#its a break in between working on commission stuff like the last few pieces were | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hotwings0203 · 4 years ago

Note

as ur irl bestie i am cashing in my favor and am asking- no begging for a dilf damon fic pls <3

😑fine fineee I guess I can take a quick break from writing BNHA stuff for you🙄

CW: NSFW, Damon Albarn being an a-hole, manipulation, gaslighting, language minor stuff like that

The studio itself was pretty spacious, you couldn't lie. As much as you loathed to give this cursed group any more credit, you were hard-pressed to remember the last time you´d been called into such a professional recording booth. You were used to dingy atmospheres, crumbling walls, stained carpet, and even cramped garages at times. It felt like your years of meticulously swaying your hand back and forth on the rosin and tuning your strings until they damn near popped were slowly going down the drain, lost in spaces of screaming adolescent boys and shady market agents. The streets of London were unforgiving for a young musician like you, no room to turn to since others were exactly in the same position as you.

It was by pure coincidence that the day you had played for a local cafe for a small commission, Graham fucking Coxon was sitting in the back of the run-down joint, sipping a murky glass of Bourbon.

You didn't notice him at first, of course. You had simply let the music in your mind travel from your head down to your arms, and allowed it to move through your fingertips to your bow. The serene melody that sang through the air had turned his head to face you, the shitty drink in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth.

Your solo was only a couple of minutes, but the second you were done and packing your bags to head out, the brunette made a beeline for you, blocking your exit.

¨Uh, can I help you?¨ You cock your head and shift your violin case.

¨Yes, you can actually. Listen, I know this is gonna sound a bit straightforward, but I really liked your piece. Did you compose it yourself?¨ He sounds quiet and sounds nervous, with him barely looking you in the eyes.

¨Yeah, I did!¨ You can´t help but beam-it took you several days just to perfect a few meager lines, but in the end you were content with the piece.

¨Wow...that's serious talent right there,¨ He opens the door for you, and you nod before you head out, him trailing behind you as he leaves with you.

¨You make a good amount of money doing small jobs like this?¨ His voice is nasally and low, but with a slightly higher pitch than your typical London accent.

At this, you squint your eyes a bit and turn your head at him. It was nice of him to be interested in your work, but for someone you don't personally know, the idea of talking about your small gigs that merited little to no money was not something you were fond of.

He senses your hesitancy and immediately withdraws. ¨I´m sorry, that was probably rude of me to be so blunt about it. Actually, I don´t think I´ve properly introduced myself.¨ He stops to face you, and you do the same.

¨I´m Graham Coxon. You may or may not have heard of me, but I can assure you that I too enjoy music, as an understatement.¨ He extends a calloused hand and smiles a little bit, adjusting the blocky glasses on his face.

Graham...Coxon? Graham as in....oh, holy shit.

¨No way.¨

¨Er...unfortunately, yes way.¨ His soft voice lilts as he holds back a laugh, and you gape at him.

¨Oh my god!¨ You drop your violin case in the excitement of eagerly returning his handshake. ¨You-you're from Blur! I know you!¨

¨Was from Blur, and ´careful now, don´t wanna ruin your instrument. But listen, I´m kind of in a bind here so I´ll get to the chase. We´re working on a few chords here and there back at the studio, and I´ve been on the lookout for a while for someone who fits our tune. ´Thing is, the deadline for submitting our song is comin´ up fast, so we only have a couple weeks left.¨

You raise your eyebrows, heart pounding in your chest as you listen to his proposition.

¨So I´m thinking, you sound pretty good, it's exactly what we need to fill in our bridge. I´d love it if you came in and played a tune for us. If we like you and you´re cool with it, you could feature on our song.¨

It feels surreal. Were you hearing right? Graham Coxon from Blur asking you to play on his song? This had to be a prank.

¨Ẅait, but you've only heard me once, what if my sound doesn't match what you're actually looking for?¨ You stammer, palms clammy as you wipe them off on your trousers.

¨Well, that's what a rehearsal session is for, lovely,¨ He chuckles nervously and slides his slightly foggy glasses up his nose. ¨So, you wanna give it a go?¨

You think for a moment, biting your lower lip. There wasn't exactly anything stopping you now, was there? I mean, sure, the prospect of playing in front of one of UK's most famous bands was daunting, but this was your chance to finally be recognized!

Taking a deep breath, you pick up your fallen case and nod. ¨Alright, I´m in. When you do wanna meet up?¨

Graham visibility deflates in relief, letting out a shaky exhale. ¨Great. I'll text you the time and place, yeah? The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up, so we´ll be in contact soon.¨

You both exchange numbers, your phone tingling in your hand long after you bid farewell and drive home in a buzz.

When you finally get home to your apartment, you throw your keys onto the counter and flop down onto the mattress. What a fucking day.

So many thoughts bounce around in your addled head. You want to do well, but obviously you don't have their kind of experience in the industry. Should you play more in tune with their song, or continue with your own sound? An idea pops into your head amidst your lunch, a few hours later. Why not just do some more research on the band themselves? Then you'd know exactly what kind of music they're looking for.

The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up.

Oh yeah, who else was in the band? It's not like you didn't know who Blur was at their peak, but you paid more attention to their music rather than their faces. Truthfully, you never really basked in tabloids and newspapers purring about the next big scandal, or the top dogs of Britain´s industry when that stuff was relevant.

You abandon your pathetic sandwich and make your way to your laptop, sliding into a chair and getting down to business. After a few quick searches, you pull up a couple tabs around the name Blur.

Graham Coxon- Recovering alcoholic. Big fight with Damon Albarn.

Alex James- Cute boy turned conservative. Classic case.

Dave Rowntree- Mainly untouched. Became a successful lawyer. Good for him.

Damon Albarn- A fucking mess.

Puffing up your cheeks and putting your hands behind your head, you lean back in your chair. Good god, this man is a wreck. Headlines from decades ago swim in and out of your eyes, loud, obnoxious neon prints of Justine and Damon broken up again? Suede claps back!, or Will the Blur Brothers ever come back to each other? Find out first-hand from Coxon himself!, and worst of all, Albarn relapses again, Damon Albarn from Blur goes head-to-head with Liam and Noel-news flash, the brothers win!

You think you see something about him and a potential wife and child, and that's when you decide it's time to sleep.

After all, there's no point in getting caught up in any of their backstories.You were just there to play a solo and get out. Nosing around in their lives was more trouble than what it was worth, anyways.

Which is exactly what you kept trying to tell yourself as you walked into the modern studio two weeks later, its grey soundproof walls and white floor screaming fancy and rich to you. And fancy and rich didn't come without grit and experience, which you had none of. As if to emphasize your inexperience, you went into the wrong halls twice before you exasperatedly checked your messages with Graham and saw that no, it wasn´t room 311, it was room 113.

Finally, finally, you came across your designated room. The mahogany door was closed, and you placed a hand on the silver knob. You could faintly hear the sounds of a guitar being played from the inside, and it was curiosity above everything else that compelled you to push it open.

From behind the clear window that separated the booth from the recording area, you see them. Graham, Damon, and other men you don't recognize are all in the midst of the song, the same song Graham had texted you the PDF of for the violin notes. You sheepishly take a few steps forward and clear your throat to catch the attention of a bald man leaning back against his chair right in front of the glass. He turns around and you give a weak little wave, clutching your case in the other hand.

¨Hey, I´m here for-¨

¨-Yeah, yeah, Graham told me all about you. Go on ahead and join in, they just started.¨ He pulls a toothpick out from between his lips and gestures to the door of the divider.

You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way through the second door, and the second you step inside meekly, Damon and Graham´s eyes are on you.

Graham continues to play the guitar, only lighting up his eyes and giving you an encouraging nod when you step in, and the other two men on bass and saxophone also give a quick smile in greeting. And Damon…well.

Damon barely acknowledges you.

He continues to sing and stare straight ahead at the wall in front of him as if there's an interesting scene being played out on the grey paint.

You´re unsure of whether to catch his attention and give a proper greeting, but you decide not to as it would interfere with the song. So instead, you quickly grab a nearby chair and stand and set up your rosin and papers.

Your timing is perfect; the bridge is about to come up. Just to be certain, you look up from your poised position and catch the eyes of most everyone except for Damon´s. They all give you a quick thumbs up or an expectant look for your confirmation of playing.

And then, it comes. Damon stops singing, and your cue to sweep your bow across the horse hairs of your strings comes.

Melodious, whole, fulfilling, it was. Graham´s guitar chords harmonized with the tones of your violin, and music that you´ve never dreamed of creating was made by your hands exceptionally.

Everyone was in awe of your raw talent, from the way their gazes were rapt onto your bow, moving back and forth,staying still in some highs and whittling away at the lows. You even thought you saw the producer from inside the booth turn his head towards you from the corner of your eye, but you couldn´ be sure.

Everyone except Damon Albarn.

The song ended a minute later with the signal of a fading out bass, and then there was silence.

¨Right on with that tune.. ´Thought we'd be fucked ova´ if we didn't find someone to take that melody.¨ The bassist with long shaggy hair grinned and you returned one back.

¨Yeah, I was kind of hesitant when Graham ´ere told us he found one to take this position on, but I'm pleased.¨ The saxophone player scratched his chin and hummed his agreement. You felt relief.

Until he spoke.

¨Is this your first time playing?¨

You look incredulously over at him, looking straight on at his face. Sandy hair, lines on his cheeks, slight scruff around his chin, he looked older than his online pictures.

¨Uhh, no?¨ You laugh a little, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice. ¨If I was, I doubt Graham would think I´m good enough to play with you guys.¨

¨I don't think Graham is the only one who needs to think that.¨ Everyone shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously from Damon to you, and Graham tugs his collar as if the temperature had gone up.

But nonetheless, you don't back down.

¨Oh yeah? How so?¨

¨You played the G-string too high,¨ He deadpans, looking utterly bored amidst oceanic hues.

¨What?¨ You flip your music pages a couple of times until you find the page where you played that part. ¨No I didn´t, I was right on tune-do you even know how to play the violin?¨

¨No,¨ he smirks, and with your blood boiling steadily you open your mouth to argue, but thankfully Graham butts in.

¨Damon, don´t be a prick, she played fine. Unlike you, who fucked up on the 5th verse.¨

The man in question lazily stretches his arms above his head, causing his white tee to rise a few inches over his belly button. You can´t help but glance at the skin-it's smooth, cleanly chiseled with part of his v-line showing, a happy trail rising from the juncture.

¨Oi, sweetheart, eyes up here.¨

You snap your gaze back to his smug face, cheeks burning.

¨I didn´t-¨

¨Sure you didn´t. Just like how I didn't mess up on the 5th verse, and how you didn't ruin the song with your shitty violin, yeah?¨ He simpers, and you almost rise out of your seat to snarl at him before Graham jumps in between you two, scolding a very inappropriately-grinning Damon.

You get up out of your chair and huff, shoving your belongings back into your bag as everyone else packs up, the men bickering and playfully throwing shit at each other.

The producer even congratulates you on your successful first day, and everyone cheers and pounds you on your back, your hair falling in your face and gracefully hiding your 120k watt smile.

Damon shoulders right past you, knocking your case right out of your hands. You grapple with it for a second before it hits the ground, and when it does you whip around and shoot him an icy glare.

He's not even looking at you, he's already out the door.

It's quiet for a moment.

¨Well, there he goes again being a dickhead. Classic Damon, you got.¨ The saxophone player points to the leaving blond and grins sheepishly at you.

¨What's his problem?¨ You ask in disgust, shaking your head as you join the rest of the boys leaving.

¨Uh, well...¨ Graham scratches the back of his head and avoids looking at you. ¨He's always been kind of like that, y´know, so don't take it too personally, but between just us four, his wife´s been on his arse for a bit about um...some...domestic affairs.¨ He finishes lamely, and the other two men guffaw at your raised eyebrow.

You don't have a chance to press further as to ask what domestic affairs, exactly because a loud clap of thunder shakes you all to your cores as you step outside.

¨Aw, come on!¨ You stamp your foot and hold out your hand for confirmation of the raindrops about to drop on you all. ¨I didn't know it was gonna rain today,¨ you grumble.

Graham squints up at the sky and wipes some droplets off his blurred glasses, covering his head with his jacket hood as he begins walking to the parking garage. ¨I´ll see you lot in about a week, yeah? Just keep practicing, good rehearsal we had today!¨ He waves his hand and dashes off.

¨Good job on your first day, Y/N. Fancy the weather on your walk back for us!¨ The sax and bass player bid farewell and also do a sprint to their respective cars, splashing through the puddles and sending muddy water on your pants.

¨Urgh!¨ You raise your hands to try and protect your bottoms but to no avail- London's sewage strikes again.

Sighing in defeat, you walk through the rain towards your car, succumbing to the grimy walk. Unfortunately you didn't think to use the parking garage due to high nerves when you first came in.

You walk for about 5 minutes, the rain drenching your hair and clothes and chilling you to your bones.

Could this day get any more annoying?

Oh, but you should´ve known that it could.

Because right at that moment, a black limo swerves right next to you on the sidewalk, sending a massive wave of gutter water right your way.

You swear loudly and jump back, barely managing to avoid the remnants of the sewage tsunami crossing your feet.

Looking up wildly at the offensive vehicle, you make a fist and flip the window off, your lip curled up into a snarl.

The obsidian glass rolls down.

¨Well that's not very nice, is it? Nasty weather we got going on right now, careful it doesn't get on your clothes.¨

Oh.

¨It's you,¨ you monotone, less than pleased to see his salacious grin at your predicament-which was being soaked to your undergarments in brown muddy water, your hair clinging to your face and your violin case lugging down towards the ground, its weight proving mutiny against you today of all days.

¨In the flesh,¨ Damon beams, and you scowl at his cheery attitude.

¨You almost drowned me, asshole,¨ You turn your nose up in scorn, and he chuckles in his baritone voice.

¨Nah, cant´ve love, I can't drive,¨ he clicks his tongue and jerks his thumb to the seat in front of him, where you assume his chauffeur is.

¨Oh, so it was under your orders that your poor driver practically waterboarded me?¨ ¨Well, yeah, I mean what else do you expect me to do when I see a pretty lady walking so harmlessly in the rain?¨ Your voice catches in your throat for a second from his words and the way his glacial eyes twinkle for a moment, but then he erupts in dry chuckles at your demeanor and you throttle your hesitancy at speaking.

¨Shut up, you're absolutely vile, y´know that?¨ ¨So I´ve been told, but to be honest sweetheart, I´d rather hear that in bed, where I´m used to hearing it. Now are you going to get in or shall I talk about my sexual prowess with you the rest of the afternoon?¨ He opens his door from the inside and mockingly winks at you.

You feign a gag, but still decide to jump in the spacious limo when a flash of lightning lights up the sky.

He scoots back to give you space to sit and adjust your violin case on the seats in front of you, but just as you´re about to close the door, he leans in right next to you and reaches behind you to pull it shut himself.

You´re caught still as he draws close, you´re extended hand frozen in midair as his arm against your back flexes and stiffens with it pulling the door. You can feel his breath against your neck as he exhales, can feel some of his hair tickling against your ear and cheek. You hold your breath, not daring to move lest you accidentally brush up against his proximity.

The loud slam of the door causes you to jump, and he laughs a little at that, signaling his driver to go.

You don't quite face him, your gaze down in your lap as his entire body is facing you, still stuck in its position when he was closing the car door.

¨Not nervous, are you?¨ He murmurs in your ear, and you can´t help it when your whole body shivers at feeling the rumble in his gravelly voice.

¨N-no, I´m not. Do you have to be so close?¨ You stammer, barely giving him a sideways glance which eggs him on, much to your displeasure.

¨Not really. But if you´re not nervous, then it shouldn't be a problem, right?¨ He says quietly and leans around to catch your eye.

Before you can lose your nerve and jump out of the car, you snap at him. ¨You just don´t quit, do you?¨

He finally relents and the side of his pink lips lift lazily as he stretches his knees out and practically manspreads across the expanse of three seats. ¨Nope. Not that you really were against it though, ´could feel your heart pounding a mile a minute sweetheart. Trust me, I´m used to making girls nervous, I would know.¨

You sneer at him. ¨Don´t call me sweetheart, and yeah, I was nervous about getting some disease-ridden prick like you getting close to me. God knows how many STD´s you've contracted from bedding some poor groupies.¨

¨Only one way to find out, right love?¨ He leans his head up to the car ceiling and lets his tousled golden hair flop back, his jawline accentuated by the cream-colored seats contrasting with his tan skin.

You catch yourself staring, and shake your head quickly.

¨You must´ve been more hopped up on heroine than I thought if you think I´d ever fuck a self-absorbed, narcissitic bastard like you.¨

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but once they do your eyes widen and you clap a hand over your mouth in horror.

Damon lifts his head and slowly turns to face you, his mouth set in a thin line.

¨A self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard whose limo you're riding in, need I remind you, so I can´t be all that bad. ´Can't say I haven't heard any of that before love, but most girls who say that end up in my bed anyways.¨

You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off.

¨Although, ´hopped up on heroin´ is a new one. Just exactly how much research have you done about me so far?¨

Your rebuttal dies in your throat. You were caught.

Your ears burn and your face flushes as you bite your lip in embarrassment. Maybe you went too far, and on top of that you let it slip that you knew about him beforehand.

But you refuse to kowtow in humiliation to this idiot, so you think quickly.

¨I doubt you´ve got your head that far up your ass to disregard how half the world was tuning into your personal life when Blur was big, Damon.¨

He looks unimpressed with your excuse, but before he can open his mouth to question you further, you hurry up with another save.

¨Also, where are we going? You never asked me where my car was.¨

Bingo His eyes brighten and he shouts at the driver, harping on about him being a brain-dead idiot for driving in circles the past 10 minutes.

What a save.

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

The moment you step into the booth next week, a drumstick is lobbed at you from seemingly nowhere. You yelp and hold your case up, blocking the weapon as it bounces off your makeshift shield. You bring the case down and shoot a glare towards the only man you know capable of acting so childishly at his grown age.

But he´s already scrolling through his phone, looking for a measure to start from.

¨You´re late.¨

¨Hardly,¨ you mutter, glancing at the clock on the wall. Two minutes past shouldn´t be an excuse for having a drumstick pick out your eye.

¨Good to see you again, Y/N,¨ Graham pipes up softly, sending you an apologetic glance from Damon to you and you stick out your tongue in faux annoyance.

The other two members of your group greet you as well, and you all begin practice. Notes begin harmonizing together, voice and sound coinciding to make music you´ve swayed your hips and nodded your head to on blue nights.

It´s a hot day, humidity clinging to your skin akin to the perspiration hanging off your forehead, and halfway through the song you decide to take off your sweater. You´re wearing a white tank top underneath, nothing too revealing save for the slight dip in the V-neck, but you couldn't care less about modesty at the moment when your fingers were literally slipping in their grasp on your sweat-slicked bow.

During a quick break in your part of the song, you slip off your sweater and fan yourself out. It feels good, but you feel a pair of eyes staring at you. Following the laser gaze, you turn your head to face Damon, but he´s nose-deep in the lyrics sheet, warbling about a broken love or friendship.

Huh, must´ve been imagining it.

Your solo comes up, and you prepare yourself for tackling the notes to your best ability, keeping up with Graham´s rapid guitar pace. Sweat continues to build on everyone´s vicinity when the rapid movement of arms waving around their own instrument causes more body heat to suffocate you all.

Miraculously, the song finishes, and you collapse in your seat like the rest of the men, panting and wiping slick off your foreheads. You reach for a bottle of water on the floor and unscrew the lid, grimacing at its lukewarm temperature but drinking it nonetheless.

For the second time, you have an unnerving feeling of being watched. This time, you whip your head to the side and catch him staring straight at you.

Damon´s face is flushed, his hair tousled, his rose colored glasses steamed up from the muggy aura in the room. His denim jacket is hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his torso covered with a sheer wife beater that accentuates his chiseled dad-body.

But he just stares you down, saying nothing. You frown at him a little bit and shift your body away from him, feeling vulnerable to his laser-gaze. His eyes darken, but Graham speaks, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say.

¨That was pretty good, you lot. Greg, Taz, hold off on the third beat of the fourth measure. We´ve gotta crescendo slightly-¨

¨Y/N, do you have a job?¨

Damon's voice cuts off Graham, and everyone falters as they look at him and then you in surprise.

¨I don´t know what you mean,¨ you respond coolly, knowing that whatever he was about to say wasn't good.

¨I mean, do you have a job? Because as far as I know, most people who work don't dress like whores at their job.¨

His eyes travel from your face down to your slight cleavage, and you sputter in rage as the rest of the boys shift uncomfortably.

¨Damon, for god's sake what´re you on about?¨ Graham asks wearily, taking his glasses off and rubbing his shiny neck.

¨I could ask you the same thing, actually. Because as far as I know, you've fucked enough women in your lifetime that one would think you could keep it in your pants for five minutes without acting like a twelve-year-old. Oh, but unless that´s too professional for you? I guess you´re not as serious about your work environment as you claim.¨ you laugh, and the sax player, Greg, snorts into his water bottle.

Damon sneers, ¨How could I forget, you actually have done your research about my life and sexual endeavors, what a cute little fangirl you are. If you wanted an autograph, you could've just asked, sweetheart.¨

¨Go fuck yourself,¨ you snap. ¨You´re all wearing wife-beaters anyways, what's the difference?¨

Damon starts again but Graham claps his hands loudly, startling you all.

¨Enough, both of you! What's gotten into you? Need I remind you that our song is due in less than two weeks? We need to finish this shit and get on with it. Stop acting like children.¨

You mumble under your breath and Damon shoots a dark look to his childhood friend, but the brunette doesn't back down, and continues to give advice on how to improve their song. You don´t look at Damon the rest of the session out of pure spite, but that doesn't stop him from shamelessly staring straight at you, right until it's time to leave.

The second Graham checks his watch and exclaims that it's a quarter past twelve already, you´re already bolting out of your seat and shoving your violin in its case, eager to get out of the disgustingly hot room.

Fortunately, this time you had the right idea to park in the garage like everyone else to avoid any other unwanted encounters, but unfortunately while it was nice to not be waterboarded on your walk, it wasn´t enough to stop said unwanted encounters from occurring.

Take right now, for instance.

As you stumble to your car in the blistering weather, your energy depletes faster and faster, causing you to be light headed. Practice was already tough enough in the sweltering heat, but after Damon's little scene you don't have any energy to even walk.

You crash blindly into your car, the metal of the doors burning your skin as you make contact with the handle. You hiss and jerk back, swaying slightly as your head fogs up. You can barely see, you feel like your clothes weigh a ton on you, so you slide down the vehicle and sit up against the tires, throwing your head back against the car and groaning. The idea of unlocking your doors and sitting in the seat where no doubt several temperatures higher will be settling on the dashboard and in the front row is nauseating.

Weather-2

You-0

You don't know the building well enough to know where a vending machine is, and even if you shot Graham a text, you don't have enough energy to wander around and scout for it.

And lo and behold, from a distance, a figure approaches. You squint as it draws nearer, and let out a laugh as the features come into familiarity.

The heat must be getting to you worse than you thought, because you´re certain you´re hallucinating Damon Albarn of all fucking people swaggering towards you, one hand holding his denim jacket over his shoulder, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he comes to stand in front of you.

All you can do is pant like a dog, looking up at him with unimpressed eyes.

¨Oi, G-String. ´Brought you some water.¨ he holds out a hand, and you choose to ignore the offensive nickname, insead noticing the large bottle in it, cold condensation covering its expanse.

Your eyes widen and you lick your lips unconsciously, holding your hands out for it.

Damon watches your tongue poke out and loses focus before snapping back to reality and moving his arm above your head. You pout and try to reach for it again, but he laughs and holds it even higher.

You glare and turn your head away from him, suddenly remembering how he embarrassed you earlier.

¨Go away. I don't want it anymore. You´re an asshole.¨ you mumble, perspiration hanging off your lip as you lick the salty beads away once again.

Damon´s eyes never leave your mouth as he listens to you and watches the pink appendage make its appearance again, and his mouth hangs open slightly unbeknownst to you for a second. You cross your arms and glare at the empty parking lot, silently willing him to go away.

He snaps back into focus yet again and shakes his head at you. ¨Oh come on love, I´m just teasing. You look like you´re about to die anyways, might as well make this your last meal-er, drink I mean.¨

¨I´m not taking anything from a complete dickhead who enjoys harassing women about their clothes. You know, for such a womanizer, you act pretty clueless about how comments like that would make a girl feel. No one else but you had an issue with it, or rather, had the audacity to point it out.¨ You cough at the last word, your dry throat and heavy head making it harder to talk.

He sighs and crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He pops open the cap and gently turns your chin towards his face, much to your surprise. You´re genuinely too weak to protest, but when you look at his concerned face, eyebrows scrunched up and accentuating the lines on his forehead, you don't think you'd want to turn away even if you could.

He coaxes your agap mouth even more open by dragging a rough thumb down over your lips, and you obediently open your mouth, mesmerized by his eyes. His movements are soft and slow, as if you were a fidgety rabbit about to run off at the slightest touch. He scoots closer, right over in front of you as you simply gaze up at him, allowing him to pour cool water down your throat, quenching your bone-dry palate.

For a couple of seconds, water floods your mouth but all you can do is stare up at him. The light rays are reflecting off his back, casting a yellow glow around his silhouette and he almost looks like an angel. His hair is mussed as if he'd spent the day running his hands through the golden locks, and the scruff on his face peeks through soft-looking skin.

¨Swallow, or I'll really waterboard you this time,¨ he says lowly, chuckling a bit as he catches you staring so adamantly right in his face. You jerk back to consciousness and swallow hastily, accidentally choking on the gulp in your rush.

He laughs even more and lets go of your chin much to your disappointment as he adjusts himself to sit next to you, not seeming to mind the scorching car metal. The absence of his hand on your face leaves a cold, empty feeling in your heart despite the heated blush on your cheeks

¨You´ll burn yourself,¨ you mumble, lolling your head over to look at him.

But he looks straight ahead and shrugs casually. ¨Not any more than you.¨ You both sit in silence for a few minutes, occasionally sipping from the bottle he passes towards you and watching cars go by.

¨You didn't answer my question. Why do you harp on me in the studio? You act like a normal human being here.¨

Damon looks thoughtfully at a white sedan passing by, then speaks.

¨As I´m sure Graham has blabbed to you already, I´ve been having some...trouble with the missus, let's say.¨

You say nothing and raise a questioning eyebrow.

¨For the shitty attitude,¨ he mutters and swipes the bottle from your hand, taking a large swig himself.

¨And, like you said earlier, I am an asshole. Of course I´ll enjoy harassing pretty women over their revealing clothes,¨ he smirks and gives you a once over.

There it was again, pretty woman.

You scowl and get up to leave, but what he says stops you in your tracks.

¨Taz was lookin´ at you,¨ he says quietly, suddenly very interested in the now-empty bottle. ¨´Didn't like it, but I couldn't say anything to him. Graham likes him too much.¨

Huh. Maybe the pair of eyes you felt back in the room didn't only belong to Damon.

He cracks a small smile and looks up at you, his face adorably innocent and wide as he sheepishly admits, ¨I´m used to butting heads with blokes like him for women.¨

You jerk back up to your feet, brushing off any insinuation he was giving and pat his knee awkwardly, ignoring the fire now igniting once again in your chest.

¨Thanks for the water, I needed it. You might wanna move if you don't want to get run over by my car.¨ You reach down and pick up your case as Damon clambers to his feet.

He looks amused as you fumble for your keys, nervously turning the lock and sitting in the hot car, obviously eager to get away from his intimidating gaze.

¨I´ll see you next week, yeah?¨ You laugh breathlessly and roll your window down to call out to him.

He says nothing, but merely cocks his head at you, his eyes now obscured by the rose-colored glasses he puts over his eyes. He waves a little and watches as you drive away a little too fast.

But as it turns out, you don't see him next week.

******

It was just your luck that one of the cutest guys from your work asked you out on the very same week you had practice with the boys. You contemplated moving the date to another time, but...you deserved to have some fun time off too, right? It's not like it would make too much of a difference in your skill, anyways, you´ve gotten all the strings down and such.

So, you decide to go on this date. It goes well, the dude was cute, dorky, lacked a little pizzazz but nothing a bottle of fancy red wine and a night of movies couldn´t coax out of him. It honestly wasn't anything too big, you exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up again soon. After parting ways, you threw yourself back into the regular regime of practicing your violin and meticulously listening to the booth recording every night, just so you could perfect your part to a T.

The day came where you had to go back to practice, and you were ready, veins pumping with determination to make these last few sessions the best you´ve played yet. You texted Graham that you´d be there soon, and he gave you a thumbs up in return. When you finally arrived in front of the room, you were 10 minutes late. The boys were already playing, by the sound of the percussion booming outside the door. You grimace and take a deep breath, turning the handle in and hurrying inside the booth.

No one really spared a glance at you, so you assumed you were okay in terms of punctuality. You opened your case and started strumming your strings, counting the measures and beats until it was your turn. Damon´s voice rang out, melodious and airy as ever, dropping octaves and floating on soprano tones. Your bow moved across his words, accenting his tones and adding emphasis to his sorrowful song. And then, after a couple of minutes, it was done.

¨Alright you lot, pretty good for today. ´Specially you, Y/N, you caught up pretty quick, I expected you to slack behind but I'm actually impressed.¨ Graham flashed you a nervous grin and you beamed back at him in return.

¨Yeah, speaking of, why were you gone last week? I expected someone who makes below the poverty line would actually want to work for their money,¨ Damon chuckles a little meanly.

You feel your smile drop a smidge.

¨Well actually Damon, not that it's any of your business, but I went on a date.¨ You smirk at him, enjoying the way his mouth opens slightly and moves silently.

But he regroups quickly and glares at you. ¨None of my business? The deadline is only a few days away, and you´re whoring yourself out and going on dates? I guess you´re not as professional as Graham thought.¨

Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and blood rushes to your face, anger clouding your mind. Why was he being like this? He was fine the last time you saw him, you actually thought maybe he was going to change the way he addressed you.

Graham speaks up. ¨Damon. You´re overreacting man, I gave her the okay, and she played fine today. No harm done, seriously, there's no need for that kind of language towards her.¨

¨Actually, there absolutely is a need. If I knew you were going to invite a prostitute as our sub-in then I would´ve never agreed to have her here. Didn´t know you were so low on money Y/N, I would´ve spared you a couple pounds.¨ He sneers.

¨Damon!¨

You laugh bitterly and rise to your feet. ¨Oh that's rich, coming from the man who fucked half the continent just because he couldn't get over one girl. No wonder every real woman in your life including your wife wants to leave, nothing is ever good enough for you. Except heroin maybe.¨

The words leave your mouth before you can take them back, and there's a pin drop silence as if a bomb had been dropped. In a way, it kind of did.

Damo glares at you. Everyone is holding your breath, including you.

¨Get out.¨

¨Hey,-¨ Taz tries to gently interject but Damon throws the mic at him.

¨I said get the fuck out. You´re not practicing with us anymore, you can pack your shit and leave.¨

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, and you choke out a small ¨Fine.¨

You hear Graham berating him behind you as you fly through the door, telling him that they need you, it's too late to change people, but the words jumble in your ears as the door slams shut. You don't hear what Damon says, if he even says anything, and you aren't interested in his comebacks right now.

It's only when you leave the car, tears streaming down your face in rage and embarrassment that you groan to yourself, your hands reaching an empty seat with one foot out the door-

You forgot your violin case.

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

It's nighttime.

The crickets chirp as you creep silently through the parking garage, the soft thud of your shoes echoing a lot louder than you wanted in the empty lot. The studio itself wasn't closed, but you were sure Damon must have informed the manager there not to let an ex-musician like you back in there.

Wearing a black hoodie and black pants was a smart move- you blended in with the shadows well. The doors weren't locked, and you hiss out a small ¨yesss¨ as you slip inside the mostly dark building. Needless to say, you were proud of yourself for navigating through the windings pitch-black hallways to your old booth.

Testing the handle lightly, you sigh out in relief when that too gives way. Unfortunately though, the second the door shuts behind you, you immediately stumble forward and fall.

The room is dark, darker than the other hallways so you can barely see your hands. The only source of light you´re granted is the dim red bulb on top of the booth door. And speaking of, that's exactly where you need to go...which proves to be harder when you keep bumping into random shit and cursing when you feel potential bruises forming on your shins.

Miraculously you stagger through the next door towards where you last sat, and blindly feel around the floor and chairs for your violin case. You feel nothing there, but panic starts settling in your heart when you can't find it.

¨Looking for something?¨

You scream and lurch backwards, knocking your head into some kind of stand. Groaning, you rub your head and hold a hand on your racing heart as you squint into the dim red room, placing the voice to the person.

¨D-Damon?¨

¨In the flesh sweetheart. ´Knew you'd come back for this, s´just my luck I came back to get it tonight so I could give it to you personally in case you wanted to be stubborn. But this is even better than I could´ve hoped.¨

You make out his silhouette in the obsidian abyss in front of you. He's sitting with knees spread on a chair, a few feet in front of you as he leans his head back on the wall. Your precious violin case is being held hostage in his arms, and it's the absolute love you have for the brittle instrument that propels you to your feet and moves you to get the hell out instead of interrogating him.

¨What, so you were just here the whole time listening to me falling around like an idiot?” You laugh incredulously, and you see the area of his shoulders move up and down.

¨Was pretty funny to watch, honestly. You sound cute when you curse.¨ He stands up to his fullest height now, the red light bouncing off his back, giving him a sort of demonic halo.

You knew it was actually time to leave when you felt those stupid butterflies in your stomach rise up again.

¨Right, well, I´ll be on my way then. Good luck with your song and whatever, I´ll just take the case...¨ You trail off as your extended hand is left in midair, no violin case reaching it.

He cocks his head at you. ¨Why are you in such a rush to leave?¨

You can´t help the scoff that escapes you.

¨Are you serious? You were such an absolute dickhead to me this afternoon, you said all sorts of horrible things to me, and you even fired me for Christ's sake! I want nothing to do with you, so could you please give me my case back so I can go?¨

He's silent for a moment before answering. ¨Are you done yet?¨

It isn´t just the light that's making you see red now.

¨Fuck you, honestly.¨ You whirl around and stomp towards where you guess the door is, ignoring the clatter behind you and bingo you locate the handle, but as soon as you turn it-

A hand reaches from behind you and pulls the ajar door shut.

¨Don´t go. I´m sorry.¨

You´re absolutely still as you feel him towering over you, his arm dangerously close to your midriff as his hand remains on the knob.

His voice is low, and you can feel him breathe against your neck, mere inches away. You can´t help the involuntary shiver that passes through you, and he feels it too, inhaling deeply when he gets close to your ear.

¨You smell so good.¨

¨Leave me alone, Damon,¨ you whisper, your voice catching in your throat from the overwhelming onslaught of emotions passing through you.

He breaths in and slowly lets his hand rest on your side.

¨I can't do that. You know why. You have to have known by now.¨

You tremble in his touch, yet allow his hands to wander down to your hip, the other coming around in a sort of hug to pull you closer to him.

¨We can´t.¨

¨Sure we can.¨

You can feel his erection bumping against your ass.

¨You´re not worth this.¨

¨I´ll make myself worth it.¨

And as soon as he latches onto the back of your neck, you´re like putty in his hands, a moaning mess as he sucks galaxy-colored hickies on your skin. You can feel yourself grow wetter as he shoves his hands up your shirt and teasingly pulls down the bridge of your bra, letting the weight of your tits fill up his hands appreciatively. He starts rolling your hardened buds in between his skilled calloused fingers, and you whine and throw your head back when you feel him rut against your ass, panting raggedly in your ear.

You rub your thighs together, desperate for some form of friction as he squeezes your tits, and then letting one hand ghost across the expanse of your stomach, down to brush against the rim of your panties. Damon chuckles meanly in your ear when you buck against the stilled hand over your mound.

¨You want this?¨ He lightly nips your ear. He smells like old spice and sandalwood.

You nod desperately, frustrated with him not giving you his thick fingers already.

But it's not enough for him. ¨No no, pretty girl, use your words now. I´ve barely touched you yet and you´re already moaning like a wanton little slut for me? And here I was thinking you weren't that easy.¨

You stop jerking your hips and blood rushes to your face at his insulting words. You try to move out of his grip, huffing and regretting the whole thing but he outright laughs now and spins you around, tugging you forward until your chest is slotted against his. You pout at him and look away, but he's quick to grasp your chin and pull you in for a rough yet sensual kiss.

Pushing you backwards against the wall, he deepens the lip-lock, tracing his tongue over your lips, nipping at the soft flesh and darkening his eyes when you whimper and look up at him.

He knows what he´s fucking doing when he again drops his hand under your pants and over your panties, his other palm wound up firmly through your hair. He pulls your head back and lets you breathe for a second from his kiss of death before he speaks again.

¨I didn't hear an answer, slut. Do you want this?¨ He leans forward until his nose brushes against your neck, flicking his tongue out to taste your saccharine flesh.

You tremble against his firm body when he pushes his pelvis against you, letting you feel how hard he is for you.

It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just an easy slut putting up a facade for him, but when his clothes erection grinds up against your pussy you can't care less.

¨Y-yes, yes, ´want you, please,¨ you pant, frantically gripping the back of his cropped hair as his head descends to mark your neck again.

¨What a good girl,¨ he whispers, finally allowing his digits to oh-so-slowly trace over your mound, pressing down harder when you jerk against him. He finds your wet clit and flicks it a few times, snickering when you gasp and moan. Your body writhes in place but he holds you literally between a rock-or, wall- and a hard place, preventing you from scampering off.

He drums his fingers against your folds, paying no attention to the way you grip his head tighter against you, silently begging him to go further.

But he relents eventually and retires from just pushing and prodding your folds, allowing his slicked fingers to slowly dive into your drooling hole. You whimper and bite back a string of curses when you feel him fill you completely, scraping against your walls for that one special spot.

His mouth moves off your neck and he rises to face you, a stupid smug grin on his wet lips, his eyelids lowered and trained on you. You flush at his lustful expression and gently push his head away, not wanting to accept his victory yet.

¨My fingers are literally fucking you right now, and you still won´t let me look at you? What, too embarrassed you couldn't continue being a stone-cold bitch for long?¨

You open your mouth to snap back but right at that moment he curls his fingers and grazes your G-spot, simultaneously grounding his wet palm against your clit.

With a loud gasp and the sluttiest moan you´ve ever made, you cum hard, your mouth open in a silent scream and your tongue hanging out like a bitch in heat as you do so. You fall forward against him.

You don't even need to look up to know that he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

¨What was that sweetheart? Sorry, ´couldn't hear you over those slutty moans. I think even the pornstars I´ve been with would give you a standing ovation if they heard what you just sounded like.¨

Your words are slurred as you curse nonsense at him, yet you´re still gripping his forearms to keep a hold on yourself. Your ears are ringing and you see spots as you come down from your climax, and surprisingly enough, Damon holds you close and doesn't let you slip down to the ground as you expected to when your knees start to give out.

Instead, he lifts you up quite easily and carries you over to a table in the corner of the room. You don´t know how he even navigates his way through the dimly lit room, but you suppose after almost half a lifetime in studios he knows his way around.

You offer no resistance as he sets you down gently and begins to lift your shirt off of your body. You manage to lift your arms weakly up in the air for easier access to stripping, but when he starts to kneel down to take your pants off you stop his hands at your knees and look at him with scrunched eyebrows.

He stops and looks up at you. His eyes aren't so darkened anymore, they´re wide and imploring, probably noticing your hesitation.

¨Damon, I...¨ You trail off as he maintains eye contact with you and slowly lowers his pursed lips to your calf, lightly pecking his way up to your knees and ensuring that you´re watching his every move.

Your breathing increases again as his pink appendage darts out, his saliva cooling on your exposed thighs. He sucks on the plush skin and turns his head upwards to face you.

You want to run your hands through his hair.

¨You have a wife,¨ You breathe.

¨Not for tonight I don´t.¨

Your voice gets caught in your throat at that. He positions his hands at the side of your knees, fingers curling around the hem of your pants in a second attempt.

¨Let me make you feel good, love.¨

His answer is in the form of your hand reaching for his collar and pulling him up into a standing position until he towers over your seated form, once again breath stolen in a heated kiss.

Damon fumbles with his zipper as you shove your pants off, fully ready for him now, your dampened panties solid evidence of your need for him.

He pulls his cock out and it bounces out, slapping up against his stomach.

You do a double take. The tabloids were right. He was absolutely huge.

It was disgusting almost, it was insulting really. How the fuck could he be that big? You lose count of how many inches he is when you start to get light headed, realizing with a jolt that he plans to put that monster inside you.

And fuck, why did it have to be so pretty too? Normally you wouldn´t use the word pretty to describe a dick, but fuck, that´s the only appropriate word that came to mind as you admired the white flesh as it mixed in with a dull pink flush turning into an angry shade of red as your eyes progressed up to his tip...which was soaked with precum, mind you.

He was neatly shaven everywhere, including his plush balls. No wonder he got to fuck half the continent.

Damon notices your gawking and smiles lazily, taking a fist around his prick and stroking lethargically up and down.

¨You gonna just stare at it all day or are you going to spread those cute legs for me?¨

Spoken like a true middle aged fuck-boyman.

You look up at him beseechingly, thoroughly intimidated by his length. He merely scoffs, winking at you when he wrenches your tightly closed knees apart.

It's almost like he falls into a trance when he presses his now-naked torso against your chest, when he slots himself between your legs and drags his tip through your sloppy folds and up onto your clit. His mouth falls open slightly and he moans when your juices coat his dick, making it slippery and easy to push the first few inches ever so slightly into your spasming cavern.

He can't help but want more, need more as he practically smothers his weight onto you, forcing you to lie back on the table and letting your legs dangle off the edge. He hunches over you and thrusts minutely into your pulsing folds, groaning when you whine and lace your fingers around his neck and tangle your legs around his back, dragging him impossibly close into you.

For a moment it´s just the sound of you two panting and moaning like inexperienced teenagers, and a zing of pride zips up your spine at the realization that Damon Albarn, one of the world's most renowned playboy is whining and humping against your pussy, reduced to nothing at your hands.

He takes your hands from around his neck and grips your wrists, forcing them above your head on the table. He leans down and kisses you, hard. You give him back the same energy when your hips move up and down along his length, pushing your inviting hole towards his eager and jumping dick.

¨Pretty little girl,¨ he murmurs against your lips, and you nip his bottom lip playfully in retaliation. He slowly starts to sink himself into you, and you practically purr at the feeling of his veiny member dragging against your sensitive walls until he stops.

You look at him questioningly, and blanch when you see the mischievous glint in his cobalt eyes.

¨I want you to count for me.¨

¨Count…?¨ You shake your head in confusion and he pulls out, making you groan in annoyance.

¨I want you to count every inch I put inside you. Unless your slutty mouth can't even do that? I'd be surprised if you couldn´t, you usually have so much shit to say.¨ His voice is low yet teasing, and a shiver passes through you when the rumble of his chest vibrates against your nipples.

¨F-fine, I´ll count.¨

He hums in approval and regroups, guiding his length into your awaiting pussy once again.

It´s almsot torture how slow he goes, and your toes curl at how vivid the sensation is at this pace.

You almost forget to do what he asks until he ducks his head down and teeths your bud.

¨Ah, fuck! One!¨ You yelp, writhing to get away from his lecherous gaze and hold on your poor tit.

He tuts and licks the swollen area until the pain subsides a bit, and then he continues to push.

¨T-two,¨ you moan and let your head fall back. It's unfair how tightly he´s holding your reins-you want him to plow you down, not take his sweet time in this punishment.

¨Damon, can´t you go any faster? Please, I want y-¨

¨-I didn't take you for a masochist, Y/N, but I´m happy to play around with these cute tits if you want to bitch more.¨

Your scowl is cut off when he suddenly shoves two more inches into you, and you mewl loudly at being filled so much.

¨Three! Four! Fuck, oh god, please,¨ you babble nonsense as he curses above you, his form shaking in an effort not to push all the way in.

¨Doing so good sweetheart, you´re almost halfway,¨ he smirks and you gape at him in disbelief.

Halfway?

Five, six, seven, eight, and nine go painfully slow, and by the time he´s fully sheathed inside you, plush balls pressed against your ass, you´re an incoherent, drooling mess.

Your hair is in your face, your cheeks are flushed, and your body bounces up and down as he begins to rock inside you, finally giving you what you want.

His name is chanted like an obscene prayer from your mouth as he grunts and shakes the table. Your legs are wobbly and unable to do anything except press him tighter against you to the point where he can barely move back. The skin of his stomach slaps against yours, his balls slap against the crevice of your ass, and your pussy practically sloshes with every stroke in and out.

He fists your hair with one hand and pulls your neck up to meet his searching lips, his other hand holds your wrists fast against the table. You want to touch him, you want to explore your body as he has conquered yours but he doesn't let you feel anything else apart from the rapid thrusts inside your battered body.

Damon switches positions and lifts the back of your knees up and pushes them forwards until they meet your chest. He lets his body weight rest on the back of your thighs as he pulls out and pushes back impossibly close inside you, closer than he did in missionary.

You sob with need as he plunges into you and reaches a higher spot than before, his tip grazing your cervix. He pounds into you, and you thrust your hips up to fuck back into him, calling out his name as if he were your god.

It´s a good thing the rooms are soundproof.

You feel your second climax comes when he paves way through your tight walls and batters your uterus. It doesn´t hurt so much as feel intense, and your choked moans become panting gasps when he brings a hand down to swirl his thumb over your aching clit.

¨You´re not going to meet with that prick from your work again, yeah? Say it. Say it if you want me to let you cum.¨ He could have been speaking an alien language for all you knew. Your poor addled brain didn't pick up anything except for the word ¨cum¨, and you were a goner.

¨Yes, yes, anything you say, anything you want, just please let me-¨

And oh he does.

It comes over you like a tidal wave, your mind going blank, your eyes seeing white as your legs shake from your earth-shattering orgasm. You feel like you´re going down a rollercoaster, and you never want to stop dropping.

Distantly, you hear him groan and say your name. You can feel pulsing in your filled walls, with what you assume is his ropes of cum. It feels like when you came, it practically squeezed all his cum out with your clenching.

He lets out a shaky breath and falls forward, his nose inches from yours, his breath puffing in your face.

Your eyes are glazed over, but you´ve never seen anything more clearly before.

Maybe Damon Albarn really was worth it.

#blur #damon x reader #damon albarn #damon albarn smut #britpop #90s damon #90s #smut #fluff #britpop smut #damon fluff #Damon Albarn #damon albarn x reader #Damon albarn smut #Damon albarn fanfic #Damon albarn fanfiction #blur fanfic #blur fanfiction

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bellybiologist · 3 years ago

Text

Current Dealings and Collecting Some Feedback/Opinions

(This is a post on my patreon, copypasted to here)

Hey guys, Just coming to reiterated what some of my original plans were, what's going on personally, and to collect some feedback on what I want to try to do this November and December.

Currently, since my mom passed, my household BASICALLY lost somewhere between 1/2 to 2/3rds of our income, and my patreon earnings are, atm, the only income I'm getting to pay for rent and all our various other bills until my aunt finds steady employment (she has some income working for a friend, but that friend is a douche and she's trying to get out of that).

It's been real rough for the both of us. Just recently, we paid off the 300+ dollar bill for the electricity that the oxygen compressor my mom required just to breathe at home for the couple months before she died, and only with help from my uncle.

She passed in august, we had her cremated, and we had her funeral and had to deal with a lot of stuff she hoarded in September due to apartment management needing to deal with maintenance. And i'm just currently... not feeling great if i'm being honest, especially after her birthday which was on the 13th of october (3 days before mine which was on the 16th).

Fall/Winter is always rough because its the season my mood drops in general, and the fact that i've recently lost my favorite person this year has my anxiety at an all time high, and energy at an all time low. I'm getting work done slowly, but my constant mood is basically that one meme image of Coraline's dad from the movie.

Anyway. I definitely need a break before i burn out or simply break down. Initially, I planned on taking my month off in January, but I think i'm going to need to take some time off earlier so i dont really crash and burn.

However, I can't really take a break cuz i need the income due to the above reasons. I only have like, 2 months rent saved up at any given point, so I'm feeling very pressured to power through and keep working... which, objectively, is not a great idea for anyone's mental/physical health, especially when I haven't felt like i had time to properly grieve and acclimate, and it's starting to catch up to me.

=====

So here's a proposition that I'd like to collect feedback on.

For November, December, and maybe January, I will continue to produce patreon exclusive content. But during these month's, I will be producing a reduced amount, thus giving me more time to rest, and more time to finally catch up on the commissions i owe (I'm very sorry for those who have been waiting since April. I simply could not predict how devastating my summer was gonna be 😔. I appreciate all of you guys' patience, but if it's still too much of a wait, do remember i still offer refunds as long as i havent sent a completed piece... which basically means you all apply, lmao.)

So for the month's with reduced content, I will still hold theme and character polls for people to exert their voting powers. However! I will only be doing fills for the first top 3 winners, and each will only be getting a single fill (as in, no sequences, similar to the 3rd and 4th place fills).

=====

Let me know what you think! I'm hoping this temporary set up wont last no longer than into January and that i can get back on the ball and have an at least half-way decent 2022, but it's gonna take some doing for sure. Once again, thanks for all of your support! Despite how badly things went this year, the few things I was able to do for my mother while she was sick this summer is all thanks to you guys. So i'm eternally grateful for that. 🙏🏽

#verzi rambles #patreon announcement

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thegreenwolf · 4 years ago

Photo

Betting on the Ponies (originally posted at my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/betting-on-the-ponies/)

(Above: Breyer Classic Arabian Stallion made over into a winged unicorn with real wings from a barnyard mix rooster I raised for meat.)

If you’ve been paying attention to my social media or my shop links at all, you may have noticed that I haven’t really been posting much in the way of new hide and bone art for the past year or so. It’s not that I’ve stopped; I still make some fun things for my Patrons on Patreon every month, and I make some bone, tooth and claw jewelry on Etsy to order. But ever since events dried up, I haven’t been regularly making new batches of costume pieces or other Vulture Culture art. My usual M.O. was to make all sorts of new things for an upcoming event, and then once the weekend was done and I was home, post whatever hadn’t sold on Etsy. And since there haven’t been events…well…I’ve just found myself doing other things.

Some of that is because I’ve had to scramble to make up for the lost income; events were a pretty big chunk of my “pay”, and losing them meant having to tighten the belt. I also lost several other income streams thanks to the pandemic making it unsafe to be around groups of people, which didn’t help. So I had to rely on what was left, along with adopting a few new sources of bits and bobs of cash here and there.

And, honestly, I’ve needed a bit of a break. I’ve been making hide and bone art for over two decades now, and while I love it, any artist eventually wants to explore different media for a while. Sure, I’ve stretched my Vulture wings in new directions, going from costume pieces and ritual tools to assemblages and the Tarot of Bones. But ever since the Tarot came out, I’ve been feeling….not really burned out, but a little creatively wrung out, at least. I’ve really appreciated my Patrons and Etsy customers who have helped me keep a hand in that particular medium, while also allowing me to head off in other directions, too.

Which is to say that if you have been paying attention to the aforementioned social media and shops, you may have also noticed that I’ve been increasing the number of customized Breyer model horses and other animals I’ve made over the past couple of years. This might seem like a heck of a departure from skulls, bones, and other dead things. But in a way it’s really me getting back to long-neglected roots.

(One of my favorite customs I’ve done on one of my favorite molds, the Breyer semi-rearing mustang. )

See, I was a horse girl when I was a kid. Or, rather, I was a wannabe horse girl. I never got to lease or own a horse, and even now in my early 40s I’m still about the greenest rider you’ll find. (Seriously, I need one of those kid-proof horses that’s seen it all, done it all, and is probably more trail-smart than I am.) But I was obsessed with horses from a young age. It started with my very first My Little Pony that I got Christmas morning, 1983 (Applejack, if you must know), and then exploded further with a book on how to draw horses and my first Breyer model (Black Beauty 1991 on the Morganglanz mold) in my preteens. Horse actually took over for Gray Wolf for a few years as my primary animal spirit during my teens, so we have a very long history indeed.

And since I couldn’t have a real horse, I ended up collecting model horses, mostly Breyers with a few old Hartlands for variety. I had over 100 at the peak of my collecting, but I had to sell them all in my early twenties when I was between jobs. In hindsight it was probably for the best because having less stuff made it easier to get through the period of my life where I was moving about once a year, but I do miss that collection.

Back then I did my part to add to the artistic end of the model horse hobby, mostly with badly blended acrylic paint jobs and terrifying mohair manes and tails. But it made me happy, and that was the most important thing. Even though I only knew a couple other collectors in my little rural area, and my only real connection to the hobby was through the quarterly Just About Horses magazine Breyer put out, my collecting really made me happy in the same way that my first fur scraps and bones would catch my interest a few years later.

2020….well, it sucked. We all know that. Pandemic, political stress, financial roller coasters and more made it a really tough year for anyone who wasn’t wealthy enough to hide away and weather it all. And many of us found ourselves with more time at home, in need of distractions and solace. It ended up being a time where many people rediscovered their love of childhood hobbies. I’m one of those people. I’ve been slowly edging my way back in for the past few years, starting with repainting a few old Breyer models found at thrift stores, and then gaining momentum as I found that not only was I much better at customizing these models than I used to be, but I was having fun without the pressure to make a living off of it. (Yes, I love my hide and bone art, but when an art form is your bread and butter, it changes your relationship to it. But that’s a post for another time…)

So 2020 saw me really ramp up my customization efforts. I had to stop for a few months in summer and fall when I moved to a spifftacular new living space on the farm I’ve been working on the past few years (with, by the way, THE best studio space EVER!) but as the days shortened I found myself making more dedicated time to repainting and otherwise customizing models. I even started keeping a few of the models I’d bought to customize that were in better condition to create a small, but slowly growing original finish collection, and that really helped me feel like I was back in the (not actually a) saddle.*

That’s why a well-established artist of organic, pagan-influenced arts made from fur and leather and bone and feather suddenly started painting all these secondhand plastic ponies. It’s giving me that deep injection of childhood nostalgia balanced with adult skill and perspective, and it’s offered me a much-needed break from the exhausting schedule I’ve been living the past decade or so. Because suddenly, even with the time spent rearranging my income opportunities to make sure I could stay afloat, I found myself with a little time that hadn’t been scheduled to death, and when I thought about what I wanted to do with that time, I gravitated toward one of the few creative outlets in my life that was purely for fun.**

(Yes, this IS fan art of “The Last Unicorn”! I used a Breyer Stablemate rearing Arabian for the unicorn, and a Breyer Spanish fighting bull for the Red Bull. A LOT of fun to make this particular project.)

In a way having all my events canceled was one of the best things that happened to me, because it made me slow the fuck down. I no longer had several weekends a year where I had to spend weeks beforehand making art and otherwise preparing to be away from all my farm responsibilities for 4-7 days at a time, with all the packing and moving and setup and vending and teaching and teardown and going home and unpacking and exhaustion that goes with each event. I realized just how much each one was taking out of me, especially as I’ve gotten older. And I also recognized how much pressure I had been putting on myself to ALWAYS MAKE MORE STUFF FOR ETSY EVERY WEEK OR ELSE.

So the model horses are really sort of a symbol of the childhood joy I’ve managed to recapture, wresting time and energy back from my workaholic tendencies. I’ve even been thinking about what my professional life is going to look like once the pandemic eases up enough to allow events again, and whether I’ll put the same amount of time toward vending and and teaching at conventions and festivals as I used to. (There are a few favorites that I’m not going to miss for anything, so don’t worry about me dropping out entirely.) But for the first time in a very long time, I’m relearning to prioritize myself, and figuring out that maybe I don’t have to go hell-bent for leather every week, every year, in order to keep the bills paid and the critters fed.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for this dead-critter-artist, pagan-nonfic-author, teacher-vendor-farmer, to indulge herself with something fun, and bet on the ponies to help her get through the tough times.

(P.S. Amid everything going on, I am back to working steadily on my next book, which I mentioned in this blog post almost a year ago. As a recap, its working title is Coyote’s Journey: Deeper Work With the Major Arcana, and it’s a deep dive into that section of the tarot using pathworkings with the animals I assigned to the major arcana of the Tarot of Bones. It’s not just a Tarot of Bones book, though; it’s a good way to get a new, nature-based angle on the majors in general, as well as hopefully gain a better understanding of yourself. My goal is to have it out later this year, self-pub of course, and at the rate I’m going it may end up being my longest book! Stay tuned, and if you want to get excerpts of the work-in-progress, become my Patron for as little as $1/month!)

*At the height of my “horse girl” phase, I had a really beat-up pony saddle I’d bought for ten bucks at a yard sale, and got a cheap saddle stand for it and put it in my room. And yes, I occasionally sat on it and pretended I was riding an actual horse. Hey, it made me happy at the time, and it was the closest I was ever going to get apart from a trail ride every few years.

**Yes, I do sell my customs. But I don’t make them on a schedule, I take commissions VERY sparingly, and I’m getting to stretch some new creative muscles, especially in the realms of sculpting and painting, so this is primarily for my enjoyment. The sales are just a side benefit.

(My ode to the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a Breyer deer repainted to resemble the Columbian black-tailed deer that frequent the farm I live on, along with hand-sculpted Amanita muscaria mushrooms, real and fake moss, and real lichens from fallen branches.)

#Breyer #model horses #vulture culture #artwork #artist

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feed-your-neopets · 4 years ago

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Valdemar x Devil!Lucio Fluff (One-shot)

Writer Preface:

First, I haven’t written fanfiction in years. Nor have I read a book recently. So, don’t feel bad about pointing out grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this. Also, my knowledge of the science and medical world is pitiful. Please, let me know if I said something ridiculous.

Second, it is cannon that Lucio has a New Jersey accent. It may enhance the story to imagine him with it, because I did while writing this.

Third, this is just slow, awkward, fluffy Valdemar x Lucio stuff. I was trying to piece together how a relationship could even develop between them, and I love the challenge of unlikely, cursed pairings. I was thinking this would probably take place in Muriel’s route (so, smoll SPOILERS from this point on). I would think Lucio’s social circle would be dwindling since – ya know – he merged with the Devil and all. Lucio would definitely be longing for friendship and companionship. Valdemar will humor him if it means they get new things to study. Get that bag, Valdemar.

---

The salon was one of the few rooms left in the palace where one could find some peace. Ironic, as this room was once one of the livelier places in the palace. After all, the salon was where Countess Nadia would entertain her guests. Now, it was an echo of its former self.

Since his resurrection and merging with the boss, Count Lucio ran with a different crowd, and these new guests had a habit of “borrowing”. Not that Valdemar cared about the state of the rooms throughout the palace, nor the drunkards who sloppily paraded through the hallways with pockets full of silverware. However, the room was simply lacking. It was not quite the same without Countess Nadia’s fingers gliding across the ivory keys with precision and grace. Instead of the haunting melodies of a grand piano and the idle chatter of the other courtiers, the room was filled with the distant echoes of intoxicated partygoers reciting a rather impolite folk song about a sea captain’s cousin.

However, Valdemar was paying little attention to the commotion outside and quietly sipped their tea. They chose instead to focus on the decorating choices they felt were an improvement. For example, the dying flowers wilting in waterless vases were a nice touch. Additionally, the portrait that Count Lucio had commissioned in his mother’s likeness had some alterations. It was laying waste on the ground below where it was once proudly hung. The vandalism was done with such intention that Valdemar was certain the count had crossed out the eyes himself. Valdemar pondered if he had done so in a fit of rage. The count had such a temper, and judging from his interaction with his mother, there was a lot of emotional baggage to unpack. While the symbolism was a tad on the nose, Valdemar appreciated the irony none-the-less. It was Lucio who murdered his own mother. It was only fitting he should be the one to remove the light from her portrait’s eyes too.

Without much warning, the doors of the salon burst open with a bang; shaking the few portraits that still hung on the walls. Yet, Valdemar sat unflinching despite the abrupt entrance from the count.

“Alright, I’ll catch you guys later.” called Count Lucio to a chorus of guttural cheers and whooping from the end of the hall. Valdemar peered at the count from over their teacup as they took a long sip. They had been wondering what was taking the count so long. He had been the one who had requested a meeting with them. To keep them waiting seemed in poor taste.

“Crazy guys.” chucked Lucio to himself before turning his attention to Valdemar. “Hey, there you are! Where have you been? You weren’t at last night’s party. You missed Vulgora tackling several new recruits. You should have seen them go at it. We were taking bets and everything.”

“Hm.” hummed Valdemar as they peered into their teacup, finding more interest in the way the tea leaves settled to the bottom of their cup than Lucio’s story. However, Lucio did not seem to notice as he reenacted the punches and kicks of last night’s tussle; knocking over a chair in the process. “But hey, don’t worry about missing it. They’ll probably do it again tomorrow night. You’re gonna love it.”

“I am sure, my count.” lied Valdemar.

Lucio seemed convince Valdemar was genuine, and with an exaggerated groan, he slumped into the chair next to them. Valdemar watched as he adjusted the scabbard on his waist, the end of which clanked aggressively on the hardwood floor. His legs then spread out for maximum comfort as he sunk into his seat. It would seem he was finally situated, and he looked merrily back at Valdemar expecting them to speak first. The quaestor closed their eyes. Admittedly, their patience was wearing thin. With a short sigh, they placed their teacup on the table and prepared themselves to address the count.

“Is there a reason you have called me here today, my count?” asked Valdemar as politely as they could muster.

A spark of realization lit in Lucio’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s right! I gotcha something.” said Lucio as he started rummaging through a small satchel. “I felt like we left it kinda weird at that old broad’s house, and I been wanting to make it up to you.”

“Old broad?” whispered Valdemar to themself as they searched their lexicon for a translation.

“Yeah, you remember. I gave you her heart. I was weird about it, but you were just asking for your payment.” explained the count. “It is nothing amazing, really. You probably have twenty of ‘em, but I was traveling through the market, and I saw it, and I thought - do you know who would like this? Quaestor Valdemar - so, I got it. No big deal, ya know?”

From his bag, Lucio pulled out an adult human skull. Embedded in the eye sockets were large rubies that burned in the orange glow of the setting sun. The count placed his gift in Valdemar’s hand, who made quick note of the condition in which the skull was in. In short, it was nearly perfect. The dental work was most fascinating to Valdemar. Not a single tooth was crooked or missing. No sign of disease or decay. Whoever extracted this specimen knew what they were doing. Valdemar was so transfixed by the skull, they almost forgot Lucio was still in the room.

“Yeah, I thought you like that.” said Lucio as he leaned forward in his chair. “I got that off a guy who was selling all kinds of wild, kooky stuff.”

Valdemar was quiet as they studied the skull. They were far more impressed by the specimen itself than the embellishments. Gemology was not at the top of their list of the most appealing subjects, and frankly, they thought the rubies were rather gaudy.

As they pondered the feasibility of extracting the gemstones without damaging the bone, a visibly nervous Lucio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the silence between them.

“I -uh- I got it because the eyes remind me of your eyes.” said Lucio. As the words left his mouth, he instantly wished he had just swallowed them instead. He was not prepared for Valdemar's undivided attention. Their eyes were fixed on Lucio. Their expression was blank. Their entire form was eerily motionless. He immediately felt the need to elaborate. “Ya know, because the rubies are pretty - pretty like your eyes.”

To Lucio’s relief, the compliment was enough to break their stare. No one had ever called their eyes pretty before. Creepy. Unsettling. Unnatural. But never pretty. Pretty was a meaningless word. Pretty was objective. Pretty could not be measured. Pretty was unscientific. Yet, the word bounced around in their mind, unextrapolated and uncategorized. Valdemar wanted to dissect its meaning. They wanted Lucio to elaborate. What did it mean to have pretty eyes?

"Hey, is that thing broken?" asked Lucio. who had unknowingly grounded Valdemar from their slow spiral into the definition and interpretation of the word pretty.

"Pardon?" asked Valdemar.

"Did that bastard give me a busted skull?" asked Lucio gesturing to a fissure starting from the bottom of the eye socket across the cheekbone.

Realizing what the count was referring to Valdemar had to stifle a laugh. "No, that is a zygomaticomaxillary suture. You'll notice the second one, right here." They turned the skull to allow Lucio to see the other fissure reflected on the other cheekbone.

"Oh, so it's okay then? It's not broken?" asked Lucio.

"This specimen is in excellent condition." reassured Valdemar. A moment passed between them before the quaestor softly cleared their throat, and managed a polite thank you to the count. They fully intended to investigate the skull further for any clues of what may have lead to the specimen’s demise. They loved a good mystery. Afterwords, it would look lovely in their display cabinet - pretty ruby eyes and all.

“Right, so that guy I got this skull from. He has other things too. Goopy things in jars. Dead things in jars. Dead things out of jars. Drawings of bones and meaty parts. Books. Does any of that sound interesting to you?” asked Lucio.

Valdemar considered Lucio’s offer before replying, “I suppose that I am always in search for new specimens to add to my collection. Additionally, this could be an opportunity to ask the merchant where the rest of the remain’s of this specimen can be found.”

Their response seemed to greatly please the count as he leaned back in his chair. For the past few nights, he had done nothing but party - which he loved to do, and would surely want to do again - but sitting with Valdemar, as the sun lowered into the horizon felt nice. Not to mention, they knew a lot, which Lucio appreciated. Having them around could be quite helpful to keeping his kingdom. Additionally, he was curious as to what was under their bandages. His money was on horns, but it would be fun to confirm his suspicions.

“Great, I’ll take you down there sometime.” said Lucio. “And, if you see anything you like, consider it yours.”

While material possessions never interested Valdemar, the idea of discovering something new was quite alluring. Perhaps, the merchant had a sealed jar of an entirely forgotten disease, or maybe they would uncover an ancient tomb that described a real account of an unsolved death of an entire village. The more they thought about it, the more exciting the prospect became.

“Would now be an appropriate time?” asked Valdemar who had moved to the edge of their seat. Their body was stiff with anticipation, as they leaned over ever so slightly towards him. A coy smile spread on Lucio’s face. He knew the moment he agreed, Valdemar would be sprinting for the door. Frankly, it seemed cruel to make them wait another moment for his answer.

“I’ll have someone fetch two cloaks and a carriage.”

END.

#lucio x valdemar #devil!lucio x valdemar #valdemar x lucio #valdemar x devil!lucio #lucio #count lucio #devil!lucio #lucio the arcana #valdemar #quaestor valdemar #valdemar the arcana #courtiers #the courtiers #fluff #one shot #one-shot #fanfic #fanfiction

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thewolfmanslayer · 3 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FUCK. NO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#artists #writers #art #writing #rant #comissions #people

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marbledaesthetics · 4 years ago

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Only on Principal | afi | part i

pairing: ashton x ofc

warnings: angst, fake (semi-coerced?) relationships, pining, swearing, slow burn, sexualization (kind of?)

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i’ve actually been holding on to this piece for awhile because i didn’t know if i was going to publish in it parts or as one long fic, but decided that i should really post something, so here it is. updates will probably be irregular, because i don’t have the next part finished or edited, but i promise that updates will come! also, getting this moodboard was a bitch because i kept screwing up the file type

part ii

~~~

“Why are we doing this again?” Ashton was slouched in his chair, a hand tugging on the back of his hair. He didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in his voice anymore, the management had set the arrangement in stone, and he wasn’t happy about it.

"We gave you a chance to throw the paps something fresh, something to bring in new people, and you refused.” The man’s voice was tight, trying to remain patient with Ashton’s brash attitude. “This is the compromise.”

Ashton scoffed harshly at the word, rolling his eyes as he sat up properly in his chair. “Compromise? Pretending to be in love with a person I’ve never met? That’s the compromise?”

“Like, I said you had options. You don’t need to assume that you are going to absolutely despise her, she’s not that bad.” This man, taking over for the other, was speaking casually, returning Ashton’s annoyance with ease.

“‘Not that bad?’ You’ve paired me with ‘not that bad?’”

The man groaned, turning so he was directly facing Ashton. “Personally, I’m not a fan of her, but believe it or not, we chose someone whose company you would actually tolerate while doing the press stuff. I think you are going to really enjoy spending time with her, so please, be nice, the last thing we need is you scaring her away.” He gripped the edge of the table harshly and spoke with a tone of finality that almost made Ashton want to back down.

The two men held each other's gaze for a moment before Ashton sighed, kicking the table leg childishly. “I’ll play nice, but I’m not gonna promise that I’ll like her.”

“Great, because she’s waiting in the lobby for you to stop throwing yourself this pity party, so we can explain everything to the two of you.”

“Of course she is,” he mumbled to himself, straightening up to the table and running a heavy hand over his face.

He had thought up what the girl they would want him with would be like, already thinking up things he would hate about her. She would probably be short and platinum blonde, so perky that even he couldn’t handle it before 11 am. An innocent type, he thought, someone who embodies the management in a naggy, girlfriend-shaped package.

When the door opened, Ashton’s first thought was don’t judge a book by its cover. She looked like almost everything that he assumed she wouldn’t be, but he was still sure that nothing about this endeavor would be enjoyable.

She was taller than he had imagined— he probably didn’t have more than two or three inches on her, and her dark locks were swept back to expose a small tattoo just behind her ear. She grabbed an open chair near Ashton, not too close, but close enough that the management could address them at the same time easily.

Ashton tore his gaze from her, looking back to the team, refusing to give them the satisfaction of showing interest in the girl they had chosen.

They held each other’s gazes expectantly before the girl to his left cleared her throat softly and said, “Well, I’m Hylla. So, hello?” She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the situation, but was sure that long, tense silences weren’t going to help anyone.

Ashton looked back at her, taking in the uncertainty in her features. Her demeanor makes him want to drop his guard, but he remains strong, keeping every ounce of his attraction out of his voice. “I’m Ashton, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

Hylla resisted the urge to flinch at his harsh tone and merely rolled her eyes, shifting back to face the team before them. “Are we gonna go over everything now?”

“Yes, so here are the contracts,” said the man sitting across from them, passing them the thick packets. “I know you’ve both already signed them but I want to remind you of a few things. So first is the time frame: this contract covers eight months, but we may extend depending on how everyone reacts to this. During that time, you absolutely cannot have any sexual or romantic relationships with other people. The last thing we’ll need is the media getting their hands on a cheating scandal.”

“I thought feeding the vultures was the point.”

The man looked as though he wanted to strangle the smirk Ashton wore off his face, but managed to remain calm enough to continue. “Ashton, if you dare, you will be in some deep shit. This is for the good of your career, not some scheme for us to ruin your life.” He clipped his words, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Anyway, similarly to what I said before, no one outside of this group can know about this. If anyone accuses you about this being for PR, you ignore it. If you get too defensive, it will set people off.”

Hylla, who—much to Ashton’s annoyance—was actually paying attention, nodded along, thumbing through the contract as she took in the information. He couldn’t help but think that she looked kinda cute when she was concentrating. He didn’t even bother to look away when she noticed his gaze, continuing to study her even as she looked back to the man speaking.

“You two will make your first public appearance next week, after you guys know each other a little better. After that we’ll make sure you two will be in the public eye a few times a month, depending on how much exposure each outing gives us. You’re going to need to make sure the paps see you, but don’t make it obvious that you want their attention.”

The meeting drags on longer than Ashton bothers to pay attention for, and he is mildly surprised when it ends, the management team getting up and telling them to hang around the studio, get to know each other before they go public.

Once they’ve gone, Ashton makes a move to leave as well, but is cut off by Hylla.

“Where are you going?” The question doesn’t sound accusatory, but it bothers Ashton nonetheless.

“The writing room. I’m not doing this in here.” His words are curt, making him feel almost bad for the girl as he brushes past her, heading through the winding hallways of the studio.

Hylla matches his brisk pace, muttering softly in an annoyed tone until he stops, holding the door for her in such a manner that it seemed almost sarcastic.

She entered the room, standing near the door until Ashton sat, not wanting to worsen his already sour mood. He chooses a spot on the far end of a couch, leaning back and twirling a pen he had snatched off the table in front of them between his fingers.

Hylla plops down on the opposite end of his couch, tucking one leg beneath her and propping her elbow on the armrest. Ashton’s eyes follow her, taking the time to take even more of her in. Her hair is a deep chestnut, dyed deep red at the tips, and stick straight. Now that she’s taken off the leather jacket she had been wearing, he could see her ear was just one of several tattoos that adorned her skin, and she wore a worn pair of Docs with faded yellow laces. She radiated confidence, never flinching as she waited for Ashton to finish checking her out.

“Enjoying the scenery?” Her grin was cocky, teasing him as though they had been friends for years.

“Something needs to make this arrangement bearable.” Despite his sullen mood, he returned her grin, joking with her. “So who are you? If I need to be madly in love with you in a week, I’m gonna need to know something about you.”

“What do you want to know?” She smiles easily, raking her hand back in her hair just far enough to prop her head on her hand. “There’s a lot about me.”

“Start with the basic things, how old are you, what’s your full name, your favorite color.”

“Well, my name is Hylla Rae Narvaez. I’m 24, and probably red.”

“Hylla Rae Narvaez. A name like that’s gotta have a story behind it.” His grin is teasing, curious as to how she’d react.

“It does sound a bit pretentious, doesn’t it? Queen-like is how most people describe it,” she replies, chuckling along with him. “My dad wanted a Puerto Rican name, and my mom wanted a Greek one, so this was the compromise. What else do you want to know?”

“What do you do for a living? Other than date celebrities, of course.” The jab is teasing, but Hylla stiffens for a moment anyway.

“I’m a tattoo artist, and I do commissioned art on the side.” She speaks a little softer than before, pulling the leg that had been on the ground to her chest.

“Should’ve guessed, with all the ink. You seem like the artsy type.” His words are kind, reaching out to squeeze her knee gently. “I’m sorry I was so pissy before. I just hate that they’re forcing me into this whole thing, you know? It’s nothing personal.”

“Ahh, so you only hate me in theory?” She teases, readopting her carefree demeanor.

Ashton giggles, his eyes bright. “Something like that. It’s the principal of the thing.”

They continued to make small talk, and the easiness of the conversation was surprising to Ashton, as though they were old friends just catching up. He was shocked when he checked the time to find that they had been there for hours, just chatting. Deciding they should both go home, they bid their farewells, Ashton allowing Hylla to leave first to avoid being seen before they were supposed to.

He spent the ride home lost in thought, terrified of how easily this girl he was supposed to hate was breaking down his walls, crawling into the cracks and making herself at home.

After he was home, he meditated to sort out his thoughts, and eventually resigning with a reminder to himself to take things slowly, allowing the whole thing to work itself out. He was in this for the long haul, whether he wanted to be or not, so he couldn’t let himself fuck it up from the start.

~~~

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doomedandstoned · 5 years ago

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Wasteland Coven Summon Doom From the Rust Belt

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

You're about to meet a true blue, dyed in the wool doom band from Ohio, which I discovered just a few weeks ago. This is WASTELAND COVEN, aptly named considering the industrial devastation that has visited the midwest, accentuated now even more in a time of pandemic. 'Ruined' (2020) is their debut EP and it features a singer, Susan Mitchel, that I would rank with Susie MacMullen of Brume and Dorthia Cottrell of Windhand. Sometimes vocalists try to pull off that coveted, full-bodied range, but end up sounding thin and wobbly. Not here.

Performing double duty on bass, Susan is joined in this Toledo crew by guitarists Bill Anderson and Brandon Collins, along with drummer Jason Wilcox. This is meat and potatoes doom, too, each of the three tracks on Ruined bearing the formative influences of Candlemass and Saint Vitus (the vocal cadence and guitar solos of "The Great Colossus"), Trouble and My Dying Bride (the mysterious and dramatic "Endless Night"), and the aforementioned Windhand (the riff laden intro to "Midsummer Days").

This mix of beauty and beast works well for Wasteland Coven. Susan's vocals take wings with sad urgency, rising above the dense, darkly downtuned procession of smoke and fire. Bittersweet leads break through the haze here and again, too, if for no other reason than to accent the gravity of the moment.

I've listened to the EP multiple times in a row and it is substantial enough to keep my appetite for doom satiated, without overstaying its welcome with an overly-familiar taste. Look for its release on Friday, April 17th (pre-order CD here), and listen to the record whole right here, right now via Doomed & Stoned!

Give ear...

Ruined by Wasteland Coven

A Chat with Wasteland Coven Guitarist Brandon Collins

Take us back to the band's origins. How did it all begin for you guys?

Things got started in late 2018, when our drummer Jason posted on Facebook asking if anybody wanted to play something dark and heavy. He was already playing in a punk band (The Old Breed) and a noise rock band (Sog City) so he was really looking to start more of a Manilla Road inspired band - he's a big Manilla Road fan. Sue (bass and vocals) and I (guitar) were both interested in Jason's pitch but style shifted a little bit as we all got together. By the first time we met up, he said to aim for Candlemass meets My Dying Bride (which I declared sorcery) and from there we drifted into the doom menagerie that we're at now.

Jason quickly roped in another guitar player, but after a month or two he lost interest, so we spent some time looking for another. During that search period we sketched out our first songs and booked some studio time for later in the year - we were going to record what we had regardless of who we had. Eventually Sue reached out to Bill who solidified the lineup midway through 2019 and we were officially a band. We practiced, finished up the songs as a four piece, and went to Lakebottom Recording House in September 2019.

How about a walk-through of the songs on 'Ruined' (2020)?

Midsummer Days

I think we all agree that this is the best song on here. It was going to be a shorter and simpler song originally, but it really kind of blossomed with all of us adding new bits to it. Lyrics mainly involve the imagery and feelings of a dying world. Really it's a sad, poetic veil over the changing of seasons, summer to fall to winter - seeing everything in nature fade and decay as seasonal depression kicks in. Admittedly, "Midsummer Days" isn't really a doomy title, but when you realize that they're dead. That'll teach you to judge too quickly! Kinda had to push Sue a bit to do the "trailing off into the void" vocals right at the end. She was reluctant, but I'm really glad she did them. It really adds some resonating loneliness.

Great Colossus

So originally, I came up with the riffs for this, played them for Jason, and when he added drums, his style immediately put Sue in mind of robots -- giant robots. And that drove us to make this our weirdest song lyrically, about falling in love with a giant robot with sexual overtones. Sue and I went back and forth on the lyrics for this one a lot, tweaking it to put just the right sultry spin on something cold and mechanical. This song sort of prompted the cover art. Around the time we were recording songs Sue was at an art show and saw the piece. Made her think of the song and said we needed it on our EP!

Endless Night

This was our first song, so I like to say it has first song syndrome -- not quite as strong as the others and maybe sticks out a little more 'cause you're trying to find your direction. But the main riff and the solos are still fun, so why not? Since it was going to be the first song for our doom band, the lyrics hit on a pretty typical doom metal topic: death. But I suppose the twist is that it's more about setting aside your fears and finding peace in your demise -- even as the music kind of betrays that peace and hints at the dread and dark thoughts behind it all. Solos here were fun to do. I take the first half of the solo section and Bill takes the second half, so we each get a chance to go our own direction just meeting for a moment to hand it off in the middle.

What was the recording process like for the band?

The bulk of it was done over the course of two weekends, September 27-29 and October 4-6 in 2019 (with a bit of touch up and review a few times afterwards). We went to Lakebottom Recording House in Toledo owned and operated by J.C. Griffin. Jason had recorded with J.C. many times before and refused to go anywhere else. But for the rest of us, it was our first time there and it was fantastic.

It's hard to imagine how it would have worked out with anyone else. J.C. is super encouraging and immediately invested in making sure you're getting a great sound - he's gives great direction for process, equipment, and performance. Really great weekends overall hanging out and playing music the whole time. The hardest part might have actually been the work week in between those two weekends -- coming down from all the joys and excitement with days full of music made "regular" life such a dull slog where we were just desperate to go back and do it again. Easily the most fun and best experience I've had recording.

In retrospect, maybe it was a bit weird that we were all so happy and having such a great time producing this melancholy music, but I don't think we put any thought into it at the time. Susan was extremely nervous and self-conscious when it came time to do her vocals, but with enough liquid courage she nailed it.

It looks like you had the album cover commissioned?

Artwork was done by Jackie McKown who lives here in Toledo. Sue saw the piece at an art show where Jackie was showing her stuff. These giant robot creatures wrecking shit was pretty in line with the initial themes of Great Colossus - it was lacking the sex/love angle, but it still fit just fine with the kind of destructive war-machines that could inspire love. Sue was very taken with it right away, so we went with it.

There's also presumably death and longing for better times involved in that kind of city-wide rampage, so you can tie into the other tracks as well. We sort of let that guide us, having the artwork inspire the title "Ruined." We had a city being ruined on the cover and we could find some form of ruination in each song. Then when it came time to lay everything out, we decided to ruin things a little more, adding wrinkles and dirt marks and imperfections.

This last question is just for the gearheads! Tell us what you're sporting these days?

Brandon: Epiphone Les Paul Studio guitar with an Orange Crush CR120C amp (frequently used to accidentally drown out everyone else), and for pedals: Big Muff Pi (with Tone Wicker), MXR EVH Phase 90, Cry Baby Wah.

Sue: Ibanez BTB 5 String Quilt Top bass, DR Dragon Skin strings (allergic to nickel), with a Fender Rumble 500 Combo amp and Big Muff Pi pedal.

Bill: ESP LTD Viper-256 w/Gibson 498T bridge guitar, ESP LTD EC-100 w/EMG 81/85. Amps include Peavey Valveking 2x12, Carvin X100-B 100 watt head*, and Carvin 4x12 Cab (used as needed). Pedal of choice: Digitech GNX4 Multi-Effects.

Jason: Tama Rockstar Drums.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #Wasteland Coven #Toledo #Ohio #Doom #Metal #D&S Reviews #HeavyBest2020 #Doomed & Stoned

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beckzorz · 6 years ago

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PREMONITIONS 2 (4/8)

or, Adventures in Pursuit of a Seven-Year-Old Seer

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 1236 Summary: It’s been over a year since you met Bucky, and you couldn’t be happier. If only you could figure out why your precognitive niece is burying you in abstract crayon art…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 4

“The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message at the tone.”

The phone shakes against your ear as you sit at your table, every muscle tense. You have no idea what was safe to say—is someone listening in on you? “Bucky? It’s me again. I just… Please call back. Gemma’s art—well, please call back. Thanks.”

You hang up. The phone goes back in your pocket. Even if Bucky had answered, you weren’t sure how much you felt comfortable saying aloud. Gemma’s map was clever, of course, but why on earth had she gone to such ridiculous lengths? Did she know what she was drawing? Were her powers still developing, or was she destined to only ever get vague hints?

It was certainly possible she didn’t know why—or what—she was doing, but you couldn’t take that risk. If whoever was responsible had ears or eyes at Matt’s house, they had to know that Bucky Barnes visited. And they’d know why, too.

You.

If they knew you were the tie that bound Gemma to the Avengers, they would be crazy not to keep an eye on you, too. How did anyone even figure out Gemma had powers? Do they even know what she can do?

You keep staring at Gemma’s map. It fits perfectly on your table. She knew what she was doing, consciously or not. And damn it, you are not going to let her down.

Gemma is counting on you. Not just her, but Matt and Sarah too.

Tears blur your vision. You swipe them away. The time for tears is over. Now is the time to focus. You grit your teeth and lean back over the table.

From your usual spot, it looks like Gemma’s drawn a route out of the city to the northwest.

Well, it would make sense. Even if the Avengers compound is north of the city, upstate is plenty big enough to hide one small family. You’ve driven around up there—abandoned buildings along the interstate, the economically depressed cities of the Rust Belt, the lifelessness. Hell, given the money, you could hide a family up there too.

And hell, maybe the map went even farther than Buffalo. Maybe they’d been taken clean out of the country. Canada is right there, after all.

God, do you even know where your passport is?

You automatically go look through the paperwork in your bedroom. The longer you spend bent over the rattled bottom drawer of your tall dresser, the less steady your hands are. God, could this day get any worse?

It’s there at the bottom of the pile, miraculously still valid. You collapse against your bed, passport hugged tight against your chest. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, but you force yourself to ignore it. Your family is in trouble. How can you sleep?

After a moment spent gathering yourself, you try Bucky again. Surely now he’ll pick up…

But no. He doesn’t.

“The numb—”

Before his obnoxious, robotic phone message starts its third word, you’ve hung up and the phone is, once again, halfway across the room. It’s the middle of the night. Why would he answer?

Oh, who knows, maybe because there’s a legitimate emergency?

You bury your face in your hands. The passport scratches your cheek, but you’re immobile. Within a few minutes, you’ve slipped to the floor, vision fading as exhausted catches up with you.

---

You wake with a start. The dim, pre-dawn light is still enough to make you squint.

Your passport is still poking at your face, and you push it away with a huff. Some of the pages have bent, but it’s still in one piece. That’s all you need. But first—has Bucky called? You crawl over to where your phone landed last night, but there’s nothing. No new calls, no new texts, no new emails even.

Emails…

You sit on your heels and write a hasty email to work. And ‘family emergency’ isn’t a lie. It’s the most honest thing you can say right now. Hopefully they’ll understand. Tax season isn’t on for another week. And maybe, just maybe, Gemma’s map will be enough to end this nightmare before anyone asks any questions.

Once you’re done, you grab your laptop from your bed and bring it to the living room. You try Bucky one more time, and this time you manage to hang up without throwing anything.

If Bucky’s not going to answer, you’ll just have to figure this all out for yourself.

You bring up Google maps. It’s centered on your location as usual, the entire screen taken up by the city. You zoom out slowly, keeping your location at the bottom right of the screen. Newark comes into view, then Poughkeepsie. When Toronto comes into view, the detailed map of highways fades. Only the major interstates are visible now, but none of them match the route Gemma’s drawn for you.

Frowning, you scroll back in just enough to see the roads that criss-cross the state. Your eyes cross as you try and match Gemma’s map with the one on your screen, but nothing matches. You rub your forehead with a wince, blinking away the sudden ache behind your brow. You slump in your seat, head lolling.

Oh.

Maybe it’s not a straight match.

You tilt your laptop to the right, then the left, and—there! You nearly cry with relief. There are the three routes. You trace Gemma’s map with a finger in the air, and trace the same figure smaller over your screen.

Gemma’s route ends south of the Finger Lakes, somewhere along New York’s southwestern border. Well, so much for the passport search. Your best attempts to pinpoint the exact location on Google maps put the destination somewhere in Canisteo, a tiny town you’ve never heard of. It’s a five-hour drive, give or take.

You check the time—it’s barely five. If you leave now, you might beat rush hour.

Who are you kidding? It’s always rush hour on a weekday morning.

You’re still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. It takes two minutes to strip down and get something more practical on—your heart clenches as you toss the silk and lace underthings in the laundry. By the time you’re done, your blood is pumping. You stuff your laptop, some granola bars, and a water bottle in your backpack. And your passport.

You’re almost out the door before you remember Gemma’s map. You spin back and take a photo of it all assembled before you put them in a ordered pile. The pages go into a folder, which you cradle gently to your chest. You write Bucky a text with Gemma’s map attached. You hesitate—what if they’re tapping your phone?—but you send it anyway.

You wait for a heated moment, bottom lip caught between your teeth, but there’s no response. No ‘read’ message.

For whatever reason, Bucky’s out of commission. The rest is up to you.

In another ten minutes, you’re out the door and climbing into a zipcar housed a few blocks away. The folder of Gemma’s drawings is on the seat next to you. Your knuckles are white as you clench the steering wheel and pull out onto the street.

Dawn is breaking to the east. In the moment you check left before turning, you realize how beautiful it is.

But that doesn’t matter. Dawn will come again.

Right now, it’s time to find your family.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #the premonitions story #becca writes

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kaiju-z · 6 years ago

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Seon Adventures - Episode 6, “Welcome to the Jungle and That’s the Tea”

Another great episode for us, the group /o/

When we last left off with our heroes, the five of them, Kevin and Killer the War Horses, and Azam had left the ship upon which they shared many unforgettable memories (no matter how much Luck wants to forget some funny and TRAUMATIC TM stuffs).

As Azam ran off ahead of everyone, the party felt themselves envigorated, like they went up a tier in the ladder of adventuring or something (they leveled up) and were now left to their own devices.

Their travel from the docks to the city itself was short as they soon came to realize that Menum was a city of trees. Which is to say that those, who made this rainforest their home had repurposed a number of ridicilously large trees into houses and establishments of various necessities. (Think Return of the Jedi).

Belli and Luck were the most easily impressed, as they are basically the sheltered kids. The more they travel, the closer they get to the center, illuminated by what those of the arcane could gather were Dancing Lights. (I personally assume it’s bio-luminescence from the plantlife surrounding them).

Lead by Mournimar and Belli, the disaster siblings, the party go for a high rise tavern, climbing a rope ladder with much acrobatics in tow, being drawn to the sound of people chanting.

“CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”

What they find up top is entertaining, to say the least. A new initiate, it appears (we later learn his name is Samson) is chugging down some sort of alcoholic drink, much to the amusement and pressure of his fellows. Some sailors from the ship, others local citizens and Forestheart Bretheren, it seems.

While Mournimar and Belli join in the chanting, Luck searches for information from the bartender, upon the party noticing Azam drinking away his woes. While ordering an ale from the wood elf barkeep, Luck asks some curious questions of the Traveling Gentlemen and learns that four of them passed through here (confirming what Mournimar had told him previously on the ship of their even number now). From what he gets, he now knows that they got on bad terms with the leader of the Forestheart Bretheren and promptly made their leave, after searching for some artifacts.

What lastly he learns of them is that their next destination was the Capitol, Crystalgate. So Luck will have a lot of backtracking to do, if he hopes to get to them soon. He later joins Azam and continues a conversation from the ship, post-prevented execution.

While this is going on, Samson takes a knee. Or. Well, a back as the drink was apparently too much for him. In the merryment, Mournimar orders himself the same thing and is warned that the stuff, Centaur Moonshine, is very heavy stuff. Much to Belli’s protests and failed attempts at preventing disaster, Mournimar starts chugging and Belli tries to get help from an exhasperated Amelia.

To her chagrin, once she arrives, Mournimar is just. Out of it. Burk is proud (Proud Burk count: 1). Amelia ends up carrying Mournimar to a backroom for a few minutes, where they also see a passed out Samson.

Amelia does not have a good time in Menum, sadly and she doesn’t get a wink of sleep either, even after getting a room to yeet Mournimar into. She takes a corner, after Luck takes a second bed. (MISUNDERSTANDINGS WERE HAD and now Luck feels awkward over the disappointed MOM ENERGY from Amelia).

While the others are nap-nap-napping, Belli sneaks out and in search for someone with two silver rings. She reaches an establishment, bounced on by a tattooed Goliath, with whom she has a conversation, hinting at her relation to Ficus. She needs to learn more about his whereabouts, she misses her brother.

Being let in, she soon finds someone the Goliath had directed her towards, a changeling woman around Belli’s age (IT WAS KIT FROM THE SLEEKCLAW ONE SHOT!) and the two have a heart to heart about Ficus, with whom Kit had worked in the past. Kit gives her directions on where she’d have to go next, if she truly wants to reunite with him and the two go their own way, once they are outside. (FRIENDSHIP GET). Belli safely makes it back to the tavern and gets her shut eye.

In the morning, awkwardness between the pointy boys and Amelia. Burk was sleeping the whole time out in the open and had a close to cordial conversation with an old lady that was more confused than freaked out by the Goblin Barbarian (Gorbarian TM).

Once most of everyone reconvenes, Luck buys the lot of them lunch (including for Burk, which I’ma say he ate in canon, unless Hayden says otherwise). The party get approached by Samson, who introduces himself as such. Samson Drascullion, druid of The Forestheart Bretheren.

The party begins to ask him some questions, following a failed attempt to extort him for money (Belli and Luck, the greedy kiddos tried to bs poor Samson so hard) regarding the cult and elaborate on their quest to take the cult out of commission, permanently. Mournimar learns that they worship all the allowed deities, which confuses him. Why aren’t they worshipping the forbidden ones instead?! Samson and Luck respectively have to point out something: Samson, that the cult believes their mission to kill everyone (PAINLESSLY, YOU GUYS) is just and therefore pray to the “good” gods; and Luck that it wouldn’t make sense for them to pray to Potencia, as she is the one you call upon for ruthless action, punishment and imprisonment.

The hooved tiefling has to step away from the table at this point, because he’s very upset. Turns out that this cult had no connection at all to the one he was after, personally. Belli approaches and the siblings share a moment in front of everyone else present, revealing things about their backstories.

Mournimar spills the beans about how he was raised n a cult, worshipping the Forbidden Deity “Potencia”. Goddess of ruthlessness, control and imprisonment His mother was a member, but his father faltered. The mother told on the father and the cult attacked. Mournimar doesn’t remember much after that, but he woke up, covered in blood, surrounded by bodies. His mission from that point on was hunting down all those, who worshipped Potencia and rid the world of them.

He tildn’t want to tell Belli, because he was affraid she’d stop being so close to him. Belli’s opinion of him, however, hasn’t changed as she still loves andcares for her tall pointy “bro”.

And she reveals to everyone of her family’s tragedy, how they were turned to stone in her absence, how she tried to pray for all the gods, including the forbidden ones, Potencia especially, for help, to save them.

But she got no answer.

Mournimar doesn’t think less of her.

The two hug it out. It’s heart warming.

Burk. Has heard. None of this as he was still on ground level when this transpired.

After everyone ate, the party and Samson made a stop at his leader’s base of operations, where Samson got an ok, in private, for the lot of them to have a swing at the Death Cult, with the caviat that the FHB would come a few hours later, should they not be done with this.

Taking the war horses with them, the six adventurers made their way to the stronghold of this cult. Luck even got to bond with Kevin, thanks to Mournimar’s approach : D It was nice and Luck is now just embarrassed. That and he was carried onto Kevin’s back by Belli.

Traveling through this dence jungle, they quickly realize how warm and humid it is in here, as they pass through shrubbery and trees, by animals and what not. Luck is bascally the only one, aside from Samson, who’s got this, since he comes from a warmer climate.

They succeed on their strealthing to the checkpoint of the stronghold and see it in it’s full height of 40 ft. With guards atop, none the wiser.

As they plan on their next move, Belli suggests and implements her infiltration, using invisibility and quickly comes to realize how screwed th party would have been if they just blindly walked in.

Aside of the guards on top, there were at least tw more towerds of archers and a table of four, with one just staring in the direction of the door itself.

Belli sneaks on forward and goes through an opening and down a coridor, on the right of which she passes a guard, just sitting, none the wiser. While she can’t find traps, she does find the courage to take the man out and she does so in a few good rounds of stabbing and blufing him into believing that the “Prophet” willed it to be so., with advantage, thanks to invisibility and then, the mask she had collected from the half-elf from where this whole adventure started.

After looting the body, something good, Belli gets to look through further doors and finds 5 men, 3 red robed, 2 black robed, in what was essentially a break room. She manages to trick thm into believing that the wind opened the door and quickly locks them inside, before proceeding and learning of underground activity, including more multi-colored robed cultists, two minotaur and their leader, handling some bizarre orb.

She quickly comes back to the party and things get wild in a hurry, once she explains the situation to them. (Also. Proud Burk count: 2)

Death-ites bodies begin to drop left and right (and to pieces), with Burk gaining the 6 person kill count, above the rest. The rest do great, especially Amelia and Belli, considering Amelia’s disadvantages on rolls, what with 1 point of exhaustion.

Mockery is quite viciously dealt by the bard and Mournimar fires their arrows like a baller, missing only rarely. Episode 6 marks Luck’s first kill in the campaign as he works to break in his new daggers , taking out one greenlit Redguard, before divestabbing a second, (with Amelia finishing that one off ultimately). This episode also Marks Luck’s first use of the Lucky feat, (1 of 3 uses for the day), in which he gets bad luck and misses his target with the crossbow.

Even Samson gets into the spirit of things and takes and kicks some ass, using his druidic abilities as needed.

By the end of the fight, all the grunts on level oen are killed in a variety of gruesome ways, but one, who escapes in the jungle, where he’ll either die to the wildlife or rethink his life choices.

Mournimar almost died. Seeing Belli getting attacked by archers, he took a jump from 40 ft to get close to Belli and took a lot of damage, which didn’t help when he got shot at by the archers.

Don’t even wanna think what would have happened if he had no potions to chug and healing help from Samson @ - @;;;

The bodies were then, of course, looted and the session ended with the party thinking of a gameplan to proceed. (and the 5 of us dorking around with the scribblign feature).

Previous Episode / Next Episode

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mintyjin · 7 years ago

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royal au: im jaebum

i! don't! know! what! this! is! also everyone writes jaebum as a bad boy but im not buying it. he’s soft. his ideal date is eating ramen by a river, for gods sake. let the boy be soft.

jaebum is the youngest king in your kingdom’s history

and he hasn’t yet made himself look stupid or anything

which is pretty incredible considering how young he is

you’d think that he’d still be growing up, learning how to be the king his people need him to be

but he’s always impeccably composed… except for that one time he got mad at the senate and his chin grew two inches

to be fair, they were trying to cut funding to educational facilities

jaebum is silent and looks pretty intimidating, but he really does care about the people relying on him

he doesn’t care much for wearing any of the royal jewels

you’ll never catch him in a crown

but he does wear a few rings around his fingers and occasionally simple earrings will frame his face

and they look so good on him, but they also elaborate on the ‘rough around the edges’ look he has going

like, he’s a kind king who leaves his palace open to stray cats that need food and water, but he also looks like he would mess you up if you got into a fight with him

and you,,,, well, you’re not really sure what to make of him

but you were hired to paint his portrait, so... maybe you’ll figure it out?

to be honest, you’re not really sure why the palace decided to hire you, of all people

you’re just a young, aspiring artist who happens to live in the area

but it’s not like you were going to turn down a royal commission

you’re not crazy

shortly after you accepted the job, the palace sent a messenger to you with an envelope of money to fund your purchase of a canvas, paints, brushes, etc

but it was way more money than you needed

“um, should i just return the spare change?”

“no, the king insists you keep all of it”

you’re not complaining! money is nice!

so you do your job and find the best materials for the job

you always put your all into your work, but damn it y/n, you can not mess up even a little on this one

it has to be perfect. p e r f e c t.

and a few weeks later, you gather your materials in a bag, having already sent the canvas to the castle, and start the journey to the gates

you grab a danish on the way, the sweet pastry melting away some of your apprehensions

like what will the king be like? what if you make him mad? ahgdkhdsah

calm down, y/n, he’s dealt with more annoying people than you. he has to talk to senators on like, a daily basis

it’ll be fine

this will help your career so! much!

with that thought in your head, you come to the gates and state your name to a guard, who motions you inside

where a butler bows his head and asks you to follow him to the painting room

which is... definitely more grand than the usual places you paint in

your canvas is propped up in front of a plush chair facing a window

perfect! natural lighting! the palace knows its stuff!

the butler tells you that the king will arrive shortly, so you start to arrange your paints and brushes in a way that you can easily reach and see each one

you pull your hair back in a headband to be absolutely positive that you’re getting the best view of the king

as you steady your nerves once more with a few deep breaths, you hear the doors open and the sound of footsteps walking towards you

you turn and, upon seeing who it is, fall into a bow

when you come up, king jaebum is gazing at you without much expression in his face

so, off to a great start

“i’m y/n. i’m honored to have the opportunity to paint your portrait” you say, unsure of what else you could do

when he doesn’t respond, you offer a nervous smile

which softens something in his stare

“just don’t paint me on a horse, please”

and believe it or not, the smallest smirk is tugging at his lips

“roger that- no horses! actually, i was going to ask you to just sit on that chair and do whatever makes you comfortable. so, you could read a book or write or just look out the window if you wanted.”

and at first you’re kicking yourself for speaking so casually to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all

well... you are close to his age...... and it’s probably been a while since someone spoke to him like.... a person

“i’ll go with the window”

“alright! go ahead and sit, then, and i’ll adjust you if i need to”

and sure enough, when you go behind your canvas and look over his position, you decide to readjust

but instead of just telling him to move his head so that he was facing you a bit more and to hold his shoulder slightly off the seat like a normal person,

you walk over to him and lightly touch the side of his face to turn it towards your canvas

the butler clears his throat and you’re like woAH

“i’m sorry, i wasn’t thinking-”

“it’s fine” jaebum says, a small laugh escaping his lips

and heyheyhey he’s attractive as hell when he smiles

especially now that you’re so close to him

“....anyway, if you could hold you shoulder ever so slightly away from the chair and turn your head a bit more towards me- yes, exactly like that!”

and you start painting, unaware that between glances you take of him, the king takes his eyes off the window and watches you

the way you squint over the tiny details or shuffle around to get the right angle

how you brushed a piece of hair out of your face and unknowingly trailed just a tiny bit of green paint across your hairline

you’re... the most unique person he’s encountered in a long time

until two hours pass in this fashion and his butler announces that he has to get back to his more demanding royal duties

you finish up one last detail and step back, setting your brush on a table and bowing again to the king

“you don’t have to do that”

... what? did the king just tell you not to bow to him

he clears his throat a bit and elaborates “we’re going to be here for a week or so, so we may as well be friends.”

“i-i’m fine with that”

he smiles, his eyes squinting “then i’ll see you tomorrow, y/n”

it’s the first time he’s said your name and it feels like a shiver running slowly down your spine

oh no no y/n, you’re not developing a crush on the king, of all people. no nonononono

“you, too...”

“call me jaebum”

“i don’t think i shoul-”

“it’s an order”

and this time he’s not hiding his smirk or the mirth in his eyes

who knew the king was so mischievous?

“alright. jaebum”

he takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your palm, his eyes never leaving yours

and just like that- as if he hadn’t just left you stunned- he turns on his heel and walks out of the room

well, as far as first days at new jobs go, this one wasn’t terrible

not even a little bit terrible

also... can any job be that bad when you get to stare at someone as attractive as the king.... jaebum... and get paid for it?? that’s a pretty sweet deal

and then you get home and see the green paint on your hairline

you’re like Oh MY GOD this has been the most embarrassing day of my life

but like... jaebum doesn’t understand why he can’t get you, with that little dab of green paint on your face, out of his head

or the way your touch had felt against his face, so feather light

it’s been a while since anyone had the courage to touch him so blatantly... it’s cute

and over the next few days, you gradually grow more accustomed to and comfortable with jaebum

when you call for a break, not only for you but for jaebum (sitting that still is hard, ok), he orders some tea and cookies and talks with you

and you’re bewildered as to how you ever thought he seemed intimidating

because yeah, he can seem cold from afar, with his intense stare and quieter nature

the way he stoically delivers orders to his subordinates

or how he still greets you with just a thin-lipped smile and a nod

but then he’ll like... miss his mouth when eating a tangerine and just kinda boop his chin

and then he’ll give the tangerine a little glare

as if it’s the fruit’s fault

or he’ll see you shiver in the cool palace air and ask one of the butlers to fetch a jacket for you

lately, he walks you to the palace gates when you’re done with your session for the day

and it’s then, in those quiet moments to yourselves with no butlers around, that you get him to laugh and smile like he means it

once, you picked a dandelion and blew all the seeds into his face

“oops” you said, smiling

he blinked at you, breaking into a smile, himself

“did you at least make a wish?”

“a wish?”

“aren’t you supposed to make a wish when you blow those things away?”

the tips of his ears turned red

“i did make a wish, actually”

“what was it?”

“well, i can’t tell you! then it won't come true”

“i’m the king, i’m sure i could help it come true”

“it’s magic! you can’t mess with it! everyone knows that”

you bend down to pick another dandelion, handing it to jaebum “here, make your own wish”

he laughs “you want me to make a wish?”

“well, you’re the youngest king we’ve ever had- that’s got to be stressful. you might as well get to wish for a day off or a vacation or, i don’t know, maybe you just want me to finish that portrait already”

at that, he looks at you, a curious expression on his face “i don’t want you to finish it”

“what, never?”

he doesn’t answer, instead blowing the dandelion seeds into the air and takes a step towards you

and for a second you imagine his kiss against your lips, his hands roaming

how his hair would feel between your fingers

but then he takes your hand and kisses the back like he always does

“tomorrow, y/n”

“... right”

the next day, everything went how it usually did

jaebum sat, looking regal, and you painted him

you were nearly done, actually. probably only needed another session or two and you’d be done

you were going to miss it, if you were being honest

jaebum turned out to be a part of your day that you looked forward to

and now... would you ever talk to him again?

at the end of the session, jaebum ushered his butler out of the room with a telling glance and approached you

he was silent for a second, his tongue probing the corner of his mouth

“y/n- the palace is hosting a gala to honor a visiting diplomat next week. will you come?”

“oh! i’d be honored to attend!”

“to be clear, i was asking if you would attend at my side”

“oh,”

“if you don’t want to, that-”

“i do, i do! and i will! go with you, i mean” you clarify, flustered

jaebum bites his lip, obviously trying to hold back a smile

“ah, good, i was hoping you’d say that”

but you have to know if this means what you think it means

“why me, though? not that im not excited-”

“i like you, y/n”

and now you’re really smiling, a blush dusting your cheeks

“ah, good,” you mimic his statement from earlier “i was hoping you’d say that”

he laughs, taking your hand to lay a kiss on it like he always does

but afterwards, instead of dropping your hand, he leans forward

and you can smell his cologne and feel the heat from his body and woooah boy

he tilts your head so that he’s looking into your eyes and your lips are practically aching with the thought of what could happen

he leans down so that his lips are brushing your ears

and he speaks, his voice low

“you’ve got paint on your face”

you pull back a bit, shocked, your hand flying up to find it

jaebum laughs, his hands pulling you back to him

“it’s right.... here”

and then he kisses your forehead

“tomorrow, y/n?”

“tomorrow.”

and you can’t wait.

486 notes · View notes

zak-animation · 6 years ago

Photo

Into the Wolf’s Den: Speaking with Golden Wolf Studios

After sending an email to Golden Wolf Studios a few weeks ago, I received a response from Henry Purrington, head animation lead for the studio. He manages the student outreach, and mentioned how he would be ‘more than happy to help’ with my assignment. Over several emails, we discussed meeting up in person and arranged a date and time for me to head into London and get a tour of the studio.

This was an amazing experience, and in the process, I was able to get some great insights into the animation industry. Walking into Golden Wolf reminded me that this was just an animation studio, run by people. The ‘first thing you’ll notice’, Henry said as he opened the doors, ‘is that we’re all just people’. And it’s true, it was just a collection of people sitting behind their Apple Macs, working intently on their projects.

I was lucky enough to receive a tour of the studio, as Henry walked me around the various rooms and explained how it's a tight-knit community, and that the team works best when they feel ‘at home’ in the studio. The studio itself maintains a level of minimalist elegance with a monochrome black and white design, mixing smooth orange lights with a wooden interior that looks more like a bar and hangout area than an actual workspace.

After being shown around the studio, Henry and I grabbed a cold refreshing Diet Coke and sat down to discuss their work in more detail. Whilst I couldn’t record the interview, I was able to write down our discussion. We spoke about the animation industry as a whole, how advertising is changing to be much more subversive than before and the importance of a showreel. This was an excellent experience, and I’ve got plenty of information to present for our Industry Roles presentation in a few weeks time. I’ve presented the discussion below.

The Interview

Hello! Firstly, thank you so much for having me. Unfortunately, my team couldn’t make it today, so I’m a bit of a lone wolf. Could you tell me a little bit about yourself?

Sure! I’m originally from the Isle of Wight and studied animation at the University of Portsmouth. My twin Tom and I then worked under director Ingri Ellingson in the animation department for a studio called ilovedust, before we branched out and formed our own thing with Golden Wolf here in Shoreditch, London.

And the rest is history! What’s it like to work in the studio?

Well, we all work as a team. We’re a non-directorial studio, so we work as more of a collective. We have directors, but it’s all in-house and our work all goes out as Golden Wolf. There’s a real team mentality, because everyone downstairs [points to the artists working in the below studio] can make great things on their own. We’re here because we want make stuff thats bigger and better than ourselves.

Wow, that’s a really cool approach. Do you have a personal mission statement for the studio?

That’s a great question. Well, we aim to create bold and youthful content. The focus is on fresh, but still youthful and dynamic content. Our audience is always ourselves - if we find it fun, then others will. We’re a design-focused team, and we think of ourselves an entertainment studio rather than advertising. Today, clients want to advertise on any and every screen they can get, all the time. At the same time, audiences will skip and ignore these ads. Back in the 90s advertisements were fun and exciting, but now we just wanna skip them.

We make little animations and sequences that are just entertaining, which just happen to be advertisements. It is subversive advertising, developing short content for social which is ultimately throwaway and short lasting, but its something that engages people. That’s the main goal.

Could you describe one of your typical workdays?

Yeah, but it’s different for everyone. There’s a structure, we have the art team and the production team. That split, that’s how most studios work. Production goes to the clients and find out what they want, and break it down to the artists. The artists then carry out the tasks and hits a deadline. There’s always a deadline, something to always work towards.

But me personally? I manage a few different projects, as I’m now older and bolder, my main job is to catch up on emails from freelance artists, interns and students. I manage the creative and social media stuff. Our projects are overseen and led by two animation directors, but our days will change. Everyone’s role changes, and everyone needs to know both preproduction and production skills.

So they have to be multi-disciplined, then. Could you give an example of these?

So we have around thirteen artists leading the charge, and each one needs to be able to handle both preproduction and production areas of a project: from character design and storyboards to final animation and even editing the project in post. The important thing is to keep things malleable and keep things flexible. We don’t want to overstretch anyone.

Typically, we have around six projects running at the same time. We have small teams that can then jump between different jobs, to collaborate with each other.

Something I’m really interested in is the use of social media for Golden Wolf. What is the role of social media within the studio? I loved the vertical project you made for Instagram in particular.

Yeah, so we pretty much use social media as an opportunity to explore different styles that we want to try. Whenever we have any downtime in the studio, we wanna try new things and fill that time. It’s a way of experimenting and trying new styles, because we’re all keen to work on different stuff. There’s a quick turnaround - working on advertising is a quick process and working on these short animated loops, for social media, really works well within this idea.

Typically, a project will last around eight weeks but for some specific clients like Nike, they want a fast turnaround. We’ll only get three or four weeks to complete a finished piece, and the briefs will be restrictive: fast paced, and with no time to play around. We have to play it safe.

We use it [social media] as an opportunity to try different things: like spinning camera moves. Social media is the opportunity for artists to explore, and gauge an instant reaction. It’s about building and diversifying the brand.

Plus, it’s these sort of experiments on social media that can really lead into the next project, and get the ball rolling on client work too. An internship experiment, where we got a few interns to make animated stickers of facial features. We put them on Giphy and they went viral and everyone thought they were really cool, we got photos in with people putting them on dogs and some guy even put them on the Mona Lisa. Giphy saw these and commissioned us to make some animated stickers of some original characters, called the Hoxton Zoo.

Wow, that’s really cool! I had no idea those started as intern experiments. Any words of wisdom for someone looking to join the studio in the future?

Just talent, skill and a willingness to work as a team. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, like you have today. You gotta remember that people are human, and to ask people for advice, or copy something that you love until you can make it your own - that’s the best advice, I think.

How long have you been an animation lead for?

Two and a half years, before that I was a 3D generalist in the studio. We’ve evolved from a design studio from ilovedust, and I’ve been working in the sector for over ten years. Our original job was to take the illustrations from the design department of ilovedust, and just make them move. Right now, we’ve expanded to be a lot bigger than that. We use a lot of freelancers, so it’s a real collaborative process. We are heavily design focused - the style frames should look cool, not just the movement.

As an animation student, something we often get told to do is work on our generalist skills rather than specializing in one area of the industry. As a professional yourself, would you say this is a good idea?

Hmmm, well in my experience it purely comes down to what you love doing. It’s long hours and hard work, and it’s a competitive industry! Really, just do whatever you enjoy the most. Be aware of the jobs and studios you want to work for, but if you like a little bit of everything go ahead and be a generalist. It’s up to you, but there is an appeal to having a range of skills.

As a studio, in particular, Golden Wolf hires artists who are efficient in a range of roles, but yeah as I said, typically an artist has to be able to work in both pre-production and production roles: so a storyboard artist or character designer and an animator, or editor. We’re all multi-skilled, we aren’t a large studio, just twenty or so people making cool shit.

But there’s only five of the artists downstairs that are from the UK, it’s actually hard to find talent here. Studios and colleges in the US teach and train artists to be up to an extremely high standard in animation and motion graphics work, some of their stuff is incredibly fluid and impressive, and it’s hard to find that sort of thing here in the UK.

But yeah, you need to be able to do character animation, clean up and animate different types of characters, with a range of line qualities. Golden Wolf in particular, we like to see finished frames and a short animation. Does it look good? That's what we’re more interested in. Every studio is different, but what it comes down to is can you do it well? It’s better to be told that you’re shit, and then work on it and do better.

Golden Wolf has worked on several music videos in the past, with Zedd and a few others, are these the type of projects you want to do more of in the future?

Music videos are hard, man. But we love the creative freedom they bring, and having an audiovisual track to make something to. With something like a music video, it’s hard to make one financially without making it a studio investment. With the Zedd video, we could only do the storyboarding in the studio and reached out to our friends in other studios and freelancers to make their own little piece of the puzzle. It’s modular storytelling, though I’m not sure if we made that up or if it’s already a thing. But anyway, we put all these little clips together from ourselves and our friends in the industry, and it was a nice way of making a video.

We always will do music videos if the studio has the time, and if we dig the track, but they aren’t for profit. At the moment, we’re actually really interested in the idea of exploring the potential of a short film, that means longer and more narrative-based work - which is something Golden Wolf has never done before.

One of our team members is looking into the role of an animation director, and wanted to ask if you have you personally had the opportunity to play the role of director in any projects?

So Golden Wolf is a non-directorial studio, meaning we have in-house directors under the name of Golden Wolf. So yeah, we do have directors. Art directors will be someone who directs and oversees the motion and informs the aesthetic of the project, working on style frames and making sure everything looks good. We do have that. Art directors need to be good at design as well as animation, and it’s a title that has to be earned. You have to have experience, having made loads of short films and their own personal projects.

So it’s sort of like a sensei - you have to earn the title.

Haha, yeah, exactly. You need to learn and cut your teeth, learn how things work and gain the experience. It’s an important role, and we all need to know if you can cut it as a director, or not.

At the moment, one of our projects is to build a showreel.

Yeah, what will sell you forever is your portfolio, your showreel. Honestly, grades don’t matter. It’s just the content that you come out of university with, that’s what we care about most. Your portfolio will sell you, and you can get client inquiries purely from that, if it's good enough. You need to put it on Instagram and build a following. You are your own brand, we are our own brand, and we’re constantly building it with content. Industry experience is good, but you can’t sell yourself through that alone - you need a good showreel.

Oh wow, really? I’d assumed what grade you came out of university with was crucial to your career.

Nah, it’s the showreel that will sell you. I don’t even know what any of the guys got downstairs grade wise. No one worries about that - it’s the showreel and portfolio. That’s the only thing we care about.

Any advice on building a showreel, given your industry experience?

Be concise, you just need to have your name and email address. We get seven thousand emails a year, purely inquiring about jobs. You need to catch someones attention within the first seven seconds - we see the showreels first, and then if we like it, we’ll go back and read the email.

My main advice? Find some music, and cut it to the beat. Treat the showreel as it’s own project, and remember that copyright isn’t important. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, and if you find a track that is contemporary, but copyrighted - go with it. I remember asking a band that I liked for permission, and I went ahead and used it anyway. It’s not for commercial use - you aren’t making money from your showreel, so it’s fine.

A good rule of thumb is to find the track that you like first, that represents you and your work and edit based on that. As always, you should put your best shit at the beginning, the more mediocre stuff in the middle and finish on a strong piece of work to reward the viewer for staying that long. A showreel shouldn’t be over a minute, and ideally around 40-50 seconds. Our attention span is only lasting around eight seconds now due to social media, so you should cut a scene or sequence whenever you’re bored.

Students tend to love their work, and as a result, never cut. It’s long and boring, and honestly, I end up skipping most of them. You don’t need to put your name large in the credits, just make it easy for people to find you online. There’s no point making a fancy website, just have a good showreel with a popular and modern track. For us, that tends to be US hip hop artists, and EDM tracks: things that have a beat that you can cut to, and are fast-paced. We sometimes get showreels with jazz soundtracks, and we just mute those ones. [laughs]

Do you have any rules or ideas that you return to for Golden Wolf? Any designing principles or beliefs that work for the studio?

So yeah we have three rules, the Golden Wolf Ethos, if you will. The first part is ‘no egos’. Don’t come in here thinking you know everything, and that you’re better than everyone else. You need to want to work as a team, in a collaborative environment.

Secondly, there’s no room for ‘okay work’. We need to constantly work to produce the best stuff we can: you need to have a good working attitude, to always push harder, and always have fun. If we are not having fun, then we also won’t be making our best work. We need to feel comfortable in our surroundings - the best work we’ve made, is when everyone chips in.

That, and understand that there’s always better work to be made. Go back and try harder. There’s always ways to make it better, you just need to invest the time.

What about software? Is there a particular package you would recommend an aspiring Wolf learns?

Hah, honestly, it doesn’t matter what software you learn. For 3D animated films, it’s Maya. For advertising, it’s Cinema 4D. TVPaint is quickly becoming the standard for 2D animation, but I’m a strong believer in the idea that once you know the basics of an animation program, you can apply it to any of them. Really, it doesn’t matter what software you use, it’s just mastering a specific program and getting that basic understanding of the key principles.

For example, we’ve got a guy downstairs who learned animation in Toon Boom and has quickly picked up TVPaint. It’s the same process, it’s just finding out where the buttons are. For Golden Wolf, we do our 2D animation in TVPaint or Adobe Animate, as you’ve got all the drawing power of the Adobe suites in pretty much both packages. The virtual camera tool in TVPaint is weird though, so we composite everything in After Effects. I think it’s important that you learn how to animate in TVPaint, and then comp it in After Effects, adding texture and different effects (like the virtual camera) in After Effects.

You mentioned Golden Wolf plan to explore stop motion, is this something you want to explore for advertising or for more personal projects?

So yeah, stop motion! It’s really cool, and it’s a rising medium. Everything’s fluid, and it’s really trendy at the moment. A while ago, everyone wanted 3D in advertising, but not the big thing is 2D. But at the moment with the Wes Anderson films, stop motion is really hot right now. It’s really interesting, and it’s something that we will be looking at in the future as a way to diversify and experiment with animation. At the moment, though, it costs too much for a full stop motion advertisement, and it’s not going to be as popular or gauge as big of a reaction in comparison to a 2D thing. So it’s still not quite there yet for us.

Anything else?

Something I would say is to really use reference, man! Grab gifs of films, video games, animations and panels from comic books, illustrations and posters and make a reference moodboard for each project. It’s something to always return to, and it’s not stealing or tracing because you’re taking something and responding to it, and making it your own. In particular, look at anime and study how they simplify the body mechanics in normal sequences and focus on the action. Its that idea of an economical approach to animation, and it’s all in the planning.

I hope I was able to answer all your questions man, and it’s great that you’re asking these questions now. When I was a first year, no one even had any idea or the thought to do this sort of thing. It’s great that you’re doing this now, that you’re brave and confident enough and it shows that you have an idea of where you want to go. That’s extremely rare for a student like yourself.

But yeah, I manage the student outreach here at Golden Wolf, as a way to give back and help the developing community. You’re one of the only students to actually come here and speak to us, and it’s a great start and practice to keep doing. Reaching out to industry professionals is probably one of the best things you can do as a student.

Summary Here, I was actually able to meet up and speak with animation lead Henry from Golden Wolf Studios. This was an amazing experience for me to walk around the studio, take photos and really discuss the company and the animation industry as a whole with an experienced professional. Whilst my initial plan was to look at motion designer Mattias Breitholtz in particular, I feel it will be more valuable to present parts of this actual conversation with Golden Wolf to the class in my presentation, as a way to evidence actual primary research into industry practices. I had the opportunity to see how the studio runs, and discuss Golden Wolf in-depth in a way that I haven’t been able to find online.

My next move will be to take some of the key points from this interview and present them into a visually pleasing and minimalist presentation, as my focus has shifted on discussing this primary research as opposed to my own secondary inquiry into motion design as a whole. I’m happy with the amount of research I have been able to collect and gather for this Industry Roles assignment, and have reached a point where I can begin designing the presentation with the help of my teammates.

#ba1b:mediaroles

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pumpkins-s · 8 years ago

Text

Not As Simple As A Happy Ending

Read on AO3 Here

Read the Other Chapters On Tumblr Here

It’s just a ribbon.

Just a plain red ribbon, absolutely nothing special about it.

At least, that’s what Sans tries to tell himself as Frisk stares up at him, their expectant look slowly morphing into confusion while he sits there frozen.

In which Frisk isn’t the first human Sans meets, nor the first he befriends, nor the first he kills.

And being Sans in general is complicated.

Fandom: Undertale

Characters: Sans, Papyrus, Alphys, Undyne, Frisk, Toriel, Asgore, W.D. Gaster, Grillby, Flowey, Chara, Blue Soul Human, Light Blue Soul Human, Yellow Soul Human, miscellaneous

Warnings: Canonical character death, non-graphic violence, bucketloads of angst (y’know the drill)

Other Things Worth Noting: Non-linear Narrative (though primarily set pre-canon), canon compliant, assumes post-pacifist run following an almost-genocide run for post-canon settings, Sans-centric with other characters being viewed through his eyes

Chapter 18: Conjecture

((Author’s Note:

Heyyyyy. Long time, no update!

(I'm back.)

Apologies for the interim between updates, it's been a weird few months for me, and I really needed a break from this fic to clear my head by working on other things and to deal with some personal issues. Given that, and the fact that this chapter (and the one following it) are possibly two of the most important chapters in Act 2, and I really wanted to do it right, finishing the update took a while.

Before we begin, some extra content and fanart to present!

First up on fanart: Adorable character cards Celestialfeathers surprised me with at Emerald City Comicon this year! You can check them out here!

Next, two gorgeous sketch sets of Wind, Rose, Sans, and Integrity by katthesmall, which you can see here and here!

We also have, by lieu of me googling Not As Simple on a dare, some pieces of fanart featuring Integrity I discovered by saphira123 (If the artist is reading this, I don't have accounts on any of your preferred media to thank you directly, but just know I found them and I love them!!). You can check out their gorgeous art of Integrity here, here, and here!!

In terms of bonus content for you guys, more exciting stuff!

First, to accompany the last chapter, Wind now has her own playlist here!

Second, and possibly most excitingly, Not As Simple now has its own song!! My little sister commissioned one of my favorite independent musicians for me as a Christmas present, so I am overjoyed to present to you guys Lost Time, the official song for Not As Simple, which you can find here!! (The musician in question is amazing and I would absolutely suggest checking out the rest of her stuff!)

That's it! Now, I'm happy to present to y'all chapter 18! ))

“I’m… pretty sure that’s wrong.”

Gaster frowns, turning and squinting at the whiteboard. “…No?”

“Nah, he’s right.” Wind says from the table next to Sans where she’s perched, legs crossed and thick book open in her lap. “Top row, G. You didn’t carry the four.”

Gaster hums, tilting his head and staring up at the section in question. “….Bollocks. You’re correct. I can’t believe I missed that.”

Wind snorts loudly, turning a page in her book, and Sans rolls his eyes, going back to entering the data on his notepad into the computer in front of him.

Sans is fifteen, and some days it feels like they’re no closer to breaking into the rules of the barrier than they were when he first came to the labs.

…Ok, no, that’s wrong. It’s not a case of what he feels, though that certainly plays an inevitable factor.

No, it’s more like they logistically, honestly have little more of an idea of what the fuck they’re looking at than they did three years ago. Never mind the fact Gaster had already been working on this puzzle for at least another two decades and then some before Sans was even a factor.

It’s exhausting, and frustrating, and Sans knew the mystery of the space-time bubble that is the Underground wouldn’t be solved in a day, but sometimes it feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind.

Then again, he notes idly, as his eyes flicker to the two other people in the room, it’s not like this was a job built for the sane and healthy. To learn the truth, to even get close to it, you had to be willing to become damaged goods— And that’s just what they are, him and Wind and Gaster, the byproducts of witnessing the unfathomable and walking out the other side.

Smugly, Wind points out another error in Gaster’s math, laughing loudly at his outraged spluttering, and Sans can’t help but stare quietly, drinking in the bright sound of Wind’s laughter, her rustling wings as her shoulders shake with mirth. Across from her Gaster is loudly animated, coat twirling as he turns and chucks a marker at her, shouting indignantly.

They are so alive. Sometimes Sans has trouble understanding how he got lucky enough to be graced with this.

Wind had become something of a staple in many of his and Gaster’s research sessions ever since their little heart-to-heart during the first annual inspection he was present for, slipping into the mix of languages Gaster meshes together on accident during his ramblings and partaking in the easy, insulting banter, with a grace that alludes to her experience with it. It speaks to just how long she’s been around Gaster, Sans thinks, and of how much time she’s had to learn his patterns. Perhaps it had always been like that, before Sans had arrived. He hates to think he accidentally made Wind feel she could no longer be Gaster’s first support, that whatever had come of sharing her memories led Wind to feel she had a permission, one that she never needed in the first place, to be around them, but at least… things are alright now.

Honestly, Sans had never realized the true depth of Wind’s intelligence until she had quietly intruded upon his and Gaster’s work sessions, offering corrections and assistance. She may not be a scientist, but there’s a clear kind of innate brilliance and quickness to Wind that makes sense for someone Gaster would take an interest in.

Regardless, her presence definitely helps, and there’s a kind of openness in what she’s seen, what she’s chosen to stand for, that makes it easy to share with Wind the research into the barrier, into human souls, that they cannot with the others. She has thrown her lot in with humanity as much as himself or Gaster, and there’s an innate kind of trust that comes with that.

The only research Gaster pointedly does away from all eyes but his own and Sans’s is of that into the timelines. Even Wind is kept well away from every piece of it, and while Sans was never shared Wind’s memories of her time with Gaster as his assistant, she does not, as far as he can tell, know of this one little secret. For all that she may know of the barrier, of the deaths of the humans and of the blind loyalty of the guard, this piece of the puzzle is one Gaster has kept hidden.

It’s protection, Sans thinks. There’s a kind of closeness between the two of them, one that makes sense with the knowledge Gaster has known Wind since she was a teenager, and for every moment Gaster seems parental-feeling towards Sans and Papyrus, there is something of a matching moment there for Wind too. Gaster may not ever admit to it, defensive bastard that he is, but it’s plenty obvious he desires to care for the people around him. And for Wind, who has already seen so much of this nightmare, this is the only shielding he can offer her.

Sans doesn’t know if it’s right, to keep the truth from Wind like that, or from any of them really, but he does understand it. He has done, and continues to do, the same for Papyrus, for Grillby. He cares about them too much to ever tell them, as hypocritical as that sounds.

No, the secret of the timelines was one Sans shared only with the human, and now, he supposes, with Gaster.

Sometimes it feels like a bit of a sick trade off— Sans lost a sister and gained… What? A parent? A father?

That word brings hesitation, whenever it crosses Sans’s mind, much like when Rose’s touches to his cheek feel too maternal. He’s… scared. To risk that label, with all the consequences and costs it could bring.

A guardian, then… A guardian in Gaster, and in Rose, in a way. Someone to trust, in Wind, people to call something like family, in Gamma and Ficus, and a friend, in Alphys.

He has all this, and it is invaluable, and yet what he wants most is something he cannot have back. How selfish.

Still, while he cannot change the past, at least so far as he knows, Sans is painfully aware of the variability of the future. If they want to protect the next human who will inevitably fall down here, they must beat the clock, and crack the barrier first. It’s the only option.

…If only it wasn’t so fucking complicated.

Alphys’s familiar stutter paired with an aggressively loud voice greet Sans when he enters the main lab, leaving Sans gritting his teeth against the assault on his hearing, only adding to the headache that’s already been lingering the last few hours from watching Gaster work through walls of data without any success. Sans is well aware not every day is going to produce some sort of breakthrough, even a minor one, and most days don’t, but today has been… particularly frustrating.

And now this of all things.

A startled squeak followed by a nervous-sounding “Sans!” alerts Sans to the fact that Alphys has noticed his arrival, and, reluctantly, Sans stops in his tracks, turning to face her and her guest.

“Oh, it’s you.” Says a second, rougher voice, its occupant hovering just behind Alphys, arms thrown over her shoulders.

Sans sighs. “Hello to you too, Undyne.”

She grins, sharp and wide. “Fuckface.”

“Fishbitch.”

“Please.” Alphys says despairingly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose in a sign of exasperation she no doubt picked up from Rose. Undyne whines in complaint, dropping her head against Alphys’s shoulder, causing Alphys to flush pink, and Sans shrugs lazily, earning himself a glare from Alphys.

“She started it.” Sans says easily, ignoring Undyne’s outraged squawk of protest. Alphys rolls her eyes, and he snorts. “I’m just getting something from Wind’s study, anyways. Just go back to… whatever you two were doing. Or… whatever you were doing that Undyne was creepily watching you do?”

Alphys twitches in annoyance, an embarrassed blush scrawling further up her cheeks, and Undyne pops her head back up to point angrily at him. “I’m not creepy!”

“Nah, just annoying.” He answers, walking past them and shutting the door to Wind’s office firmly behind him. Leaning against it, Sans lets out a small sigh of relief, dropping his head and staring at the floor without any real purpose or recognition. Running into Undyne is always a bit jarring, her presence loud and demanding no matter how somewhat used to it he may get. Which is exactly why Alphys is supposed to give him some kind of warning before bringing her over, Sans thinks with a kind of half-hearted annoyance.

Honestly, it’s amazing things between them have even progressed enough that Sans is able to tolerate Undyne’s presence, and Undyne the same for him, even if she still seems to take a kind of vicious pleasure in insulting him (Not that he, admittedly, doesn’t do the same). He blames Wind, really. After seeing her memories he couldn’t help but look at Undyne’s position through new eyes. He still isn’t really clear on the details, but Undyne does seem to spend basically every day hovering around Asgore, and while Sans is pretty sure she isn’t living with him like Wind had been (particularly given Alphys had off-handedly complained about Undyne’s group home once or twice), Asgore does seem to be all she has.

And… Sans can’t fault her for that. Not when he knows what it feels like to be alone and desperate for anyone to place your faith in, and not after Wind. Undyne isn’t to blame for what Asgore and their world taught her— Asgore makes victims, both intentional and unintentional, out of everyone he touches, that’s just the way it is. The Underground is poisoned with his hate, and as it stands, most monsters are just too blinded by faith or too stupid, whichever or both, Sans doesn’t know, to question what has been done.

To turn, monsterkind will have to see the truth, and that’s what Sans and Gaster and everyone else in the labs are here for, after all.

Besides, it also doesn’t hurt that Undyne has calmed down some over the last couple years. Not much, but she’s at least stopped trying to fight Sans at every given opportunity, has learned not to shit-talk humans in his presence. And in turn, Sans has learned to bite his tongue when she slips up and praises the Guard and the future death of humanity.

It’s all… a work in progress, at the end of the day. But they’ve reached this, at least. A place where they can easily insult each other and shove each other around cheerfully and, most importantly, stand in the same room without trying to kill each other.

It’s almost ironic really, Sans thinks. The two of them have achieved this kind of mutual truce, and yet they stand in such opposing positions. Undyne hadn’t joined the regular guard when she turned fifteen, or even when she turned sixteen or seventeen, like Sans had thought she would, instead she stayed at Asgore’s side, training directly under him. There were whispers around the castle, Alphys told him, that Asgore would step in and immediately promote her to Captain once the current head of the guard retired.

And then there was Sans. Sans, who trained under Wind and learned under Gaster, who had a soul that lived not just for the future of monsterkind but for humankind as well. He is the product of Asgore’s greatest mistakes, his greatest betrayals to people that once loved him, and he has every intention of being the thing that takes Asgore down, one day.

In essence, Sans is the epitome of everything Undyne is not, and yet, he thinks, they’re not completely different in their positions. They just placed their faith in different people.

…Of course, Sans likes to think his own choices in what company he keeps are markedly much improved over Undyne’s. She is just a pawn in Asgore’s Underground, and Sans… he is no one’s to use. Not even Gaster’s.

Sighing, Sans straightens up, getting off his resting place against the door and taking the few steps he needs to drop heavily into Wind’s desk chair, sparing a small grin when it spins a couple loops as his weight hits it. Never let it be said Wind didn’t make excellent interior design choices. Her swivel chair was one of the best things in the labs upwards of the ridiculous shit that could be found on Gaster’s floor.

Speaking of… bending down, he trails his finger-bones down the drawers on the left side of the desk, pulling open the third one. There was an old storage drive Wind had somewhere here with some old work she’d done on studying shield magic like her own and comparing it to the barrier that she thought might help. Spotting the item in question, Sans grins and grabs it, sitting up and allowing himself a victory spin on the chair. Glancing at the door, leading back to where the others wait for him, Sans takes a deep breath and stands up.

He cannot become bogged down in introspection and frustration. He needs to do this, there is no one else but himself and those waiting for him in front of Gaster’s whiteboard who can.

He must do this.

Sometimes, Sans can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Admittedly, he’s always been a bit like that, and his time in the loops with the human had only made him more paranoid, fearing an enemy at every turn, but this is… different.

It feels more like an observer, than an impending threat, something unobtrusive and invisible, but undeniably there. It’s an odd sensation, to feel as if there are eyes on him but find nothing, and too often he chalks it up to his worries getting the better of him.

Occasionally, at night, he dreams of a presence, one that sits across from him in the hollows of his consciousness, hidden by shadow. It’s hard to put a name to it, really. It reminds him instinctively of the human, the same kind of curling, inexplicable power in its form. But… More than anything, when he reaches out and pokes at its consciousness intruding upon places it should not be able to, it feels most like himself— Not a perfect match, but close. Like looking in a distorted mirror. In a way, that makes sense. Sans, in his glitching, sparking magic, can jump through the spaces between reality without hesitation, and this… thing, in its own way, is doing something much similar.

It doesn’t belong to the physical Underground Sans lives in, and yet it walks in and out of it, hovering on the very edge anyways.

Its visits are infrequent, and sporadic. Sometimes, it feels as if something is following him for days on end, and on other occasions he’ll go months with only the barest flicker of its presence once or twice in that whole time for only seconds.

When it happens, he is reminded of the creature that once wandered into his nightmare, years ago, abolishing the shadow-form of his sister with ease, and of the ghost Wind had joked about after she’d shown him her memories.

Most of the time, Sans thinks he’s being obsessive over something that is not there, so set on finding another enemy he must keep his guard up around that he’s gone and invented one. Or… perhaps so desperate for another ally he’s done the same thing. It’s hard to tell which.

Occasionally, though, he feels as if there is another player in the chess game he and Gaster only fleetingly understand the rules to. Something else moving pieces as himself and the others hurriedly do their best to find a way to checkmate Asgore.

He… doesn’t know what to do with that potential concept, beyond hope that whatever it is, if it actually exists, is on their side.

God, he hopes it’s on their side.

Sans hits the ground with a yelp of pain, shoulder colliding painfully against the stone floor before he rolls over it and up, tensed in a crouch and magic crackling readily at his fingertips as he braces them on the ground and glares up. Across him, Wind straightens up, sighing and stretching an arm over her head languidly. “You’re way too slow. That wasn’t even a glancing blow, I hit you dead-on.”

Sans huffs, curling his spine up and resting his forearms on his thighs, still crouching. “If you just taught me shielding magic— “

“My shielding magic is a kind unique to my species, and one that takes years to master.” At Sans’s scowl, Wind’s expression softens. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, Sans. Your magic reserves are the kind most monsters couldn’t even dream of. I’m just saying it would likely be exceedingly difficult, not to mention strenuous as hell. Shielding takes up enormous energy, it’s not the kind of thing you do frequently in fights unless it’s your specialty or you have no other choice.” She tilts her head. “Look at it this way. Have you ever seen me maintain my shield between blows?” Sans reluctantly shakes his head, and Wind beams. “Right, because it’s the kind of thing I wouldn’t risk draining my energy unless I had no other choice to keep it sustained indefinitely. Shielding magic is incredibly useful, but it’s not reliable as your only form of defense. Hence...” Wind sweeps down, lowering herself until she’s crouching at Sans’s level, leaning forward with her wings spread out behind her for balance, a picture perfect form of a lithe, graceful soldier. “We learn to dodge. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sans grumbles, and Wind grins.

“Good. Now, again.”

Wind flies forward, leaping up and at him with purpose, and Sans barely has a second to dive sideways and roll out of the way before Wind’s foot slams into the spot where his head was moments ago. Jumping to his feet, Sans ducks under Wind’s arm as it makes an arc over his skull, and manages two steps to the left before a wing curves in from the right and hits him solidly in the chest, sending him flying through the air. Sans barely has a moment to brace for inevitable impact against the wall and send a quiet thought of apology to Papyrus for dying on him so soon, before a pair of wiry arms catch him and the buffet of wings catching on air fills the sound around him. Carefully raising his head and opening his eyes, Sans stares at Wind’s concerned expression as she gently lowers them both back to earth, setting Sans down slowly once her feet hit the ground.

“That’s six times I’ve gotten you today, Sans.” Wind says patiently, in an annoyingly forgiving way that makes Sans grit his teeth in frustration. “If I was a Royal Guard, that’s six times you’d have been dead.”

“I know, I know.” Sans mutters.

“Do you?” Wind crosses her arms, frowning down at him. “In a real fight, your opponent isn’t going to give you a chance to catch your breath, and you may not have anyone to watch your back for you.”

“I know!” He snaps. “It’s not like I’ve never fought for my life before or anything!”

Wind winces, and Sans sighs, ducking his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, you’re right.” Wind says. “I should be the one apologizing. I was… pushing you too hard. If you don’t want to do this I— “

“No!” He yelps, head snapping up to stare wide-eyed at Wind. “I need this. I need to be ready. Don’t start babying me because of one rough day. I asked for your help and I’m going to keep asking until I’ve learned everything I can.” Taking a deep breath, he takes a step back, assuming a defensive position. “Again.”

Wind hesitates, and then lunges forward. Sans ducks under her leg as she aims a flying kick at him, diving behind her and jumping up onto the wing that sweeps out at him, using it as a platform to propel himself up and over Wind’s head. He hits the ground rolling, jumping up and breaking into a sprint as Wind takes off after him. He’ll lead her around the room, he thinks, tire her out— Survival is the name of the game with this exercise, the idea being to evade Wind’s attacks for a full five minutes. He grins at the sounds of Wind behind him, confident for once that he’s got the upper hand, and then there’s the flapping of wings and a tall figure slams into the ground in front of him.

—Guards everywhere, cornering them in the tight caves of Waterfall’s hidden crevices. He dodges right to avoid a barrage of flying arrows, the human right behind him, hand in his, he searches the perimeter desperately, looking for a way out, frantically moving until— There! On the left, a gap between the soldiers stands out, leading to the entrance of another cavern. He dives forward, dragging the human behind him, sights set on the route of escape. They’re going to make it, they’re so close, and then a guard slams into view from seemingly out of nowhere, wielding their spear as they thrust it forward and straight into Sans’s soul, shattering his conscious instantly. He hears the human scream, but everything is going black, and he can’t move—

Sans comes back to himself stretched out on the floor of the training room, head pillowed in Wind’s lap and limbs spread out haphazardly. He flinches as cool fingers prod the edges of his skull clinically, checking for injuries, probably, and slowly Wind’s worried face swims into view above him.

“…Sans? You back with me, buddy?”

He winces, sitting up carefully, Wind’s hands going to his back to steady him. “Yeah, more or less.”

“Where did you go?” Wind asks, voice knowing and soft as she runs a gentle hand down his spine, patience and understanding in her whole being.

He shrugs helplessly. “Back.”

Wind purses her lips, choosing not to press him. “I think that’s enough for today.” Sans opens his mouth to protest, and she shakes her head. “You’ve been out of it all morning, and it’s never a good sign when you start having flashbacks. Trust me, I’d know.”

“I suppose not.” Sans mutters reluctantly, and Wind sighs.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged, kiddo. You’ll burn out if you press too hard. So you’re having a bad day, that’s fine. Take a break for once, yeah? Clear your head.”

Sans snorts. “I’ve tried, believe me, but I feel like every time I leave this room I’m staring at more dead-end equations.”

“Then get out of the labs for a bit.” At Sans’s incredulous look, Wind rolls her eyes. “I know you hate being in Asgore’s potential sights, but the Underground’s a lot bigger than his immediate reach. It’s not healthy to live your life down here fulltime. There’s reasons why Rose always bullies Gaster into doing sample collections for her outside the labs, a little change of scenery is good for him, and, for that matter, for you. Take the day off— Go visit Grillby in Snowdin, go to a market in the Capital, go… Fuck around Hotland, I don’t know! My point is, do something.” Wind pauses, sighing. “Sometimes the way to solve a problem is to come back to it with fresh eyes.”

“Yeah, alright, point taken.” Sans says, ducking his head. “I’ll— I’ll try.”

Somehow, Sans suspects when Wind advised him to take some time to himself, this isn’t what she meant.

Muttering under his breath, Sans curses as he trips over another outcropping of rock, stumbling none too gracefully over the thin stream running through the ground beneath his feet. It’s embarrassing really, just how clumsy he’s gotten. What he once navigated with deadly precision and artistry now leaves him falling over his own feet— This is the first time he’s set foot in the lower pools in… God, months.

He’s been neglecting it, and his place in it, this expanse of caverns that was once his home. Was once their home, his and Papyrus’s, his and the human’s.

It was only a few years ago, when he knew the watery songs of this place down to the marrow of his bones, and the core of his soul. Frequently now it feels like a lifetime ago, sometimes it feels like it all just happened.

Very occasionally, Sans still wakes up and expects to see a cavern ceiling and feel the weight of a hand on his sternum, to find the world has reset itself and turned back time once again.

…Honestly, Sans doesn’t know now whether he would be relieved or horrified if that happened. Maybe both.

He has not accepted her death; he will never accept her death, not for how it happened or what was done to her, and in turn to him. And yet, he doesn’t know if he could ever go back to that time. This is so much bigger than one life, one soul to save, now. He’s seen and learned so much.

This is not just about Sans himself or the human he came to call friend and sister. This is about all of them. Humans, monsters, the souls lost to Asgore and the people of the labs he now calls something like family and the fates of the next to fall. There are individuals to protect, those he loves and those he has not yet met but sworn to guard with his life when he does, and there are whole nations to save, that stand to fall if he doesn’t find a way to stop this war.

Patience, he reminds himself. The barrier wasn’t built in a day, and neither will it be destroyed as such. Nor, he thinks, is it as simple as pulling a switch and shutting off the power to whatever keeps them trapped here. Destroy the barrier without learning how to control it and they will only unleash Asgore’s war between humans and monsters that much sooner. They need that power to bend it to their will, to use the barrier as their bargaining chip against the crown. Right now the cards are stacked in Asgore’s favor, and they desperately need to produce an ace.

“Will you kill him?” Sans remembers overhearing Wind ask Gaster in a hushed discussion one night, when the overhead lights were dimmed and they believed he’d fallen asleep in the plushy chair in the corner with his book.

“Not unless I have to.” Gaster had said. “His words have considerable sway among the people, sway that can be played to our advantage if we can control his message to the public, and regardless I’d rather not stoop to his level.”

“What will you do, then?”

“Get him to step down from power, obviously.” Gaster snorted. “He’s too dangerous to try and control him while he holds power. You and I both know we could never successfully make a puppet king out of him. We’ll have to cut the strings or risk getting strangled in them.”

“…Then what?” Wind had offered eventually, her words quiet. “Who will replace him? Monsters have never had democracy, we have told our needs to the royal family and they provided. Our supposed good nature kept us in peace with one another. They will balk at such a human way of government, and in the wake of the destruction of the barrier it will not be the time to try it out. They will need a leader.”

“Yes. They will.” Gaster agreed.

“So I ask again. Who’s going to lead them, Gaster? You?”

“Me? God no. Never. Never me.”

Wind had frowned, crossing her arms. “That’s not an answer and you know it.”

Sans sighs, sticking his hands in his coat pockets and staring up at the cavern ceiling above him, contemplative. He’d couldn’t help but ask Gaster, after Wind had left and the other had come to pick him up and tuck him into his bed for the night.

“Who will lead?”

“…So you were awake.” Gaster had stilled, hesitating and then picking Sans up anyways. He’d squirmed halfheartedly, wanting to protest he was not a small child and yet enjoying the soothing contact too much to protest it.

“Who will lead?” He asked again, once he was settled in Gaster’s arms, his small stature even for most young monsters easily dwarfed by Gaster’s considerable height.

“…Wind will lead.” Gaster had said finally. “She is strong, and intelligent, and has the heart to hold a whole kingdom. Her status as the last of an elite military family, and of a revered species of monster, will give her the backing she needs to reasonably take control, so long as her old records disappear.”

Sans blinked, and as if sensing the unasked question, Gaster bowed his head slightly. “I will advise her, if I can, but my reputation as the nutcase who protected a human proceeds me. Wind’s hands are cleaner, less involved in this mess.” He sighed. “It is more than possible that Asgore will not relinquish his power easily, and if things go wrong someone must take the fall. I will go down as the one who destroyed Asgore’s throne if I must, and from the dust Wind will rise as their savior.” His gaze fell to Sans’s firm glare. “If that happens, Sans, you must let it. Do not go trying to save me from my own choices.”

“The entire Royal Guard and half of Asgore’s advisors know me as the kid who fought their troops for a human.” Sans said, tinges of something close to wry amusement crawling into his words. “My hands are no cleaner than yours. If you fall, I’ll damn well plan on falling with you.”

“Sans—“

“If you want to protect me then don’t let anything happen to you.” He returned firmly, cutting Gaster off. “Do not ask me to… Do not ask me leave my family again. I won’t. I can’t.”

“…I know.” Gaster said. “I know.”

Wind isn’t aware of Gaster’s potential plans for her, Sans knows, and it leaves him with an uncomfortable taste in his mouth at the thought. She would refuse if she knew, he’s sure, which is likely also exactly the reason Gaster never chose to tell her, and in knowing this much about Wind himself too, Gaster has also bought Sans’s silence, prudence winning over his desire for transparency.

Ironic really, given all the times Sans has pressed Gaster for honesty between them.

Sometimes, Sans looks back on the memories Wind had shown him, of her first meeting with Gaster, and wonders if the other had planned this from the beginning, the very moment he met Wind and saw what she was, what she offered.

It would not surprise him if that were the case, honestly. Gaster acts continuously in the best interests of the future, but that can drive him to be manipulative, to keep his cards close to his chest, even if largely unconsciously. After all, the initial agreement between them that brought Sans to the labs was more a business arrangement than anything else, a peace treaty between temporary allies. The later developed familial affection was an unexpected consequence, or bonus, depending on how one looked at it.

Regardless, those are both matters of the past, and of the long-awaited future. He cannot change Gaster’s actions in the past even if he sought to, which he doesn’t, really, and the potential scenarios where Wind might find herself granted Asgore’s royal power, chosen or not, look to be years away. It’s a non-issue for now, at least until they find a way to break the barrier.

…Which leads him to why Wind had booted him out here to get some metaphorical fresh air in the first place.

The utter frustration at their lack of progress, the frustrating itch in his soul telling him he is missing important clues, puzzle pieces he needs to find the answer.

The presence, Sans thinks, the one that haunts him like a half-imagined daydream, or perhaps a lingering nightmare, would know, does know.

He’s not even fully confident it actually…. well, exists beyond the scope of his paranoid delusions, but if it does, if it is real, then it holds the answers he seeks. He is inexplicably, completely certain of that.

It’s crashing into a sign that smacks him firmly in the face that pulls Sans from his musings.

“Ow, fuck.” He growls, tripping blindly away from the offending obstacle and rubbing at his sore skull. After a moment of cursing and waiting for the pain to dull down, he opens his eyes, spots the sign, and groans, slumping forward.

Of course... Of fucking course.

“Why.” He deadpans, staring at it.

It seems he really is just as consistent as Gaster in some behaviors.

And apparently, when he needs the hard answers, Sans’s subconscious only knows one place to get them.

The head Tem’s sharp-fanged smile borders on gloating when he comes to her, eyes trained on him and expecting, as if she knew he would come here.

…On second thought, he decides, scratch the ‘if’. She was the head Tem, she knew about everything that got within even a fifty-foot radius of her village the second it did so. She knew he was coming here before he himself even did.

“Ah, my favorite expendable life-form.” She drawls, voice sickly-sweet. “How lovely.”

“Save it.” He sighs, flopping down into the chair across from her and fighting off a shiver at the predatory curiosity in her gaze.

The Temmies, Sans has come to realize over the last couple years, seem to… like him— As much as Temmies can like something aside from themselves, at least. At best, he figures, he’s something between an amusing distraction to them and an obedient pet they’ve grown fond of. At worst, a toy they’ve decided is worth not breaking during their play.

Honestly, none of the above descriptions stick out to him as particular definitions of valuing a person’s life, but from what he had gathered from Gaster, the first time the latter came back from meeting with the head Tem to sort out Sans’s potential debts to them, the Temmies showed a certain lenient interest in preserving his continued existence they didn’t really hold for most monsters outside their own kind. It appears those years of work for them had paid off, in their own way.

Still, even knowing he holds something like their favor, that doesn’t stop Sans from being fucking terrified of them.

…And with good reason, he thinks, as he watches the disarmingly small form of the head Temmie as she sits across from him.

“What can I do for you?” She asks, tilting her head faux-innocently, and Sans snorts. As if the Temmies do anything without a cost.

“I need information.”

The grin on the Temmie’s face grows wider. “Information is expensive.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” He pauses. It’s useless to ask about the barrier, of course, that he knows. If it was as simple as bartering an answer out of the Temmies, then Gaster would have done it years ago. There’s some things even they don’t know, he supposes.

No, it is something else he seeks explanation on, and yet something just as elusive.

“…This is something I’m not sure even your Temmies will know anything on.” He says, choosing his words carefully, and winces when the head Temmie twitches slightly at his words, clearly less than flattered at his implication that her knowledge of the Underground is less than complete. “Not that your sources are… lacking. I’m just not sure any record of this thing even exists.”

The Temmie raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Sans groans. “Look. If you have something to offer, I’ll do the work for it, but if I tell you about this thing and you don’t have any information, can you take our longstanding… business relationship into consideration and just be honest with me before I go and do a job for you that’s not going to give me anything.”

The Temmie sniffs haughtily. “Tems do not lie, especially about information. That is not a part of our principles. In light of the benefits you have served to the Temmie agenda in the past, I will tell you if I can, in fact, offer you anything on the subject of information you seek.”

He sighs, slumping. “Thank you.”

“So,” She quirks an eyebrow, looking borderline intrigued by the concept of something so mysterious that Sans could think even eludes her, “What is it you seek that you find so confounding?”

“It’s…” Sans pauses, trying to think of a way to accurately describe the presence. “…A creature. I’m not sure if it’s monster or human in origin, or… something else. Hell, I’m not completely sure it’s real.” The Temmie’s eyes narrow, and he shrugs helplessly. “I’ve only met it once, it invaded a nightmare and intervened.”

“And you’re sure this wasn’t just your subconscious taking pity on you?”

He winces. He had considered that for a long time, but… “No. My nightmares… Don’t ever stop like that, and it’s only happened the once. It wasn’t me, it was an outside consciousness with autonomy over my dreams. Or, at least, it had that power in that moment.” The Tem nods, and hesitantly, he continues. “I don’t know what it looks like, it was like it was cast in shadow and its face was just…” Sans waves his hands around his own pointedly. “Not there? Distorted. It had a magic signature, though that was kind of static-like too, as if it wasn’t flowing properly— Powerful, I could tell that much, at least… similar to my own, maybe? I’m not completely sure, I’d never felt anything like it.”

“…And did this creature have a name?”

“It called itself… a remnant.”

The Tem frowns, brows furrowing, and Sans watches almost hopelessly as she looks down at her desk and taps it with an idle paw, considering his words. There’s frustration scrawled across her features, and that’s enough to basically give Sans his answer. Temmies as a rule are in the business of knowing everything, and the only thing that truly frustrates them even more than a situation out of their control is something in the Underground they know nothing about, a true wild card.

“No,” She says at length, “I can’t say I have heard of it.” She jumps off her desk, causing the two Temmies standing at the entryway corners of the room to straighten up almost imperceptibly, but she simply pushes open a crudely-painted bright orange and blue door set against the back wall amongst the rabble of overly-cheerfully colored things in the room, and disappears inside, voice slightly muffled as it rings out again. “You said it had a powerful magic signature?”

“Ah…” He shifts, glancing at one of the guarding Tems, who looks as confused as he does, from what little he can gain of their expression, at least. “Yeah.”

There’s a shuffle, and then the sound of something being pulled off a shelf and of pages being thumbed through. “You live in the castle laboratories, yes? You interact with incredibly strong monsters on the daily. Would you classify it as more or less powerful than the stronger signatures you’re familiar with?”

“I… More, maybe?” Sans frowns, and shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, not more, just… Different? Monsters’ signatures all hold some similarities, even slight ones, but this was completely its own equation.”

“Estimate, then. Just on your initial impressions of raw potential.”

He shudders, doing his best to recall the fading glimpses of the remnant’s magic that single time it had interfered in his mind. “At least around Asgore’s, boss monster capability levels of magic.”

“Hm…” The head Temmie hums, pushing back into the room with a large, well-worn book balanced on her head. “Interesting.” She jumps back into her seat with surprising grace, the book barely wobbling from its position before she lifts it off her head and sets it with a none-to-gentle thump on the desk, flipping through the pages with purpose. “Did it have a soul?”

“…What?”

She peers up at him, a distinct lack of amusement scrawled across her features. “I said: did it have a soul?”

“No, I heard what you said, I just…” He runs a hand nervously over the back of his skull, fingers catching on his jacket hood and drawing it over his head on instinct. “It must have, right? Nothing can survive without a soul.”

The Temmie blinks. “Do you remember the presence of a soul?”

“I—“ He slumps. “No, I don’t, but I wasn’t exactly looking for one, anyways.” He feels a shiver up his spine at the implications of his own words. “What are you getting at?”

With a slight frown, the Temmie looks back down at the book, finally landing on a page and smoothing it out before turning the book around to face Sans. “It is not an exaggeration to say my knowledge of this Underground and its inhabitants is likely second to none. If such a powerful creature were loose in these caverns, no matter how elusive it may be, I would have heard about it.”

“…Alright.”

The Tem sighs, nodding to the book, and Sans’s gaze falls to it, eyes widening at familiar handwriting. “There is a… theory, one that was originally developed as a matter of study on the surface before the war, about the nature between consciousness and soul, and whether they can be separated. “

Sans leans forward, grabbing the edges of the book and pulling it forward. “This is… Gaster’s handwriting.”

“But of course.” The Temmie nods towards the book. “The theory was all conjecture originally, but it became a matter of interest for the first Royal Scientist, whom your Gaster studied under. It was thought that if the theory could be put into action, it might offer a way to a means of escape from the Underground.”

“The lost soul effect…” He mutters, reading the words at the top of the page and peering over the book, taking in Gaster’s messy handwriting in the odd-shaped symbols of his native language. “You said it was about separating the consciousness and the soul?”

“Yes. It is generally assumed the consciousness resides in the soul, particularly in regards to Monsters, as our physical forms have no definable neural systems as humans do.” The Temmie pauses. “This research, however, postulated, among other things, that it might be possible to disconnect the consciousness from the soul, and to exist as a separate entity, so long as the soul remained intact.”

Sans furrows his brows, glancing up at her. “Is it?”

“Do you really think that, were it proven possible, we would not have capitalized on it?” The Temmie says pointedly, and Sans winces in answer. “The theory is absolutely impossible to prove correct within any reasonable bounds of experimentation— Monsters souls are the culminations of their beings, to attempt to separate a monster from their soul would result in an overwhelmingly likely chance of death, and, even back on the surface when human souls were accessible, the conjecture was still too risky to test on them. The only way to prove it true is if a naturally occurring case was found.”

“…And you think…?”

“What you described— A creature capable of thought but without a physical form, with a magic signature but no discernable presence of a soul tied to it, what does that sound like to you?”

“But…” He frowns, fingers running over the symbols at the bottom of the page. “It says here that magic is connected to the soul, not the consciousness, and that severing the two would cut off a monster’s access to magic. This thing definitely had magic.”

The Tem tilts her head in acquiescence. “Magic is channeled from the soul, but the assumption that separating consciousness and soul would separate consciousness and magic is conjecture. It is sound, logical conjecture, yes, but only conjecture. As is this.” She purses her lips, shaking her head. “I am not positive on what it is you believe yourself to have found, but if what you say is true, then whatever it is, it is outside our constraints of how monsters and humans work. It takes incredibly powerful magic to influence the psyche, and to interfere with your sleeping conscious this creature would have to share some bond with your own soul, or at the very least your magic signature.”

Sans’s eyes flicker back down to the page, darting over scattered symbols for soul, magic, mind, body. “…It knew my name. It knew me.”

When he looks to the Temmie, she only stares back impassively, and he sighs, idly flipping the page in the book, and scanning the contents, taking in a similar set of notes and charts. “…What’s this?”

The Temmie glances at the book, and blinks. “Ah. The even more outrageously speculative sister theory to the previous one we just discussed. It suggests potential ways to keep a monster’s consciousness alive during the loss of a soul.”

That catches Sans’s attention, and he skims the page, grimacing at the overly-complex diagram filled with a multitude of numbers and symbols revolving around a central circle with only the symbols for what roughly translated to will-to-live variable set inside it. “How would you give a monster a will to survive after they’re already dying?”

“Human souls survive after death, by the means of something within their own makeup.” The head Tem offers. “This was the idea that, if said something could be isolated, and given to a dying monster, it might revive them. Or, in its more wild concepts, that an object given that isolated human element that allows the soul to persist might allow the object to develop a consciousness.”

Sans shakes his head, sitting back. “That’s more fantasy than logic. Maybe, maybe, you could revive a dying monster, if there were some miracle drug sourced from human souls, but you can’t create a living being out of nothing, that’s just like… something out of one of Gaster’s bad animes. Hell, you could sprinkle monster dust over that item and you still wouldn’t get anywhere, not without a soul, or a residual magic signature at the very least.”

The Tem hums in agreement, and he groans, bringing his hands up to rub wearily at his eyes. “I can’t believe Gaster never told me about any of this, half of our fucking research revolves around the nature of souls.”

…Admittedly, that research was focused on the timeline properties of human souls, not on consciousness and soul, but… Well. It’s not like the Temmies needed to know that little tidbit of information.

“It is possible that he did not remember.” The head Tem says, leaning forward and shutting the book. “These were inane theories his predecessor studied for a short period of time then abandoned, nothing more. I doubt he even remembers trading a spare copy of the research notes in exchange for… a favor.”

Sans grunts in something like concession, not bothering to ask why the Temmies would want the notes to such a seemingly pointless bunch of theories. To them, such things didn’t have to be practical or applicable to be desirable. They coveted knowledge, in all its forms.

“Yeah, I suppose. Not exactly the type of thing someone would try out for a laugh, even him.” Sighing wearily, he pulls his hands away and cracks an eye open. “So, how much do I owe you for even showing me that?”

“Nothing, so long as you inform me of anything further you discover on the subject you came asking me on.”

He blinks, sitting up and staring openly at the Temmie. “Wait, really?”

She scowls. “Do not take this as some foolish form of kind-heartedness. I dislike not knowing about anything in this Underground, particularly things that may have more power than they seem. This creature you speak of… It has peaked my interest, to say the least.”

“…Huh.” Sans returns at length, mentally shrugging and deciding not to question the small mercies in life. The less time he has to waste doing odd jobs for the Tems, the better. “Alright, deal.” Almost idly, he stands, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Well, I should get back, I was only supposed to be out for a quick walk.” The head Tem tilts her head, granting him permission to leave, and he turns, ignoring the ever-unsettling gazes of the guarding Temmies as he goes.

He makes it to two steps before the door when the Temmie’s voice calls out again. “Sans.” He startles slightly, because the Tems almost never use his name, and goddamn is that creepy to hear, and looks over his shoulder, meeting the glimmering stare of the head Tem.

“Your Gaster has never tried to give an inanimate item consciousness or tried to revive a dying monster, true, but that does not make him any less of a stubborn fool, or as forgetful as you or I might give him credit for.”

He swallows nervously. “…What do you mean?”

The Temmie grins, sharp and wide, and once again Sans is reminded of the cold, calculating being she really is. “The dog. Toby. It is not like the other dog monsters of the Underground, you know this— But that is because it is not a monster at all.” Her fangs glint. “It came here many, many years ago, with the human Gaster called his own, and the dogs of the surface, mere pets, do not have such long lifespans as their masters. That dog should, by all reason and logic, be dead, and yet it is not. Do you understand?”

It takes a moment, and then the bottom of Sans’s stomach plummets, a horrible, lurching feeling taking over as the implication of her words, of the words on that book still clutched between her paws, fall into place.

“…No idea what you’re talking about.” He forces out, turning and yanking the door open. “I… I have to go.”

He runs, seeking the quiet of Waterfall, away from this place of cursed ideas and suggestions and of obnoxious facades, away from theories on time-worn paper that bring fear and nervous realizations and paranoia crawling into his throat.

Above all, he pretends not to hear the laughter of the Tems as it chases his heels.

#hI THIS FIC ISN'T DEAD YET #Undertale #Undertale fanfiction #undertale fanfic #Sans #my writing #Not as Simple as a Happy Ending (Undertale)

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