soft scruff and loosened tie and warm brown eyes, just as you remembered. You smile and hug him, and in that moment you feel like a fairy-tale princess meeting her prince, being swept off your feet in the most romantic city in the world.

You have dinner at a cozy bistro around the corner, Marcus making you bubble with laughter as you talk. He listens to you moan about the missing pieces of your research, your pressing need to track down a letter from one artist to another that was mentioned in an old diary but which hasn't yet surfaced. You're sure it's around the archives somewhere, just waiting for you to piece it together with the rest of your project. Marcus tells you that his case is almost wrapping up, and if you want he can arrange to catch the same flight home as you. You smile and tell him that would be nice.

You finish dinner and he asks if you want to go to the Louvre, and you check the time and say that they're almost closing. Marcus smiles at you and says, "Don't worry about it," and he looks a little mischievous. You tell him you're up for an adventure, and he takes your hand and ushers you into a taxi.

When you arrive he asks the desk staff for someone he knows, and you make a quick run to the restroom. When you return, Marcus has two laminated badges, special access for professionals and visiting staff that allows you to stay for a few hours past closing. You can't believe your luck, being allowed to spend extra time in one of the most special places in the world, not to mention that your escort is the most handsome and charismatic man you've ever met.

You start in the Denon wing and wander through the museum, talking and laughing quietly, enjoying the opportunity to see things that you would normally have to fight hordes of tourists to see. And maybe "enjoy" isn't the right word, because if someone asked you how you were feeling right now, you would say you were "on cloud nine" or "elated" or "floating." It feels like a dream, and you're not sure if you're going to remember all of it later, but you desperately want to, and you're trying so hard to file every sight away into your brain.

When you reach the Mona Lisa, an odd hush falls over you, and you realize it's the first time you've ever seen it without a crowd twenty deep in front of it. Marcus seems to know what you're feeling, because he takes your hand, almost shyly. And he keeps holding it, warming your fingers as the two of you walk on. You stop in front of Delacroix, "Liberty Leading the People," and you tell Marcus that it's the first painting you ever fell in love with, a million years ago in high school during your very first art history class. You look at the painting and he looks at you, and when you finally turn toward him he captures your mouth in a warm, urgent, soft kiss. You can feel your eyes sparkling at him when he pulls away, and you don't say a word, you just smile and hold his hand as you walk through doorways and up and down stairs.

You come around a corner and there it is, probably the most famous statue in the world: the Venus de Milo. She takes your breath away, and then Marcus does, too, stealing a kiss when you least expect it. And you're torn completely in half, unsure if you would rather keep kissing him or just stare at the curves and planes of her body. So you try to do both; you kiss him and keep one eye on the Venus and you start to feel dizzy, like you've overloaded on sugar, but it's just the impossible circumstances that you've found yourself in.

And you break apart from him, and take his hand again, leading him into a corner that's a little more private. You back yourself against a wall and pull him to you by his tie, and you kiss him the way he deserves, with your full attention and precision. Minutes pass slowly, and you only come up for air because you're afraid you're going to faint. Your thigh is blazing hot where Marcus's hand has raked up under your skirt, and the only reason you don't fuck him right there is because of a security camera keeping watch on the alcove.

You tell him that you both should finish your tour and go back to your hotel, and he agrees. You try to keep your mind on the art, and you tell Marcus about how awestruck you were as a student when you learned about the way that sculptors could depict every curve and dimple of a woman's body through the wet drapery technique; the sensuality of the human form made only slightly more modest when viewed through a veil of fabric; the sheer awesome impossibility of marble carved to look like gauze.

You both get lost in the conversation, and you wander up a staircase and around a corner, and there it is: your absolute favorite piece of art, the piece that you have studied and memorized and dreamed about. And you've seen it before: you've been to the Louvre a handful of times, but this time there are no noisy footsteps echoing off the marble, no tourists trying to capture the glory of it with their tiny and unworthy cameras and phones when there are perfectly good books and postcards available in the gift shop... the Nike to end all Nikes, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. You are, quite simply, blown away.

And if it had been a normal weekend walking tour of the sacred Louvre, if you had been there with anyone else... you wouldn't have ended up wedged against the wall of the archway to her left, skirt hiked up as Marcus pounded into you, one of your bare legs hooked over his hip and your arms wrapped around his neck. If it had been any other day or any other time, you would have stopped him before he unzipped his fly and pulled his erection out; you would have had some remaining shred of propriety, of decency. But it wasn't a normal day and he wasn't a normal man, and you really weren't yourself.

You had gotten carried away by the late hour and the thrill of being allowed to wander the empty museum, and if you were being honest, you really wouldn't have wanted to stop it. You wanted to give in to the romance of the city and the priceless treasures on display and the heady conversations with Marcus. You wanted to be exactly where you were, with exactly who he was, doing exactly what you were doing and feeling exactly how you felt as he thrust into you and grunted your name like a chant while you traced the lines of the Nike with your lust-blown eyes.

You didn't make it to the Richlieu wing until a year later, on a sunny Saturday morning with your new husband Marcus.

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Roll call: please message me if you don't want to be on my "all fics" tag list!

@221bshrlocked @danniburgh @starlightmornings @honestly-shite @spacedilf @anaaaispunk @silverwolf319 @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @the-queen-of-fools @driedgreentomatoes @juletheghoul @dihra-vesa @anxiousandboujee

[mystical-marauder]

Painting stars

Sirius enters an art shop, hoping to finally buy the supplies he'd been saving up for for months, but walking through that door brings him much more than expected

This is my first oneshot and I hope you like it and I'll post more writing like this hopefully and my writing can also be found on ao3 my username is @loveglowslikethemoon hope you enjoy :)

Today had been pretty quiet with only a couple customers and the shop was closing in 10 minutes, I was ready to go home...

Ding!

I look up from my book, ‘What kind of customer turns up this late?’ I think. I look around to the door, standing there is a tall, handsome young man, his grey eyes excitedly glancing over the shop, his black hair tied up into a bun. His fair skin is disrupted only by a small beauty mark, under his eye. The confident smile that suddenly splits his face as he turns to me, brings out two dimples that break his otherwise smooth cheeks.

"Afternoon! I'm looking for art supplies, I mean I am in an art shop" he says, chuckling. "I actually need some advice, you have a very wide selection and I'm not quite sure what to pick." he gestures vaguely at the shelves full of pencils and brushes, paint and charcoal, canvases and sketchbooks... "You see I love painting but I have no idea which brushes to use, it's embarrassing really."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, actually it's quite common, that’s what I’m here for” I reply with a smile “So you said you paint, right? What do you need, brushes, paint, canvases…?”

“I… um… I actually need everything… You see my parents, well, they kicked me out… and I left everything there… but I've finally saved up enough money to buy new supplies so here I am” he explains chuckling nervously. I look around nervously, unsure what to answer to that but I try to remain as steady and professional as possible.

“That's… terrible, I’m so sorry.” I say, smiling nervously, trying to seem comforting.

“It’s alright, it’s a good riddance I guess.” he replies cheerily “so about those supplies, what do you recommend?”

“Follow me, I’ll show you my recommendations. You’ll have to tell me a bit more about your style of painting so I can give you my best advice.” I say, leading him over to the shelves.

I quickly give him an overview of the different supplies before giving him a more detailed review of each product and advice. We slowly go through the shop and I don’t even notice the minutes fly by. As I walk to another shelf, I catch a glimpse of the clock. I should’ve closed the shop half an hour ago but I decide to leave it. I was having fun. What was the harm of staying open a little while longer? As the minutes pass, our chatter becomes less professional and more friendly. We talked and laughed together and soon enough, we’d picked out all his new art supplies.

“Well there’s everything you need!” I say, walking back to the counter. I start counting the price while chatting to him. “That’s £81.99, the easel is on the house for being such an amiable customer. Do come back if you ever need anything else, it was a pleasure to serve you.” I smile sadly, it had been more than a pleasure and I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye now.

“Thank you” he answers, giving me another of his confident smiles “I- I was wondering if umm… this might sound a bit weird but-” his piercing grey eyes quickly shift away, his normally confident appearance fading to show a childlike nervousness. “Before I left home, well, before I was forced out, I was studying anatomy, and well… I think you'd make the perfect model… Would it be alright if I painted you? If you don't mind, of course. Please don't feel forced to accept anything, but I'd love it if you do. And we could get a chance to get to know each other a little better, maybe somewhere where you don't work.” he clears his voice, as though happy to get this over with, and shifts his grey eyes back to me, his confidence returning. A new childish smile splits his face, as though it had never left it.

My eyes widen as I register what he just asked, and I quickly look away, embarrassed. ‘Perfect?’ as the word races through my mind again and again, I feel my face heat a little. Perfect? Me? No one had ever even called me pretty, let alone perfect, but now this man, who looks like a model himself, wants me to model for him and used that word to describe me. I return the smile, although mine is more nervous than childlike. He tilts his head slightly as though reading my emotions but seconds later, he lets out a small laugh which I quickly copy, trying to diffuse the awkwardness that flourished in me throughout this interaction.

“Are you sure you want me? I mean-” I cut off as I watch him nod confidently “alright I'd love to then!” I answer him, flattered, yet I can't stop the slight shake of my hands. What if I mess up? What if he ends up hating me?

“See you then” he says happily, turning away with a wink. I watch him as he walks out, finding myself to be grinning like a child, like him. I only have one thought left, ‘I don't have to say goodbye.’ I stay standing there for a few minutes with this thought before I snap back to reality. My eyes snap to the clock.

“Fuck” I whisper as I work out the time. If my boss finds out I closed the shop two hours late, I'm done for. ‘Oh well, it was worth it’ I think ‘and anyways he might not even find out.’ I start packing my bag when I suddenly realise he didn't give me a name let alone an address, how was I ever going to find him?! My eyes trail back to the door but of course he is long gone by now… I look around, panicked, as though expecting something to magically give me his address and that's when I notice the folded piece of paper on the counter. I slowly open it, my fingers trembling at the thought that it may not be what I think. I flatten out the paper and quickly read the snippet of writing. I smile inwardly, holding the small, unfolded piece of paper, relief slowly flooding through me as I trace the sentence again and again with my eyes, struggling to believe the evening's events.

19:30 tomorrow room 29 Mirror Hotel - Sirius Black

“Sirius Black” I whisper softly, smiling. “It's nice to meet you, Sirius Black”

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

I try to steady my hand as doubt rises in me again, one thought racing continuously through my mind ‘What if I mess up?’ I reach out and knock on the door hesitantly. I wait for a few seconds, yet it feels like an eternity, before the door is swung open.

“Found my note I see!” he exclaims, standing in the doorway with a huge grin lighting up his face. I smile back, trying to look as confident as he did.

“Here I brought you this” I reply, showing him my bag. I take out a small black book and present it to him, “it’s my favourite book, actually I was reading it when you came into the shop, I thought that maybe...” I trail off, embarrassed. I rub the back of my neck, feeling the warmth radiating from my palm. “I just thought maybe you'd find it interesting, I've read it so many times I practically know it off my heart” I laugh quietly, quickly glancing up at him “sorry I'm rambling”

Sirius looks at me, curiosity in his eyes. A small laugh escapes his lips before he turns to me and takes the book. He flips it, seemingly interested before looking back at me and taking a step back, to free the entrance. “Well why don't you come in?” he asks, before marking a pause, “I'm sorry I don't think I caught your name.”

“I'm Remus.” I respond, looking back up at him.

“Remus, that's a nice name.” he comments, his grin never leaving his face “the book seems interesting! I'll be sure to give it a try” I listen to him talk while I walk into his room, which is surprisingly organised. There isn't much, a table with an old laptop on it, two chairs, a bed, which takes up most of the space, a set of drawers, a small window and, in the corner, the art supplies he'd bought the day before. “You can sit here” he tells me, pushing one of the chairs towards me, I take it and sit down, putting my bag down next to it, unsure what to do next, I watch him walk over to the corner and pick up his art supplies.

“What do I need to do?” I ask, my hands still trembling slightly in my lap.

“Nothing, don't worry” he replies “just sit there and relax, there's nothing to be scared of” he addresses a friendly smile at me, pulling up the other chair to face me and setting up his easel in front of it. He takes out a brush and some paint, mixing them on his palette, and starts moving his hand up and down the canvas in big yet careful gestures. As the minutes pass, I start to feel more relaxed, watching his movements getting smaller and slower. “So, tell me a bit about yourself” he says, his eyes not moving from the canvas.

“Hmm oh well my life isn't very interesting. I grew up here with my parents, they're both gone now. I work in an art shop, as you know, I really like reading and I don't know what else to tell you…” I answer, thinking that my life must be too boring for him.

“That sounds interesting to me, you must know the surroundings pretty well then! Maybe you could show me around a little, I've been here for a few months but I still manage to get lost sometimes.” he tells me, chuckling.

“I'd love to, but only if you show me how to paint” I reply, nodding happily. As the minutes turn into hours and his painting progresses, we keep talking, about everything and nothing. It felt easy to talk to him, no not easy, right. Soon enough, I knew him like he'd been my friend for years. While we talk, his eyes tend to stay on the painting but sometimes they glide over to me, snapping back to the painting seconds later. In what felt like a short period of time, yet was a few hours, the painting was finished.

“Are you ready? If I'm honest, I'm a little nervous but if it's bad, blame it on the fact I couldn't paint for the past few months.” he admitted with a nervous chuckle, grabbing the canvas and hesitantly turning it towards me.

‘wow’

That's it. That's the only thought that went through my head as my eyes met themselves on the canvas. It's so beautiful and…

“Well? What do you think?” he urges nervously. I suddenly notice his hands trembling slightly and his eyes watching me intensely. He always seems so confident, yet I can see the fear in his eyes now.

“It's so… It's stunning… I'm speechless” I reply, looking him in the eyes quickly before turning back to the painting. The painting looked so realistic, my light curly brown hair and pale green eyes standing out against my pale skin, there is only one alteration. Instead of the freckles that normally sprinkle my face, are little stars. They're beautiful, shining like the stars I can now see from the window.

“Your freckles, they're beautiful, they look like the stars in the night sky. I thought I should paint them as such… They're like little beacons of hope and friendship, when I walked into that shop, I never thought I'd make a new friend, and well, thank you for giving me hope.” Sirius looks at me, his eyes sparkling with the same hope he was talking off. As I look at him, straight into his eyes, I feel a smile reach my lips, knowing my eyes have the same sparkle in them. And as our eyes dig deeper into one another, as we share a smile of happiness of who we found, the minutes slow, as though this moment was frozen in time, which I wish could be the case. Suddenly, we both break eye contact, as though embarrassed by the connection we'd both felt in that second. We both look back up to the painting, our eyes meeting again for a second, causing my face to heat a little. I slowly lift myself out of my seat, taking a step towards the painting to get a closer view of the talent etched on the canvas in front of me.

“It's- it's really stunning” I mutter, still speechless, taking yet another step forward. As I slowly edge forward, I notice something, something that had escaped me at first glance, as it usually escapes others' attention. A thin scar, tracing along the bridge of my freckled nose. Freckles which usually hide it, making it hardly noticeable, especially at first glance. A scar that had been given to me when I was only five, by an overexcited grey dog at the park. It's claw had scratched against the skin of my nose, after it had ambushed me. It had left me with a gash, one that never properly healed and could now be observed under the shape of a scar. This scar. The one he had noticed, when no one else had.

“You got my scar” I whisper in amazement. I slowly reach out to touch it, feeling like all that matters now, is this single detail. A small detail yet seeing it there had given me hope. At the last second, I pull my arm back, like an instinct, and, remembering the paint is still wet, I drop my hand to my side.

“Of course I got it, how could I miss it?” as his voice reaches my ears, I glance to my left to find him standing next to me, admiring the same spot as I was. Him. The man who, right now, felt like a dream come true. We both turn to face one another at the same second, almost as though we're in tune with one another. I find myself getting lost in his stormy grey eyes again, knowing that he was looking straight back into my emerald green ones. For a moment, there's no movement, we both stand there in silence, our eyes sparkling at each other, knowing that this is right. A shadow suddenly masks one of his eyes and I understand that a lock of his hair escaped his small bun. I watch it sway slightly before I instinctively take a step forward, closing what little distance is left between us, and reach out. I mark a pause, waiting to see if he'll reject the movement, but nothing happens. Carefully, I grab the small lock of hair and delicately brush it behind his ear.

As I hesitantly move my hand away, Sirius lets out a low throaty laugh, and I suddenly feel compelled to do something I'd never dreamed of. Instead of pulling my hand back, I instinctively slide it down to the back of his neck, cradling it carefully in my hand, and lean forward, closing the distance between us centimetre after centimetre until we collide. It was a short kiss but our movements were coordinated perfectly.

We pull away, almost reluctantly, and I watch his face quickly turn a deep crimson, knowing mine isn’t much better. I watch his eyes, like two storms lost in the middle of all this redness.

“That was… something” my eyes move down, as I utter these two words, as though expecting them to close the distance again. Our faces were still within centimetres of one another, making me struggle not to kiss them again.

“Something utterly spectacular” Sirius laughs breathlessly, intensifying my impulse to lean in again.

The room falls silent again, as I continue to watch the slight quiver on his lips. The only disturbance in the otherwise perfect silence is the sound of light rain splashing against the window and pavement along with our shallow breathing.

For a long while, we stand there, gazing quietly into each other's eyes, not uttering a single word, yet I feel complete, everything I need is right here, in front of me. This man, who has the most luscious hair, elegance and grace radiating from his unpolished appearance, a mischievous yet friendly glint in his eye, who is staring up at me with those mercury eyes.

And in that second, I feel certain that this is where I belong. That being with Sirius is right.

[kippykasey]

Grace - Chapter 5: Hydra

Pairing: Howard Stark x F!Reader , Bucky x Reader [Eventually]

Word Count: 3522

Series Summary: A young nurse is recruited by Dr. Abraham Erskine to join the SSR to assist on Project Rebirth. Following her work with the SSR she is drafted into the US Army Nurse Corps in the war against the Nazis...and HYDRA.

Chapter Warnings: violence, torture, bad things because Hydra

Author's Note: Surprise?! I wasn't even expecting to get this done but I literally just finished and thought, eh why not. So here it is! Also I hate hurting my characters so this was a bit eh to write but I hope all is well!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the gifs they are either found on google or under the gif tag provided by tumblr. Any language other than English was translated using Google Translator, and translations will be posted in bolden italics after. I am not a nurse or in the medical field although I may do some research medical treatment written may not be correct.

Grace Masterlist | Snowdrop Masterlist | Masterlist

Pain. A throbbing, harsh pain echoed through my head from the temple. The throbbing beat opposite that of my heart. The second thing I noticed was how cold and damp it was. After battling with my body to force open my eyes I squint through the dimly lit room. A deep voice spoke in another language… German it was German but my head hurt too much for me to understand it. Seconds passed before I realized that I was sitting on the ground in a cell. The door opened and two men walked in flanked by four additional soldiers than the one that had been watching me.

“Ah Fräulein (L/n) glad you have finally woken up.” Miss.

“Who are you?” I cursed how weak my voice sounded at that moment. Though the man didn’t seem to find me a threat of escape as he spoke. “Johann Schmidt. You see we have a common acquaintance… or, well, had.” The grin he wore made my stomach drop and he didn’t need to verbally admit it for me to realize this is the man behind Abraham’s death.

I raised my head in defiance and although it made the pounding in my head worsen I pushed myself from the ground and stood within the cell. “You’re after the serum.”

“Ah, clever girl. You were Abraham’s assistant when he made the serum.” The second, much shorter man spoke. “Fault in your plans. I don’t know how to make the serum.” Schmidt smiled at me and it took all my self control not to shiver from his intense look. “I was hoping you would say that,” His eyes turned off me to the soldiers. “Bring sie zum Stuhl. Probiere es an ihr aus. Vielleicht wird ein kleiner Elektroschock Ihr Gedächtnis auffrischen.” Take her to the chair. Try it out on her. Perhaps a bit of electroshock will refresh your memory. As Schmidt talked his head also turned towards the shorter man.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I moved back against the wall. Three soldiers stepped towards the cell. One man opened the cell door before the other two stepped inside to detain me. I managed to elbow one in the face in my struggle but it was useless. The two soldiers dragged me from the cell, out of the room into a brighter lit hall. We were in some kind of warehouse. My eyes zeroed in on a chair that looked right out of a nightmare. Stronger hands forced me into the hard chair and held me down while I was struggling against someone’s attempts to strap me in. My struggling did nothing but get me a slap to the face. The strength of the slap disoriented me long enough for them to strap me in.

The shorter man who followed us now stood next to my head. I could see the reflection of myself in his glasses. “This is only going to hurt a lot, try to hold still.” He instructs lowering two plates down around my face. It was only a few short moments before the electricity forced its way into my head. I had no control over my body as it thrashed in the confines of the chair. An agonizing scream of pain carrying throughout the building went ignored.

That wasn’t my first time in the chair but it was the only time I had passed out in the chair. Spent 30 minutes in the chair 3 times a day, sometimes longer. After a week I had to start muttering things to myself in my cell so I didn’t forget who I was. The Nazi soldiers gave me the bare minimum to survive as far as water and nutrients goes. I cracked halfway through October. I gave the short scientist, Armin Zola, the list of what I would need before I was taken back to my cell after yet another time in the cell. I was given parchment and a pencil to write things down with but it kept coming in flashes.

Nights were the worst. Mouth dry from lack of water, eyes trained on an iron grate in the ceiling. I realized two weeks into my daily chair visits that I had forgotten my brother’s name. When I noticed it caused me to cry to sleep that night. So whenever I could I would mutter to myself facts I could remember starting with my name, rank, and where I was from. The list of facts got shorter every day. Somedays I remembered more than others. There were times all I could bring myself to do was hum Amazing Grace to myself to deal with the pain.

The first time I was in the lab I tried to escape. I was left with just one guard and I thought I could take him. I smashed a beaker using a shard like a knife. I ended up knocked unconscious, my hand bleeding from the self inflicted cuts caused by the makeshift weapon. From then on I was chained to the lab table and three soldiers kept watch. I wasn’t given anything to test the serum on. So I never tested unless I thought it would work because I used myself as a test subject.

I was unconscious for two days once from a failed serum. Others cause excruciating pain. Days came and went and I lost count of days but I knew it was still October. Yet a month was close to passing as November began to be discussed amongst soldiers around me. Pressure was placed on me to recreate the serum. Each day if I didn’t recreate the serum I was sent to the chair for the torturous electroshock. That is how I figured out I had been successful in a recreation. The serum, when tested, did nothing but make me drop to the lab floor in pain. I wasn’t even given time to recollect myself before being dragged off to the chair. I lasted longer in the chair than usual. I heard the instruction to increase the power. I don’t remember what happened after that.

It took me nearly half a day to recover, then as soon as I had I was back working in the lab. Suddenly I was pulled away from my work and escorted quickly back to my cell. “Neue Soldaten wurden gefangen genommen.” New soldiers have been captured. I pressed myself up against the bars for a chance, a glimpse at the soldiers being brought in.

It was silent as the Nazi Hydra soldiers dealt with the new poisoners. Suddenly two soldiers appeared with smiles on their faces. “Komm Mädchen. Zola und Schmidt wollen dich sehen.” Come girl. Zola and Schmidt want to see you. The soldiers yanked me up and practically dragged me to the room where the chair was. My body trembled involuntarily at the sight of the chair. It wasn’t me going in the chair, given someone was strapped in but given the uniform he was American. “Ah, here iz our lovely nurse. You’ve been asking for a test subject. Here you go.” Schmidt waved at the man strapped into the chair. The man lifted his head just barely and my heart went out to him. As soon as the hands left my arms I moved to the soldier in the chair. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“S’rg’nt Jam’s Barn’s,” His voice wasn’t clear but it was clear enough for me to understand what he said. The nurse turned to Zola and Schmidt. “I wasn’t done recreating the serum when you had me pulled from the lab. I will need time to work and he needs time to rest or the serum will kill him.” I tried to give him whatever comfort I could in those brief moments before we were pulled apart. His head rose just slightly and I caught a glimpse of stormy blue eyes as he was dragged out of the room.

I never got to return to my cell that night. As my eyes zoned in on the blue chemical mixture in front of me I felt a haze cloud my mind, it wasn’t abnormal to experience but I also felt like I was losing myself when it happened. Following my own written instructions I was able to continue my work. The only other thing I forced my mind to remember were two things.

I am First Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps. Soldier boy is Sergeant James Barnes.

The words became a mantra in the blank canvas my mind was currently in as I blindly worked by instructions of my very own that I don’t even remember writing. My body moved on auto pilot as I was taken to a crude looking examination room. In the center was soldier boy Sergeant James Barnes strapped to the table. As my mind raced to catch up with me, flashes of memories clouded my mind from when Steve Rogers got the serum, the explosion that followed, Dr. Erskine being shot. My body tensed at a passing memory of being in the chair passed through being replaced by the pain I felt giving myself the serum.

A hand pressed firmly in between my shoulder blades pushing me forward. I stumbled to the table catching myself with a hand on his arm. Wasn’t he wearing an army jacket before? My eyes landed on the serum filled syringe in my hands reminding me of what I was about to do. “First lieutenant (Y/n) (F/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps.. You are Sergeant James Barnes.. I’m sorry for what I am about to do. You’ll be okay. I’ve used it on myself. It will hurt.” My voice sounded so… robotic and monotone as I spoke to him. My hands pushing up his sleeve.

My hands worked from memory and out of second nature my mouth moved and the hymn fell from my lips. The melody of the song was the only comfort I could offer as I injected the poor man with the serum that would change his life forever. His eyes looked up at mine until the pain of the serum changing his body caused them to shut tightly. The leather restraints holding him in began to rip as he pulled against them. Discarding the empty syringe I tried to soothe him more but the second my hand touched his head I was shot with a sedative.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Steve Rogers has dressed up performing on stage like a dancing monkey to sell war bonds since he was given the serum. His first time on foreign grounds and he was performing for soldiers he should have been fighting alongside of. All to be booed off the stage by disgruntled men who just wanted to see a pretty dame.

Steve finally looked away from the rain but not quite at Peggy, “At least he’s got me doing this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.” Blue eyes finally met the face of Agent Carter. “And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know.” Her wording might have been a bit rude but the point got across. There was a moment of silence between the two but Steve had this look to him. “What?” Peggy inquired.

The man was drawing in the rain when a familiar face popped up. “Hello, Steve.” Peggy Carter approached him from behind, making him turn from his drawing to greet her, “Hi.” She mimed his ‘hi’ back before laying her jacket down to sit on while Steve asked, “What are you doing here?” Peggy looked at Rogers and let out a small sigh, “Officially, I’m not here at all. That was quite a performance.”

Rogers looked away disappointed that she had caught the horrible show that happened earlier. “Yeah. I uh, I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I’m used to are usually more, uh, twelve.” Steve explained looking out at the drenched ground and falling rain. “I understand you’re ‘America’s New Hope’.” Peggy states watching him. “Bond sales take a 10% bump in every state I visit.” Steve comments like a robot. “Is that Senator Brandt I hear?”

“You know for the longest time, I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted and I’m wearing tights.” Steve kept looking down at his journal then squinting out through the rain. A horn alarmed behind them as a medical vehicle slid to a stop in the mud. Medics ran from the infirmary tent to help unloaded soldiers on gurneys. “They look like they’ve been through hell.” Peggy turned back towards Rogers. “These men more than most.” Steve looked up at Peggy knowing she had more details. “Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men were there to back up an already injured fleet, they went up against him and less than 75 returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th and 34th.” Steve slowly turned his head feeling bad for the men who were lost but his attention snapped to Peggy at the mention of the divisions involved as she finished, “The rest were killed or captured.”

“The 107th?” The confirmation had him darting out into the rain, Peggy following holding her jacket over her head for coverage from the rain. The two ran all the way to the tent Colonel Phillips was sitting in signing condolence letters. “Colonel Phillips.” Steve called for the man’s attention as he approached. “Well, if it isn’t the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?” The colonel responded looking up at the pair now standing in front of him. “I need the casualty list from Azzano.” The tone he used was definitely fitting for the role he plays on stage. Phillips however did not appreciate it. “You don’t get to give me orders, son.”

“I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th.” Rogers responded un phased. Phillips pointed his pen at Peggy, “You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won’t enjoy.” Steve was insistent though and again requested the information he wanted, “Please tell me if he’s alive, sir. B-A-R..” “I can spell.” Phillips cut him off before muttering, “First Stark and now this.” He stood from the table and paged through the letters he just finished signing. “I have signed more of these condolence letters today that I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry. To the both of you.” Phillips looks from Rogers to Peggy and the woman knew he was referring to her friend from the 34th.”

“What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?” Rogers was something else, optimistic maybe. “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.” The look of disbelief that Steve sent the colonel as he spoke might have been the first red flag for Peggy Carter. “But if you know where they are, why not at least..” Phillips once again cut the man off, “They’re 30 miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe.” Phillips was eyeing the spot on the map as he talked about it, even pointing the place out directly. “We’d lose more men than we’d save. But I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl.”

The colonels' dig at Roger’s lack of status didn’t seem to phase the man but it did fuel the plan he was formulating in his head while staring at the map, memorizing it. “I think I understand just fine.”

“Well, then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you got someplace to be in 30 minutes.” The colonel walked past him giving Rogers a very clear view of the map marking out exactly where he needed to go, and where he was. “Yes, sir. I do.” Perhaps the time staring at the map was the second red flag that Peggy noticed. As her eyes flickered between him and the map as he left the tent it all clicked into place and she hurried after the taller man.

“What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?” Peg asked as she entered the tent used as the changing room. “If that’s what it takes.” Steve answered not looking up from where he was struggling with boots. “You heard the Colonel. Your friend, and mine, are most likely dead.”

“You don’t know that.” Steve disagreed as he continued to get ready. “Even so, he’s devising a strategy. If he detects..” Steve cut her off as he put on a brown leather jacket, “By the time he’s done that, it could be too late.” He snatched up his bag and shield and headed for the exit. “Steve!” Peggy called following him to the vehicle he tossed his things into. The rain had stopped leaving the sun to rapidly evaporate the water leaving puffs of smoke in the air. Steve looked at the brunette in front of him. “You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Then you got to let me go.” Steve turned to get into the jeep and started the engine before Peggy was at the side. “I can do more than that.” She told him.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Peggy hadn’t lied. She got them a method of transport much faster than the jeep. Howard Stark sat in the pilot seat flying a plane with the slight chance his fiancée may still be alive. Stark was devastated when he first found out that the 34th was attacked and that only doubled when the attack at Azzano took out the 107th as well.

“The Hydra camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges.” Peggy infomed Rogers as she pointed to the map she was holding. “It’s a factory of some kind.” She gave him as much information as she could. “We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep.” Howard called over his shoulder.

“Just get me as close as you can.” Steve called back up to the pilot. He looked back over at the woman in front of him. “You know.. You two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land.” He was worried about her getting into trouble for him but she looked at him just as worried. “And you won’t?” Steve dismissed her worries, turning his head. “Where I’m going, if anyone yells at me, I can just shoot them.” There was a small click of a loaded gun.

“They will undoubtedly shoot back.” Peggy surmised. Steve turned to the shield he had been using on stage giving it a knock, “Well let's hope it’s good for something.” Steve turned back to her just as Howard called back, “Agent Carter? If we’re not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue.” Howard was teasing the agent, the smile on his face hidden from those being him. Peggy shifted in her seat choosing to ignore him and keep conversation going with Rogers. “Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen. He’s mad enough to brave this airspace. We’re lucky to have him.”

Steve however was still not fully over the comment Stark made. “So, are you two… do you…” There was an awkward pause as Steve thought of the proper way to ask if they were seeing each other by reusing Stark’s words, “..Fondue?” Stark tried not to laugh from the pilot’s seat as Peggy simply shook her head and handed him a device. “This is your transponder. Activate it when you’re ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.” Steve took a moment to look at the device now in his hand before calling up to Howard, “Are you sure this thing works?”

“It’s been tested more than you, pal.” Howard defended seconds before gunfire hit the side of the plane. The plane shook as bullets pelted the sides, shaking the aircraft from the force. Steve stood grabbing his shield and heading towards the door. That he opened. “Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!” Peggy ordered yelling over the wind rushing into the plane. “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!” Steve ordered back over the noise of the wind, gunfire, and the pinging of bullets on the plane.

“You can’t give me orders!” Peggy disagreed.

“The hell I can’t! I’m a Captain!” Steve looked over at her, giving her a smile that made her weak in the knees. He grabbed the goggles from his helmet, lowered them over his eyes and launched himself out of the plane. Peggy watched him fall towards the ground before the red fabric of his parachute was visible in the night sky from the flying bullets. Howard turned back as instructed by the Captain. Now all they could do was wait.

[britishvamps]

Arranged

Prompt: None Fandom: Atiny (ATEEZ) Member: Jeong Yunho Warnings: Not really, underlying tones of sketchy deals, mention of a gun and knowledge of a crime family Word Count: 3,012 *Quick PSA: I cut it down but it's still over 3k words. This may be part of a series with the Ateez boys. This will have a series of its own and this is written for my black/POC girls 💜*

The day of your nineteenth birthday began pretty much like every typical day in your household. You were awoken at 7:30 am, went into the bathroom to have a shower. You sat back in front of your vanity, body and hair still wrapped in a towel as you moisturised your arms and legs when a knock on your door. “Come in.” You said, changing the song playing from your phone to Khalid’s ‘free spirit’ as your parents walked in. Behind them, an array of gifts were being carried in bags, and boxes followed them as they came up to hug you. “Happy birthday, sweetie.” Your mother spoke as she sat on your bed. “Happy birthday, pumpkin.” Your father whispered as he kissed your forehead before straightening out his suit and rushed back out, leaving you in your now packed room with your mother still sat on the bed. “Baby, get dressed and come meet your father and me downstairs in the dining room, okay. Dress cute.” She uttered as she arose and strutted out, her nude Louboutin heels clicking on the marble floor with each step she took before you heard the click of the door behind her.

Assuming it was another row of gifts, you dried your hair and quickly dressed in a long black flowy dress with gladiator sandals. Deciding to go semi-bare faced, you put on your lashes, did your eyebrows and put on your jewellery before you went downstairs. As you walked into the massive dining hall, one of the help came and placed a stack of hot, fluffy pancakes in front of you as two others place similar looking plates in front of your parents. “Eat up, baby. We have to go out soon to meet a few people.” Your father spoke as he skimmed over his paper whilst sipping his coffee, glancing at you as you placed a few strawberries on your plate and cut them into your pancakes. Giving a brief nod, you quickly dug in before rushing to your walk-in closet and grabbing your nude cardigan. Hopping down the stairs, your parents stood by the door with their entourage awaiting your arrival before you all bustled out and entered your respective cars. Your mother and father in one car with two guards in the front seats, you in another with three, and the rest split in two other similar looking sleek, black BMW X6′s before you set off to your location, still unknown to you. “So... where are we going, guys?” You quizzed your escorts after about 45 minutes of driving through the city, to which you got a short reply of “You’ll see when we arrive, Miss.” Rolling your eyes, you sat scrolling through the birthday wish messages from your social media as your friends posted photos from balls and events as well. “Well, seeing as nobody is going to say anything, I’m going to connect my phone to the aux.” You say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean forward to grab the thin black cable. Soon after, the music’s soft melodies were surrounding everyone in the car.

It was not until an hour or so later that you had begun slowing down in front of the great black gates that stood tall and proud in front of a large, pristine white coloured house. The bright green lawn and burgundy door stood out in comparison to its white canvas. As the gates to the unknown slowly opened, the silence in the area almost became deafening. It seemed virtually ghostly besides the hum of the engines that soon cut off as they reached their destination at the top of the driveway.

As you exited the vehicles, the once empty patio was now occupied by a single maid, much like Amanda. She stood, awaiting your ascent up the stairs. She leads you and your parents to a large room that could only describe what one might use for an exaggerated dinner party. On one side of the table stood a man, a woman who you assumed was his wife judging by her posture and clothing and a younger, taller male off on the side of the woman. Your mother and father walked towards them, beginning the greetings between them and the more youthful male shock their hands. Although confused, you shook their hands, bowing slightly to the younger male who seemed to have no interest in being in the same room as anyone who was actually in there already. “Hello, please sit. We have much to discuss.” The older man said, pointing towards the chairs as he took his place at the head of the table.

Confused, you remained stood up. “What is this? Where are we?” You quizzed, to which the younger male finally looked up at you, eyes curiously glancing over your figure as if trying to see if you were serious about your question or not. This gave you a chance to see him correctly and was he a sight to see. His face seemingly made by the gods themselves and his broad shoulders accentuated by his choice of suit. A grey check suit and white dress shirt with a deep black tie. “Sit (y/n). You will soon understand.” Your father’s voice spoke in a tone you haven’t heard from him before. Sitting opposite the younger male, you watched as another man, who you hadn’t noticed was even in the room, came and handed your father and the other older male a stack of papers, much like a contract. “Seriously, dad, we’re here to do business on my birthday.” You deadpanned, quite annoyed that the secrecy seemed only for another one of your father’s ‘business deals’.

“(y/n)...” Your mother started, before being cut off by your father. “(y/n), this is Mr and Mrs Jeong and their son Yunho.” As he spoke, he handed you the stack of papers as Mr Jeong handed his son a copy of your documents. Looking down at dark black ink that sat on the accumulation of white papers, sat your marriage contracts.

Thick, slabs of ivory paper perched on the deep black glass of the table, with the neatly written words staring back at you as it read ‘Legalised document of the union of the Jeong’s and the (y/l/n)’ s’. The thoughts swirling in your head were too loud as you looked up in horror, taking a glance around the table only to receive a sea of all blank faces. It became quickly apparent that you were the last one to know. Abruptly arising in anger, you practically flew out of the room, dismissing the yells of your parents and just when you had reached the door of the house, you were suddenly stopped by a sharp, curt pull on the arm, turning to be face to face with the beautiful individual who was previously sat opposite you. “I suggest you return on your own volition before I am forced to bring you back.” He spoke his face at much closer proximity than you had expected. Breathing heavily, you pulled your arm out of his hand before speaking. “If you think I am walking back into there so I can hear about how I am to get married to you on my nineteenth birthday, you, sir, have much more wrong with you than my parents do.”

As you opened the door, you were abruptly picked up and tossed over the shoulder of the man who you was to be your future husband. Screeching, you yelled to be let down, but your screams fell upon deaf ears as he walked you back into the dining room and set you down by the door before entering it and holding the door open for you to walk past. Huffing, you pushed your hair back and walked into the room, angrily throwing yourself into your chair as you listened to your parents plan the type of wedding they wanted you to have. Still angry, you zoned you into your thoughts, wondering what you possibly could’ve done in your past life to deserve such a treatment in which your own parents would ship you off to be wed to a man who, in the short hour you had known him, had already manhandled you and not left a good impression. “So, it is decided. The wedding will be in 6 months, and the two of you will be living together for that time. Get to know each other better.” Mr Jeong said, clapping his hands together as both sets of parents beamed at one another. “We will, of course, have to meet again to talk about the official taking over of my place once Yunho is wed, but until then, it seems we have a wedding to get through.” Mr Jeong finished as they all arose, shaking hands once more and to which you did not partake, just walking out. Upon entering your car, you locked the doors to ensure your parents wouldn’t try to speak to you.

“Where to, Miss (y/n)?” The driver asked, your guards back in their designated seats. “Anywhere but home. Make sure my parents don’t try to follow me.” You ordered, pulling your earphones out of your pocket and letting the lyrics of Billie Eilish consume you. It was not until two and a half hours later that you realised your destination. In this park, your parents used to take you as a child, before your father became too busy with his business to have your fortnightly picnic with you in that same park. Walking through the small, isolated area, you finally took a seat in what became your usual thinking spot. A large oak tree perched in front of the midsized artificial lake that sat in the middle of the field. Thinking back to the beginning of your day, even if you were given a thousand guesses, none would have been close to the events of today. At a mere 19 years of age, you got engaged and soon to be wed to a rude man you had known for only three long hours—a very handsome man, but a rude man nonetheless.

The sun was still shining brightly in the afternoon, but there was a clear breeze. You had been sat there for much longer than you had anticipated as your stomach grumbles, indicating that it was time to start heading back. Dreading the drive back, you slowly walked back towards the car where one of your guards, Eric, was holding a bag of takeout and a drink. “Figured you’d be hungry, Miss (y/n).” He smiles and hands you the food and drink before opening the car door, letting you slide in.

Two months had passed, and your parents had decided that it would be best to announce your engagement during one of your father’s trimonthly “fundraisers”. At this time, you and Yunho had only interacted when your parents and the Jeong’s visited and even then, the interactions were curt and almost business-like themselves. You slept in separate rooms and continued to live very individual lives; you, unaware of the back alley dealings and Yunho, preparing to take over his father’s “business.” All your friends were super excited that you were living with such a cute guy and started making plans to go wedding dress shopping but if only they knew the truth; that it was nothing more than a business deal.

You had to go shopping with Yunho for a matching dress and suit, both your parents joined making sure it was going well. You had entered another boutique, the employees running around trying to find a dress to match Yunho’s burgundy suit that he had seen almost instantaneously after visiting the first store, you, however, seemed to have no intentions to finding a dress, enjoying the complimentary champagne and strawberries you were getting served. “(y/n) you need to take this seriously. This is a good thing.” Your mum spoke, grabbing the champagne flute from your hand before pulling you up. In front of you was an assortment of dresses in the same colour as Yunho’s suit. Rolling your eyes, you ran your hands over the materials of the dresses, ranging from silk to velvet. You stopped at a silk dress with gold detailing, pulling it from the rack and holding it to your body. “Perfect choice, miss (y/n). This will look amazing on you.” The employee complimented. You walked into the changing area and put on the dress, instantly falling in love with the way it looked. You walked out to see your mum, and Yunho’s mum watches you in awe. “That’s the dress. You look beautiful, darling. This is the one.” Mrs Jeong spoke, signalling towards an employee. “Go get changed; I’ll go pay for this, and then we can get brunch and start discussing the wedding.” And just like that, the perfect moment came crashing down with reality.

A few weeks had passed, and it was the day of the ball. Everything was decorated to a T; the drinks fountains looked taller than you as they sat on the tables with filled champagne flutes roaming around as people started arriving. You and Yunho were in the study with your parents, receiving another lecture about acting like a couple. "Yunho, (y/n), please. Try acting more like a couple. Hold hands, maybe a kiss or something." His father sighed, watching the two of you practically glaring at one another from across the room. "I do not remember signing up for this." You groaned, seeing your parents glare at you before you stood up, trying to walk to the door. "(y/n) sit down. This marriage is for the best for the both of you." Your mother muttered, watching your every move. "The marriage is happening; the best thing you can do is try and make it as enjoyable as you can." Your father announced, ending the conversation as he put on his suit jacket, turning and nodding to Yunho before he began walking out. "I will do my part for tonight but do not expect me to act as if this was of my volition." You notified, pushing past him, the tail of your dress flowing behind you.

The party was in full swing when your parents had begun getting everyone's attention as they started announcing your betrothal. "Ladies and gentlemen. We have some exciting news. In a few months, my son will be getting married." Exclaimed Mr Jeong, receiving several cheers and claps from guests. With his hand out, Yunho walked towards where you and your parents were stood before taking your hand and placing a gorgeous diamond engagement ring on it. This caused an uproar of cheers, and he leant into you. "Keep this up, and one might think you actually like me." You whispered as you faked a smile, giving Yunho a quick side look before smiling back at the guests.

After you descended the stairs, your girlfriends began asking about 'the mysterious fiancee'. As if those words were his summoning, a hand snaked around your waist, causing you to force a smile as you looked up at him. "I heard I was being looked for." He smiled, planting a kiss on your temple. One would've actually believed you were a couple if they did not look too close. "Yes, girls, this is Yunho. Yunho, these are my best friends." Each of them not so subtly giving you approving looks as they shook his hand. "Pleasure. But I must steal away my beautiful fiancee." He charmed, to which they immediately sent you both off with a giggle and a wink. Yunho led you into a room in the back, immediately dropping his arm from your waist the second the door closed. "Why are we in here when the party and alcohol are out there?" You chided. Rolling his eyes, he unbuttoned his suit jacket. "We need to talk. You can't avoid me, so this the best place." He began, sitting in one of the chairs. "What do you know about your father's business?"

"He owns a few restaurants, some buildings and some shipping companies; I don't know. Why do you ask?" You quizzed, also sitting down. Yunho let out an incredulous laugh, leaning back. "Baby, that is far from the truth. Where we like it or not, we're going to be wed, so time to lay out a few truths. Our fathers are both the heads of two very powerful crime syndicates. Our marriage is an alliance to which we will both gain a lot. We may not see eye to eye, but you will be my wife, and I promise no harm will come your way." He said, staring at your face as it contorts to one of confusion and shock. Suddenly it was all making sense; the late-night work meetings, the cryptic conversations and the constant need to have guards. "I- This is crazy! It all kind of makes sense, but I can't be marrying a- a criminal." You rushed, standing up quickly. "Listen, I am telling you to warn you. We will never be 100% safe, and better you find out than during a situation that may involve me bringing my gun." He spoke as if this whole thing was normal. "Look, we can talk about this after the party. We disappear for too long, and people might think we're doing something, and we wouldn't want that now, would we love?" He smirked, straightening his suit before he sauntered out, leaving you stood in the room alone with your thoughts. Letting out a shocked laugh, you fixed your dress, faked a smile and walked back out to the enormous hall where Yunho was seemingly deep in conversation with your friends. You looked around, the news of your father's business partners not being as legit as they seem to change your perspective of each and every member in the room. Your father's head of management for his buildings and hotels you no longer regarded as your godfather; your driver no longer felt like he had just that one job.

Tag list: @helwegen @yunhobabygurl If anyone else wants to get tagged, please just message me or leave it below :)

[kurinoot]

[day 7] seven ethereal portraits | akaashi keiji

-> he was a piece of art, so you tried to make an art of him on valentines’ day, but unfortunately, you won’t be able to finish it all

pairing: akaashi x reader

themes: fluff with a bit of angst (I think?), post-timeskip, art student!reader

wc: 1.6k

note: so far, akaashi’s my fave fic here personally uwu (a pretty fic for the pretty setter uwu) bc he makes me feel fuzzy things :(

“Moving onto the seventh and final painting...”, you mutter as you were finally done with the sixth one for your series of paintings for your boyfriend, setting aside the newly finished work aside to settle and dry completely as you have been planning on giving him seven paintings that you started a week before Valentines’ Day.

Just as I planned… you thought.

Grabbing a fresh blank canvas, you started sketching on the last canvas as you let your hand dawdle the pencil around, your mind distancing itself from reality. You felt the heaviness on your shoulders before shaking your head, humming to distract yourself as you progressed through your sketch.

“Y/N, It’s time to eat!”, you hear Keiji’s faint voice from the other side of your studio, as the dishes clanged against the table. The faint aroma of your favourite dish entices you, pulling you back to reality as you compelled yourself to continue with the painting.

“It’s okay Keiji! You can eat without me! I just need to finish this for art school!”, you say loud enough for him to hear as you continue sketching his portrait. Your vision started to blur as you continued sketching while you forcibly hummed, your mind slowly autopiloting your hand as it made quick strokes of Keiji’s features in your mind, spraying water on the paint for your next work.

Akaashi, on the other side, could only look at your studio door as he sighed. It has been like this if you started working on your art projects, locking yourself in your studio for days, eating one meal a day through several restless nights; but your habits only worsened ever since you’ve started with your series of paintings for him this week.

He approached the door, giving a few knocks. “You’ve been like this for the entire week. You need to eat and rest, Y/N.” he crooned as he placed his ear against the door, hoping to, at least, hear your pencil strokes against the paper. “Y/N?” He called out your name once again.

Your weary eyes gazed in awe at the rough sketch. “Beautiful...” You mumbled as your finger traced Akaashi’s features on the paper before hearing his voice at your door, calling your name. You placed the canvas by the easel, covering it with a sheet as you went out of your room. Akaashi sensed your presence as you teetered slowly, haggard and dirtied with paint and charcoal all over you.

“Y/N… I know you’re very passionate about your art, but I’m worried about you. You really need to eat and rest.”, he scolds you with a sharp tone as he sees your being from head to toe, quickly coming to your side with his arm around your waist and a hand to steady you.

You scoffed as you let go of him, waving with one hand as you poured another cup of coffee, “This is nothing, Keiji. I’m okay!”

You went back to your studio with a cup of coffee in one hand, settling it down on a nearby table. You slapped yourself, waking yourself up as you started to set up your color palette, putting up small dollops of acrylic paint on your palette, mixing a few colors. You grab a couple of brushes, setting it up as you started painting your last valentines painting for your boyfriend.

For Keiji…, you thought to yourself as a smile forms on your lips.

You felt the fatigue start catching up on you once again as you felt the weight of your eyelids and the throbbing on your head. You brush them off as you continue painting,  pushing yourself to finish it as soon as possible so as to catch up to Valentines’ Day tomorrow. You pause for a bit to check your phone only to see that it was already 11:30 in the evening.

You sigh, “It’s already that late?”.

You dismiss all thoughts of resting as you desperately tried to finish your painting, creating swirls and swathes of different colors as your brush stroked each minute in detail. You cling onto your paintbrush as you fight off any telltale signs of fatigue, gulping on the now cold cup of coffee you had made a while earlier to keep yourself awake at this point in time.

Or so you thought.

As time passes by, your head swayed as your vision became unbearingly blurred as you struggled with your brush strokes, smudging at unwanted areas. You brush it off, struggling to continue further as you now feel the soreness of your muscles. You massage your temples, trying to relieve the increasing aching pain in your head to no avail.

Akaashi knocks on the door of your art room, trying to check up on you. “Y/N, as much as I support you and your art endeavors, you need to sleep now.”

No reply.

He felt a chill run up to his spine, but a slight hope lighted his eyes as he found your door unlocked. “Y/N? It’s already late, time to—”

He felt his heart drop as his eyes landed on you, unconscious on the floor, a paintbrush within your grip. His mind went blank as he frantically rushed to your side, sweeping the strands of your hair away from your pale face, feeling your temperature spiking against his cool hand. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, lifting you with all of his strength, immediately running out of your shared apartment to the streets.

Y/N! Y/N! How many times do I have to tell you to take some rest when you need to?

His mind screamed your name repeatedly as he desperately ran through the streets, the people frantically giving way as he carried you in his arms. His eyes looked around the area as he saw a familiar light emitting, entering the emergency area with you in hand. The nurses rushed to him as they pushed a hospital bed, inquiring Akaashi as they ran through the hall, pushing your bed. Akaashi’s eyebrows furrowed in worry as his mind reels of different outcomes in every possible way.

The medical staff checked up on you as one of the nurses stopped Akaashi in his path. “She might have to stay here for a couple of days or a few weeks just to check on possible signs in the future. For now, if it’s okay with you sir you can pack up a few things for her and for you.”

“Thank you so much!”, Akaashi bows in gratitude as he pulls out his editor business card, “Here’s my number, if anything happens to her.”

Akaashi hurried back to the apartment, scrambling for his keys as he unlocks the door. He immediately makes his way to your shared bedroom, opting to pack up immediately as he pulls out a black duffel bag out of the cabinet and rushes back to his and your closet, picking. He continuously packs up necessities as he feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket.

“I thought I’ve already approved of it—”, Akaashi grumbles about the possibility of work only to find a message from an unknown number.

‘Good evening! This is from the medical reception; we would just like to inform you that L/N Y/N is in Room 1205. You can come for some paperwork to be signed with.’

Please… be alright Y/N..., he prays in mind, worried for you.

He finally zips the bag with a huff after finally settling with some comfortable clothes for you both as well as comfortable clothes for work as he will most likely come home to the comforts of the hospital to check on you still.

With the duffel bag in hand, he rushed to the entrance, although stopped his tracks as he passed by your studio. A feeling of guilt washes over Akaashi as his feet walk towards the door, stopping for a moment as he takes a breather before working up the courage to open the door, despite the memories and the sight of you lying unconscious still fresh in his mind, to the sight of an unfinished canvas painting as well as different portraits of what seemed to be a stranger. Looking closely at your unfinished business, he could only know and look so much as he sees your unattended palette, the paints threatening to dry. He grasps your spilled cup of coffee on the floor, albeit cold.

His eyes wander back to the paintings aside, walking to it as he removes and wipes his glasses for a second before looking closely as he notices a slip of paper sticking on the top of one that says ‘For Keiji. Happy Valentines’ Day! I love you so much!’ which only warms his heart. Looking at it as well as the other paintings, dawning on him that you were creating these paintings of him for him for the special day.

He gazed back at the unfinished canvas, noticing the rough sketches and the smudged areas from your hand. He clutches his chest in borderline pain as he realizes that you were making a painting of the two of you as a tear threatens to fall from one of his eyes, breaking his usual calm composure.

His eyes quickly picked the brush and palette from the floor, not long before grabbing his phone with one hand, replying back to the hospital.

I’ll be there later in the morning. Until then, please take care of her., his thumb hits the send, shoving his phone into his pocket. A smile forms on his lips as he eyes the looming unfinished canvas before him, gripping your paintbrush in hand.

“I’ll finish this painting of us, Y/N.”

back to valentines masterlist

[your-local-grubdog]

I forgot to post this one to Tumblr yesterday, oof. At least I posted it to AO3! Anyways, more 30 day fluff. Check the 30 day fluff tag for other fics and the prompt list.

Day 5: Paint

"Oh my Stars - Louie, this looks wonderful!" On the counter was a beautifully decorated cake, with swirling roses and rather detailed vines. All of it, just for the sake of making something!

"Heh, thanks…Dad taught me how to decorate cakes like this. Uh, that is to say, O-Olimar…"

Alph giggled a bit. He's seen Olimar's notebooks filled with drawings of animals, and honestly? This checked out. "Well he did a fantastic job teaching you, dear!"

Louie nodded a bit sheepishly, putting a protective cover on the cake. "We can have it after dinner… which should be ready in about an hour." He looked over to the slow cooker where a traditional Koppaite dish was bubbling away in. "Maybe more, give that a lil time to cool and make some sides." He then sighed a bit as he turned back to Alph. "So… I expected the cake to take longer, actually. Uh, what would you like to do until we're ready to make the sides?"

Alph eyed the cake a bit. "I think I have an idea! Follow me!" He lightly tugged on Louie's arm as he led him to his little home office.

"Okay okay! I'm coming, blueberry, don't you worry."

Alph giggled a little more as he led his boyfriend to an easel of sorts, where he usually worked on project concepts. He pulled an extra chair over for Louie, then propped a small sketchbook onto the easel. "I usually use this for work," he explained, opening it up to show Louie countless technical drawings ranging from engines to full-on vessels. "But occasionally I get a lil off track and doodle up something else." He then showed Louie a page of Pikmin drawings. They were not as good as the mechanical drawings - it was clear where his strengths lie. Still, the doodles had their own charm to them.

"Oh wow…" Louie leaned into Alph a bit. "You're really good, too."

Alph flushed a little. "T-Thanks… well, I was wondering - maybe we could paint one of these doodles? Not straight onto the sketchbook obviously but…"

"Of course! Sounds fun. You have painting supplies?"

He nodded. "I-In the closet. I've been meaning to try it for months, but… ah, you know how life gets."

Louie nodded, gently kissing the side of Alph's head before getting up to get the supplies. He soon returned with a small canvas, some paint brushes, and rather cheap paint. "Which doodle did you want to try and paint?"

"That one." He pointed at one of a Pikmin under a leaf in the rain.

Louie nodded. "Uh, guess we could sketch it first."

Alph nodded back and began to lightly sketch a recreation of the doodle onto the canvas. Once done he turned to Louie, who was already getting some paint ready.

"Hmmm… maybe we start up here? With the sky? And work our way forward?"

Alph nodded, watching as Louie began to paint a grey sky in. Once he was done, Alph took over to paint in the ground.

They did that back and forth for a bit, taking turns with different parts of the painting. Louie would show Alph a few tricks he knew, to which Alph seemed utterly fascinated by.

Alph smiled up at Louie as he painted in a yellow Pikmin. "This is a lot of fun. We need to do this more often!"

"Whatever you say, chickpea." Louie teased, booping Alph's nose… and inadvertently getting paint on it.

The shorter man squeaked. "Ah! Louie!" Narrowing his eyes, he dabbed his finger into some yellow paint and poked Louie's nose. "There!"

"Gods, Alphie!" Another boop, more paint smeared on his nose. "This green matches your eyes at least."

Alph stuck his tongue out before touching Louie's cheek… and smearing paint all over it.

"Ack! Oh it's on. " And Louie began to rub Alph's cheeks, getting green paint all over him.

A squeak came from the smaller man before he responded in kind. Both were left laughing before an alarm spooked them both, making them jump.

"... Sounds like dinner is done." Louie commented wirely.

"Yeah. Maybe we should clean up… I don't think paint is edible."

"It isn't. Dad learned that the hard way."

Alph stared. "Don't tell me you mean Olimar.

Louie's smirk said it all.

"HOW? AND WHY ?!?"

"Hocotate has a paste-like candy similar in texture and consistently to paint." He explained as he stood up.

" Why in the Star's name would you make a product like that?!?"

"Not sure. I'm surprised they're still in business after all those complaints and lawsuits. Then again, Hocotate's economy is wack right now so maybe I shouldn't be."

Alph just sat there, staring, trying desperately to understand and just not being able to.

"Now let's go clean up. I'm hungry!"

"You always are."

Louie just shrugged before heading to the bathroom.

Alph sighed again, looking at his hands. "Stars, we're idiots." He then looked at the painting. It was… unique, to put it nicely. But Alph still felt a surge of happiness seeing it. He couldn't wait to finish it after dinner.

[whosmorales]

Heya are requests open? I really want to ask a spider noir x reader. The reader loves showing noir all kinds of colourful things, mostly painted scenery she made herself. One day he finds a sketch of him asleep, when he tells the reader she becomes flustered and everything cute and fluffy please. Thank you so much!

A/N: Omg that’s so cute aaaah I’m melting 🥺💖 I know I haven’t posted in forever but this is so cute and I have a ton of ideas I’m working on rn :) !!

Work of Art - Spider Noir x Reader

Warnings: swearing, oblivious reader

“Shit” you muttered as rain started to come down. You and Noir had been walking home from a mission and as if the bruises and cuts all over you weren’t enough, it just had to start pouring rain.

“Language y/n.” Noir said monotonously.

“Sorry, sorry.” You said in your most sincere and sweet voice, before grinning cheekily under your mask and standing on your tiptoes so your faces almost touched. “I meant to say Fuck.”

Noir shoved you playfully, and even though you couldn’t tell, he smiled fondly at you laughing at your own joke. “Come on, we gotta get to Aunt May’s place. Peter B is probably worried sick right now.”

“First of all, you know Peter B is definitely not worried sick. He’s probably off on a date with MJ in his dimension or something. And second of all, let’s just spend the night at my flat or something. It’s closer, and it’s already getting dark.” You said matter of factly, giving him a light push on the shoulder.

“Fine.” He muttered over dramatically.

Besides, the Aunt May of your dimension would always make jokes about how you and Noir were head over heels for each other. But it didn’t matter, ‘cause those jokes were just stupid. Right?

You guys walked in comfortable silence until you arrived at your flat a few minutes later. You opened the door and felt a little bit of embarrassment wash over you when you saw how messy it was. Pencils and paint bottles sprinkled the floor, half finished paintings covered your desk, and your sketchbook rested on your bed. You groaned in embarrassment and walked in and attempted to clean up at least a little.

Noir picked up a bottle of paint and tilted his head in confusion. “This is....green?” He guessed.

“Nope.” You replied as you grabbed your colored pencils and shoved them into your pencil case.

“Purple?”

“No.” You stifled a laugh at his absolute confusion over the paint.

“Blue!” He said with so much confidence that he sounded like one of the characters on scooby doo figuring out who the bad guy is.

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. “Look, if I tell you what color it is, will you chill out?” You smiled.

“Sure.” he said with full sincerity.

“It’s orange. Thought you’d figure it out since you’re a detective and all.” You stated boredly.

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically, pulling off his mask. Because of the rain, his hair fell in its natural state, with messy waves falling over his forehead. He caught you staring and instinctively pushed his hair off his face, running his hand through his hair.

You mirrored his actions and took your mask off, wincing when it made contacts with the cuts on your face. Noir’s eyes went wide at the sight of you without a mask on.

“What?” You blushed as he scanned your face with worry.

“Your face is covered in cuts, y/n.” He stepped closer to you, lifting his hand to touch your face.

Time seemed to freeze for a brief moment when his eyes met yours, with his calloused hand grazing your cheek and your faces only inches apart.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, his voice was soft, almost in a whisper. You took in a shaky breath and shook your head no. He nodded curtly and removed his hand from your cheek and the tension in your body faded, tension you hadn’t even realized was there.

Noir, on the other hand, had walked over to your desk to admire your paintings.

“Did you make this, y/n?” He asked, looking between you and a painting of a sunset sky, eyes full of admiration behind his thick glasses. You nodded, a slight blush growing on your cheeks. He smiled softly and looked to the painting. “It’s beautiful.”

You blushed harder. “Thank you.” Your voice was slightly shaky. He turned back to make eye contact with you and you guys stayed like that for a second. He smiled at you with softened features and pushed his glasses up before turning away.

You broke the silence. “Um, I was gonna make some food, so if you wanna get cleaned up while I do then you can.”

He nodded and you grabbed a towel and passed it to him, pointing him to the bathroom. He walked out and you buried your face in your hands. Why did he have to make you so flustered? It’s not like you like him or anything.

You grabbed two packs of instant ramen and put them in the microwave, even though it was already almost 10:00. Now left alone with your thoughts, all you could seem to think about was Noir, the way his hand rested on your cheek, wondering if he does that when he kisses. God, you have to snap out of this!

You stirred the ramen and heard the bathroom door open and close. You looked up to see Noir, in just the white tee shirt and boxers he’d been wearing under his suit and you absolutely totally 100% did NOT stare when he put on his glasses and ran a hand through his soaking wet curls of hair.

You handed him his ramen and grabbed yours, sitting on your bed to eat. Noir slowly sat down next to you, as to not spill his ramen.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” Noir asked, his tone hushed. He rested his hand on yours, causing you to tense up. “You’ve been awfully quiet doll.”

You nodded, still not turning to face him. “Yep. Just a little tired.” You ate as quickly as possible.

You guys ate in silence and you sat up as soon as you were done. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” You said, finally turning to face him, forcing a smile, but the smile became genuine when he smiled back and nodded.

You turned on the shower, letting the water rush down your body, cringing whenever it came in contact with a cut. You closed your eyes and hummed it yourself as you washed your hair.

As soon as you were done, you changed into a black tank top and a comfy pair of sweatpants. You peeked your head out the door of the bathroom to see Noir at your desk.

“What ya doin there Peter?” Your voice was sweet and gentle, as to not scare him. He turned around and grinned widely.

“Painting. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed a canvas for it.” He said, showing you a painting of a sunset he’d done. It was similar to yours, except instead of being in shades of pink and orange, he’d used greens and purples.

You smiled widely at his painting, and then him. “I love it.”

His smile got even wider, if possible, before it was interrupted by him yawning. “I hope you don’t mind doll, but I think I should get to bed, it’s been a long day.”

You nodded gesture to your bed to signal he could sleep there. “I’ll join you in a bit, I just have to clean up.” You said, and by the time you’d finished your sentence, he was already passed out.

You cleaned up the paint spilled across your desk and grabbed your sketchbook from next to Noir. Your eyes flicked between him and your sketchbook and you had an idea. You sketched him, including every freckle, every stray curl of hair, every scruffy bit of stubble. You’d been drawing so long that you’d lost track of time and by the time you checked the clock, it was 12:30 in the morning.

You yawned to yourself, setting down your sketchbook and plopping down next to Noir, who sighed in content when he spider sensed you next to him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

Your spider sense woke you up that morning to see Noir, reaching for your sketchbook. In one swift movement, you jumped up and attempted to grab the sketchbook, before he caught your hand in his.

“Give it back you fucking asshole.” You muttered, hoping you sounded intimidating, though your voice shook with worry.

“It’s just a book, isn’t it?” He asked, his curiosity now growing from your arguing against it. Noir grabbed it with both his hands and gently pushed you away as he flipped through the pages.

His face softened as he saw the drawing of him. You’d made him look so beautiful, so peaceful. You attempted to grab it back from him, now jumping up to grab it. You finally decided on shooting a web at it and got it, but Noir only grabbed it back so the two of you were now connected by the sketchbook.

His gaze on yours was soft, not angry like you worried it would be. You contemplated just letting go and letting him have it. You’re staring at each other, and his eyes flick between your eyes and your lips.

He frees his hands from the sketchbook, and cups your cheek in one hand, just like he had when checking on your cuts yesterday. The other hand rests on your waist, which he uses to hold you so your bodies practically pressed together. He gently pulled you closer so your faces were only a few inches apart. You freeze and he presses his lips against yours. You kiss back almost immediately, and the sketchbook falls to your feet as you free it to let your hands run through his hair.

You guys pulled apart for a moment to rest your foreheads against each other, your breaths short and your faces smiling.

“You’re a work of art y/n.”

[urielthegolem]

Merry woke up feeling rather groggy. It was hot in the apartment though it was relatively cool in front of the fan. Peony had woken him up several times in the night. He was never quite sure why. Perhaps she didn’t understand that he also needed to sleep and that he couldn’t play with her whenever she wanted. For now, though, Peony was resting on her scratching post-turned-bed. Merry looked at his phone and saw the time read 12:30. Not the best, not the worst, he thought. He had been trying to set his sleep schedule earlier for months. And the sad truth was going to bed at 2 am and waking up at 12:30 was earlier than usual. Pippin wasn’t helping in that department. He usually went to bed around 3, 4, or even 5 and would get up whenever. The late night labs certainly contributed to this but Pippin had always been a night owl so it had never bothered him. All in all, probably the one with the healthiest sleep schedule was Peony.

The Men of Minas Tirith (and of most of Middle Earth from what Merry gathered in his limited experience) would wake up at ungodly hours. Merry knew several men and women who boasted of waking up at 5 am. Still he had met a few others who woke up at the unbelievable hour of 3 am. What’s the point of waking up in the middle of the night, Merry thought, you might as well say they’re staying up later than the rest of us. But Merry felt a twinge of guilt for not being like the others. That was a wound that his mother often put salt in. The idea that everybody had their life together more than Merry. Everyone worked harder. Everyone was smarter and more efficient. Only Merry stood out as so particularly inferior. The hobbit shook his head: enough of these thoughts!

He got off the bed and rather regretted it. He felt awful. But he made his way into the living room. Pippin wasn’t on the couch so he didn’t have to be as careful about being quiet. Although it seemed that Pippin could sleep through an earthquake. Merry put some toast in the toaster and looked out the window. The sun was shining its light across the landscape beautifully. It came in at an angle and the reflections and shadows played in the yellow-green leaves. Beyond the tree, his tree, he could see the Fields of Pelennor. There were alternating patches of gold and deep green. Beyond that were the mountains of Mordor. Merry liked to imagine he was looking directly at the trail he and Pippin had climbed the previous week. The mountains now held a more special place in his heart than they already had.

Pop! Merry had a mini heart attack and turned back to his toast. He had originally thought of putting either honey or jam on it, but he realized he was hungrier than that. He set to making some scrambled eggs. “Well that’s unusual,” said a voice suddenly from behind him. Merry let out a yelp. “G-d, Pippin, please don’t sneak up on me like that.” Merry implored. “Oh, sorry,” Pippin said, “I didn’t think about your PTSD. I’ll try to do better next time.” “Thanks,” Merry breathed. “Anyway, what’s so unusual?” he demanded, straightening up. “Oh just that you’re actually cooking something,” Pippin answered. “Pippin, please, I don’t need this right now” “What’s wrong?” “I just...don’t appreciate being reminded I never cook. Like, I know ok” Pippin hadn’t realized he would strike such a raw nerve with his words. He felt bad about startling his friend as well. Merry turned back to his eggs and took them off the stove. “I’m sorry, Merry,” he said earnestly, “I shouldn’t have made fun of you for cooking. I won’t do it again. Can you forgive me?” Merry turned to his friend. “Thanks for apologizing, Pippin. I forgive you. But I just...I need some space right now,” he said, feeling a bit guilty. “Of course!” Pippin replied. Merry figured Pippin wanted to eat soon so he grabbed his toast and eggs and stepped outside onto the balcony.

Merry was mad at himself for being upset. But he was also trying to work on speaking up about things that bothered him and determined that this was just an uncomfortable step of the growing process. And why is everything startling you today, he asked himself exasperatedly. Having PTSD was a pain because he knew he shouldn’t be startled by a thing but he was. His body was on high alert, expecting danger at every turn. Even when as far as he knew he was alone in the house with his close friend and cat. Did I even have any right to criticize Pippin, he thought. After all, he was right, and I’m sure he just thought he was being playful. But he caught himself again: I’m allowed to have feelings even if those feelings inconvenience others. Or, at least, he was pretty sure. Maybe he had heard it somewhere.

Merry put the eggs on his toast and took a bite. He had come across this way of eating toast when he was on a trip to the southernmost point of Harad. This was long before Peony or Pippin were in his life. It was even before Jamie. He was fascinated with the culture of South Harad. He missed the great, spicy food and the kind people. He missed the bright colors everywhere--mostly in the clothes of the women there. At the time, Merry also dressed in those clothes. However, since he was the only hobbit around and one of the few most Haradrim had ever seen he didn’t exactly blend in as hoped. He came across eggs and toast on the grounds of a palace (more of a large house really) in a small but influential city just inland behind the mountains. The city had once been the home of one of the greatest fighters and leaders in all of South Harad’s history.

It had been awhile since Merry had thought much about his trip to Harad. He had spent about three months there years ago. He hoped to go back there again. As his real self. And maybe with a friend. Merry finished his breakfast and looked out again. He saw the banner of Gondor fluttering in the breeze on a lower wall. It had a white tree with stars and a crown surrounding it against a dark blue background. In the distance, thankfully not directly below him, he could hear shouts and the quiet whirr of cars as they drove past. Sounds that the city was very much alive and awake this afternoon. And he could hear that blasted ice cream truck again. How many times?? How many times must it circle the block, Merry lamented desperately. He had really had enough of this and determined to go back inside at least to put his plate away.

Merry turned around to see Peony standing at attention in front of the balcony door. He stealthily slid by her, not allowing her to escape, and put his plate away. Pippin was playing a video game in his room. He was sitting on the floor in front of his bed facing the door. He found video games were a good way to not think of much of anything and with his anxiety, that was a true blessing. “Dammit!” Merry heard him shout from the next room. Merry didn’t know the first thing about video games. His parents had never bought any for him and when he did occasionally play one, he felt dizzy and didn’t much see the point of them. But as a result he did feel like he was lacking a useful, fun coping strategy that all his friends and acquaintances his age used. And so he felt left out if it ever came up--though it was not something he’d ever bother anyone else with.

It was getting on towards 1:30 and Merry realized he needed to be at Boromir’s office by 2. The boy dashed into his room, got dressed, brushed his teeth, and made sure Peony had enough food and water for the day. Then he knocked on his friend’s door. “Yeah? Come in” Pippin called.

“I’m just heading out now to do some research for Boromir. I’ll see you tonight”

“Ok, have a good time!”

“Thanks, love you”

“Love you too”

Merry smiled, closed the door behind him, and made his way out the front door.

The University campus was at the highest point of the city. One could walk it, but it was far easier and faster to take the gondola. Merry went down the side street, turned onto the main thoroughfare and came to the gondola’s green line station. There was a decent sized line ahead of him, but the cable cars came so quickly and continuously he knew he wouldn’t be waiting long. This gondola line went from his neighborhood to the University. Because of the convenience, many graduate students and even a number of the younger professors lived in the area.

Boromir was in his office. He was very absorbed in reading and responding to his letters. He also needed to finish preparing for the classes he was teaching the next week. He had quite forgotten that Merry was coming to the office to help him this afternoon. And that evening he needed to go to the opening of his brother, Faramir’s, art exhibit and support him. He knew their father certainly wouldn’t show up, but it seemed really important to Faramir to have his family’s support. Boromir understood the feeling. Since their mother left they had continually sought to gain acceptance from their father who was typically too busy with matters of the State as he was the Steward of Gondor. Growing up as the Steward’s son had its own host of challenges. Boromir always felt like he was being watched and that his worth was being redetermined anew every day. As such, he had turned into a perfectionist and a workaholic. He took on too many projects and faculty responsibilities. He was the youngest ever chair of the Humanities Department--something his father Denethor was exceedingly proud of and boasted of whenever he got the chance. But if Boromir was really being honest, the pressure of being Chair on top of teaching three classes and the expectation to continue writing his own book was too much to handle.

Faramir on the other hand could never seem to live up to his father’s expectations. He had tried to study law for many years, but he found the work soul-crushing, and he had never enjoyed reading or writing to start with. No, Faramir’s love was with brush and canvas. And with many other supplies. He specialized in collages and his art had been displayed at institutions and art museums all across Gondor. But Denethor had very little patience or care for the arts (something evident in the city’s lack of arts funding) and so he had never approved of Faramir’s occupation.

A knock came at the door. Who on Middle Earth could that be? Better not be some wizard giving me a hard time. “It’s open,” Boromir called, sounding nonplussed. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late.” At the door stood Merry dressed in a white shirt with a yellow vest, brown pants, and a green cape. Boromir was relieved to see his pupil. “Ah Merry! Do come in, I’m so glad you’re here. Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, they gave me some medicine to help with the pain in the meantime while they try to figure out what’s wrong.”

Boromir gave him a concerned look. “Well I hope they figure it out soon”

“I’m supposed to meet with a doctor in two days so hopefully that will help”

“Good, good,” Boromir hesitated. “Are you sure you’re feeling up for work today?” “Yes, I’ll be alright I think,” said Merry, trying to sound reassuring. “Would you mind rewriting the responses to these letters? I’m afraid my poor handwriting won’t be good enough. I’ll look over them when you’re done but I’m sure they’ll be fine.” “Sure,” Merry responded. He always enjoyed getting to write with a quill pen. The hobbit took off his cloak and hung it by the door.

Merry found Boromir’s office to be peaceful and loved spending time there. There was a fireplace behind one of the desks, some large, definitely-not-hobbit-sized chairs, and another, larger desk that for whatever reason Boromir used less. There was a wide, slightly bumped out window across from the door. Merry left a cushion in Boromir’s office for sitting on the desk chair so he could reach everything--everything but the ground anyway. Really! There ought to be some hobbit-sized chairs at this school, Merry thought. He had grown used to Boromir’s sketchy handwriting and was more than comfortable transcribing it out in his more legible hand. Secretly, Merry was grateful that he wasn’t being asked to do something more cerebral as the pain had been a bit touch and go all day.

Boromir paced around the room a bit as he often did, muttering inaudibly to himself. Occasionally he would go back over to the larger desk and write something down with a pencil. After about an hour, Merry finished the letters. He took a brief break and then returned to see what else Boromir needed. The Man asked him to do some research on Westron scholars across Middle Earth. Merry had brought his own laptop and began to make a spreadsheet of all he could find. There were many more than he had imagined. Most in Gondor, Mordor, and Rohan but a few in places as far as Harlindon, the Misty Mountains, and Harad. Merry meticulously made sure to include scholars from more far afield regions as he wanted to make sure they were represented. As one of the few hobbits in the University, he understood feeling alone or like people like him were not appreciated. He hoped to find an (out) trans scholar but alas he was now alone in that too. After an hour or so Boromir left to go to a meeting. When he returned Merry was still hard at work on the spreadsheet. Finally around 6 o’ clock, it was time for Merry to be done for the day. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Merry asked. Boromir continued to be lost in thought. “Professor Boromir?” Merry tried again. “What? Oh look at that, it's already 6!” he exclaimed suddenly, “you know my brother’s art exhibit opening is now, would you like to come?” Merry was a fan of visual art. But he also remembered he needed to eat.

“I’d love to, but I haven’t eaten dinner yet”

“I believe there’s food there if you like but I understand completely if you need to go”

“Oh, actually that sounds alright then”

“Great!”

“I didn’t know your brother was an artist!” I didn’t know you had a brother at all, he thought. Merry donned his cloak and the two made their way down the outdoor corridor. The floor was of red brick and to their right was a green moss lawn. Smooth, white columns with swirled capitals flanked their right side, opposite the building’s outer wall.

[christinaengela]

Hello friends and fans!

Welcome to my 44th newsletter – August 2020!

On A Personal Note

The 17th of July was a terribly sad day for our family because of the death of one of our fur-children, Ming. She was my little writing companion who used to sit across my shoulders sometimes, or on my knee while I typed away on my laptop.

I love all three our kitties, but Mingy-moo as I used to call her, held a special place in my heart… and to be frank, I miss her presence in my life terribly, as does Wendy.

Lily – our giant white mommy-cat, and Nyx – our little black one, were clearly in mourning as well. Their behavior has changed since she disappeared so suddenly from our lives, and even after a week, Nyx still hovers around the spot where Ming sat the last day she was with us, and Lily still searches the house for the missing kitty.

Ming used to do little things the other two kitties don’t do – some endearing, and some outright naughty – whose absence only makes her loss that much more tangible. Somehow the house seems so much more quiet and empty. Something is missing, and for weeks the empty-nest feeling has hung over it like a pall. It will be a while yet before we lift ourselves up again, and move on.

Then, in the early hours of Friday 24 July, more bad news! Someone asshat with sticky fingers burgled our Golf! Fortunately they were unprepared and set off the alarm and fled, leaving the driver side door open. There was some good news with the bad – there was no damage at all. The enterprising individual must’ve used a ‘slim-jim’ or similar tool to lever the lock open via the window channel, so no windows or locks etc. were damaged. I figure they also probably tried to steal the wheels – and then discovered I had a lock-nut on each wheel, because the only thing the bastards seem to have got away with is one single, solitary wheel-nut!

That aside, on other, much happier fronts, I completed another two paintings since last time we spoke – bringing my total number of paintings to five – and then I returned to writing again! On that front, among the BIGGEST news items I have to share with you this time, is the release of the audiobook version of “Blachart” – it’s finally here – and after three weeks of availability, I’m happy to report that it’s doing very well! More about that below!

Art

I also indulge in painting from time to time – and no, I don’t mean walls! The following paintings are in my portfolio:

“Human Nature” 2017 A4 acrylic canvas

“Balancier” 2020 A2 acrylic canvas

“Rescuer” 2020 A2 acrylic canvas

“The Awakening” 2020 A2 acrylic canvas

“The Earth Wept” 2020 40x40cm acrylic on canvas

I completed “The Awakening” on June 5, and started “The Earth Wept” just a few days later. “The Earth Wept” is on 40x40cm canvas and I finished that on July 12. I’ve also since renamed “Untitled” to “Human Nature”.

You can read more about my art projects on the Art page.

What do you think of them? Feel free to let me know!

Music

Yes – I also make music from time to time!

A selection of music tracks I made using eJay and other similar apps between 1999 – 2008 are available on my YouTube channel.

You can read more on the Music page on my website!

Activism

For those of you interested in my activism-related posts and activities, you can follow them at “Sour Grapes: The Fruit Of Ignorance“.

Current Writing Projects 

In the past few weeks I deviated from writing and went into art for a while, delivering four new completed paintings in a little over a month! In the meantime however, I made a return to writing by starting the long awaited next title in the Galaxii series!

Book 4 – still under a working title – is currently at a little over 18,000 words and growing by the day!

Editing

On the editing side of things, my friend Brandon Mullins  has been getting me into a proofreading and editing sideline over at Moon Books Publishing, and I’ll let you have any news on that as it happens!

I’ve just received the first submission for a new project entitled “Captain Jockstrap and the League of Do-gooders”! Yes, it probably is as silly as it sounds – but that’s the idea!

In the meantime, I still have a horror anthology on my desktop, which still needs a couple more submissions to reach publishing length – and more than that wouldn’t hurt! There will be no payment to writers, but participation will help get your name out there. If interested, please send them along to christinaengela@gmail.com.

Marketing – The Dreaded “M” Word! 

Portfolio 2020!

I thought it would be nice if I could produce a neat, organized catalog of all my books that interested parties could download and browse – a free, distributable and shareable catalog, and so I created “Portfolio 2020!” – a listing of all my currently available titles!

Portfolio is more than that though, because it also contains a biography as well as synopses for most of my titles – and I have a plan to update it regularly, perhaps on an annual basis! Portfolio 2020 is available as a free download from my website.

Videos

In July, I made a new book trailer video for the audiobook version of “Blachart” – and so did Nigel Peever as it turned out!

https://christinaengela.files.wordpress.com/2020/07/blachart-video-by-nigel-peever.mp4

Aren’t they great? 🙂

Sales

Getting my writing available in audiobook format seems to have been the ticket I’ve been waiting for, and these are truly exciting times for me as a writer! At this stage I have only one audiobook out, my first, and with its first month almost complete, sales are really encouraging! For the past month most of my marketing has been aimed at promoting “Blachart” and upcoming new audiobook titles “When Darkness Calls”, “Malice!” and “Demonspawn”. With more to follow, these items really could be the thing that helps promote my writing and blow those doors open that so far have tended to keep me out!

Publishing

Under recent releases this month, these are the six books I’ve released so far this year!

  July really has been a month of change. Not only was there a death in the family, but it’s also the month I closed my account with Lulu.com – the self-publishing platform I’ve used since 2005. Although I am angry with Lulu, and sorely disappointed in what they’ve done – and how they did it – I am grateful for what they did for me over the years. There’s no way I would’ve had the foundations in self-publishing I have today, were it not for Lulu. At one time, they were the ONLY self-publishing platform that would take on writers from South Africa – let alone being willing to accommodate paying us via PayPal!

Sadly, I simply couldn’t get to grips with the awful new changes Lulu inexplicably inflicted on loyal users that – in my view – rendered the platform unfriendly and totally useless. In the second week of July I redistributed the titles that were based on Lulu between Moon Books (publishing eBook, paperback and audiobook via Amazon) and eBooks via EBooks2Go, Draft2Digital and StreetLib. Frankly I think some of them that were available only on Lulu will have an even wider reach as a result. I sent Lulu the account deletion request on the 20th.

Unfortunately, due to Lulu’s short-sighted idiocy, I now have to edit and update “The Pitfalls of South African Self-publishing” as well – there’s an entire section covering how to self-publish a book via the system Lulu just casually chucked into the bin that needs to change. Frankly, I’m thinking I’ll need to base that portion on EBooks2go instead – since their system is far simpler and easier to use, not to mention less fiddly.

Also as a result, I’ve had to update purchase links on my website and social media accounts that referred directly or indirectly to my books via Lulu. If you find any I haven’t got round to fixing yet, please drop me a line and let me know! 😉

Hally Park Publishers

For quite a while now I’ve been working to expand my marketing reach, and in the spirit of that endeavor I recently contracted with Hally Park Publishers – a South African small press who also list suitable self-published titles on their website – to list my eBooks!

It’s taken a little time for them to appear on their website – after all, I’m not the only author they have listed, and I have just over 30 books – so I’m sure that was quite a job! Nevertheless, the first fifteen appeared on their site during the night (yes, I’ve been watching)!

The advantage of this arrangement – that is, listing my books on a local South African book selling site – is that it’s a new local market which already attracts its own traffic! Additionally, the prices are displayed in Rands, as well as my books being displayed alongside titles by other local authors – which should attract more local readers looking for some local literary South African flavor!

You can view my listing there by clicking on the link, or the screenshot below!

Audiobooks

“All That Remains” JEA (2019)

“See Them Aliens” MBP (2019)

“Blachart” MBP (2020)

I mentioned previously in my post “Coming Soon! “Blachart” – the Audiobook!” back in May – and in my newsletters for June and July that I’ve been eagerly awaiting the audiobook release of “Blachart” – and I’m sure you have too!

On the July 10th I got a notification that “Blachart” the audiobook was available on Amazon! As I promised in February this year, “Blachart” has (finally) been released as an audiobook! It doesn’t usually take this long to go through the production process, and I’m sure the current pandemic must’ve had something to do with it – but regardless, the eagerly-awaited finished product has arrived at last! And – WOW – what a product it is!

Narrated by Nigel Peever, “Blachart” – book 1 in the Galaxii series – is 10 hours 26 min long, and is nothing less than a rip-roaring sci-fi adventure! You can read more about it here.

I’ve also had to review a string of auditions for “Malice!“, “When Darkness Calls” and “Best Served Cold” – and I have to comment on the diverseness of the sort of voices, accents and personalities that sent their auditions in! Wow! For a writer, nothing encapsulates the diversity of one’s audience more than listening to a variety of people, male and female, reading words you wrote in a variety of accents! It’s even more of a compliment when you can hear them enjoying it as they do so! “When Darkness Calls” is narrated by Miciah Dodge, and Michelle Innes had me covered in goosebumps as she read an excerpt of “Malice!” in her Scottish accent! Currently, “Malice!”, “When Darkness Calls”, and “Demonspawn” are in production, and we’re still looking for a narrator to read “Best Served Cold”!

Coming Soon

In the meantime, here’s a look at the covers for the coming audiobooks of “When Darkness Calls” and “Demonspawn”:

Reviews

You can see all my previous reviews here.

Currently Available Titles

I now have 29 unique titles available in 4 series (not including books I’ve been the editor for, and my 16 free promotional items)! My books are available in three different formats: EBooks, Paperbacks and Audiobooks. Click the links or images below to view titles available in these formats.

Communication

Below are links to a few of my most recent posts and articles since my last newsletter:

Expand The Brand: Hally Park Publishers

Guest Writer #4: Lee Hall

Coming Soon: “Malice!” – The Audiobook!

Coming Soon: “Demonspawn” – The Audiobook!

“Blachart” – TWO Audiobook Trailers!

“When Darkness Calls” – Actually A True Story

A Visit To The Archives!

“Blachart” – A Writing Journey [cross-posted on Moon Books website]

Unleashed: “Blachart” – The Audiobook!

Free Download! Portfolio 2020!

Another Round At The Crow Bar #43 July 2020

If you want to see more articles, just click on the category links below:

Elements of Horror

FAQ Answered

Fun Facts

LGBT Heroes

The Tech Side

Secret Weapons of the Resistance

Writing Advice

Guest Writers

Newsletters

Interactions

Fan Mail, Reader Reviews & Honorable Mentions

I very pleased to have quite a few items to show you this month!

Parade.com shared one of my quotes in a listing titled “150 of the Best Relationship Quotes and Sweetest Couple Quotes That’ll Make Your Heart Flutter” on July 08, 2020. “Regardless of what language it is said in, ‘I love you’ stays beautiful, and two hearts beating together make the same sound. It is the language of Love.” – Christina Engela

The Satanic Church of South Africa shared my academic book “Satanism: The Acid Test” on their website resource page! (found on July 12, 2020) This is of course, what this book is supposed to do – educate people, demystify the occult, and relieve people of their ignorance!

Miciah Dodge, the narrator recording “When Darkness Calls” sent a message via ACX on July 07:

Jennifer Shepard really seems to have liked my article about “Blachart”! (July 11, 2020):

The audiobook version of “Blachart” received a gracious reader/listener review on the 5th of July:

On July 21, Brandon Mullins, CEO of Moon Books Publishing shared the following compliment for “Blachart” in a publishing group on Facebook:

On July 26, Scott M. Darrah gave me his opinion of the audiobook:

Miciah Dodge, the narrator for “Christina Engela’s Strangely Compelling Scifi Stories vol 1”, “When Darkness Calls” and “Duck Blind” sent me this nice email on July 26, 2020:

I display my Fan Mail, Reviews & Compliments with pride, gratitude and humility. You’re always welcome to have a look.

Hate Mail & Horrible Mentions

On July 17, somebody thought it would probably be hilarious if they spam bombed my inbox with email notifications for a fake account they created in my name – on an Asian Dating Site in Indonesia! Unfortunately for them, I left the factory with a warped sense of humor, so instead of being bent out of shape by their ‘ingenuity’ all they did was give me a few good laughs… I mean have you seen half the profiles on any dating site?? Anyway, I know how to filter and block email addresses – and the admins of said dating site were kind enough to delete the profile for me when I asked nicely, so – better luck next time, whoever you are!

I’m rather proud of my hate mail, and you can review my collection here – but be forewarned, don’t do it while eating or drinking, or you might choke while laughing!

Interviews

All my interviews are linked to from this page. If you would like to do an interview with me about my work, please do get in touch!

In Closing

Well, that’s all for this time, folks! 🙂

Thanks again for all your support, friendship and interaction!

Feel free to email or message me via Facebook, Twitter or LinkedIn if you have any comments or questions!

Until next time, keep reading!

Cheers! 🙂

Catch me on social media!

Facebook | Twitter | LinkedIn | Academia | Minds | Instagram | GoodReads | Author’s Database | Library Thing | YouTube | Pintrest | Stage32 | The Book Marketing Network

If you would like to know more about Christina Engela and her writing, please feel free to browse her website.

If you’d like to send Christina Engela a question about her life as a writer or transactivist, please send an email to christinaengela@gmail.com or use the Contact form.

Show your appreciation for Christina’s work!

All material copyright © Christina Engela, 2020.

Another Round At The Crow Bar #44 August 2020 Hello friends and fans! Welcome to my 44th newsletter - August 2020!

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 20

A few chapters back, I mentioned wrapping this up soon. Flash-forward to now…well, I see where that impulse came from, but also where it falls flat. There needs to be a balance (or as much as I'm capable of) within the narrative arc, so it needs to get pushed farther. That means diving into people and places I'm not as familar with and trying to bring them to life (plus calling back to details and weaving in new ones…you know, writing). So bear with me, it's plotted, but the gaps need filled in. If you’re still on board with this, I thank you heartily. I’m posting two chapters now because I didn't want to leave you hanging at the end of this one. All typos are mine, I’ll do what I can to catch them later (edited 11/30). Look for chapter 21 to be posted soon after this one. Links to other chapters in a reply.

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Despite Morgana’s warnings, the hunt for Helena continues. Myka proceeds with caution, even with Claudia's better-than-government-grade VPN installed on her laptop. Books have become her go-to, with no bots to track or caches to mine. They're slower in the long run but prompt new ideas, which she, in turn, passes off to Claudia.

One thing was certain: even if Helena hadn't planned this ahead of time, Christina’s comfort would be paramount. Cooking classes for kids? After school music activities involving drums? Kempo classes throughout the UK? All searched for and through with little gain. But the question was: how far undercover would Helena and Christina have to go? Was an Interpol intervention different than a regular police one? Claudia watched countless hours of British police shows in hopes of learning more, but was left feeling more paranoid than informed in the end.

Meanwhile, Myka tacked on oddball acquisitions in remote locales to keep from drowning in "what-ifs." There, in relative obscurity, having thrown off her tails, she could scour libraries and bookstores freely. She was at a loss for exactly what to look into, so she grasped onto the list of "Happy Christmases” Helena had taught Christina. She cross-referenced books with internet materials, but kept detailed notes in her sketchbook.

She drew the tiny shape Guernsey and noted the island's pros and cons. At six miles long and three miles wide, it looked like a quaint place to hide. But to travel, they’d need a boat or a plane, and it was closer to France than the UK. And without easy access to a city, Christina wouldn’t be content. She crossed it off the list.

Scottish, she learned, was still spoken in The Outer Hebrides, which, according to one of her guidebooks, boasted an island shaped like an upside-down ice cream cone. Christina would be into that, living on a food-shaped island, so she sketched it out and turned it upside-down. She didn’t exactly see the resemblance, but that wasn’t important. What was: the chain was far from the mainland with only one road plus ferries connecting the islands. Its population was mostly fisherman and crofters; it's landscape, idyllic, but rural. Again, with no city nearby, Helena wouldn’t sequester them there for any length of time. She put it in the “no” column for now.

Northern Ireland was a definite maybe, though they'd included Belfast in their earlier search. She drew the outline of where Belfast and West Belfast met, as apparently, West Belfast held a population of Irish speakers. But Ireland, the island, was massive, the largest part was an entirely different country. That could cause problems if Helena and Christina had to run. She made a note to check into Irish border crossings and moved on.

Cornwall, a fingerlike peninsula jutting out into the Celtic Sea, had multiple transportation options and several cities. They could hide in its rugged countryside while retaining access to several populated towns, and even jet up to London if they were feeling bold. Cornish as a language was only recently being revived, so there was no specific area in which it was spoken. She put a star next to it anyway, as it seemed the most likely. She sent her findings off to Claudia and kept researching.

But then, at an auction a few weeks later, her theory was put to the test. A fifteenth-century atlas lay open to a map of England, Ireland, and Wales, where she traced a path between her researched locations. As a line formed along the furthest edges of Great Britain, it hit her--if one wanted to send their enemies on a wild goose chase, that was it. The “Merry Christmases” were a red herring, something for Christina to broadcast readily, as she'd read children in witness protection programs often gave away their whereabouts accidentally. And she fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Claudia was not going to be pleased.

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She's had months to prepare, but here she is, at the last minute, taking time off work to finish several new paintings. Luiza had hooked her up with this group show at a gallery Amanda raved was “blowing up,” but about a month ago she nearly baled. But Luiza insisted she show, saying their work together would lead to stellar reviews. Plus, Luiza needed the press to bolster her artist visa application, so how could Myka refuse?

Well known in her native Sao Paulo, but working hard to make a name for herself in the States, Maria Luiza Izquierdo's work captivated Myka from day one. Her abstract patterns drew her in, with their brightly colored stripes and weaved textiles, bubbling animatedly off the canvas and onto the floor. Her freedom of concept and command of materials was beyond anything she'd ever seen. She definitely was an artist on the rise, and Myka was glad to have made her aquaintance.

And from the looks of Luiza's impressive resume, Myka was an amateur in comparison. Out of the eight other artists at her residency, she’d bonded with Luiza the most. Her ambition was contagious, mind moving a mile a minute, always seeing the good in things. Plus, her smile lit up the room, making it impossible to sulk in her presence. She wouldn't have made it through the first months of Helena’s disappearance without the distraction.

They met up as often as possible when Luiza was in town, her visits kicking Myka out of her increasingly mechanical routine. It was good for her cover, hanging out with Luiza and her friends, plus it lifted her out of the heavy funk she was buried in. Luiza prodded her to show her new work, much like Helena used to do, inviting herself over when Myka failed to do so promptly. There were many things about Luiza that reminded her of Helena, beyond any physical resemblance, but when those thoughts arose, she promptly tamped them down. Loneliness conjured desperate parallels. If Helena were standing next to her, there’d be no comparison.

Having couch surfed though most of her friends, Luiza asked to crash with Myka for this trip. Since Abigail's visit went smoothly, Myka thought, why not? Having company for a few days, especially someone who could help her with her art, seemed like a good idea. But before she had time to prepare, she was called away unexpectedly on a work trip. She left spare keys with the guard at her office and told Luiza to sleep in her room for now. They'd inflate the air bed when she got back.

Upon her return, as she rolls her suitcase down the hall, a mouth-watering scent fills her lungs. It’s not unusual as her neighbor often cooks for relatives, but she’s surprised when the scent intensifies inside her door. The figure in her kitchen, her long, dark hair glowing in the backlight, stops her in her tracks. She’s transported to a different time, a happier one, one she has hopes to reclaim in the future.

“Olá, Myka!" Luiza greets, turning to face her. "How was your flight?”

“H-Hi!” Luiza’s enunciation, choppy and light, is the exact opposite of Helena’s velvety smoothness. Her messy bangs and bright red lipstick further shatter the illusion. “Not terrible. What’s all this?”

“Mrs. Rodrigues, she made us feijoada!”

Myka ditches her bag and steps into the kitchen, where all resemblance to Helena withers as she stands next to the slightly-taller-than-her Luiza. A pot bubbles on the stove as greens stew in a pan. A steaming pot of rice sits on the counter, accompanied by bowls of colorful garnish, more bowls than she remembers owning.

“Mrs. Rodrigues? I've barely spoken to her.”

“She was very much interested in this stranger entering your home.” Luiza points to herself with her thumb. “She is from Brazil, you know. Santos, where my avó lives."

“Avó?”

“Ah...grandmother,” Luiza says, taking a moment to translate the word in her head. She slips two bowls from a cabinet and sets them on the counter. "She feels bad for you.”

“Me? Why?”

“‘Too skinny. Works too much. No namorado.'” Luiza draws out the “o” and circles a wooden serving spoon in the air.

“Namorado. I think I know what that means. So definitely not.” Myka snags an orange slice from a bowl and pops it in her mouth.

Luiza smacks her hand with the spoon.

“Ow!"

“Save for dinner."

“Sorry.” Myka rubs her hand, flashing a mock pout. "It’s nice she’s feeding us. I was dreading takeout.”

“This is much, much better. And I bought cachaça to make batidas.” Luiza holds up a bottle of spirits, grinning ear to ear.

“Nice!” Myka says, smiling back.

“Only the best for my generous host,” Luiza says, adding a small bow. “Now, we eat.” She hands Myka a bowl and sets to making drinks.

At the gallery the next day, they help install each other's work, though Luiza’s pieces are larger and more complex then Myka's. Myka stands back, contemplating placement and aesthetics, while Luiza enlists several other pairs of hands to assist. Myka's in awe of Luiza’s persuasive charm, yet another trait she shares with Helena. But with Luiza, there's no alternate agenda, whereas Helena’s was often circumspect.

“Perfeito!” Luiza exclaims as she steps away from the completed install. “You are in my head, my friend. I should take you everywhere!” She sweeps Myka into a hug that lingers longer than expected, though a hug like this is not unusual. Luiza’s concept of personal space is more forward than her own.

Dinner takes place at a friend of Luiza’s, at a garden party in Silverlake. Myka mills about, catching up with acquaintances, mingling awkwardly with other guests. When everyone takes a seat, Luiza pats the chair next to her, insisting Myka situate herself there. As the meal progresses, Luiza drapes an arm over the back of Myka's chair, an act which Myka finds slightly unsettling. Again, it's not unusual, as Luiza's done it to others, but Helena used to do something similar as a sign of ownership. But as wine is swapped out for brandy, she shifts her focus toward the lively art and commerce banter. Fielding criticism of the trade is liberating, as at work she so often has to hold her tongue.

The next night is the show opening, and the dress Myka picks out isn’t “LA” enough for Luiza. Luiza takes her to a consignment shop where her friend works, where she’s handed a flowery faux-forties dress to try on. Myka twirls to the left and the right, staring at herself in the dressing room mirror, the knee-length skirt bouncing back and forth gaily. It’s a cheerful, tasteful garment, hitting her curves in all the right places. Not that her current wardrobe doesn’t, but it typically flaunts her assets less. It’s a choice she would have made pre-apartment tragedy, but since then, she’s toned down her style. Which suits her job fine, plus with Helena gone, who would she be trying to impress? But it feels freeing somehow, like she’s entered a portal to a simpler time. When she leaves the dressing room, Luiza gasps, and her friend claps with glee. She decides yes, it is perfect, perfect for the show, perfect for the Myka she needs to project.

The scene is giddy as they dress in Myka's apartment. Luiza styles Myka's hair into a voluminous mass of curls cascading over her shoulders. The shade of lipstick she convinces her to wear is so bright her eyes glow green. But it’s Luiza's blouse that steals the show, handmade by her, matching the warp and weft of her work, upstaging her skin-tight leather pants. Myka hasn't had this much fun preparing for an event since grad school with Abigail. The levity is certainly welcome.

There's an afterparty after the after-party, with drinks flowing freely along the way. Myka has no idea how much she drank nor what time they left, but their cab zooms home in no time. Luiza hangs off Myka's arm as they shuffle down her hall. Both giggle as Myka fumbles with her keys. They throw their bags onto the same chair as they stumble in.

“You need a couuuch, minha amiga," Luiza slurs, marching into Myka’s bedroom and plopping down on the edge of the bed. “We drink more! You bring the cachaça. But first I—” She bends towards her shoes, but topples forward, catching herself just barely, palms down, arms extended as if performing involuntary yoga.

Myka hurries in and levers her up. “My shoes, I am sorry,” Luiza says, bending forward again to finish the task. Myka pushes her back, then tries to kneel but wobbles, grabbing Luiza’s knee as she lowers herself down. She slips off Luiza's heel, and as she attends to the second one, Luisa buries her hands in Myka's curls. Luiza angles her face up and leans forward, pressing their lips together.

She’s kissing me. Why is she kissing me? The act is not entirely unpleasant, but not quite right. Is this my fault? Did I lead her on? I didn't, but...did I? She replays the evening in her head, but it’s hazy.

Luiza's hands slip down, cupping the base of Myka's head, deepening the kiss, urging her to rise. Myka breaks it off just then.

“Finalmente,” Luiza says, her voice soft and low, leaning in for another kiss. Myka jerks away, but Luiza's thrown off balance, hands still buried in Myka's curls. Luiza slips off the bed entirely, and they tumble to the ground.

“I can’t do this,” Myka says, pushing Luiza up at the shoulders.

“You have another lover.”

“It's not that."

“Then why?” Luiza lifts herself up so that her arms and legs are now straddling Myka. "Your eyes were on me tonight." She leans in for another kiss, but Myka turns her head.

“This is your ex,” Luiza snaps and sits back on her heels. “You have found her. You’re going to…” She frowns. “Ask for her back."

“I don’t know where she is.” Where did that come from? Myka scoots back, carefully extracting herself from under Luiza's hold. She lifts on her elbows, but makes no sudden move to rise.

“I see it in your eyes. Something has changed.” Luiza falls back, sliding down the edge of the bed, dramatically thrusting her legs out until she’s in sitting position. “You will visit her in London, this woman who destroyed your heart. Tell me where she is, this-this, desgraça, ela que vá a merda!”

Luiza’s Portuguese slurred, but her tone pushed the point across. Myka bends at her knees and inches further back, sitting up while hugging her legs to her chest. Luiza knows everything about her, the entire fake story about Helena as she’s cried in her beer many times over it. But Luiza’s never become this agitated, and she’s not entirely sure why. “H-How did you know I was going to London?” She only found out a few days ago and knows she hadn’t mentioned it.

Luiza drags a hand, raggedly, through her thick, dark locks and looks off to the side. "It was there, on your phone, the text. You left it on the table. It lit up.”

The text, "Sotheby’s London confirmed,” could have honestly meant anything. And she’s been super careful since Morgana’s warning; she hasn't talked about searching for Helena at all, so why would that text set off this tirade?

“It is good that you find her. You must put her away. She is stopping you from better things.” Luiza pushes off the bed and crawls closer to Myka, reaching out and laying a hand on Myka’s knee.

Myka flinches, her head says, "run away," but gut tells her to stay. Something’s not right here. Something big. If Morgana were here, what would she say?

“Put her to rest so we can begin.” Luiza moves ever closer, threading a curl behind Myka’s ear and pressing kiss to her temple.

Myka’s chest tightens as panic sets in. And here, she thought she was being disingenuous, but all along it was Luiza. Luiza’s been grooming her this whole time, tricking her into trusting her, into giving away details about Helena’s situation.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Myka says, releasing her legs and pushing away. Careful now, rejecting her outright will look suspicious after how close you’ve gotten. “I-I’m really flattered, a-and you’re a beautiful, talented woman, but…” Luiza was alone in her apartment. Did she dig through her files? Plant bugs in the walls? Has she been monitoring her calls and texts this whole time? “I, um…there is someone else, if I’m being completely honest.” If only she’d taken up Morgana’s offer, she’d have someone vetted, but now...

“Que?” Luiza says, raising a brow.

“M-My friend Abigail and I, we’ve been talking.” Wait...if Luiza is a spy then she’ll know that isn't technically true, she’ll already know everything about her. “I-I haven’t said anything yet, but I’m planning to when she's in town for Thanksgiving.”

“Abigail. The doctor who lives far away?”

“Only until her post-doc is over. Then she’ll transfer wherever she wants."

“She is your long-time friend. What has changed?”

“I, um…” A catalyst, Myka, come on…think! “When she came to visit for my birthday, she said…she made a comment about maybe dating women. And that stuck with me.”

“She will return your love?”

“I think so.” Or kill me for being an idiot.

Luiza backs towards the bed, looking genuinely shaken. In the moment, she’s simply a bruised suitor, not a potential spy at all.

"I didn’t want to jinx it by saying it out loud.”

“What is jinx?”

“Mess it up before it starts.”

“Que dá azar. Bad luck. Ok.” Luiza holds Myka’s gaze, seemingly gauging the truth in the situation, nodding her head up and down in tiny strokes.

If she doesn’t believe me, what do I do?

Luiza's eyes close as her head falls back against the bed. She’s silent for a few minutes, then takes a deep breath in. “It is time for sleep. And muitos litros de água. Much water.” She hauls herself up, limbs shaking, and walks as steadily as she can towards the door. "Boms sonhos, Myka,” she says, turning back just before exiting.

“Goodnight,” Myka replies, her voice cracking from the lump stuck in her throat. Once Luiza’s gone, she tries to rise, but gravity pulls her down. What have I done? She rolls onto her back and closes her eyes. I'm stupid. So stupid. She’s not my friend. Why can’t I have a friend? A twinge of pain throbs through her brow, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. I have to fix this, fix this now. I need to call Claudia. Or that number Morgana gave me. She rolls over and sits up. But my phone’s in my bag and my bag's on the chair. I can’t go out there, not tonight. She crawls over to her bed and climbs on top, curling up into a ball. Everything’s fucked. Helena, I can’t take much more of this. Where are you? I need you to come back, now.

-TBC-

[houseofvans]

ART SCHOOL | Q&A with DETH P. SUN

Influenced by the works of Richard Scarry, Charles Schultz, and the likes of Tove Jannson, artist Deth P. Sun’s interest in art and zines started early on–from drawing everything in an encyclopedia to creating his first zine in high school. From that point on, Deth has been a prolific painter, zine maker, and doodler, focused on making his art on his own terms. With his central hero– a genderless cat – Deth explores various  natural and strange worlds through a subtle narrative, created by his brushwork, ambiguity, and color palettes. 

Find out more about Deth’s art, his wordless storytelling, and what inspires him by taking the leap below. 

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself?   My name is Deth P. Sun, I’m an artist living in a tiny coastal town in Northern California, but most of my adult life was spent in the Bay Area, primarily in Oakland and Berkeley. I tell people I’m Cambodian, which is mostly true.

When did you begin having an interest in art and painting? How or why do you think you gravitated towards this profession? I’ve always enjoyed drawing, I think I kind of like getting better at it and learning about new things that are centered around that. It’s one of the cheaper hobbies to get started in as a kid. It’s not really a thing I think about too much these days. Mostly I wonder how my life was set by my 17 year old self.

How do you describe your work to people who maybe unfamiliar with it? Until I moved to this town I live in now, I kind of never had to. Mostly because I don’t meet new people outside of my circle. I just tell people I’m a graphic artist. If they want more info I just stare at them blankly because I think it’s kind of rude to ask strangers what they do for a living.

There are various aspects to your paintings from being narrative and storytelling to those that feature various painted objects and natural things. Can you tell us a little bit about the narrative elements of your works and how that came about? Yeah, I just like suggesting that there’s a narrative with my work, which isn’t that hard as long as you don’t stray too much from your pallette or reuse images to find in each painting. I kind of like seeing a whole set of paintings, that’s when you sense that there is a story.

When did you protagonist character start to take shape? How did that evolve and come-about? I’ve just always drew a character like that. Probably in high school. It’s been so long I don’t really remember. It probably came from my sketchbook. Most of my sketchbooks are kind of boring because it was just me repeatedly drawing the same stuff until I got better at it. I think I was trying to draw a cat and I drew something else that I liked.

In some of your other works, you paint collections of items from food, mushrooms, crystals to swords and old style cell phones. How did these paintings originate for you? Were you finding yourself sketching certain things that you read about or were you just obsessed with a certain object that week? My parents taught themselves English using Richard Scarry books so they were the first books I had my hands on. It’s just pages and pages of him drawing things with words describing what they were underneath. When I was younger I had this project where I’d take an encyclopedia and try drawing everything in it. I think I only got to M. Also when I was kid while drawing in my sketchbook I would just run out of stuff to draw so I’d go room to room drawing everything in each room.

It was just a thing to kill time.

How has where you live and its landscape influenced the work you create?  What’s your favorite thing about residing there? I guess it does a little, but I think I drew the stuff and then when I got here, I liked it a lot, so I ended up on this tiny coastal town on the bluffs. I started drawing weird epic landscapes after watching a bunch of Swedish films a few years ago.

What was your last adventure or walk through your neighborhood that showed up in one of your work, thematically or just visually? One time a friend invited me to a barbeque. They lived near the train tracks a couple of miles from me, so I walked up the tracks passed the cemetery and over a few tressel bridges. It was really nice walk. Met a turtle. They had to come down and get me because I didn’t know the path to their house, and it was getting dark.

What IS your favorite thing to draw or paint? Do you have an UNfavorite thing to draw or paint? I like drawing pineapples. I hate when strangers ask me to draw them. I want to punch them in the face.

When did you start picking up the paint brush and taking your works to the canvas? What do you enjoy about painting vs. drawing? The first time I painted was in my high school art class, I think like most other Americans. I was using tempera, so it sucked. But I started buying acrylic soon after. I think painting and drawing is kind of the same thing, or least I just paint like I’m drawing. I don’t think it was a strange transition.

What’s a typical day like for you at home and in the studio? What’s your process like? I fill out internet orders sometimes, or a wholesale order. Sometimes I draw. Mostly I get up and look at my email and go, “I have a lot of stuff to do and this is gonna suck”. I don’t really multitask, so it’s usually me filling out orders for 8 hours and trying to get to the post office before 4:30 while watching dumb shit on the internet, or me helping a friend screen print in my garage, or if I have a show just ignoring everything else in life and painting for two months.

A few years ago I kind of got burnt out of making a living with just painting. So I was like maybe I should make more t-shirts and prints. So I ended up moving to Fort Bragg and screenprinting more stuff and making more drawings toward that. But now my days are filled with me screen printing and filling out small orders or hanging out on my computer photoshopping all day. So now I’m in some other kind of hell.

What are your go-to art tools? A Pilot Hi-Tec C (They’re called G-Tec 4s in other places) pen. I use the .4, but should probably switch to .5. You have to have a light touch with them or else they’ll jam. 

Right now I enjoy using Mitsubishi pencils, but the cheap Mirado Black Warrior pencil you can get at most stationary store is just as good.

Been filling a sketchbook using Opaque markers. Posca’s are pretty good, but the color choices are limited, so I started buying Molotow. The Molotow’s can be refilled so they might end up being a better value.

Lately I’ve been painting with cheap $2 craft paints mostly because I don’t like mixing colors. Just bought a few of the Martha Stewart’s at Michaels. I still buy Golden and Liquitex, but it’s nice to mix in other stuff.

Not only do you draw and paint, you are always printing and creating zines of your works. Do you remember your very first zine you made? Are you working on a new zine? The first zine I made was pretty horrible. It was staple at the top corner, and I gave it out to my friends when I was in high school. I put everything precious in a box before I left for college and when I came back my dad had threw it out. At the time I was pretty bummed, but now I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that. I’m always working on something. Sometimes things take a really long time. I drew everything I ate while in England and Scotland several years ago and just now getting it all together. I’ve gotten rejected from a bunch of zine fairs, so there really isn’t a urgency to get it finished. I’m thinking of making one for the tiny town I’m in, and other that’s like a newspaper, but filled with just my gibberish drawing of words.

Do you have a favorite zine maker out there you’d like to share with folks? I’m pretty excited to  be tabling at Comics Art Brooklyn. Last year  I sat nearby Evan Cohen (http://www.evanmcohen.com) who I had just bought zines online from a few weeks before so that was kind of unexpected. He makes rad work. There was a few other artists there whose work I enjoyed. I came home with a lot of nice prints which I never really get from strangers. Stuff from Natalie Andrewson, Tiny Splendor, most everything Peow Studios publishes, and Jen Tong. I like this zine called Terror House by Sammy Harkham that I’d buy a few to give out to friends and the zines my friend, Evah Fan makes.

What are you constantly inspired by? And who are some of your early and current art influences? I think what keeps me going is random problem solving with how I paint. Or maybe the natural world. I don’t really know if I’m being totally honest.   I grew up reading Peanuts. It has it’s good moments. I think I became comfortable with not always having to be in the up. I really like Tove Jannson’s work.. I’m not a fan Tintin, but I like the way Hergé uses color and lines. I was lucky enough to come to the Bay Area while the Mission School was around and Yoshitoma Nara had a few shows, so it made it okay for me to make paintings the way I do.

What do you do when you are not painting, drawing or making zines? How do you find yourself unwinding? I watch a lot of dumb shit on youtube and take long walks. Each week I go to a game night where I do board games (Catan, Ticket to Ride, Dixit, Pirates Cove are in the usual rotation). I like to cook and have people over. I actually unwind by drawing and watching a lot of basketball while listening to basketball podcasts.

What advice would you offer to an aspiring artist who might wanna follow in your footsteps? Be nice to everyone you meet ever. Always try to learn. Don’t get caught up in what people think of you or your work. Know that if you keep on doing something you’ll get better at it. Pick up different hobbies. Make friends with other artists. Be open to all opportunities. Get used to rejection.

What’s your best Art School tip that you want to share with folks? Some random wisdom you learned through your personal journey or just while making art? You know I don’t know if I’m the best person to get advice from since I sort of carved out this weird existence. When you’re young, it’s easy to get caught up in weird things and maybe a person should just get caught up in those things. I do meet old school mates who have regrets about how their time in art school was spent, but I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way of doing it. I think there really isn’t any rush, and also if you feel like you “failed” you can always just get back up because no one is really paying attention.

I think I hear a lot from folks who worry that they’re too old to try painting or doing art for a living. And I’d hear this from someone who’s like 25 or 30. But there really isn’t a deadline to any of this stuff and also no one really knows how old anyone is. I think everyone’s trying to get to some sort of finish line, but really just existing and making work is all there is.

What do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t an artist? In an alternate universe, what career would Deth find himself doing? I’d probably be working in tech if I’m being honest with myself.

What’s a question you never get asked in an interview that you wanna ask yourself and answer? There really isn’t.

What are your favorite style of VANS? My favorite Vans were the slip ons with a grey herring bone pattern on them. I had 4 or 5 pairs, but I think they switched to a smaller pattern because I couldn’t find them again.

What’s coming up for you the rest of the year or into the next? Comic Arts Brooklyn (http://comicartsbrooklyn.com), a solo show in January at Spoke Art (https://spoke-art.com) in San Francisco. I’ll have stuff at a print fair in Oakland (https://www.oaklandprintfair.com), and an art book fair in Berlin (http://www.friendswithbooks.org/content/about) through Vanilla Studios (http://vanillastud.io).

FOLLOW DETH | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE | SHOP

[katoninefandoms]

25. “If I let you in, you’ll hate what you find!”

Feat. Natasha and Steve

Steve kept this room in his apartment locked at all times. If Natasha didn’t know any better, she’d think it was a closet of supplies or something. But the floor layouts were all just about the same, so she knew that it was a full room; maybe an extra bedroom or a studio. And normally, she’d let her curiosity get the best of her and she would break in. But JARVIS kept this door sealed, not any key locks or bolts. She couldn’t break it down, and she couldn’t pick it open.

She had figured out Steve’s passcode for it a long time ago. He wasn’t very subtle about it. He’d needed a sketchbook and couldn’t find it. So he excused himself and went to the locked door, telling JARVIS a soft, “Picasso”, and disappearing inside, the door locking right behind him. He’d come out just as quickly, and she hadn’t been able to peek into the room. The problem, though she knew the passcode, was that JARVIS used voice recognition. She’d tried, several times, when Steve was away on missions.

It felt a little intrusive. Normally, she didn’t worry about that. But this was Steve. And she did respect Steve. But there was little in this Tower that she didn’t know about. She had been into Tony’s labs countless times, usually uninvited but always welcome. She knew she wouldn’t have been to get in easily otherwise. She could have done it, but there was no way that she would have risked this new gig, so soon.

Now, she was a pretty secure part of this family, and she knew that nothing short of total betrayal and murder would get her kicked out. But Steve’s morals had probably rubbed of on her and she felt really weird about trying to break into his private art room or whatever. But if it really was a studio, he wouldn’t have the floor-to-ceiling windows, which were basically one whole wall of his apartment, covered.

So some scouting was in order.

Scaling Avengers tower was not even in the top 30 dangerous things she had done. But her stomach was rolling as she crept slowly down to Steve’s floor. It was a little harder to see in, but she managed. She could see the elevator doors, and the entrance to the kitchen. She sighed and crept along the wall to her right, making her way to where she was sure the studio would appear. It was… larger than she expected. And far messier. Steve was sitting closer to the window than she had expected, so she kept only her head in his view. She couldn’t see what he was painting, his easel turned towards the door, and the sun was shining too brightly against the glass for her to be able to tell what was on the finished canvases against the wall.

One caught her eye, though. It wasn’t very clear, but there was a good amount of red and black, and it almost seemed like a person. It was weirdly familiar, and she started to lean further forward to see if she could see more of it.

A curtain was suddenly closed in front of her face, and she could no longer see inside the studio. She sighed softly and started to climb back up the side of the building. It was better to get this over with now.

Steve was waiting for her at the top of the Tower, arms crossed and jaw clenched. She gave him a wan smile as she unbuckled her harness and put it away in the gear box they kept up there for emergencies.

“What the hell were you doing?”

“Window-washing?”

He was not at all impressed with her response, and his expressions shuttered. “Not funny. That’s a private space, Natasha.”

She sighed and shrugged, “I’m sorry, Steve. I know how you are about things like that, but… Damn, I was so curious.”

He hummed and stared at her for a moment. He was trying to figure out what she was hiding, she knew, but she was far better at this than he would ever be, and she kept her expression firmly in place. He gave up after a few minutes and turned away.

“Fine. But please don’t do that again. I don’t snoop into your things.”

She walked down to the common area with him, but they didn’t talk much the rest of the evening.

But she wasn’t going to give up on that room! The vague portrait she’d seen - she was sure it was a portrait now - was very intriguing, and she had to know if it was what she thought it was. So she left it alone for a while. They didn’t talk about it, and she didn’t try to sneak in. She kept to herself and got out her excess energy by pranking Tony in the lab.

Steve finally invited her up for dinner again, and she let the night continue normally, not so much as looking at the studio door. She knew it gave him comfort, and she kept it up for another week or so.

Natasha had been waiting outside the studio door for an hour now, waiting for Steve to come out. She knew he wouldn’t invite her in, but she was determined to get a peak or to slip in when he exited. When the door finally opened, it was dark inside the room. He had closed the curtains and turned off the lights. He was already frowning, and he simply held out one strong arm to grab her before she could run in. The door shut with a hiss, and Natasha grumbled as Steve dragged her into his living room, dropping her onto his couch.

“I said I wouldn’t be letting you in, Nat. What was so difficult about that?!”

She glared up at him, crossing her arms. “Steve, c’mon. You leave your sketchbooks all over the place all the time! How is this that much different?”

“I don’t mind people seeing some of my sketches. I mind you seeing my paintings.”

She was silent for just a moment, staring up at him, his cheeks slightly flushed and his eyes angry. She smirked, “Just me?”

“What?”

“You mind me seeing your paintings. Is it just me?” The way his jaw clenched told her everything and she was over the back of the couch in an instant, running for the door. “What are you hiding, Rogers?”

The poor guy. He threw himself in front of the door before she reached it, blocking her way. “Stop it! Just leave it alone!”

“I don’t want to! I want to know what you think I shouldn’t see? I know what you like to sketch. I’d imagine you paint similar things. So I mean… unless it’s me naked-” She stopped abruptly as his cheeks flushed, and raised an eyebrow, pressing closer to him. “Is it?”

He looked away, voice lowering in volume. “Of course not. I’m not like that. You know that. It’s just…” He huffed, frustrated. “If I let you in, you’ll hate what you find! Just, please, trust me on that.”

Her eyebrows raised, “Is it me, nude?”

“No!” he exclaimed, immediately.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Steve stared her down, or tried, for a minute, and then finally relented. He sighed and his shoulders dropped as he turned around to face the doors. “JARVIS? Picasso.”

The door hissed open and Steve let Natasha walk in, first, following behind and flicking in the lights as the door shut behind them. He walked around her to go and open the curtains back up. Natasha was just staring.

In the middle of the room was the large canvas she’d seen him working on before. Only it was nearly finished, and it was of the team, weary and dirty after the battle of New York, resting, and feasting on Shawarma. She remembered seeing the paparazzi shot a couple weeks after the incident (the press never sleeps) and thinking that it was almost funny. She liked this painting much better though. They were all still tired, but seemed happier, somehow. More familial. Natasha liked that.

“How could I hate this?” she asked, softly.

Steve’s face went red and his eyes darted around the room. “It… wasn’t this I was worried about.”

Natasha looked around, following his gaze, and her jaw dropped. Portraits. Of her. She could see the one, on the wall, that she’d noticed from the window. It was her. That was why it was so familiar. But as she looked over the hung paintings and canvases propped up on the floor, she kept seeing herself. A park, Natasha, the team, Natasha, Natasha, a meadow, Natasha, James and Peggy, Natasha, Natasha, a fruit basket, a flower vase, Natasha, puppies, Natasha, Natasha, Natasha cleaning her weapons, and so many more. She looked up at Steve, who was staring at his feet, totally embarrassed. She couldn’t say anything, too shocked, so she just stared at him, jaw dropped.

“U-Um… I can. I can get rid of them, if you want,” Steve murmured, after several minutes of silence.

Natasha closed her mouth. She swallowed and pulled herself together. “Why?”

He took a half a step back. “It’s… I suppose it’s a little creepy. I figured you wouldn’t like it. I can get rid of them. I can stop-”

“No,” she hurried to say. She held up her hand when it looked like he’d argue, “Just, stop talking. Listen.” Steve’s mouth closed, and Natasha took a couple steps closer. “You are an incredible artist, and I’m… incredibly flattered. They look amazing. Everything in here looks amazing. I just…” She sighed. “I want to know why you chose me.”

Even though his head was ducked, she could see him start to smile, just a little bit. “You’re… beautiful. And a friend. And I… I like your hair. I was… I just thought that it would be a couple. But you’re… my favorite subject now. I’m… I’m sorry.” He headed towards the windows, reaching for the curtains.

“Don’t,” Natasha said, watching him halt. “Don’t be sorry.” She looked over the paintings, and walked carefully over to one of her with shorter hair, curled and framing her cheeks. “May I keep this one?”

He stared at her, totally confused, and wondered if anyone had ever told him that they liked the work he did here. “You… You want it? You’re not upset?”

“Have you sold any of them?”

“...No.”

“Have you posted them online?”

“No!”

“Have you showed them to anyone else?”

“No, of course not.”

She gave a shrug and a small smile. “Then I have nothing to be upset about. I like them. They’re very good. Very well done. I’d like to keep one. If you don’t mind.”

He looked at the painting, and then at Natasha, and shrugged, returning her smile with a shy grin of his own, “I mean… I don’t need it for anything. If you really want it…”

She smiled and pulled him closer, kissing his cheek and hugging him, “Thank you, Steve.”

He hugged her back, gently, “You’re welcome.” He looked back down at his shoes as they separated, “Would you like me to stop painting you?”

Natasha shrugged and gave him a sly look, “Well, it wouldn’t want to stop your flow in creativity. I don’t mind being your muse.” She patted his cheek and went to pick up the painting, carefully. As she headed for the door, she turned and said, smirking, “And I suppose that, if you decide you want to do nude studies, well, I don’t mind posing.” She winked, and then laughed at the way his whole face slowly turned red.

[thenarcolepticone]

Phantasm

by TheNarcolepticOne

Day 2 + Day 5: Spooky Colors ( @aphfallfandomweek )

AO3

Summary: Lovino was the relative in the family that no one particularly liked to visit. And wasn’t because he was crude: this was a misconception developed from the in-laws of the family who wanted to steal some of the family’s rich heritage. Rather, Lovino was just a different kind of Vargas. Or at least, Feliciano liked to think that his brother was.

Characters: APH Italy, APH South Italy, APH Spain.

Warnings: None. But it's spooky I guess? If you don't like spooks.

A/N: I... put two concepts into one story again -- I'm SORRY it's just very addicting to try and put them all together because it forces me to try and creatively shove them together. I hope it's not too clunky though... I've not actually posted any stories online with Feliciano or Lovino. Not yet anyway. It's not meant to be anything hard to look into, actually, so don't look too hard into this story.

##

Lovino was the relative in the family that no one particularly liked to visit. And wasn’t because he was crude: this was a misconception developed from the in-laws of the family who wanted to steal some of the family’s rich heritage. Rather, Lovino was just a different kind of Vargas. Or at least, Feliciano liked to think that his brother was.

Lovino liked to spend a lot of his days alone too and occupied the spare room of Feliciano’s paint studio when he came back from a long day from working at the pastry shop. Feliciano had given the space to him out of sympathy, as no one else in his family seemed to put an effort into knowing his brother beyond just his strange behaviors. Except for him and his Grandfather of course, but Romulus had passed away some time ago, leaving only Feliciano to be the sole caretaker of his brother.

Calloused hands and flour dusted fingers from folding dough and wheat did nothing to dissuade Lovino from coming over in the evenings to continue his work in his project room. Lovino always mentioned finishing the same painting that he started two months ago and had never let Feliciano see it since he bought his brother the easel.

Now, Lovino was one of the best water color artists that Feliciano had ever know. It deviated a lot with his own style, but not in a bad way. Feliciano often liked the crispness of oil-based paints in its raw form upon a canvas while Lovino once told him that he enjoyed the medium of water because he felt the transparency of the paint reflect a sort of ‘ambiguity’. He liked an image of a color that wasn’t quite solid and wasn’t too minimalist either, which made Feliciano very empathetic to his art pieces most of the time.

Lovino was a schizophrenic, part-time freelance artist.

It wasn’t a very pretty title, but it was because of this stigma that Lovino often told people of his condition first, like a warning, before accepting any commissions from any eager client. Lovino didn’t enjoy the idea of people giving him sympathy and especially disliked being compared to van Gogh in any way, shape or form.

Rather, he preferred patrons that were honest with him. And it was a trait that Feliciano envied; having interactions between others without that sense of superficiality to it.

Lovino was more grounded to the realities of people more than Feliciano ever was. And that, alone, was the reason why Feliciano loved his brother dearly. And the same reason why he had even given him the room in the first place.

Though, just because Lovino got commissions didn’t mean that he received a lot of them. The man would often burst into Feliciano’s small business building without a word and retreat his secret sanctuary in silence. But Feliciano never minded it; his brother’s business was his own.

That was, until one day Feliciano heard his brother talking alone inside of his room one night after washing all of his brushes. Feliciano had planned to leave early, as he had a scheduled 8:30 AM appointment with his next model soon. But the sounds of his brother speaking was what drawn him to stop and listen.

“Hang on,” Lovino was heard groaning on the other side of the door. “I’ll finish this part soon. Stop giving me that look, won’t you? It’s intimidating, and you’ll make me rush it.”

Feliciano quietly set his used brushes from earlier that day into a bucket nearby. And, watching his feet to ensure he did not step on anything, Feliciano leaned against the thin white door to eavesdrop.

“Yes, Toni. I know you like red. But I’ve already painted enough leaves around you. Any more of them and I’m sure you’ll look like you’re in front of a volcano!”

Feliciano bit his lip. A quick suspicion made Feliciano assume that Lovino snuck a male model into the room. But looking at the base of the door, he saw some movement of shadows.

But he could not distinguish if this was his brother’s movements or not.

“There. See?” Lovino murmured. “It was the green that was missing. Not the red. Red wouldn’t make much sense to add on to you. It’s like wearing a red shirt, red pants, red shoes and red socks: it doesn’t match.”

Feliciano moved away from the door now, perhaps realizing that Lovino wasn’t quite... himself. Lovino often had episodes of these, but ever since he had been on medication, he hadn’t fallen into the habit of babbling to himself until now. 

But he didn’t want to be too straightforward with Lovino either. Pointing out his strange behavior would only strain their relationship as his only caring family relative and the last thing Feliciano wanted to do was to make his brother annoyed with him because wasn’t caring enough to shut up appropriately.

Choosing instead to promptly ignore the conversation in the other room, Feliciano began pack his things, set his coat on and retreat home to sleep. He and Lovino did not live in the same places, so he was never really sure about what time his brother went home.

But as Feliciano attempted to sleep, he couldn’t help but start to wonder about Lovino again. The way he talked behind that door and the emotion in Lovino’s voice that really almost sounded like he was speaking to his painting... the curiosity had burrowed itself into Feliciano’s brain enough to the point of making him unable to sleep. And months of secrecy on Lovino’s end was enough to draw Feliciano back into his car and drive right back to the studio.

It was just quarter past two in the morning when Feliciano arrived, fall air breezing through his hair. His keys clinked as he opened the door, and he turned the lights on, immediately heading for the forbidden room.

He swung the door open gently, turning on the lights.

The room was an absolute chaotic mess, as if someone had ransacked the place. It scared Feliciano a minute to think that the perpetrator would be somewhere nearby, but Feliciano did a quick sweep around the perimeter of the room.

No one.

The only object that was the most preserved in the mess was an easel and canvas in the center of the room, draped by a tattered blanket.

Feliciano frowned, feeling his chest compress. He felt like was violating his brother’s trust by peeking into his personal work. It wasn’t as if he was planning to do anything bad, right? Just looking.

Feliciano took a breath, going up to the painting and removing the cloth.

It was the portrait of a man that Feliciano had never seen before. The paint that was included in the picture was layered upon each other, blending a lot more smoothly into indescribable mixes of color; the paint’s opacity made it a hard to tell the difference if the color was in between red, yellow or green. The brush strokes that framed the man’s clothing were cleverly blended with the darker colors to contour the light more to the man’s chest, rather than the shoulders and overcoat. It curved at the exact angles that highlighted the physique under the painting’s clothing, and it caused Feliciano to realize that he had been holding his breath when he finished examining it.

Lovino really did pull reality from his imagination. The only thing that made the painting appear unrealistic was the white edges of the unfinished background and unpainted pencil-etched leaves. The picture was meant to fully depict a Spaniard of the 1600’s in the middle of the fall leaves, posing right before his voyage over the Atlantic. The portrait man gazed back at Feliciano, looking soft in his features but held a sense of power behind his gaze. The eyes were a piercing green, and it made Feliciano feel like he was being watched. They also looked like they were following him when he moved around even more, causing Feliciano to be completely unsettled by the eye movement. It was enough to make Feliciano want to leave.

It’s then that Feliciano grabbed the cloth, pulling it over the painting’s gaze as he retreated out back to the parking lot, heart beating from almost practically sprinting out of the building. He locked the door twice for good measure and checked it before starting his car.

##

The next morning hadn’t been too unusual after that. Feliciano had fought the evening’s events out of his brain when his patron showed up; a man who looked entirely ready for his own portrait by dressing in outrageous clothing. Feliciano could deal with outrageous.

He had spent the day avoiding the room when he was doing his own work and waited patiently for his brother to return after work.

Eventually, Lovino did come through the door. But not before Feliciano stopped him. His model had long gone at that point, giving Feliciano more time to speak to him.

“Fratello,” he called to his brother, causing Lovino to turn his head to him with tired attentiveness. “What are you painting in that room? I’ve always been meaning to ask.”

Lovino gave Feliciano an incredulous expression. But not before just sighing. “I’m actually almost done with it anyway. I suppose you could look at it.”

Feliciano practically jumped at this opportunity to be with his brother, dropping his palette onto a nearby table as he grabbed a towel to wipe his hands off on the way to follow Lovino back into the room.

But by the time his brother had opened the door, he felt himself freeze.

The room was practically spotless. Or at least, there wasn’t a place out of order like it had been last night. It looked as if someone had cleaned it, though Feliciano was 400% sure he had locked the door that evening and had not touched anything else in the room. Especially after seeing the gaze of that frightening man under the blanket on the canvas. He couldn’t stay after that!

When Lovino uncovered the painting, Feliciano had to bite his tongue.

The man that had stared at him last night was turned away from the viewer’s perspective, head turning to look back at the autumn scenery behind him. It caused Feliciano to rub his eyes, trying to understand how his brain was playing tricks on him.

He can’t have just imagined last night all on his own. Could he?

“Like it?” Lovino said, having not noticed Feliciano at all since he had also been staring at his own work and criticizing it himself. “It’s... not quite there yet. I’m missing a lot of the edges and leaves. But I think one more week would finally get this done.”

“W-Who is that?” Feliciano fought his voice to remain calm as possible, which clearly wasn’t working too well. “In the picture?”

“Someone I keep running into in my dreams,” Lovino sighed. “You know. Those dreams.”

Feliciano turned his gaze back to Lovino, who now appeared much quieter and more reserved after admitting that clause. Feliciano frowned at that. Lovino was trying to hide his hallucinations again. And fighting the urge to reveal the reason behind his own state of panic, Feliciano noticed that he began to say something else as well.

“I’m jealous, Lovino,” Feliciano replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to really... do the same as you when it comes to painting in water color. It’s strange because it looks so real. Like it can move on its own.”

Lovino laughed at that. “You’re the only one who can see the reality of everything, Feli. I’ll admit it; sometimes I see the painting move all the time. And I think I can say that this one of my best works.” Lovino felt his smile soften when he stared at his masterpiece. “Antonio. That’s what I call it. It’s a name in Spanish that means something of value and praise.”

“I... didn’t take you for the type to be researching on name meanings, Lovi.”

“Shut up. Just because the names of your pieces are long doesn’t mean that mine have to be.”

Feliciano relaxed at that. “It’s beautiful, fratello.”

“It’s not finished yet,” Lovino murmured. “I’ll get it done soon. But I’d like to be alone, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Feliciano went to the door, letting him the space. And with a smile, he closed the door again.

But the second the door clicked shut, Feliciano’s expression that he had been keeping up had dropped. And fear poured into his heart as he dared to open the door once more.

“Lovino?”

The room was empty, with a gust of wind blowing into the room with the faintest smell of wet grass and undergrowth.

Feliciano stared at the picture that was revealed to him.

There, amid all of the colors of the fall within the canvas, was Lovino. And next to him was the man he had seen in the piercing green eyes, smiling right at Feliciano as he had an arm around his shoulders.

Feliciano only stared for a few moments before feeling himself drawn into the room. And with a final examination, grabbed the cloth again to cover the painting up as he picked it up into his arms to take home.