#now if you excuse me i am going to draw some valentine's day art and hopefully not get distracted

[6clawdy6]

How are we doin this fine Valentine's Day, watchful eyes?

I'm going to say a thing or two here because I don't think leaving it in a reblog or tags will do it justice. If you do not agree with anything that I say here and you are unwilling to be a mature adult about it, don't even bother interacting with this post or me directly regarding this, just block me and move on with your day because I am not putting up with any shit. Said things will be under the read more.

I have faced a great deal of criticism and damnation for doing stuff for me for the longest time, way more times than someone my age should have. As one can see, this kind of damnation will not stop me from loving what I love and I feel it shouldn't stop anyone else either.

Something that I think falls under this kind of thing is that no one should ever be damned for choosing to love a fictional character as opposed to a real person. I've done a bit of looking, and as it turns out, there exists a lil something called "fictophilia", which, as you may have guessed, is an umbrella term for the desire, sexual attraction, or intense feelings of love towards a fictional character, similar in strength and application for those felt towards real-life people. Because of how fictophilia/fictosexuality/fictoromance is negatively portrayed in media, people with this kinda sexuality feel like their thoughts and feelings are invalid and wrong. Personally, I don't think it's wrong at all, and I think being in love with a fictional person is just as valid as being attracted to a real one. Hell, I don't blame some people for being attracted to fictional characters instead of actual beings. Actual people have a very bad habit of being creepier than characters intended to be creepy, and that's saying something.

What's wrong wit y'all. Why are you like this. Stop creeping out the fictosexuals, people like you tend to be why they prefer fictional characters in the first place.

Another thing is that I believe that people are allowed to be uncomfortable with things like certain pairings and have the right to use whatever's currently handy to filter that out of their view. That doesn't give you the right to damn them when they're not looking, they're allowed to block you so they don't have to deal with anything you create or say that makes them uncomfortable. In fact, I can already think of several people who have damned others for this exact thing that I would love to block myself if not for the fact that I try not to judge, because y'all apparently can't behave yourselves when you think people aren't paying attention. Y'all should feel bad not only for acting like a spoiled child over someone not being comfortable with what you like, but also for being petty towards others all because they're interested in someone that ain't you, real or not.

I ain't saying names here because of that last bit, but if you're one of the people I am referring to here, you know who you are and if you're gonna act a fool about it, do not cry about it to me directly or on this post, because I don't wanna hear it, I will not hesitate to block people for not being the mature adults I asked y'all to be, and it ain't my fault you didn't listen.

Those that are willing to at least try to understand what I'm saying here and maybe even relate to this a little, thank you very much for being mature about this and feel free to stick around and vibe, I don't see enough people like you here on this site.

[meruz]

Aforementioned long ask post please excuse me while i try to figure out tumblr's new text editor. I’ll get into the art meme questions first and then the rest at the end.

Ok first of all thank you all for sending in questions! Giving me an excuse to talk hehe. I’ll address these in number order. Here’s a link to the ask meme for reference but also I’ll restate the question for ease of reading.

1. When did you get into art?

Super cliche answer but I don’t remember a time where I WASN’T the weird art kid! I started keeping a dedicated sketchbook when I was about 12? But here’s a page from my kindergarten journal about what I want to be when I grow up.

2. What art-related sites have you ever signed up for? 

LOL this is a weird question. Not sure why so many people want to know. Anyways I definitely had a dA. more than one dA account. I used to browse oekakis when I was a kid but I think I was only signed up to some small ones that internet friends owned. What else...? Mangabullet,Tegakie, Paintberri, iscribble back when that was a thing, instagram if that COUNTs, I used to post art on livejournal and dreamwidth too. Patreon, I guess. Gumroad, inprnt, bigcartel, storenvy all for selling stuff.

In terms of resources.. I have a schoolism account that I’m sharing with friends. Used to take classes on coursera for free. I signed up to textures.com for work recently haha. I can’t remember if I ever had an account on posemaniacs. Did they have accounts...? I definitely used to visit all the time.

3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand.

Alright here’s me actually logging into my old deviantart account. These are from September 2008 So I was 13 years old. I don’t have a deviantart account from before then because 13 was the required age for having an account and I didn’t want to lie about my age because I wanted people to be impressed by how young yet clearly incredible at art I was LOL.

4. What defines your artistic style?

You guys are probably more equipped to answer this than me but uh... I wanna say... Focus on colors. And... a slightly heavy hand? Like confident... not always well-considered mark making HAH...

Also I think I have a pretty healthy mix of american comics/manga influences. I feel like people who are into american comics always think my art is too manga and people who are into anime/manga always think my art is too american. And I’m taking that as a good sign.

5. Do you practice other styles/have you tried other styles in the past?

I like to think I switch it up a bunch! I mean, these are pretty different, right?

I think I’ve mentioned this before but one thing I really took away from art school is that, for an illustrator at least, art style shouldn’t be consistent. Your greatest weapon is changing the aspects of your style based on the task, the emotions and message you want to illustrate etc. So depending on the project I’m working on, the fandom I’m drawing for, whether I want something to be funny or serious or dramatic, I’ll change things about my style all the time.

One thing I don’t rly post on here is really tight polished work and that’s because I do that for my day job haha. If you’re not paying me... I’m probably not gonna color in the lines.

6. What levels of artistic education have you had?

I have a whole ass diploma LOL. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration. from the Rhode Island School of Design. And I had a great college experience tbh. Besides the student loans. If any of you guys are thinking about art school feel free to e-mail or message me questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to help. Be as honest as I can be.

7. Show us at least one picture you drew or sketched recently that you did not put on a public site.

heres the wandavision kids. Uhh what else do I have...I feel like I’m rummaging for loose change here...

assorted valentines prep doodles

8. What is your favourite piece that you have done?

Well, obviously this is gonna change all the time and generally it’s gonna be my most recent piece LOL. So yeah, why the hell not. I’ll say it’s this one. I have a pretty short memory which I count as a blessing for an artist. I don’t dwell that long on older work and it keeps me moving forward.

10. What do you like most about your art?

I like that it’s something that only I would make! I had this thought fairly recently and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, it’s pretty cheesy and rambling but it felt revolutionary at the time:

So yeah. I like my art best when it’s the most me and for me. And I like it least when it feels like I’m just making something for social media or for other people’s expectations or whatever.

14. What do you like drawing the most?

Kids in baggy clothing are like my go-to LOL idk if that’s obvious. but also I like being challenged so lately I’ve really loved drawing multi-character compositions, environments, weird angles, etc.

oh i LOVE drawing the underside of shoes lol. And bandages. People that are kinda beat up.. I think it comes from getting a bunch of cuts all the time. I’m always patching myself up and I want to patch characters up too.

15. What do you like drawing the least?

mmm I try to find something to like in every drawing but lets see... I don’t like doing commissions of people’s dogs. Just because it’s normally like... a family friend and my mom volunteered me without my consent and I don’t even really know what they’re expecting me to draw and I don’t even get to meet the dog. Also I’m not that great at dog anatomy. Trying to learn though.

18. What is your purpose for drawing?

This could have a million answers! Uhhh to GIT GOOD??? But also to express myself... and also to make money... I mean it depends on what the drawing IS. I draw fanart mostly to connect to people in the fandom so if you ever see me drawing fanart please take it as like an open invitation to talk to me about the character haha. 

20. How would you rank your art? (poor, mediocre, good, etc.)

Good!!! I have a lot of self-confidence primarily born out of ignorance and a short attention span. If I don’t think too hard about how many other artists are mindblowingly unfathombly good... its easy to think I’m good too! LOL

In all seriousness though, I think the opinion a person has of their art is like a crazy balancing act, right? Like you have to think you suck enough to want to get better but also you have to think you’re good enough to not want to give up. I think we’re all walking that line, I know I am! But also I’m a glass half-full type of person so. Most of the time I feel good about it.

22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

This is a good question because I’ve been trying and failing to put together one of those “influence map” memes for like a full month now. What’s giving me a hard time is I feel like none of these are actually really obvious “““influences”““ in my art? Like it’s hard to see a lot of them in the work I make...? But idk maybe you guys’ll see what I can’t.

And these are just a couple! God there’s so many more. I could talk about other artists for ages, from all different genres of art. Daumier, Rockwell like every illustrator out there, Dana Gibson, Alex Toth, Hiroshi Yoshida, a lot of the Brandywine School. Lots of current working artists too, Karl Kerschl, frikkin Masashi Kishimoto lol, Jake Wyatt, Richie Pope, Edouard Caplain, Matt Cook, Sachin Teng, - lots of big internet artists, Sophie Li, Freddy Carrasco, Milliofish, Angela Sung... like all my friends from art school too. I could just keep going but I’ll stop for now lol.

24. Do you have a shameful art past? (recolour sprite comics, tracing art, etc.)

I mean if that’s how we’re defining shameful?? sure LOL. It’s not sprite comics but I used to do pokemon sprite recolors all the time. And I used to trace manga panels and color them... Granted this was all when I was like under 12 yrs old so it’s not even embarrassing. Can you really call it shameful when a 7 year old wets the bed or whatever? Not really. In fact some of these are cool as fuck. Look

25. Draw a picture!

Man I’m so tired now but here.

I used to get a lot of compliments for drawing people smiling lol but I don’t think I’ve drawn a lot of smiling lately.. here’s proof I’ve still got it.

OK MEME DONE. onto the rest.

I read this ask first thing when i opened my computer in the morning and it made me really emotional.. I’m so glad my sketches could help you!!

I think a lot of artists on social media talk about the struggle of making art but imo not enough people talk about the joy! Like I know it’s corny but. I really meant what I said at the beginning of that sketchbook about re-contextualizing art around process and progress > product and perfection. I think its super important..! The strength of messy, unfinished, and energetic art! For the feeling of it, for the love it!

That's crazy!!! I hope you like 'em. The whole line of x-books is really good rn imo.

Hi! I totally have the answer for digital stuff on my faq lol. But in terms of drawing on paper.. it varies! I tend to use sketchbooking and any on-paper doodling I do as a way to loosen up/warm-up or experiment. But right now my go-to aresenal is:

from top > bottom

- kuretake no.55 doublesided brush pen

- tombow fudenosuke

- muji 0.38 ballpoint

- medium size poscas

- grey tombow double brush pens

- good ol bic mechanical pencil

not EXACTly sure which inking you referring to from my sketchbook but if I had to take a guess it'd probably be the kuretake no55. That's been my main inker, lately. Great for sketching with the thin end too.

You can print out and eat my art if you like. Just please don't mass produce or re-sell. <3

Thanks! I've come to accept that my art is always gonna be sort of gestural and painty naturally. It's getting it to tighten up enough to be legible that's hard lol...

uh yeah lol I agree actually. I think yolei is great.

I assume these asks are related? LOL

1) Yeah totally true. I love David.

2) I don’t take requests, sorry! But if you want to commission me to draw Legion i would be MORE than happy to. Just e-mail me at isellhotdogs@gmail.com.

<33333333333333333333333333

[wombatpumpkin]

WIP Wednesday

Title: Paired

Fandoms: Dragon Age 

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Tags: Modern Thedas AU, Dating App AU, Graduate School AU, Academic Rivals to Lovers

 Now, I may look like a sad and lonely hobo, but I can assure you, ladies, that I am not. Beneath this poor excuse for a sense of fashion beats the heart of a wolf on the prowl and ready for love. When I’m not reading, that is.

                  You Paired with Solas on 9:40 Guardian 14  at 9:10AM

                                                 Today at 9:17AM

                                                                                                                                                                                               Me: Hello, Solas.

“That’s it?” Josie leaned over Aya’s shoulder, peering at the message she’d just fired off. Aya could feel Josie deflating. “That is all you’re going to say?”

“What? What’s wrong with that?” Aya asked, looking back at the message and trying to figure what on earth could be wrong with ‘hello’.

“You have to sound alluring! Make it spicy,” Josephine said with an indignant huff.

“Gotta tickle their balls a little bit, eh?” smirked Aya. Josephine tipped her forehead into her palms and groaned.

“Please... do not say it like that,” she pleaded like a woman who’d lived and seen too much. 

“I don’t have to be alluring at all. Half the guys on here are just looking for a hook-up,” Aya said, waggling her eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure I could say I have a fungal growth and still find somebody to bang by evening.”

“She has a point, Josie,” Leliana said from across the cafe table, nodding as she finished her coffee. Josie apparently disagreed, folding her arms tightly over her chest as she glared at Leliana. “Let her talk about her fungal growths. It’s the profile picture that will do all the talking. You did pick her a good one, yes?”

“Of course!” Josie scoffed. “And do not encourage her! Really, Aya, you have to be more tantalizing. You’ll never get a date with just a ‘hello’.”

“You signed me up, remember? All these ‘Likes’ are for people you picked,” Aya shot back. “Maybe I don’t want them to reply. And I still don’t think dating apps are the best way to meet somebody.”

“It’s a ‘Swipe’, not a ‘Like’,” Josephine corrected with a sigh. ”And I simply found you a few men who I think may be to your taste. What about him?” Josie poked Aya’s phone screen and opened up the chat.

“You mean ‘Thom’? Isn’t that a lot of beard?” 

“Here, give me!” Josie said reaching over the poor woman and plucking the phone away before she could protest. “This is how you send an alluring message.”

Leliana laughed and shook her head. “You are incorrigible, Josie. I’m getting a second coffee,” she said, getting up.

“Me too.” Aya  got up as well, frowning after Josephine who was Cyrano de Bergerac-ing away. “She’s not going to stop until I have a date, is she?”

“Nope. It’s better just to leave her to it?” Leliana said quietly, tugging Aya along to place an order. I wrinkled my nose.

“I wish she wouldn’t. I don’t want these guys thinking I talk that well,” Aya said, scratching her nose and frowning over her shoulder at Josie. Leliana chuckled.

“You speak and write plenty well,” she said as they shuffled along. “When you put your mind to it at least. I’ve read your papers.”

“Well, that’s different. You have to write well in graduate school or they don’t let you graduate.”

“Fair point, I suppose. Still, those skills are transferable.”

“Nope. If it’s not school related, my brain powers down.” Aya shifted her stance, tilting the tote bag on her hip so Leliana caught a glimpse of it. It read All I Do is Fucking Read on the side. Leliana grinned. “Those men will be lucky to get a full sentence.”

“To each’s own, ” she said. “Do you think you’ll ever read or write for pleasure once you’ve graduated?”

“After a few years, maybe?” Aya said uncertainly. “My mistake for pursuing a degree in the social sciences. My poor dyslexic brain feels a lot like scrambled eggs.”

“What do you have planned tonight, then?” Leliana asked. They were a person away from ordering. “It is Valentines Day, after all. Any plans?” 

“Well, after I get a little more work done on my thesis, I have my internship until five. Then... I guess it’s just an evening to myself.” 

“A rare night, indeed. Savor it for me.”

“What do you have planned?” They started ordering.

“One coffee please, small and black,” Leliana said, reaching for her purse. Aya pulled out hers, trying to nudge Leliana out of the way as she ordered but fumbled on the card draw.

“Caramel latte for me, decaf.” Leliana swooped in and dipped her chip into the reader. Aya narrowed her eyes. She would get her next time.

Leliana continued as if nothing had happened. “I have a date, of course! Cousland got us a fancy reservation at a restaurant across town. It’s apparently very hard to get in. I have my shoes all picked out.” 

Aya and Leliana moved down the counter and waited for our drinks to be ready. The air smelled like freshly ground coffee beans, oozing chocolate, and butter from their fresh pastries. I immediately regretted not ordering a croissant.

“And the rest of your outfit?” Aya said, raising her eyebrows. “Or is it a shoes only kind of place?” Leliana giggled.

“If only we could go somewhere as bold as that,” she replied, eyes dancing. “But I’ve chosen my red dress, the one with the silver beading in the waist. She loves that dress, as do I.”

The barista passed them the steaming drinks; Aya’s had a little foam heart in it that made her smile. The pair took their drinks back to the table, and Josie was still furiously texting. Aya chewed her lip in concern.

“How’s the damage?” Aya asked Josie as she sat down and disturbed the foam art piece as she took a sip. They used real caramel here, not some chemical crap from a pump. Aya’s lips felt sticky with sugar, and she hummed happily.

“I have a date set up for you tonight,” Josephine replied, not looking up. “I’m just setting the time and place. You’re done with your internship at five, correct?”

“Wait, seriously? With who? And yes, five.”

“Thom, of course. And I shall tell him to meet you at The Herald’s Square at seven o’clock.”

“Oh,” Aya said and smiled brightly. “Wow, I actually have a date.”

Leliana laughed and Josephine tossed the phone back at Aya from across the table. Aya caught it between her palms and flicked open the app, reading through the conversation. She groaned.

“He’s going to expect a frilly poet,” Aya complained. Josie batted away my comment but glowed a little at the compliment.

“He is...rather dashing,” she sighed a little wistfully. Aya raised an eyebrow and shut down the app. 

“You sure you’d rather not go instead?” 

“No, no, no! He is expecting you. You go and have a lovely time, truly.” Josephine beamed at Aya and exchanged conspiratorial looks with Leliana. Aya sighed heavily and took another sip of her caramel drink. And so a frilly poet she would be.

Authors Note: This is a short excerpt from a WIP I’ve been working on sporadically as I write some of my other fics. It’ll eventually go up on my A03, but I want to get a bit farther along before I start posting chapters. Any way, here is the sneak peak :)

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

A Period Drama loosely based on TRR

As above, this story is VERY loosely based on TRR and is a fantasy acted out in Bastien’s head - or is it Sophia’s fevered dream?

Word Count 1359

A/N This is a change for me, though as I’m English and grew up steeped in works by the Brontes and Jane Austen, the dialogue comes easily to me. I’d be grateful for any feedback...

Prologue

The day after Valentine’s day, Bastien rose early and went off for his final meeting with Mark Potter, his counterpart at Holyrood house in Edinburgh, seat of the British Monarch Queen Elizabeth. Sophia had to amuse herself for the morning, as Drake and Riley had a flight to New York to catch, but Bastien had promised to be back for lunch and the rest of their day would be theirs. The following day the royal jet would take them home to Cordonia.

Sophia returned to the hotel at lunchtime and they had their meal in the lounge of their suite, looking over to the Castle at the top of the Royal Mile.

‘What did you do this morning?’ Bastien asked ‘I’d like to visit the Modern Art Gallery this afternoon’

‘I visited the Georgian house museum’ Sophia said ‘They laid the house out as it was in the 18th century in Regency times. All the time I worked here, I never went to see round it’

‘It sounds intriguing’ Bastien replied ‘What was it like?’

‘Life was very different then’ she smiled ‘The original owner lived there with his wife and two daughters. There was a film showing with a historical depiction of the time when the older daughter was ready to marry. Apparently she was paired off with an English sea captain, and I wondered what that might have been like. It was quite vivid’

‘Tell me more, theá mou’ Bastien smiled ‘I could imagine myself a making a bid for the hand of a young noblewoman in marriage’

------

‘So now we are husband and wife’ Captain Lykel said ‘I know you turned down many other suitors before me, so I am grateful to have passed your rigorous standards’ Elizabeth  smiled. Hr new husband was some six years her senior, but that was not unusual in Regency Scotland. Matches were generally made with respectable men of sufficient wealth to keep up the reputation of the young women of polite society.

‘I believe you are the better choice than the young man who courted me only a year ago’ she said ‘When I overheard him saying he wanted a biddable wife who would submit to him in all ways, all thoughts of romance fled from my mind’ Her thoughts went back to the evening she had hidden behind the curtains in her father’s library in order to surprise the young man who wooed her and had asked her father for her hand in marriage at the serviceable age of seventeen.

Her plan started to look foolish, as first one of the other guests entered – Captain Lykel, a few years her senior and a childless widower. He had married young and his wife had died when he was away at sea, fighting the French navy. She had drawn back into the shadows as he began to peruse the shelves for an unknown work when her beau and his friends entered, laughing and joking.

‘So, Duncan , you’ll be a married man by the end of the year. That will put paid to your visits to Mistress Reed’s establishment and the delights of the young doxies there’ one of them said loudly. Elizabeth  blanched at the revelation that her prospective husband visited women of ill repute, and shrank further into the window seat. She was suddenly horribly aware that Captain Lykel had seen the movement, and looked in her direction to gain eye contact with her for a split second before clearing his throat to announce his presence to the other men.

‘Ho, Captain Lykel, you have no wife, you should visit Mistress Reed’s house’ one of them laughed ‘It is a fine place, the ladies there are most accommodating’ Elizabeth could scarcely believe her ears – how could they speak so freely of women of easy virtue? The captain spoke up

‘You may excuse me, I indeed I am a widower and lack the comfort of female companionship, but you are yet to take a wife and should take care not to consort with women who are not welcome in polite society’ He replied, but Elizabeth ’s intended husband scoffed at him

‘I but practice with willing whores, Sir. My intended spouse is a delicate creature, and I doubt she will gain the skills that Mistress Reed’s practice. A wife is only good for bearing children and seeing to the running of one’s household.’

‘Surely you seek the companionship of an equal’ the Captain retorted ‘someone with whom you can converse on topics of interests and discuss the proper upbringing of your children?’ Duncan  had laughed, and his friends with him.

‘Surely you don’t think women are equal to men? For them to converse on an equal footing is the work of a deluded mind’ Elizabeth could scarcely believe to hear the true thoughts of the man who had made a bid for her hand in marriage. All her ideals and dreams were crumbling to dust at his crass utterances.

‘On the contrary, although women’s minds work differently, they complement ours. The companionship of an intelligent woman is something to be sought’ The Captain went on, and the group of young men laughed derisively

‘It is impossible for women to comprehend subjects of importance beyond childbearing and domestic matters’ Duncan  retorted ‘Someone of your age should surely have realised that by now – are you soft in the head? Perhaps your injury has addled your mind as well as slowed your gait’ He had gestured toward the older man, who Elizabeth realised walked with the aid of a cane. He inclined his head ruefully and she saw a scar on his cheek.

‘I was injured in the line of duty, defending my country and the life of my Captain. I assure you my injury has not affected the working of my mind’ he asserted ‘Perhaps were you to join the Navy and go to sea you might gain perspective on the nature of your existence’ he paused, then thoughtfully added ‘I am also a widower and know the nature of women far more than you.’ Duncan scowled and gestured to his friends.

‘I do not care to converse with one who is clearly not right in the head’ he said curtly ‘Come, let’s go back to the drawing room and join the other gentlemen. Sir James has good whiskey and cigars in plenty, as well as two eligible daughters. I look forward to calling this house my own once he has departed this world and left me his daughter and his fortune’ and with that, the young men departed. The Captain remained, and waited until the door had closed before standing by the curtain and speaking in a low voice.

‘I know you are there, Miss Elizabeth ’ he said ‘I am truly sorry you had to hear what has just been uttered by one who should have more respect for your delicate sensibilities. I will depart this room, have no fear that I will besmirch your reputation by remaining’

‘No please – stay a while’ she said softly ‘None will know we are alone together’

‘I fear we may be discovered, and for a young lady such as yourself, reputation is everything’ he replied.

‘Then at least do me the honour of conversing with me when the gentlemen rejoin the ladies’ she asked ‘I do not wish to talk with my intended. He has revealed his true nature, and I hope I may be able to turn down his offer of marriage.’ She indicated the book he had taken down from the shelf ‘I also see you appreciate the work of Burns. Please, bring the book with you. It is a favourite of mine and I may use it as an excuse to confer with you’ The Captain made a low bow

‘It will be my pleasure’ he said ‘You may guess that the comparison of mutual interests is something I seek most earnestly’ He turned and left the library, and Elizabeth waited for a little while before returning to the other ladies in preparation for the men coming back for the remainder of the evening of her father’s social gathering.

[pathos-logical]

One Picture, a Thousand Words

Roman is a wonder that cannot be put to words, Logan a marvel that ink cannot capture. They try anyway.

Hoo, this sure was a labor of love! Love because I love @bleepblopbloop56​ with all my heart and labor because HOLY HECK WAS THIS HARD TO WRITE. But never mind any of that, because HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my friend!!! I absolutely adore you, and I hope your year is as fantastic as you are!!!

Trigger warnings: Food mention; a joking mention of hallucinations. I think that’s it, but please tell me if I need to add something!!

There are a thousand words Logan could use to describe Roman. He would pull a Shakespeare and invent a thousand more if it meant finding a word that could accurately chronicle the tapestry of Roman, all colorful patches and carefully stitched seams. But Logan is no artist, and his words seem an inadequate medium. 

Beautiful, he thinks and immediately discards. That is too obvious, the truth of it plain to see. Lovely is- better. More intimate. But too soft, perhaps, for Roman’s flame-edged hair, the bronze of his skin and the steel in his spine.

He has tried countless words, none of them quite right. Larger-than-life. (And no, his charisma and magnetic smile absolutely did not excuse the way he didn’t seem to know how to shut up.) Captivating. (Roman did have a way with words, when he wasn’t being an idiot.) Extraordinary. (He was quite the artist and actor.) Brilliant. (Again, Roman was rather intelligent when it came down to it.) Perfect. (Technically impossible. But.)

All those words he longs to say, not one spoken aloud.

(Or- once. Alone in his room, he had tried the shape of mine on his mouth, thought about how it tasted on his lips and imagined the look in Roman’s eyes if he ever dared to say it in front of him. Once, and never again.)

Oh, he wishes. But Logan has always been better with words on the page than to other people.

Well, he thinks, looking down at the piece of paper in his hands, I suppose that’s what this is for. His eyes rove over the paper, skimming over phrases without really taking them in. If he reads it he’ll try to fix it, and at this point there’s too much of his heart in the words for him to change them.

He looks at the last paragraph. It’s the kind of declaration he sneers at in the romance novels Roman so adores, the kind of thing he would’ve sneered at barely years ago. But Roman always did have a way of making him question things he’d taken for postulates- himself included.

I tried, over the course of this letter, to pin down what exactly about you has drawn me so irrevocably into your orbit and left me floundering in unfamiliar space. However, as the length of this might indicate, I soon discovered that I could not.

You know me. It is very rare that I find myself lost for words. But I find myself unable to find the correct words to describe you, or even the correct words. Not because I have run out of things to say, or even because you have left me speechless, but because I could use a whole dictionary of love letters and fail to find the words that capture the way your eyes shine in the light when you laugh at your own jokes, and all the cliches in the world cannot express how I feel about every mundane, breathtaking thing about you.

But despite all that, I have three words for you, Roman, and I suppose there is no better day to deliver them than today (as of the day you receive this, at least).

I love you.

 Roman has a sketchbook no one but him has ever seen.

The drawings are all in pencil, and Roman aches to paint them, to mix his colors until he finds shades that will truly bring them to life. But Logan is a peculiar kind of monochrome, with his navy hair and black polo shirts and countless blue ties, and Roman fears that no amount of paint could do that justice.

It’s undeniable that the warm brown of Logan’s eyes is a color he itches to find in a colored pencil, that the almond of his skin is one he longs to see redden at his touch. But those aren’t the things he really wants to capture when he puts pencil to paper anyway. No, when he draws Logan, his focus is on the subtle gleam that comes to his eyes when he speaks about something he’s passionate about, the curl of his lips when his emotionless facade breaks at some stupid comment Roman made.

Roman wishes he could show Logan the notebook, sometimes, the days when his longing overpowers his surety in the fact that it could never be reciprocated. He imagines coffee-colored eyes looking through the pages with delight, taking in the devotion clear in the meticulous lines. He pictures the hands he’s spent hours perfecting skimming over paper, taking care not to smudge the lead.

(He sees disgust settling in the curve of Logan’s lips and rejection showing in the set of his shoulders, and he pushes away the thought and hides his notebook under his pillow, pretends that he hasn’t memorized the shape of Logan’s smile.)

But he doesn’t think of any of that today. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Roman is dressed for it. He dons his armor that he definitely did not spend a whole two hours deliberating on and sets out the door armed with a kind of desperate false bravado, which is immediately undermined by how he jumps at his roommate Patton’s encouraging “go get ‘im, tiger!” shouted through the walls.

Still scowling at the door behind him, Roman briefly debates how desperate a text will make him sound before deciding, screw it.

Hey, we still on for lunch at Cream of the Cup?

The reply is prompt, as always, and Roman makes a futile attempt at smothering the smile he knows is blossoming across his lips.

>> Of course.

I’ll see you then!

Roman can so do this.

Virgil I can’t do this

>> why not?? youve been planning this for weeks, youll bbe fine

actually, knowing you, orobably months

Jfkdkfkfkfk

it’s

LOGAN

>> im aware, weve only veen best friends for years now

… 

if yoy send a long rambling text ahout how wonderful logan is and how you dont deserve hkm im gonna lose it

roman i swear to god

HE’S JUST SO SMART AND AMAZING AND I’M JUST ME I DON’T DESERVE HIM AND WHAT IF I SCREW THINGS UP BETWEEN US FOREVER AND HE HATES ME OR WHAT IF IT’S AWKWARD I’M OKAY WITH JUST BEING FRIENDS REALLY HE PROBABLY DOESN’T EVEN LIKE ME THAT WAY ANYWAY I MEAN WHY WOULD HE

Whoops sorry

>> youre not

I’m not

But

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

>> okay roman, listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once. 

first of all, cut it with the self-deprecating crap. one, that’s my thing. and two, I WILL pull a patton and fight you.

stop doubting yourself, it doesn’t suit you

I might not have known you as long as I’ve known logan, but I know 

I can see you typing. shut up.

maybe I haven’t known you as long as I’ve known Logan, but I do know you’re a good guy, and you /clearly/ love him

KSKFKFKKFKGD W H A T

>> yes, everyone knows, no, Logan does not, LET ME FINISH

it means a LOT to him that you actually read the articles he sends you about mars rovers at 3 am and that you don’t tell him he’s annoying for infodumping about alpha centauri or whatever star system he’s planning to go to and that you deal with his hypocrisy about sleep schedules and his general inability to do emotions

also, knowing him for years means I know his type, and trust me, you’re it

and even if by some miracle he doesn’t like you back, you guys are too close to ruin your friendship. okay? so however this ends, I promise you’ll still be friends

>> But

ROMAN

listen, you don’t tune him out when he starts babbling, and he does the same for you. he loves listening to your rants about art theory, he goes to every single one of your shows, and he started learning Spanish just to impress you. yes, he’s learned more phrases than just insults, he’s just been hiding it so he can surprise (aka impress) you later

and roman? he really really does value your friendship. you know that we’ve known each other since forever, so you know I mean it when I say that I’ve NEVER seen him get so close to someone this quickly.

and… you’ve been good for him too, okay? he’s not really the type to get lonely, but that’s just because he gets so tied up in his giant brain he forgets there are people in the outside world to talk to. but it really is important to him that you’re always there for him, and… I can tell you right now that he’s told me how much he appreciates you for it

after all that? I’d say he loves you too, dude. go for it.

you can talk now

Holy heck you DO love me

>> eh

Holy HECK

Wait

Did you turn on autocorrect just to yell at me???

>> Only for you, babe.

Please never do that again

yeaj that was oncredibly unconfortable

now GO GET YOUR MAN

 Roman, for all his theatrics about love at first sight and true love’s kiss, hadn’t mentioned Valentine’s Day plans once in the weeks leading up to it. Then, exactly one week ago, he’d texted Logan with a simple request to meet up at a nearby cafe. Logan knew him too well to miss the possible connotations of such an invitation. But it was entirely possible that this was merely meant to be an outing between two friends. A platonic outing.

A platonic outing where there was barely room to stand, forget sit. Logan curses under his breath. He’d decided for once to not show up fifteen minutes early, as that would only give him more time to second-guess himself, especially as Roman was notorious for being chronically late. But he had failed to account for the obvious fact that, it being both a Saturday and Valentine’s Day, the usually quiet cafe is filled to the brim with couples ordering the heart-themed specials and kissing and generally clogging the air with sweet words and PDA. And no, Logan is not irrationally annoyed about this, he’s just worried he won’t be able to secure an empty table for him and Roman.

But just as the thought crosses his mind, he catches a familiar head of fiery hair at a table against the wall, bent over his phone and apparently completely absorbed by whatever he was looking at. An incredulous “Roman?” slips from his lips unbidden, because- well, Roman had once nearly been late to the first show he was the lead in. But there he was, reserving a table at exactly 12:30 with a croissant in front of him. Maybe today really was a day for miracles.

He watches with amusement as Roman jumps and looks up at the sound of his name. His face lights up as soon as he registers who it is, and Logan abruptly goes from amused to filled with some kind of fluttery warmth he doesn’t want to quantify.

“Logan!” Roman exclaims, hurriedly tucking his phone away. “Hey! How are you?” His smile beams out like the sun, but it dims upon Logan’s next words.

“Not well, unfortunately,” Logan informs him gravely. “I fear I have been having severe auditory and visual hallucinations. For example, I am currently experiencing one so vivid that I believe I am conversing with a friend in a cafe when I know that there is no chance of him being here yet.” Maybe Logan should feel bad about the way Roman’s expression morphs from worry to alarm to overblown outrage, but the challenging gleam in his eyes arrests him as surely as that of of Roman’s heart-shaped studs, and he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Hey, I’m not always late!” he protests so loudly several patrons turn to look at him, perhaps expecting a scene.

Logan can’t help the smirk that creeps across his face as he slides into the seat opposite Roman, surreptitiously tucking a navy blue folder besides him. Thank goodness for Roman being typically Roman and reserving a booth that could seat six for a party of two. “Roman. Once Virgil and I deliberately told you to meet up an hour after we were actually supposed to meet so that when you inevitably showed up late, it would only be by five minutes rather than fifty. And the very idea that you could be on time for something went so flagrantly against the laws of the universe that the universe struck back by making your car break down, and you missed the meeting entirely.”

“Is that what happened?” Roman asks, looking so genuinely gobsmacked that Logan can’t help the snicker that escapes him. Roman’s expression flips to one of self-satisfaction, and Logan tries to ignore the little burst of fondness in his chest at the sight. Even if the rest of today goes horribly, at least he can savor this easy banter between them.

And banter they do, debating over whether Logan’s physics professor or Roman’s marketing professor is more inept before commiserating over the “perpetual hell week” that is college. They bounce from the disappointing latest installment of one of Roman’s favorite series to a terrible documentary on aliens Logan had found on a “science” channel (“It’s called a having a basic grasp of eighth-grade geometry, Roman- which, unlike this nine-thousand year old civilization, these morons have clearly never achieved!”) to every little thing in between, their food forgotten in front of them.

It’s nothing special, technically- they’ve been friends for years now, and they often have talks about everything and nothing. But today Logan can convince himself that an electric current is charging the air between them, flushing Roman’s cheeks and lighting up his eyes as Logan is drawn in, helpless against his magnetism.

There’s no decisive moment where Logan thinks, this is it. There’s just Roman, his laughter like bells in the breeze, and Logan, gazing at him like he’d put the stars in the sky.

“Roman,” he says. That’s it- Roman.

Roman is still giggling at his rendition of the student who’d spilled their coffee on the drama professor on the first day, but he sobers at whatever look is on Logan’s face. “Hey- you good, Lo?”

The nickname catches at something in Logan’s chest, pulls it open so the next words come just a little harder, just a little easier. “Roman,” he says again, looking down. “I do not wish to… ruin the mood, but I have something to confess.”

(He’s looking down, so he misses the way Roman jumps at the last word.)

But when he meets Roman’s eyes, open and curious, Logan’s confidence abandons him. He exhales slowly in an attempt to regain some of the feeling from before, like the memory of Roman’s voice will fortify his. But all that comes out is: “I wrote- would you-” 

Logan’s throat fails him entirely, something a little like dread and a little like hope clogging it up. Without another word, he slides the folder he had kept tucked at his side to Roman. When Roman raises a curious eyebrow, Logan simply smiles- a quick, brittle thing- and motions for him to open it.

Earlier, the noise in the cafe had distracted Logan, had made him frown when it rose over Roman’s voice. But suddenly it all fades into the background, the chatter of voices and clatter of spoons receding in favor of the thwip of the folder opening, the little breath Roman takes when he reads the first two words.

Dimly, Logan thinks he must have used up all his words in the letter. His fingers lay still at his sides, mind is utterly blank as he watches Roman read it. But his heart is pounding loud enough that for an absurd second, he’s sure Roman can hear it in the sudden quiet.

Logan waits for a minute, maybe five. He thinks he’d wait for Roman forever if he asked. But Roman doesn’t make him wait that long, because when he looks up his eyes are wet with tears, and when Logan uselessly opens his mouth- to do what? His voice certainly hasn’t returned- Roman lurches forward, clumsy in a way Logan has never known him, and seals their lips with a kiss.

And when they finally draw apart, Logan thinks he’s regained his words (or maybe just these three), because they force themselves out of his lips like they’ve been waiting to do so since Logan said Roman’s name. And Roman, his face a study in the kind of shock and delight that can only come from a thought-to-be-hopeless dream coming true, returns them.

[galadrieljones]

That he may hold me by the hand: chapter 7

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 7: Nature. Romance. They ain’t the same.

Some days later, Arthur waited in the saloon with his journal and a beer, sketching the sunny windows of the place and a couple of the women sitting in them, like birds with their feathers and casting shadows. It was close to lunch time. With so much protected rest, he was feeling somewhat on the mend now, better all the time, and in truth, some parts of his consciousness had already begun to vacate his former life. Albert had sent one of the girls out to the doctor in town to pick up a supply of epsom salts, which Arthur soaked in a couple times a day. It was weird and the stuff made his skin feel tight and dry, but it helped. It really did. And he had been drawing so much, he could weirdly feel himself improving his art, which was a fucked-up sensation of massive proportion that he rarely felt privy to at all in his day-to-day.

Safety is an addictive drug. Arthur felt clean and fed and even in his moods. He rarely left the hotel. Albert went out quite often on his business with the gallery. They still had plans to visit the orchids in the Roanoke Valley as soon as Arthur’s riding chops returned, and his ribs improved. He estimated another week or so should do it. John and Mary Beth both knew exactly where he was and though he had not told them as much, he got the sense they knew the truth. It did not register with him in any nervous sense. He hoped they knew, even as he wondered what they thought of him. 

Arthur yielded so little in his life to those who thought they knew him. He wasn't sure why anymore. He just wanted for solace. He still heard the ringing in his ears sometimes, that which Colm O'Driscoll had put there, clapping his ears, breaking his bones. He'd been shot before, but only once had he been forced to cauterize his own wound in a darkened cellar with a taper candle. Sometimes he thought about how this one and single instant seemed to sum up his whole life. He tried not to dwell in that place for long though, as it was nonsense and self-pity. There were those who had it worse than him. There were those who loved him and who long had. And there was Albert Mason.

Sitting there that day, he was waiting for Albert to return from a meeting with the gallery-owner who had picked up a number of his photos to exhibit. The opening would be in a couple weeks time. The bartender came over for a little while to talk to him while shining up a glass, and one of the saloon girls brought him some food. He ate and read and sketched. At some point, he was getting ready to head upstairs, but suddenly then, he was no longer alone. Josiah Trelawny had appeared, sitting down across from him in all of his canny glory, mustache sculpted to its intimidating degree, one leg crossed over the other, looking quietly ecstatic.

“Mr. Morgan,” he said.

“Mr. Trelawny,” said Arthur, closing his journal. He held out his hand for a shake. “What the hell are you doing here.”

"I should wager the same to you. A sight for sore eyes you are, dear boy. Any sighting of Arthur Morgan in the wild is rare indeed.”

“I think you’re trying to flatter me,” said Arthur, “but you know I can’t always tell.”

“Only flattery with you, my friend,” said Josiah. He smiled and leaned. “Bandying about the high saloon of St. Denis, I see? Are you here for the gambling?”

Arthur chuckled. “No sir,” he said. “Or, not today at least.”

“You know we haven’t seen you around Clemens Point in a while,” he said. “Most are ignorant to your absence as usual, but considering the state of you last we saw, there’s some concern in the camp as to whether or not you’re okay.”

“I’m just fine.”

“I see that now.”

“How are you?” said Arthur. “You here visiting your wife?”

“Yes, I am,” said Josiah, softening. “Her bed is very warm, and her arms are very long. They go all the way around me, and I am no small man. She's a tall woman, my wife."

"I did not know that."

"Well, now you do. And after my run-in with those ingrate bounty hunters a couple months back, I am in the market for comfortable sleeping with tall women who love me.”

“Yeah, I know that sort of feeling,” said Arthur, looking down at his hands. "Quite well."

This seemed to interest Josiah. He straightened off the back of the chair and leaned forward with his hands folded neatly on the table. “Mr. Morgan.”

“What?”

“Excuse me for prying,” he said, “but may I be so bold as to inquire…are you seeing someone?”

Somewhere across the bar, a woman threw her drink in the face of a man, spat on his shoes, and stormed out the double-doors. The music stopped momentarily while the man stood in disbelief, dripping from his beard, but then it started up again moments later, and the room resumed its mid-day debauchery as if nothing had happened at all.

“Am I what?” said Arthur.

“Have you taken a lover?" said Josiah. "In St. Denis. You've got a kept look about you at the moment.”

"Oh,” said Arthur, smiling. “Kept, huh?”

"Indeed,” said Josiah. He lowered his voice then, smiling in secret. “It’s not Mary, is it? I know she was here, in the city.”

Arthur found this amusing. “No. No, it ain't Mary.”

“Then who is she?”

Arthur smiled, kind of nonplussed. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. He looked around. The saloon was about half-full. There was a poker game going on over by the window. He leaned against the table and felt a little silly. It seemed silly to recall it out loud. “He’s a…nature photographer. He’s in town on business, and I met him some months back over in West Elizabeth, randomly. It was…maybe a week or so before that time we busted Sean free from them bounty hunters over in Blackwater. He hails from Philadelphia originally, and he’s quite decent.”

Josiah had not blinked. He was staring. Then he blinked many times in a row as if accomplishing his bearings and processing what he had just heard. “Why, Mr. Morgan,” he said. “I had no idea you kept the company of gentlemen. I’m so very sorry for my assumption.”

Arthur waved him off. “No reason to apologize,” he said. “Truth be told, you were right in your assumptions, until now. This entire thing has taken me by complete surprise. Both me and him, I reckon.”

“Does anyone else know?” said Josiah. “About why it is you’ve been so absent from our camp?”

“Not really,” said Arthur. “Or, well, Mary Beth, maybe. John. They might've guessed by now. I can’t be sure. I’ve never told anyone outright, not till now. It ain’t that I’m ashamed. It’s just that—it’s a relationship that is away from all that. It don’t belong to nobody but me. I ain’t had that so much in my life, Josiah, and I ain’t eager to share.”

“I understand. This information is safe with me, Arthur.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you.”

One of the saloon girls came over then, took their orders. Josiah ordered a glass of bourbon. Arthur just ordered a bottle of beer. “You know, I’ve dallianced with men in the past,” said Josiah, examining his nails. “Before I met my wife of course. I chose her, but there was a time when I was more or less in the wind.”

“Seriously?” said Arthur.

“Oh, yes. Love is love, dear boy. Sometimes, it just takes the shape we least expect.”

Arthur grinned at this, holding his beer with both hands. “I suppose you’re right. I just never thought of it like that.”

“Until now,” said Josiah.

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Until now.”

The saloon girl came over with their drinks. Josiah paid for them both and tipped her generously. “To you,” said Josiah, to Arthur. They toasted and drank. Josiah took out a deck of cards, which he proceeded to shuffle. He showed Arthur a new magic trick he had invented, and told him that he was planning a visit to the orphanage in town that very day, to do a magic show.

"That is mighty generous of you, Mr. Trelawny.”

“Well, I try to do my part.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, as if nervous.

That is when Albert arrived and approached the table, smiling in his gracious manner. He said hello to Arthur, and Arthur stood upon his arrival until Albert urged him to sit back down. Josiah did not move.  

“Mr. Mason,” he said, fully surprised. They shook hands. “Fancy seeing you here again. Are you back for the cards? You know beginner’s luck only applies once, my dear boy. You’ll need skill if you’re to rake once more, and skill takes practice.”

Albert laughed at this, visibly blushed. “No, sir,” he said. “I’m afraid my days as a card shark have passed. I’d prefer to go out on a high note.”

“Very smart,” said Josiah. He then glanced to Arthur. “Mr. Mason, meet my dear friend, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur looked down at the cards on the table, smiling at them, and then back to Albert, and then to Josiah.

Albert removed his hat from his head. “Yes, we’ve met,” he said. “Though I didn’t know the two of you knew one another.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Josiah.

“Mr. Trelawny and I go way back,” said Arthur to Albert. “A decade or more if I ain’t mistaken.”

“Good heavens,” said Albert. “It is quite the coincidence then.”

Josiah was staring, at the two of them, seeming to come into a slow but certain realization. He looked at Albert. “Mr. Mason, you wouldn’t happen to be a nature photographer, would you?”

“Why, yes,” said Albert. “I am. Why do you ask?”

Josiah gazed at Arthur. “No reason.” He smiled. “Well, I should be on my way,” he said. He got up, placed his hat atop his head. “Mr. Mason, it was wonderful seeing you again. Stay sharp. And Mr. Morgan, it is always a pleasure with you. I’m glad to see that you’re healing.”

“Yeah, don’t get too excited.”

“I certainly will,” he said. “I’ll let slip to Dutch, too, that you’re on a job of high esteem.”

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you anyway.”

“Adieu, good sirs,” he said, and then he bowed and went away.

When they were alone but for the sounds of the room and the horses outside on the cobblestone, Albert stood for a moment, full of social grace. He then set his hat on the table and his valise on the floor, and he sat down across from Arthur. They kept their hands tucked into their laps for a while, and then Arthur folded his on the table. They looked down at the table cloth and then up at one another. Arthur took a deep breath. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mason,” he said.

Albert fumbled for words. He felt himself blushing to an ungentlemanly degree. He then looked up at Arthur and said, “You look good today. Your color. I'm sorry I missed you this morning.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Arthur. He took a breath. “So, Josiah—that’s the magician who taught you cards is it.”

“Yes, sir. It certainly is a strange bit of happenstance.”

Arthur found this amusing. “Yeah, I should've figured.” He took a drink of his beer, straightened his pencil, set his journal aside. “How was your meeting?”

“It was good,” said Albert, loosening up a little. He exhaled. “They’re very happy with my work, which is both exciting but also entirely confounding. I hope you’ll accompany me to the opening.”

This seemed to catch Arthur undone. He was flattered. “Sure,” he said, nodding. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Splendid,” said Albert, watching him. The eyes, their blue. He got lost. Arthur paid his tab from earlier, tucked his journal into his pocket. Then he picked up Albert’s valise. They went upstairs.

It was this day that marked the end of a time in which Albert could say that Arthur had not been inside him. His strength returned with enough rest and stability, Arthur bent Albert to the bed, removed his clothes and his composure completely. The lid gone to the petroleum jelly, he went so slow as to induce some kind of physical, emotional ecstasy. Agonizing. They made a beautiful mess of one another, ordered lunch, and took a very long bath and did not again emerge from the second floor of the saloon until after nine-pm.

When they went back downstairs, they bought a bottle of wine. It was so strange, as it seemed their world had become small, a diorama of what it had been before. They had become city men, indoor men, just for a little while. For Albert, this sort of thing was old hat, but for Arthur, it was new. They shared the wine with the bartender who talked them into a few impromptu hands of blackjack, and of course, Arthur won every time, almost to an embarrassing degree. It did not even seem to register, how easy it was for him. His intelligence escaped him, past the decades of pain he hid away beneath his quiet armor. And he was just so good at these sorts of things, thought Albert. His gunslinger.

That night, they lay in Albert’s bed, a little wine drunk and high. One of the bar girls had shared with them her bounty of hash cigarettes, and they took to it dreamily, paid her triple. Arthur was drawing something—some sort of tree. Perhaps a tupelo. Hanging from its branches were all of these dreamcatchers. Albert watched, and then he read sometimes, this tremendous novel of awful cynicism called McTeague. It was brand new and terribly unromantic. Almost Darwinian. He had only just picked it up that very day. He read parts of it out loud to Arthur who laughed it off.

“Of course the huge, idiotic brute named McTeague is gonna get the girl in a book like that,” he said, shading his picture with the flat edge of the pencil. “Of course. That ain’t nice, that sort of Realism. You go reading long enough, she’ll probably end up dead, the girl. I’ll bet he kills her. For money, convenience, something stupid like that. Fortune favors the angry, Albert. You want for that which is simple enough, and you go to it, angry enough, you’ll get it, no matter how many folks’ lives you end in the process, including your own. That’s just evil in a world that don’t care. I know all about that.”

“Have you read this already?” said Albert.

“No,” said Arthur. “But I know what kind of book that is. I can just tell.” He finished his drawing, and he closed his journal. He looked at Albert, got quiet and he took his hand. “I don’t want that life no more,” he said. "I mean it."

Albert kissed him, soft. He still knew very little of what Arthur did, only who Arthur was. To him. He said, “Let me be good to you. You’ve always been good to me.”

“Good to you, sure,” said Arthur. “But good for you?”

“You let me be the judge of that.”

Arthur smiled. “Okay, Mr. Mason.”

There was a knock on the door then. A pounding, eager and loud, startling them both. Albert looked at his watch. It was after midnight. “Who could that be?”

They got up, dressed in their night clothes. Arthur removed himself to the sitting room, on his guard. Albert answered the door. It was John Marston.

“John?” he said. “What’s the matter? Is everything all right?”

“No,” he said. He looked disheveled and had a long, bloody cut on his hand which he had wrapped in a stained linen handkerchief. “I'm sorry to disturb. I truly am, but is Arthur here?”

“Yes. Please come in.” Albert stepped aside.

Arthur knotted his hair off his face. John came in, looking terrified, like absolute shit. “John,” said Arthur. "What's going on?"

“It’s Jack,” said John.

“What about Jack?”

“He’s missing,” said John. He looked away, as if in shame. He dropped his head into his hands. "Got kidnapped."

“Kidnapped?”

“Kieran said he didn’t think nothing of it—they was outside camp,” said John.

"Who was?"

“Braithwaites. He came back to report on them, and he said something, but it was too late. Abbie is—she ain’t doing good, Arthur.” He was near on crying. Arthur went to him. He placed his hand on John’s shoulder, leaned in to study his busted up face, his eyes, steadied him hard. “It’s all coming home,” said John, shaking his head. “It’s all coming home, brother. Sean is dead.”

“What?”

“There was an ambush in Rhodes,” John continued. “He got blown away. Now, Jack. I’m sorry. I—I wouldn’t’ve come. I know you got—” He looked at Albert, who was watching the carpet on the floor between. He appeared to be fraught, concerned, but he did not meet John’s eyes. He maintained his distance and waited in silence. John looked back to Arthur. “I need you,” he said, laid bare. "Will you help me?"

Arthur said, “You wait downstairs. I will be right there.”

Tornadoes always hit in the dullest part of the afternoon, in the humidity of summer when suddenly a cool wind blows through, and you look up, and there’s green in the sky.

“Who is Jack?” said Albert as Arthur dressed. “Is that John’s son?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. "He's just a kid. He's little."

“My god.”

“I will be back as soon as I can.”

“I have money, Arthur. If there’s a ransom, or—”

But Arthur cut him off, buckling his holster. It was the first time he’d even lifted it from the ground in a week. “It ain’t about money, Mr. Mason,” he said, very cavalier. He kissed him. “I assure you. It’s like I said before, evil in a world that don’t care. But know that I am grateful for the offer. I am.”

Albert held back. He wasn’t sure why. Truth be told, he was terrified, but he was afraid to communicate this to Arthur now. He saw him to the door and held it inside. “Be safe, dear friend,” he said, holding himself upright against the frame. “Please be safe.”

[scullyy]

Valentine’s Day?

Title: Valentine’s Day?

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 1364

Summary: How does one celebrate Valentine’s Day during the apocalypse? Louis tries to make the gift straight from the heart.

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day you lovely people! I thought I’d throw this simple yet fluffy one-shot out there to celebrate the day. Even if you don’t have a valentine, tell your friend you love them, tell your parents, do something nice for yourself! Enjoy  :)

If you want I’ll be your valentine mkay just saying slide into my inbox xx

-

His morning began so nicely, the sun was shining in the sky with not a cloud in sight. There were even some birds chirping in the distance. Louis took in a deep breath, he dreamed of this kind of weather. But of course Violet had to spoil it all.

“Did you realise that today is Valentine's Day? I forgot that was a thing.”

Louis felt the panic grow from his bones, a completely different reaction to Violet. “Excuse me? Today...is Valentine's Day?” Please no, please no, please no-

She took another small bite from her apple, not seeming to care about the holiday. “That’s what Aasim said, you know his calendar is never wrong.”

Louis hit the top of his head, jolting his thoughts awake. “Fuck, he’s probably preparing something awesome for Ruby. That’s it, I need to start looking at that calendar more.”

Violet nodded along. “You’ve always been into the romantic shit, any plans for Clem?” She failed to mention how she busted Clementine frantically picking flowers earlier, seems like both had forgotten about the holiday.

“Well, it’s hard to make plans when you forget the day,” He ran a hand this his bed hair, him and Clem had only been together for a short amount of time, would it be too much to do something? “Should I give her a gift?"

Violet chucked the apple core onto the ground. "What would you even give her? Not like there's a store you could go to and even if by some chance you had chocolates hidden away I'd be beating your ass for not sharing." She couldn’t help but feel jealousy wrap it’s greedy claw around her heart. Minnie never seemed to care this much, then again Violet herself never pressed the issue.

"I am so screwed,” His heart hammered deep from within his chest. Clementine deserved something! Maybe a drawing? Not original enough, AJ seemed to have a drawing for her every night. A performance? Something artsy? “I’ve got it!”

Violet rolled her eyes, she didn’t want to spend her day talking about romance, let alone hearing Louis of all people talk about it. She kept her stare on the bugs that chomped away at what was left of the apple.

The impatient man cleared his throat. “Please Louis, go ahead and tell me,” Louis impersonated his buddy as best as he could, his voice cracking slightly. “You still have Sophie’s craft supplies?”

“Tenn has them, what are you trying to do? He doesn’t have a lot of stuff, the best you could do is a sock bunny.” 

“Are you still annoyed at me for that? I told you a hundred times, I’m sorry that I used your sock for my art project. Anyhow,” Louis tugged at his coat in an elegant fashion, he could see Clem's face now. All lit up with a lovely smile, maybe even a dusty pink blush? Man now that's a sight to behold. "Excuse me, dear Violet, I have a...uh...something to make! I’ll figure it out."

Vi saluted him as he ran over to Tenn's table. "Catch you later Lou."

Tenn and AJ were minding their own business when Louis flew himself onto their table, frightening the young boys. "Sorry to interrupt, can I borrow some art stuff Tenn?"

Tenn briefly looked at his box of supplies. "Sure, what for?"

"I need to make a Valentine's Day gift for Clementine," He pulled the box towards him and began to dig through the mess. "Sorta last minute I know."

AJ scratched the side of his head with the blunt pencil in his hand. "What's that?" Louis always seemed to know everything, however the mystery of the Leprechaun was still shrouded in darkness. 

"It's a day where people appreciate those they care about, a day to celebrate love." Valentine's Day at the Louis household consisted of overly priced gifts and a pair of diamond earrings that always replicated the one from the year prior. His father was a man of unoriginal taste.

"Oh, love." AJ smiled at the answer. Love sounded so...so...magical, based off what Clementine had told him in the past. 

Louis came across a small ball of string and a goldmine of plastic charms. There was one of a daisy, the sun, a bright pink heart and even a frog. "Jeez, who the hell thinks of these designs?" He slid one of the charms onto the weak string, immediately straightening his back as an idea shot through him. “That’s it!”

One by one the charms joined together along the string, he made sure the neon heart was in the centre. After tying the ends of the string together, Louis brandished his creation. “It doesn’t look like much but I once caught Clem eyeing down a broken bracelet she found when we were on patrol not long ago. She seemed to enjoy it.”

“What does it do?” AJ asked. What good could a few pieces of plastic do together? Love is weird.

Louis hid it inside his pocket. “It’s called a bracelet. People would wear them for style and flair.”

“Flair?”

Louis shot AJ down before he could keep going. “We’re gonna be here all day at this rate, do you know where Clem is?”

Tenn pointed at the school. “I heard her telling Ruby something about the piano room, she might still be there.” He also heard something about flowers but he wasn’t sure what that was about.

“Thank you, my dudes, onward we go.” Louis quickly wiped the dirt away from his pants, trying to look as presentable as possible. His steps were broad as he headed into the piano room, Clementine’s voice grew louder as he got closer. He knocked on the door whilst poking his head in, breaking the girl out of her thoughts.

“May I interrupt?”

She quickly hid something behind her back, swaying side to side innocently. “Sure Lou, what brings you here?” Her legs almost gave way beneath her, why was this so nerve-wracking? 

Louis kept his steps slow as to draw out the suspense, if he was going to do this he was going to be as dramatic as possible. “Would you believe that today is Valentine’s Day? A day where we tell those we care about just how much we care about them. I’m going to guess that you’re already aware of how much you mean to me, but I’m still going to say it,” He coughed loudly as he pulled the bracelet out. “Oh my darling Clementine, I am very glad to have the privilege of knowing you. If you ever break up with me I may just lose my mind.”

She tried to stifle a laugh as best as she could. “Well then, I promise not to break up with you anyways,” Her eyes travelled down to the bracelet held tightly in his hand. “What’s that?”

Louis opened up his palm to reveal her present, it shined beneath the flecks of sunlight pouring in. “I know it isn’t fancy and it’ll probably break after a week,” He slid the bracelet over her small wrist, it hung off her skin perfectly. “But it’s the thought that counts, right? Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Clementine ran her fingers along the plastic charms, her jaw was hurting from smiling so hard. "I love it, did you make it?"

He shrugged as if it was no big deal. "I did. Tenn let me use his art supplies, AJ even supervised me." The bright, clean colours stood out against the dry dirt on her wrist.

"Well, I actually have something for you too," Clementine revealed the hand hidden behind her back and flashed him a wide variety of flowers. Having Violet catch her in the act was embarrassing, it would certainly be something the girl would bring up again in the future. So much for her stoic reputation.

Louis slowly took the small bouquet, inhaling the sweet smells it gave off. "Thank you, Clementine."

She pulled him into a hug, her hands draped over his shoulders loosely. "Happy Valentine's Day Lou, I'm glad I get to spend it with you."

[kawaiikichi]

Slow Dance With Me in Silence (Saiouma)

Saiouma “Dance with me” from the Valentine’s Day Starters list for @redes22! I hope you like it and let me know if you would like anything changed/edited! :)

Based off of the request below:

Title: Slow Dance With Me in Silence

Prompt: “Dance with me.”

Summary: During Hope’s Peak Academy’s Valentine’s Day dance, Shuichi watches as Kokichi slips out into the hall. He follows after him and sooner or later, the two of them find themselves in each other’s arms, dancing to their own rhythm...

One-Shot Notes: Non-Despair AU where they are all attending Hope’s Peak; they still have their talents

One-shot is under the cut!

The Hope’s Peak Academy Valentine’s Day dance only started forty-five minutes ago and Shuichi already wanted nothing more than to go back to his dorm room and pore over the recent case that he was given.

Sure, he didn’t mind being able to hang out with his friends. But, going to dances just weren’t his thing.

Especially since he felt like he was fifth wheeling on his friends’s dates.

Kaito and Maki were conversing near the punch bowl, Kaito throwing in some casual flirting here and there while Rantaro and Kaede danced on the gym floor to an Ed Sheeran song. Shuichi found himself in the far corner of the gym, a cup of punch in his hand.

He took small sips, eyes darting around the gym as he heard Kaito call out to him.

“Yo, bro!” he called out.

“Momota-kun...” Shuichi trailed off as Kaito and Maki approached him.

“Why are you standing in the corner like that? Have some fun and dance with us!” Kaito said.

“Yeah, don’t be such a wallflower.” Maki stated.

“I’m fine! This is your date, after all. I don’t want to intrude anymore than I already am...” he trailed off.

“You’re not intruding on anything at all. This isn’t even a date. It’s just a get-together between friends.” Maki pointed out, placing her hands on her hips.

“Yeah, what she’s saying! So, come on! Dance with us for a bit!” Kaito said.

“No, no, I’m good. Besides, I’m not that good at dancing.” Shuichi told them.

“We’re not good at it, either.” Maki stated.

“Come on, bro! Let’s go have some fun!” Kaito pleaded as he attempted to drag Shuichi towards the crowd of students dancing.

“Ah! Wait, you’re gonna make me spill my drink!” Shuichi exclaimed.

“Now you’re just making excuses to not dance for a bit.” Maki stated bluntly.

“That’s not it!” Shuichi sighed. “Okay, fine. You guys win. I’ll join you two in a little bit.” he said.

“Sweet! We’ll be waiting for you, then!” Kaito declared.

He took Maki’s hand and dragged her over to dance. Shuichi watched how Maki played with her ponytail, cheeks puffed out cutely as Kaito took her hand and they began to sway to the song.

“Yeah, I’ll join them, alright...” he muttered as he took another sip from his cup.

He continued to observe as he spotted a familiar purple-haired male weaving through the crowd.

“Ouma-kun...?” he questioned in surprise.

I thought he said he wasn’t going to come to the dance, he thought to himself.

He finished off his drink and began to follow after him.

Maybe I’ll go talk to him. Besides, I needed to step out for some air, anyway, he thought to himself.

He weaved through the crowd of students, approaching the exit moments later. Pushing the door open, he stepped out into the hallway.

“Oh? Saihara-chan?”

Shuichi looked over to his right and spotted Kokichi, who was leaning up against the wall.

“Ouma-kun...” he trailed off.

“My, what a coincidence! I didn’t think we’d stumble into each other here!” Kokichi chirped.

“Indeed...” Shuichi placed his hands in his pants pockets. “I thought you said you weren’t going to come to the dance?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh, that? Yeah, I lied.” Kokichi replied.

“You lied?”

“Yuuuuuuuup! Come on, Saihara-chan, I thought you knew me by now! I’m a certified liar through and through!”

“Ah, yes...I should’ve known...”

Shuichi moved to lean against the wall beside him.

“So? Who’d you come with?” he asked.

“Mmmm...I came with Amami-chan, Keebaby, and that annoying little piglet. But, they all broke away the moment we got there. Amami-chan went to go find his piano nerd of a girlfriend and then the piglet dragged Keebaby off to god knows where. So, I’ve kinda just been wandering around.” Kokichi explained.

“I see...so you’re a fifth wheel, as well...” Shuichi murmured under his breath.

“Hm? Fifth wheel?” Kokichi questioned.

“Ah, I ended up coming with Momota-kun, Harukawa-san, and Akamatsu-san. As soon as we got there, they kind of went their own ways. Like, I did follow Momota-kun and Harukawa-san around for a bit, but then they went off and did their own thing. So, I’m pretty much by myself.” Shuichi explained.

“Oh, I see. But, that’s quite unexpected, Saihara-chan.” Kokichi twirled some hair around his finger. “I thought you would’ve had a date.” he noted.

Shuichi shook his head.

“No, I don’t have one.” he said.

“You didn’t have someone you wanted to ask out to the dance?” Kokichi asked.

“I did, but they already made it clear that they had no intention on going. And besides, I’m pretty sure that they don’t feel the same way about me. It would just be weird if I suddenly asked them to be my date to the dance.” Shuichi replied.

“Heh...so, Saihara-chan has a crush.” Kokichi grinned. “How cute.” he commented.

Shuichi swore his heart skipped a beat at Kokichi’s small grin. He swallowed, shooing those feelings away as he spoke.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me? Yeah, I have someone I like.” Kokichi replied.

“You do, huh...” Shuichi trailed off.

“I didn’t ask them out to the dance, though.” Kokichi said.

“How come?” Shuichi asked.

“Same reason you didn’t ask your crush out to the dance. Well, excluding the whole ‘they had no intention on going’ part, that is.” Kokichi began examining his fingernails. “In a way, I guess I was hoping for them to be the one to ask me out. However, that never happened.” he explained.

Shuichi eyed Kokichi as he started chuckling to himself.

“Gosh, this is so ridiculous...why was I even trying to get my hopes up, to begin with?” Kokichi looked at Shuichi. “You think I’m pathetic, don’t you? For whining over something so stupid.” he said.

“No, I don’t. I don’t find you pathetic at all. I’m pretty sure that’s normal for someone who’s here alone at the dance.” Shuichi told him.

Kokichi scoffed.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” he said, averting his gaze from him.

Shuichi furrowed his brows as he began to think.

He’s not showing it, but he really seems upset by the fact that he came to the dance alone. I’m sure he wanted to come with the person that he likes, have fun with them, and dance the night away with them, he thought to himself.

He bit his lip.

He truly hated seeing Kokichi down in the dumps like that.

“Then...dance with me.” he said.

“Huh? Saihara-chan—“ Before Kokichi could finish his sentence, Shuichi took Kokichi’s hand in his and he pulled him close, his other hand moving to rest on Kokichi’s hip.

“You wanted to dance, didn’t you?” Shuichi asked.

“I never said—“

“I can see it in your eyes, Ouma-kun. You may think you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you can’t hide them from me.”

Kokichi swallowed, slowly lowering his gaze to Shuichi’s chest.

“Here, follow my lead. I’ll guide.” Shuichi offered as he brought Kokichi’s other hand up to his shoulder.

Then, they began to dance. The music from the gym was faint, but rather than dance to the music playing inside, they began dancing to their own rhythm. Their steps were awkward, the two of them stepping on each other’s feet and bodies bumping into each other.

Kokichi chuckled as he looked up at Shuichi.

“You know, when you offered to lead, I thought you knew how to dance. Seems I was wrong.” Kokichi commented.

“I’m trying, okay?” Shuichi said.

“Nishishi~! Welp, I can at least commend you for trying!” he chirped.

Shuichi sighed as they took a step backwards and turned. As they continued to dance, he began to observe Kokichi.

Now that he was holding him in his arms, he realized just how small the supreme leader was. His body was slender and fragile, reminding Shuichi of a porcelain doll. Every feature of Kokichi was pretty from the way he did his hair, his purple eyes that sparkled like stars, the curve of his lips, and the clothes that he wore.

Shuichi noticed that his gaze kept falling to the supreme leader’s lips. They were plush and pink, which made them look very kissable.

Shuichi felt his cheeks turn warm at the thought.

No, as much as you want to, you can’t do it! Besides, it’s not like he likes you that way, anyway, he mentally scolded.

But, Shuichi was finding it awfully hard to draw his gaze away. They took a couple of steps back and turned once more as Shuichi finally moved his gaze back up to Kokichi’s eyes. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Kokichi’s cheeks, which had taken on a bright shade of pink.

He’s blushing...that’s actually really cute, he thought to himself.

He bit his lip.

Dammit, now I want to kiss him even more, he thought to himself.

They began to sway side to side in circles as Kokichi’s hand slowly moved up the side of Shuichi’s neck to cup his cheek. Shuichi’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the action.

“Ouma-kun...?” he spoke.

They stopped under a paper flower arch that the art club made for the dance.

“Saihara-chan...” Kokichi murmured.

Shuichi watched as Kokichi got on his tiptoes and closed the distance between them. Shuichi stilled at the sensation of Kokichi’s lips against his own.

He’s...kissing me, he thought to himself.

Shuichi began to kiss back, pulling Kokichi closer to him. He let the world melt away, focusing on the sweet scent that lingered around Kokichi and the feeling of Kokichi’s lips moving against his own.

They pulled apart after a few minutes. Shuichi ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he watched Kokichi lower his gaze to the ground.

“That was...” Shuichi trailed off.

“Did you...hate it?” Kokichi murmured, his voice hesitant.

“No, I didn’t hate it! Actually...I kind of liked it.” Shuichi admitted, his cheeks flushing red.

“I see...” Kokichi trailed off.

Shuichi watched as Kokichi’s cheeks also turned red.

Aaaaaagh, he looks so adorable when he blushes, he thought to himself.

“If it’s alright with you...can I kiss you again?” Shuichi asked.

“H-Huh? You want to kiss me again?” Kokichi stammered out.

“Yeah.” Shuichi leaned in, brushing their noses together. “Can I?” he whispered.

He felt Kokichi tremble a little as his breath ghosted over the supreme leader’s lips.

“Yeah...yeah, you can...” he murmured softly as Shuichi brought their lips together in another kiss.

[harley-sunday]

The Draw (09)

Summary: The whirlwind starts at the 2018 ACE Comic Con in Phoenix but you’re not sure where it will end...

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings: Language.

Word count: 2653

AN: This one’s beautiful and sad and not really suited for Valentine’s Day but I hope you like it anyway. Let me know what you think :) I don’t have a taglist, but if you follow Harley Sunday x Sebastian Stan you should see any update I post.

Masterlist

You whisper something about knowing the perfect spot for ‘Tomorrow’ then and hurry to your feet, leaving a stunned Sebastian behind. Of course it’s just a bullshit excuse but at least it gives you a moment alone so you can try to make sense of everything that has happened in the last two hours. So far you’re failing miserably though and you feel bad for running out on Sebastian like that, so you actually do what you set out to do in attempt to make you feel better.

“There,” you say to no one in particular once you’ve rearranged the frames on the shelf that’s in between the two big windows in the hall, allowing them to accommodate your newest addition. You take a step back, wanting to admire the new set up, when you bump into Sebastian, who must have followed you here.

His hand is on the small of your back then, keeping you from stumbling backwards any further, his mouth close to your ear, “Careful,”

You nod, trying to ignore the heat that seems to be radiating from where he’s touching you, instead focusing on the painting again, trying to decide if you like the way it’s displayed, when he drops his hand and you have to fight the urge to grab it and put it back.

“I get it,” he says quietly.

You turn to him and find him staring at the painting, a smile playing on his lips.

“When I went to pick it up at the art gallery and the girl showed it to me,” he shakes his head and chuckles, “it really did put a smile on my face. Just like you said it would.” He must anticipate your question before you even have a chance to ask it and continues, “I found the card on the desk in your hotel room and I don’t know,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair, “I remembered how happy you were when you were talking about it and I just want you to feel like that every day.”

“Thank you.” It comes out barely a whisper and you actually open your mouth to say more but then your mind’s racing again, a million questions popping into your head and you don’t know really know how or where to start.

The silence is deafening for a moment before Sebastian breaks it with a soft, “Where’s your head at?”

You shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts before you answer. “I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I think we do.”

Putting the inevitable off a little longer you busy yourself making a fresh brew of coffee after you’ve asked him if he’d like another round, your back to him as you will the machine to go slower and slower and slower. It doesn’t of course, and so you turn around sooner than you want, handing him what seems to be his cup now, his fingers brushing your hand as he takes it from you. You lean against the counter, hugging your own cup of coffee close to your chest. You wonder if you should move things to the living room, or even sit down at the dining table, but then figure the kitchen is as good a place as any to have this conversation.

There’s not a lot of space between the two of you, with him leaning against the counter opposite to you, and your gaze drops to your feet, his just inches away from yours, and you can’t help but smile when you see you’re both wearing black Converse, even though yours are little worse for wear.

“Hey,” he toes your shoe with his then, making you look up at him, and he smiles, simply stating “I like you.”

“And I like you,” you admit easily.

“But?” he says at the same time as you do.

“But,” you reply, “I just can’t do this right now.” You drop your gaze back to your feet, his shoe still touching yours, “Don’t get me wrong, Los Angeles was amazing and I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done, but,” you take a moment to gather your thoughts, “it’s just, with Nathan in the hospital and Jake being here, I don’t know, it would feel like my focus isn’t on them right now, you know? And I don’t want to half-ass things with you either, but it feels like it has to be one or the other.” You all but slam your cup down on the counter out of frustration and run your hands over your face before you continue, “I feel like maybe if we had more time before all this happened it would be easier. I mean, I know that probably doesn’t make any sense-”

“It kind of does,” he says so quietly that you doubt you’ve even heard him right but then he pushes himself off the counter and gently places his pointer finger under your chin, making you look up at him, “It’s ok.”

You just shake your head, not trusting your own voice.

“It is,” he counters, a sad smile on his lips, dropping his hand, “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here-”

“Sebastian,”

“No, hear me out, ok?” He smiles then, “It’s my turn now,” but the sentiment doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I get it, and honestly, I agree. I think it would have been easier if we’d known each other longer, but,” he shrugs, “it is what is, you know? And the truth is I really like you and I really wanted to see you again but the reason I couldn’t wait any longer is ‘cause I’m leaving tomorrow. We’re doing press in Europe and Asia for the next two weeks.”

“Oh,”

He rubs his neck, his eyes never even leaving yours, “I just wanted to know if we were good and maybe see if there’s a future for us,” a sad smile on his lips now, “I think maybe I should have given you some space, because if anything I just made this harder.”

“So we could have this conversation two weeks from now?” You hate the way it comes out as an accusation and so you make sure your voice is softer when you say, “Maybe this just isn’t meant to be,”

“But we never even tried,” he counters.

“I know,” you whisper, and your heart, oh your heart breaks when you continue, “but I really can’t right now.”

Your text to Lauren is short.

911

“Babe?”

You want to call out to her but just hearing her voice brings on a fresh set of tears.

She must have heard you though, because she pretty much runs up the stairs and is kneeling in front of you mere seconds later. She takes one of your hands in hers, the other gently wiping away your tears, her eyes filled with worry.

“Where’s Jake?” you manage in between sobs, not wanting your nephew to see you like this.

She smiles one of her reassuring smiles, “I dropped him off at the hospital with your parents and asked if they could take him tonight, told them you had food poisoning from some takeout we ordered after we took Jake to McDonald's.” She laughs then, “Told Jake I would buy him his body weight in ice cream if he doesn’t tell anyone about your unexpected visitor. Oh, and Nathan says hi, by the way.”

You nod, because honestly it’s one less thing to worry about.

Lauren stands up then and motions for you to scoot over before she lies down next to you, both of you on your backs, eyes trained on the ceiling, her hand still holding yours as she gives it a gentle squeeze, “Talk to me.”

She doesn’t look at you and somehow that makes it easier to tell her what happened after she and Jake left, ending your story with a sob, “And then he left.”

“Babe,”

“No Laur,” you interrupt her, not wanting her sympathy right now, because you’re not sad, not really anyway. You’re just mad. “I fucked up, ok? He basically tells me that he wants to give us a try and what do I do? I fucking tell him that I can’t right now.” You scoff, “Who does that?”

She lets go of your hand then and sits up, turning around so she’s facing you, her legs crossed in front of her. She flicks your upper arm, “First of all, that wasn’t a sympathetic ‘Babe’ and I am offended that you would even think so, so I’ll try again,” she clears her throat, “Babe,” the accusatory tone much clearer now.

You can’t help but smile through your tears, “Noted.”

“Second of all,” she continues without missing a beat, “to answer your question: only an idiot would do that and you, my dear, are just that.” She puts her hand over your mouth when you start to protest, “Ah, ah, ah, let me finish.”

She looks at you, one eyebrow raised and you nod to let her know you won’t interrupt her.

“Let me see if I can make this clear to you,” she starts, removing her hand so she can take yours in hers again. “He shows up here, unannounced, because not only did he buy you that ridiculous colorful painting you wouldn’t stop talking about, because let’s be real, that was just an excuse to see you again, he also knows there are some things you two need to talk about after that whirlwind romance in Los Angeles-”

“I wouldn’t call it a romance per se,” you mutter, but the way she looks at you then shuts you up almost instantly.

“And you do, I mean, you talk right? Lauren continues, unfazed by your comment. “But then you tell him you don’t know how he fits into your life right now, and even though he tells you he wants to go for it anyway, you give him some bullshit reason as to why you can’t and then you fucking let him leave without so much as a kiss goodbye.” She shakes her head, “You really did fuck up and you really are an idiot.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” you deadpan, throwing her an irritated look. “I believe I reached that conclusion all on my own a couple of minutes ago.”

“I know,” she shrugs with a halfhearted grin, “I just wanted to rub it in.”

“I call bullshit,” you say, because you know it’s not true. If anything she just wants you to understand how ridiculous you’ve been. Which is working, by the way.   

“Yeah, ok,” she agrees quietly, dropping her smile, “but I still can’t believe you let this happen.”

“I know,”

“He wanted to try,”

“I know,”

“Jesus, I was rooting for you two so hard,”

“I know,”

“Will you stop saying that and help me figure out how you can fix this!”

“I-” you start, but not sure what to say next so the word just hangs in the air.

“You do want to fix this, right?” Lauren asks, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion when you don’t answer immediately.

You sigh. “I just don’t want to put my life on hold again-”

“Jesus!” She throws her hands in the air before she jabs her finger at you, “Nobody ever said anything about you having to put your life on hold, especially not him. But hey, if you want to come up with some more lame ass excuses as to why you shouldn’t just go for it, you can do that without me, because I’m done.”

“Laur,” you watch her as she gets up off the bed and so you push yourself into a seated position, not wanting her to leave.

“No!” she spits, her eyes blazing. She points at you, “Enough with this already! I know, ok? I know Mark was an asshole, I know that the three years you spent with him made you feel like you were stuck in a life you never wanted and I know how much he hurt you while you were together. I was there to pick up the pieces every goddamn time, remember? But he is not Mark! Fuck, Mark never even got you so much as flowers for your birthday and here we have Sebastian, buying you a painting because you once mentioned to him how much you love it.” 

She lets out a frustrated groan. “You need to realize that you are not the same person anymore and that it’s ok to be happy. And it’s ok to let Sebastian be the one that makes you happy. And that yes, the timing sucks, what with Nathan in the hospital, and Sebastian having to leave for Europe, but if not now then when, babe?” She takes a deep breath before she continues,”Is it going to be hard? Fuck yeah it is. Are there going to be times when you wish he wasn’t a famous actor? More often than not, probably. But you don’t get to worry about this now, because all you need to do is live in the fucking moment, babe, and go make this right. Do it now or forever wish you had!”

“You and your fucking Hairspray quotes,” you groan, letting yourself fall back on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

She jumps on top of you then, straddling you, “Jesus! You suck, you know that? I give you, maybe the greatest motivational speech of our lives and all you take away from it is that?” She pins your arms down, her face hovering over yours closely, her eyes narrowed, “You are beyond help, my dear.”

“But I love you,” you counter with a grin, blowing her a kiss, already feeling a little bit better.

Just as you step out of the shower that Lauren has all but shoved you into, you hear her talking to the one person you know can help you with making things right.

“Hi, it’s Lauren,” you hear her say with her most cheery voice. “You probably don’t know me, but I’m (Y/N)’s best friend and well, we have a bit of a situation here.” She explains then, how Sebastian showed up here and how you fucked up.

You groan at her honesty and can only imagine the response on the other end when you hear her agree, “Hmm, I know right?”

You decide to ignore her while you carefully apply your makeup before you loosely braid your hair.

She finishes the conversation just as you walk into your bedroom and you hear her say goodbye, “Thank you so much, Julie. I’ll definitely keep you updated,” before she turns to you with a shit-eating grin. “Ok, he’s staying at The Ritz until tomorrow, here’s his room number,” she says, handing you a piece of paper, “and Julie’s calling him right now, telling him there’s something being delivered to his room that he needs to take with him on the press tour, so he’ll be there.”

You throw your arms around her and hug her tight, “Thank you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, as you ride the elevator up the to seventeenth floor, eyeing yourself in the mirror. The striped a-line skirt you’re wearing hits just below your knee, the black top you’ve paired it with is simple but elegant and the black pumps Lauren insisted you’d wear finish off the look perfectly. You hesitate just for a second when the doors open, but then you nod at your reflection in the mirror before you straighten your back and walk out, following the signs to his room.

You knock and wait for him to open the door. When he does you can feel your heart skip a beat and you quietly curse yourself for letting him go this afternoon.

“Hi,” you say, looking at him with from underneath your lashes, your hands holding on to your clutch, “Can I come in?”

[weneedtherooks]

Bastard (Part 4)

Fucking hell that took forever

Thanks for waiting! Let me know what you think! 

Valentin held the door of his apartment open. “I can get everyone something to drink in a moment.” Valentin said. Noell looked over her shoulder. “Val, just leave that to me.” He grunted his approval as he watched Beverly and her husband walk in.

God, this was going to be a disaster. He felt it in his gut. His stomach had been in knots since the moment he laid eyes on her. He hadn’t seen Beverly in, what, ten years now? The thought of having a child was nerve wracking enough...now he had to look her in the eye and ask the question rather than simply send a letter.

“I’m impressed. I didn’t think an artist could do this well.” Valentin resisted the urge to groan. “Yes, things changed a bit over the last ten years.” he replied in a clipped voice. Beverly sighed. “Val, there’s no need for that.” “No need for what, Beverly? An iota of respect for my work?” “Valentin!” Noell hissed. Val held his hands up in surrender. “A question would have served better than a comment.” Noell sighed irritably. “Is there anything in particular you two would like?” “You wouldn’t happen to have brandy, would you?” Beverly asked quietly. Noell nodded, looking over at the other man. “Bernard?” “How do y-” “Hannah told me. Do you want anything?” Bernard gave her a rather judgemental once-over. Val bit the inside of his cheek to keep from talking. “I’ll take brandy as well.” he finally answered. “Good. I’ll be out in a quick second.”

Bernard proceeded to walk over to the open art room, peeking inside. Valentin winced after Noell pinched him under his arm, mouthing the phrase ‘stop glaring’. “So you’re a professional artist?” Bernard asked, waving an arm into the room. Val gave a stiff nod. “Yes. Portraits, mostly.” “Hmm...I wonder how many you get. Most people don’t hire portraitists anymore.” “Lucky for us there are still plenty of people who appreciate the time and effort it takes to paint their likeness.” Noell interjected, a pleasant smile plastered on her face. “I also do photography, so I tell my clients about his work as well.”

“You haven’t changed a bit…” Beverly commented absently. Valentin looked to see her flipping through his portfolio. “Please put that down, that one’s private.And we aren’t here to discuss my work.” Beverly slowly closed the portfolio and set it down. “I understand if you’re upset, and I can answer any-” “Upset? You think I’m just upset? Bev, you practically disappeared! I had no idea what was wrong, or if something happened, and NOW I’m finding out that I have a daughter! Upset is a fucking understatement!” Beverly sat her glass down. “Don’t get all uppity with me! You had your part in this, so don’t pretend I’m the only one to blame!” “What the hell does that mean?!” Val screeched. Noel opened her mouth to talk, but Valentin held his hand up. “No, no, I wanna hear this! Because, if memory serves, she never uttered a word to me about thinking she was pregnant! All I can remember is waking up alone in the middle of Florence with some half-assed apology note on the nightstand!”

He could hear his voice cracking. It was already taking a lot for him to not start crying out of pure frustration...but Bev just continued to glare at him, scoffing at his words. “Oh, sure! You would have dropped everything?! Given up your art, gotten a real job?!” “Yes! Jesus Christ, Beverly, I would have done anything if you’d just fucking told me!” he yelled. He felt the tears running down his face. “Is that why you left? Because you knew? Or was it because I wasn’t rich and sophisticated enough for you?” he snapped, gesturing at Bernard. “She’s nine! You could have told me at any time and I would have come! Even if it was just for money!” Noell stepped in front of him. “What?” he barked. “You need to leave. Now.” Valentin stared at her. “You aren’t serious?” “Completely.” He threw his hands up, stomping over to the door. When he yanked it open, he nearly slammed into Tony and his wife Abigail. “Good lord Val, what’s gotten-” Tony stopped. “That’s Beverly Summers.” “I’m aware, now move please.” Val replied, trying not to sob as he shoved past his best friend. Abigail looked back at Noell before following him away.

Tony stepped inside, closing the door. “Well, well. Beverly Summers. I do hope you’re not here for an encore performance?” Beverly gave him a wry smile. “Anthony Faulkner. Still hanging around Val like a vulture, I see.” she quipped. “And it’s Easton now. I thought you, of all people, would know that.” “Someone had to keep Val from drinking himself into an early grave. From the look of it, you’ve picked up a gin habit yourself.” Beverly’s lip twitched. Tony may not have kept tabs on her, but he wasn’t blind. She’d up and married Bernard Easton, the current owner of the Easton Distillery...which made no sense. What did a liquor tycoon want with a baker’s daughter eleven years his junior?

“Penny for your thoughts, Tony?” Tony snapped out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry Noell. I was wondering,” he paused to allow interruptions, “why a man like Bernard Easton would would marry a woman like Beverly Summers.” That got Easton’s attention. “What do you mean by that?” he snipped irritably. “I mean, what did you have to gain by marrying Bev? She’s a nobody compared to you.” “Not to mention having another man’s child.” Tony whipped his head around to see Valentin and Abigail standing in the doorway. “Wait,” he turned to face Beverly, “you have a child? And it’s…?” God, no wonder Val was so upset! “How about we start from the beginning, Mrs. Easton? The very beginning?”

Beverly sighed. Bernard put a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t owe them-him-anything.” Beverly shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I may as well.” She looked at Noell. “Am I correct in assuming you’re his wife? And that he hasn’t told you anything?” “Nothing detailed, no. And yes, I’m his wife.” Beverly stood up, walking to the kitchen. She appeared to be getting another drink when she stopped, picking up a nearby photo. A small, fond smile formed on her face. “I was sixteen years old. My father owned and ran a small chain of bakeries. Nothing much, but it kept us out of a poor house and off the streets. He wanted me to inherit, since he didn’t trust my brother...the problem with that is I’m no good at business. So, I told him I wanted to study abroad. Venice was the first place that came to mind, and my mother had friends there.” She chuckled at herself. “Absurd excuse, and he swallowed it whole. I just wanted to run away.” She faced Valentin. “You were the first thing that caught my eye. You had your back turned away from the dock...your hair was pulled back in a braid, if I recall.” “And you looked like an expensive porcelain doll. Perfect strawberry blonde hair, eyes as dark as the night sky. You were a vision compared to some of the women that came off that boat. You were wearing a dark grey cloche hat with a black bow, and a brand new pair of Oxford heels.” Beverly raised an eyebrow. “How did you know they were new?” “My mother had the same pair.” “Oh...Anyway, a couple weeks in, my mother went off to France. She’d gotten bored with Italy; I was left to my own devices. By then, Val and I…” “Had sex.” Valentin finished. “Yes, thank you.” she commented, unamused. “You were my first. It was like magic. A part of me then was jealous that you’d already been with other girls. I didn’t like the idea that there were others you’d kissed and touched.” She set the photo down. “It was around mid August when I realized I was late. So I sent a letter to my mother.” Val dropped onto a nearby chair. “That’s why you wanted to run away. Your mother knew someone in Florence. You were waiting.” Looking at the floor, she nodded. “The day before I left, I’d received a letter from my mother with instructions on where to meet her friend. I left before you woke up.”

Valentin stared at the carpet for a while. “So I was...what? A distraction? An interesting toy for you to play out your rebellious fantasies with…?” he whispered. He stared at Beverly for a moment, tears welling in his eyes again. “I thought you trusted me enough to tell me…” “Valentin, what would you have done? Would you really have given up your art? Your friends? Your life?” “Yes. If you’d asked.” “...How did Bernard get involved?” Abigail asked quietly, breaking the temporary silence. Noell finally spoke, her expression serious. “I think I can guess.” Valentin looked confused. “What do you mean?” Noell turned to face Beverly.

“Your mother met him in France. As it just so happened, Mr. Easton was looking for a wife. Your mother had been setting up the meeting to begin with, but had to rush it in light of your possible pregnancy. Lucky for you, not only was he willing to marry you on such short notice, he was also willing to raise your by-blow. Going back to New York was going to be hard enough on daddy-dearest as is. At least a beneficial marriage with a man close in appearance with the child’s actual father would soften the blow. Is that close enough?” Beverly glared, her mouth pressed into a hard line. “Yes, You’re correct. Are you satisfied?” “Oh, I’m not done.” Noell answered, a dark smile on her lips. “Valentin, you said she was practice drawing yesterday, right? She was using you as a model.” “Yes?” “Beverly, Bernard, one of you must have seen her drawings. What did she draw?” Bernard looked confused. “Eyes? Why is that relevant?” Valentin gasped. “She was drawing with colored pencils!” “Honestly, what-” “Hannah’s eyes are hazel. Just like Valentin’s.” Sudden realization flashed across Beverly and Bernard’s faces. “She wasn’t just trying to practice…” Beverly whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. “She was comparing. When I was talking to her in the park, she didn’t refer to Bernard as her father. Her words were ‘sort of’. In the span of twenty-four hours, she noticed that her father wasn’t her real one.” Tony shook his head, scoffing lightly. “Leave it to an artist to notice such a small detail. Smart girl.”

Bernard looked out the window, contemplating. “Do you have a phone?” Noell pointed to their art room. Beverly wen to follow, but Bernard held up a hand. “I’m bringing her here. I’d like to hear her story.”

[rumtumteddy]

What’s In A Name?

"You don’t need to know my name. I’m a concept. I’m a mystery. I’m-”

“Being really extra today.”

Thomas wants to know Anxiety’s real name. Patton, Logan, and Roman try to help. Hilarity ensues.

I wrote a Sanders Sides fanfic! It basically reads like one of the Sanders Sides videos. I also posted it on archive in case you want to read it there. I hope you enjoy it!!

“Maybe, good enough to tell us… your name?” Thomas gives Anxiety a hesitant and hopeful smile. Patton claps in agreement.

“You are the last one, and even we don’t know your name, so we’re kinda curious!”

“Well…” Anxiety’s glare softens and he shrugs. “Okay. My name…”

Thomas, Patton, Roman, and Logan all hold their breaths in dramatic anticipation. Anxiety (real name to be announced imminently) bathes in the suspense.

He smirks. 

“Is Talyn!” Everyone blinks as ‘AnxieTalyn’ grins back at them.

- “Okay.”

- “That is upsetting.”

- “Well!”

Patton pauses. “Wait, is it Talyn?”

Anxiety is back to looking like Thomas. His glare returns. “No! You take turns changing me into different friends today and expect me to open up to all of you? Fat chance!”

Thomas sighs. Anxiety has a point.

***

Thomas is walking around the mind palace, trying to become more accustomed to it. He loves it, and he knows all his sides do too, so he’s trying to go outside the comfort and familiarity of his apartment every so often and get to know the mind palace better. Honestly, the only two downsides to the mind palace are the weird echo and the unfamiliarity; other than that Thomas could spend ages in here looking at the art on the walls or the pictures of loved ones that Patton has put around the place.

He glances at the dark corner Anxiety likes to frequent (but not right now – right now Anxiety is sitting on surfaces that aren’t chairs and listening to My Chemical Romance), and a thought comes to his mind.

“Okay, is it just me or is everyone dying to find out Anxiety’s name?” He doesn’t say this to anyone in particular, just out loud.

“I sure am!”

Thomas startles to see Patton appear in his new usual spot (Patton tried to suggest 'newsual', but that was shut down by everyone), next to all the photos of Thomas’ friends and family.

“Patton!”

“Hey there, kiddo! How are you liking the mind palace?”

“I love it! Shame about that echo, though.”

Logan appears in front of his bookshelves. “While I can perhaps suggest remedies to the echo, I too am curious about Anxiety’s name.” He adjusts his glasses. “Your viewers all want to know, you don’t know, neither does Roman nor Patton, and – though it pains me to admit it – I don’t know either.”

“What?!” Patton cries. “But you’re so smart!”

“Oh, Logan, you’re here too!” Thomas smiles at the unexpected entrance.

“Of course. Being your logical side, my purpose is the pursuit of knowledge, which, in this case, is the knowledge of our cynical friend’s name.” He adjusts his glasses again; a move which Thomas is beginning to suspect isn’t actually to fix his glasses. “I assume you’ve called us here to try and figure out his name? Or perhaps…” He switches into his Sherlock Holmes outfit, barely hiding the joy from his usually monotone voice. “Deduce it?”

“You need to chill,” A third voice says, and Thomas turns to see Roman cringing at Logan’s outfit.

“You’re no fun.” Logan mumbles, back in his normal outfit.

“You’re no fun!” Roman yells back. “That’s your whole thing!”

“Roman!” Thomas grins. “Why are you here?”

“Well, as much as I… dislike Anxiety, I have to say I am curious about what his name is. I mean, we all knew each other’s names, but we don’t know his.”

“Oh.” Thomas furrows his brow. “That’s kind of sad. Have you asked him?”

Patton nods furiously. “I’ve asked him tons of times!”

“What did he say?” Thomas asks, Logan and Roman listening intently.

“Nunya.”

“Nunya what?” They all ask in unison.

“Nunya business.” A new voice comes from the dark corner and everyone jumps to see Anxiety glowering at them.

“Ah! Anxiety!” Thomas yells (in the same way he always does when Anxiety shows up – he feels a little bad at this point). “I thought you were listening to My Chemical Romance?”

“I was,” Anxiety growls, “but then I ran out of material, because they broke up.”

“Too soon.” Patton sighs.

“Really a tragedy.” Roman laments.

“Yikes.” Logan comments.

“Ouch. Okay, well, we were-”

“You were just talking about me?” Anxiety glares. “You know that makes me…”

“Anxious?” Logan asks.

“Yes, exactly. You don’t need to know my name. I’m a concept. I’m a mystery. I’m-”

“Being really extra today.” Roman interrupts.

Anxiety rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m going to find more surfaces to sit on.” He disappears.

“Well, that was… pleasant.” Roman says sarcastically.

“Now, Roman, I know you’re not fond of Anxiety, but maybe you oughta be a bit nicer to him!” Patton says in a tone that can only be described as - fittingly - paternal.

“But he’s not nice to me!” Roman whines.

“Okay, okay, let’s calm down now.” Thomas says. “So, Anxiety won’t tell us his name. What do we do?”

Logan thinks. “We could all think of ways to find out, in our own unique way?”

Thomas smiles. “Yes! Good idea, Logan!”

“Lit.” Logan says. “Did I get that right?”

Thomas shrugs. “Close enough."

"Lit. Shall I go first?”

"Only if you stop saying lit."

Logan

Logan stands in front of a whiteboard. “Okay, so we want to find out Anxiety’s name.”

Thomas nods. “Yes.”

“You know what this means.” A pause. Thomas blinks.

“Uh.”

“I swear, I am the intellectual powerhouse of this personality,” Logan complains under his breath, and uncaps a whiteboard marker. “We brainstorm.”

“Wonderful!” Roman sings.

“That sounds fun!” Patton grins. “Brain storms sound cool and gross! Where do you get the brains from?”

“Obviously not from you.” Logan hisses.

Thomas winces. “That’s… not what that means.”

“You know what a brainstorm is, we talked about them so much in the originality video.” Roman says in a confused tone. Patton shrugs cheerily.

“Please don’t ruin the sacred process of brainstorming, Patton.” Logan sighs. “No, we write ideas and theories of Anxiety’s name on this whiteboard.”

“Sounds remarkable!”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Get it? Because whiteboards are re-markable? And this is going to be remarkably fun? It’s a pun!” Thomas would be mad if not for the beam radiating off Patton right now.

“I hate you.”

Thomas steps in before Logan can insult any more of Patton’s puns. “I do think this is going to be fun, though!”

Logan nods in agreement and adjusts his glasses. “Of course it is, Thomas! Now, are you familiar with Latin?”

“I’m sorry, what now?”

***

After a solid hour of brainstorming, Logan has written a long list of name ideas and Patton has found another whiteboard marker and is drawing an actual brain storm on the other half of the whiteboard. Thomas yawns. Roman got bored and left ages ago to duel some dragon-witch, apparently.

“Okay, so at five minutes and nine seconds duration into your 13th vlog featuring us personality sides, titled ‘My Negative Thinking,’ you asked Anxiety for his name, and he said “no”, but you cut him off before he could finish, which could imply his name begins with the syllable ‘No’. So let’s write down any names that begin with that syllable. Noah, Noel, Norman-”

“I don’t think so.” Thomas says, shaking his head.

"You think my name is Norman?" Anxiety appears next to Thomas, looking up at the blackboard with a disgusted look. "I'm almost offended."

"We are scraping the barrel, to be fair." Logan concedes.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway.  You didn't even guess my name. Anthony? Angel? You're kidding me. Nice try." He disappears again.

"What now?" Thomas asks.

"Well, does anyone have a green whiteboard marker?" Patton asks. "I want to draw some lasers in here."

"Why?" Logan asks. Patton shrugs. Logan sighs. "Well, we could keep brainstorming."

“No, no, no!” Roman exclaims, having returned from his apparent dragon-witch duel. “This isn’t how you find out Anxiety’s name!”

“Of course it is, it’s brainstorming.” Logan says.

“As much as I love brainstorming, you have to be creative about these things! Stand aside, Logan, it's my turn!"

He pauses. “Did you actually put ‘Nunya Business’ on the board?”

“Well, I couldn’t rule it out, could I?” Logan says.

Roman

“Anxiety, could you come here for a second?” Roman calls out.

“Oh, Roman, it’s just you. I was afraid it was someone important.” Anxiety drawls.

“Do not use The Lion King against me like that!” Roman shrieks, shielding his ears dramatically. He huffs. “Anyway, I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

“What?” Anxiety asks. “You realise that meeting people isn’t… my thing. Like, at all.”

Roman pointedly ignores him. “Anyway, I wanted to introduce you to… Valerie!” He gestures at a waving but confused Valerie.

“Uh.” Anxiety pauses. “I know Valerie. She was here for the Valentine’s Day video. And you guys turned me into her for last video.”

“What was that?” Valerie asks.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Roman hushes her. “Anyway, you might know Valerie but she doesn’t know you.”

“Uh.” Anxiety and Valerie both utter in unison.

“No, I know Anxiety,” Valerie says, “We hang out sometimes.”

“What?” Roman utters. “When? Why? Actually, nevermind. Valerie does theatre-”

“Along with all of Thomas’ friends-”

“-Let’s just act like I’m introducing you two for the first time.”

“Oh, fun!” Valerie grins.

“I don’t like this.” Anxiety says. “We’re acting? Is there a script?”

“No, Surly Temple, there’s no script. Improvise!”

Anxiety freezes. “Oh no. Improvising.”

“Valerie, you go first!”

“Okay. Hi!”

“Um.” Anxiety stammers, not making eye contact.

“I’m Valerie, what’s your name?”

“Nothing. I mean. I. What. Thank you?” Anxiety stutters. “I… have to leave.” He vaguely gestures to his phone as apparent excuse and walks out, backwards and rapidly.

“... What just happened there?” Thomas asks, having been watching from a distance with Patton and Logan.

“Yeah, I’m very confused.” Valerie adds.

“We're trying to find out Anxiety's name."

"Oh, that makes sense."

“Sorry for dragging you into this, Valerie.” Thomas says.

She shrugs. “Roman said he'd do Disney duets with me if I helped out.”

“I think he's probably getting more out of that than you.”

“Maybe.” She grins. “But princess duets!”

***

“Okay, well that didn’t work.” Thomas says after Valerie has left. “What do we do now?”

“Well, kiddo,” Patton exclaims dramatically, “It’s my turn!”

Patton

“Please will you tell us your name? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?” Patton is clinging to Anxiety’s foot whining while Anxiety - who initially looked standoffish and contemptuous - is now beginning to look around awkwardly for an escape, face reddening just slightly under all his pale foundation.

“I can’t tell if he’s being genuine or if his plan was to annoy Anxiety into telling us his name.” Logan says, watching the scene in fascination. “Whichever one it is, it looks effective.”

Anxiety sighs. “Patton, get up.”

Patton scrambles to his feet. “Are you going to tell us?”

“No!” Anxiety’s usually quiet and monotone voice raises much higher than Thomas or any of the sides are used to. “You guys just don’t stop, do you? You don’t get it! Last time, I didn’t tell you my name because you all took turns changing me into your friends and I wasn’t going to open up to you after that. You think I’m going to open up after you pressure me to tell you my name? Maybe I don’t want you to know my name! Maybe I think you’ve realised you don’t know my name and now you just pity me and want me to feel included because none of you actually want me here!”

He stops. The colour and anger drains from his face as he sees Thomas and the other sides.

It’s times like these when the fact that all of them look alike is so evident. All of them are looking at him with identical expressions of pity and shame.

“I’m sorry for yelling.” He mumbles, and disappears.

There’s a prolonged silence in which they all look at the empty space where Anxiety was standing.

“Oh.” Logan is the first to break the silence. “We did… something wrong. Again.”

Patton nods. “We messed up. I feel horrible. Anxiety didn’t need that.”

Roman sighs. “I agree, we shouldn’t have taken our curiosity this far.”

Thomas grimaces and looks at the other sides. “This is all my fault. I let my curiosity get out of hand and gave you all this idea.”

Patton shakes his head. “We were all pretty big jerks to Anxiety. It’s not just your fault.”

“Indeed, we were all responsible for the pressure he was feeling,” Logan says, “Not just you.”

“I admit, I took this too far as well.” Roman concedes, ashamed. His usual prideful look is missing.

Thomas sighs. He doesn’t know how this got out of hand so quickly. He sighs, and starts to speak.

“Identity is important, guys. And you all didn't tell me your names until you felt it was right. We pressured Anxiety, and he lashed out, rightfully. I guess this is a lesson in respecting boundaries.”

The three all give some sort of murmured agreement.

“And,” Thomas continues, “I know Anxiety might be on the more… negative spectrum of my emotions, but he's still one of us, and he's still valid as a side of my personality. We can't exclude him. He actually helps all of us.”

Patton nods. “He knew that your friends helped you last time, and he didn't shut me out in the growing up video.”

“Agh, you had to bring that up.” Roman winces. “You’re right, though. He knows your creative limits and he's realistic about your goals.”

“He’s also the only person I can have a decent debate with.” Logan adds. “And, like me, he’s not fond of… sunshine.”

“See? He's not bad at all! He's just-”

“Monochrome.”

“Dismal.”

“Spicy?”

“-Anxious. I was going to say anxious.”

“Right.”

“That makes sense.”

“I still think he's spicy.”

***

Thomas scours his apartment and the mind palace for Anxiety. He checks Anxiety’s dark corner, he checks his bed, and he checks the bath (why Anxiety is prone to fully clothed bubble baths while drinking purple Gatorade out of a wine glass, Thomas will never know).

He finds Anxiety sitting on the stairs, in the spot he’s usually in for videos.

Thomas sighs and sits down next to Anxiety, who is pointedly staring at his own hands.  “I’m sorry, Anxiety. I shouldn’t have been trying to find out your name by pressuring you to tell me.”

Anxiety stays silent, but Thomas notices an attentiveness that makes him continue.

“You don’t have to tell me your name at all if you don’t want to. And if you do, just do it when you’re ready.”

He waits. Anxiety says nothing. Thomas goes to stands up, assuming that’s his cue to leave, but he hears-

“I…” Anxiety looks up. “Thanks.” He smiles at Thomas, with one of those small, genuine smiles that he rarely does, which always melt Thomas’ heart. “I will tell you, at some point. But not today.”

“No pressure, buddy.” Thomas smiles, then pauses. “Hey. I’m sorry if me or the others give you a hard time.”

“Whatever.” Anxiety shrugs. “I’m used to it. I am your anxiety, after all, and that’s not exactly creativity, or kindness, or intelligence.”

“That’s not true. You look out for me. Sure, you can be a bit cynical and grumpy, and yeah, you can be really negative at times, but so can the others! So can I! But you’re realistic, you care about me and the others, and you just want what’s best for us. We don't pity you, and we don't hate you. You're one of us.”

Anxiety doesn’t reply. Thomas doesn’t think he will. “See you later?”

Anxiety huffs a soft laugh. “You always do. Especially if you get invited to a party.” 

[derangedangel]

Best Friends & Boyfriends

Summary: You’re dating Isaac but have to keep it hidden because your best friend Stiles would disapprove 

Isaac Lahey x Reader

Word count: 3,082

Author’s note: First imagine. The fact that I can even put “author’s note” is weird to me. I draw art, I don’t write it. Any who, constructive criticism would be appreciated. This seems like the perfect time for one of my favorite quotes: “Keep in mind that I’m an artist and I’m sensitive about my s#!t.” Please be gentle with me on this.

Great day to post since it’s Teen Wolf Tuesday and Valentine’s Day

It was Wednesday evening and you were sitting with your boyfriend Isaac on the porch swing in your backyard. A light breeze came through and blew your hair in the wind. The sky was turning pink while the sun began setting. Your legs were curled under you while you were leaning against Isaac. He had his arm wrapped around you while he kept the porch swing swaying back and forth with his long legs.

You turned to the handsome werewolf next to you grinning. “What?” Isaac said as he smirked back at you.

“Wanna hear a joke?”  

“Not really, but I know you’re going to tell it to me anyway”

“Yup.” You smiled back at him excitedly. Your jokes were lame and corny, but that’s what you loved about them. “What do you call the security guards outside Samsung stores?”

“I don’t know, what?”

“Guardians of the Galaxy!” You said laughing at your own joke. Isaac just looked at you with a small smile.

“You know like the movie… Guardians of the Galaxy. Get it?” You looked at your boyfriend waiting for an answer.

“I get it, but I’ve never seen that movie before.”

“You don’t have to watch the movie to laugh at the joke. Stiles loved that one.”

Isaac rolled his eyes at the mention of your best friend. You’ve known Stiles since birth. Your mothers were in the same Lamaze class and became instant friends. You’ve been through everything together: your first steps (naturally you walked first and had to drag Stiles along), first day of preschool, and learning to ride your bikes. When Stiles met Scott they had clicked right away. Naturally being Stiles’ best friend, you had clicked with Scott too, but Stiles was still your favorite. How could he not be? You both loved Batman. He laughed at your corny jokes. And you both had a high level of sarcasm. The only problem was, he couldn’t stand your boyfriend. Stiles was cordial with Isaac most of the time. Of course it was mainly because Scott was there and he didn’t want his best friend and his beta arguing nonstop. But if you had a nickel for every time Stiles called Isaac scarves or said something rude towards him, you could buy all the clothes in Forever21. This is why you weren’t ready to tell the pack that you two were in a relationship. You wanted everyone to know, but you didn’t want to hear Stiles list off all the reasons you shouldn’t be dating “the-one-who-wears-too-many-scarves.” It was only a month but you were tired of hiding your relationship. You just had to find a way to get two of the most important guys in your life to get along first.

You closed your eyes and sighed. “Baby, can you not do that when I mention Stiles. He is my best friend you know?”

“It was a reflex, babygirl.”

“Yeah well, can you stop? I need you two to start getting along.”

“I’m trying but it’s a little difficult to be friendly towards someone who always has something negative to say to you.”

“Don’t act like you’re a saint, Lahey. You do it right back to him. But can you try a little harder to be nice. For me… For us?” You used your best puppy dog eyes you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Isaac looked back at you with those beautiful baby blue eyes that you adored so much. He leaned his head back and sighed. “Alright alright, I’ll try.” He looked back down at you, “Only because you’re so cute I can’t say no.”

You grinned up at the attractive boy in front of you. “Thank you. And you’re pretty darn cute yourself,” you said as you pecked him on the lips.

He scrunched his face at you. “Cute, no,” he said shaking his head. “Sexy, yes,” he grinned, nodding his head up and down.

You rolled your eyes at him giggling. “You are the sexiest guy this side of the Mississippi.”

“Only this side of the Mississippi,” Isaac questioned smirking at you.

“Well, I haven’t traveled that far east yet so I can’t say for sure.”

You and Isaac were smiling at each other when he moved a piece of hair away from your face. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

You blushed back at him and glanced down. He lifted your chin so you would look at him as he leaned in. Your lips connected in a sweet and gentle kiss. Your stomach was doing flips and Isaac smiled into the kiss listening to your rapid heartbeat.

The moment was ruined when your phone started blaring the Star Wars opening song. Isaac groaned already knowing who to thank for ruining your kiss. You took your phone out of your pocket looking at the bright light with Stiles face taking over the once blank screen. You looked at the werewolf in front of you while you hit answer.

“Hello Stiles.”

“Y/N, old buddy, old pal, best friend in the whole wide world.”

“What do you need?”

“Now why would you think I need something from you? Can’t I just call my best friend to ask how her day went?”

“Not when you answer the phone like that.”

Stiles scoffed into the phone. “I am insulted that you think that low of me Y/N.”

“What. Do. You. Want. Stiles.”

“Well… I might have waited until the last minute to do my English paper and since you’re the smartest person in class I thought you might be able to help out your old friend.”

You rubbed your eyes then looked over to your boyfriend. It didn’t take his enhanced hearing to hear Stiles side of the conversation. Since your relationship was hidden, you and Isaac didn’t get much time to yourselves. So you really didn’t want to end up spending the night with Stiles instead of him. Isaac looked at you nodding his head already knowing what you were thinking.

You responded to Stiles, “Be here in 15 minutes.”

Stiles shouted into the phone, “Yes! Thank you so much Y/N! I owe you!”

“Yes, you do. Bye Stiles,” you said hanging up the phone. You looked over to Isaac with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. I want to spend some more time with you-“

“But Stiles needs your help,” Isaac said as he cut you off. “I know. It’s okay. He is your best friend after all.”

You two got up from the porch swing headed for the front door holding hands.  Once you got to the door, you turned to face Isaac grabbing his other hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

“Not if I see you first,” Isaac said, leaning his tall frame down to kiss you on the lips.

You whined a little as he pulled away letting go of his hands. You leaned against the doorframe as you watched him walk off into the night. A few minutes later Roscoe pulled into your driveway. Stiles hopped out and slammed the door. You walked out onto your front steps as Stiles walked up.

“You’re saving my ass Y/N.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. You owe me Stilinski.”

“-it was about incest! Can you believe that?”

You and Stiles walked to your usual table, lunches in tow as he was finishing telling you some story.

“Well Luke and Leia did kiss. That’s pretty nasty regardless if they didn’t know they were brother and sister at the time. That’s almost like us kissing.”

“Hey!”

“No offense Stiles, but you’re like a brother to me. We might as well have been in the womb together.”

Your best friend thought about it for a moment and replied, “I guess you’re right.”

“When am I not,” you smirked back.

Stiles was sitting next to you stuffing his face with potato chips, when Isaac came to the table and set across from you.

“Lahey,” you smiled at the brown haired boy.

“Y/L/N,” Isaac smirked back. He looked at Stiles who was still trying to swallow the mouth full of potato chips and raised his eyebrow. You starred at Isaac and quickly looked over to Stiles and back to Isaac to try to get him to speak. Isaac got the message and spoke. “Hey Stiles.”

Stiles looked up from his food at Isaac, with crumbs covering his face. “Hey…?” Isaac usually didn’t make the effort to speak to Stiles, so he thought it was pretty weird.

“Uhh…so how did your English paper turn out?”

You froze in place wide eyed as Stiles looked at Isaac. “How did you know about that?”

“Oh, um, Y/N told me about it.”

“When? We stayed up late working on my paper. I drove her to school this morning. And we have all our first classes together. Not once did I see her talk to you,” Stiles asked suspiciously.

You were worried Stiles would figure out you and Isaac were dating. Most people wouldn’t think twice about what Isaac said. But Stiles had always be a little too curious and smart for his own good.

“I ran into him when I went to the bathroom before first period,” you said a little too quickly. “He said I looked tired and I told him you kept me up late working on your paper.”

“Oh,” Stiles replied squinting his eyes from you to your boyfriend. Stiles noticed you had been acting a little different lately. Happier than usual. Thank God Scott, Lydia, and Allison showed up.

“Hey guys,” you shouted enthusiastically. Thankful the rest of your friends came to hopefully change the conversation.

School was over for the day but you had the pleasure of getting to watch the lacrosse team practice since you had to wait for Stiles to drive you home. You didn’t mind it much. It gave you an excuse to stare at Isaac without anyone noticing. You could just say you were really into the game.

You were walking towards the lacrosse field when a pair of strong arms grabbed you and yanked you around the corner.

You squealed at the sudden action, being pulled into a muscular chest. Looking up you realized it was just your boyfriend trying to get some alone time.

“Hey, babygirl,” he said with that smile that made you weak in the knees.

“Hey yourself,” you replied as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

“Yeah, but I think they can do without me for a few minutes while I make out with my girlfriend.”

“I love the way that sounds coming off your lips. Girlfriend.” You sighed looking into his gorgeous eyes. “But Coach will have a cow if you’re late. We’re playing Devenford Prep Friday and I’m pretty sure I overheard Coach say he placed a bet on the game.”

“Coach will be fine. But I won’t be until that pretty little face of yours is kissing mines.”

Grinning at Isaac you leaned in to kiss him. It was slow at first, but it was getting more heated by the second. You guessed it was because you two were interrupted last night but you weren’t complaining. If there was one thing Isaac Lahey knew how to do, it was kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck as Isaac pulled you closer. There was no better feeling than Isaac’s lips on yours. You would have happily stayed that way if you hadn’t heard Coach’s yelling getting closer and closer.

You quickly pulled away from Isaac and started walking back towards the field. You let Isaac walk ahead of you to try to not make it look so suspicious.

“There you are Lahey,” you heard Coach screeching. “Get your ass out on the field!”

As you were walking towards the bleachers, you saw Coach stop Isaac near the edge of the field. “You better not be late to the game tomorrow Lahey! Or I’m gonna have to give your spot to Greenburg.”

Coach saw the excited look on Greenburg’s face from the middle of the field. “Don’t get any ideas Greenburg! I’d give the spot to my grandmother before I gave it to you.”

Greenburg looked down in disappointment and kept practicing throwing the ball into the net.  

Stiles was running toward Coach while he was still speaking to Isaac. “Would you care to tell me why you were late to practice Lahey?”

“Uhh… I was just… I-I,” Isaac was going blank trying to come up with an excuse.

Coach examined Isaac a little further and squinted. “Is-Is that lipstick on you?”

Isaac quickly moved his hand up to his mouth to wipe off the lipstick, but it was too late. Stiles was standing next to them and saw the lipstick. There was only one person he knew who wore NYX Miami Nights. You had gone on and on about how much you loved the color and how there was no way you were going to spend twenty bucks on MAC lipstick when you could get the same for a cheaper price. That plus the fact that he saw you walk onto the field moments after Isaac had, put the idea in Stiles head. You two were dating.

You cursed yourself for putting on the lipstick that morning as Stiles glared up at you in the bleachers. You tried to smile back at him but you were pretty sure it was a terrible attempt.

Stiles looked back at Isaac who was trying to rub the lipstick off his lips. “Yeah, Isaac,” Stiles said angrily. “Where’s the lipstick from? Did you decide to try out a new look for when you join the cheerleading team?”

Isaac scowled at Stiles.

“Go sit down Stilinski,” Coach ordered. “And Lahey, I’m going to need 20 laps from you for being late to practice because of a girl.”

“Coach!” Isaac tried to plead.                                                                               

“You want to make it 30?”

Isaac glanced up and you and you smiled trying to comfort him. Isaac looked away and began doing his laps.

You were so busy watching Isaac and Coach Finstock, you didn’t notice Stiles had come and sat next to you.

“I already know what you’re going to say,” you said continuing to stare out onto the lacrosse field watching Isaac do his laps.

“Oh and what’s that?”

“You’re going to say how disappointed you are in me that I’m dating scarves and how I can do much better than a werewolf with claustrophobia.”

Stiles just looked at you. “Actually I wasn’t.”

“So what were you going to say Stiles? How can you have a best friend with such bad taste in guys?”

“No, Y/N, I wasn’t,” he said as he looked at Isaac making his third lap around the field. “I was going to say how I must be a crappy best friend for you not to tell me your dating scar- I mean Isaac.”

You turned your head to look at the mole faced boy next to you. “Stiles, you are not a crappy best friend. A little dramatic at times, yes, but crappy no.”

Stiles turned to look back at you. “Well something must be wrong if you didn’t want to tell me you had a boyfriend. We tell each other everything.”

“We do tell each other everything. And you like to tell me how much Isaac annoys you and how stupid his plans are. I wanted you to know, believe me I did. But you aren’t exactly Isaac’s biggest fan. You’re important to me Stiles, and your opinion matters. I can’t have my best friend hating my boyfriend. I thought maybe if I got Isaac to be a little nicer to you, you’d be nicer to him, and everyone would get along. I could hang out with my boyfriend and my best friend, and get the best of both worlds.”

“Okay Hannah Montana, I see your point,” Stiles smiled at his own joke. “You wanted to tell me, but I probably wouldn’t have been very accepting.”

You glanced up at Stiles, “probably?”

“Okay, I defiantly wouldn’t have been accepting,” Stiles said agreeing with you.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Look, I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me you were dating Isaac. But I promise I will try to be a little nicer about the situation.”

“Really?” You beamed at your best friend.

“Really,” Stiles replied.

You tugged him in for a tight hug thanking him repeatedly. Pulling away with your hands still on his shoulders, you told him, “He’s not as bad as you think he is I promise.”

“We’ll see. As long as he doesn’t wear anymore scarves when it’s only 65-“

“Stiles!” You shouted.

“Hey,” he said as he lifted his hands in the air in defense. “I said I’d try to be nicer. I didn’t say it’d be easy for me.”

Shaking your head at your best friend you smiled to yourself. You were just happy Stiles said he would give Isaac a chance. This meant you could finally tell the rest of the pack. You two could cuddle doing pack movie nights. Hold hands in the halls. And most importantly, kiss that perfectly chiseled face of his in public. Looking off into the distance you got lost in your thoughts.

“Y/N…,” Stiles sing-songed.

You shook your head getting the thoughts of kissing Isaac out and replied, “Yes?”

“I’ll try to be friendly to your boyfriend, but could you not get that lovey-dovey look in your eyes. It’s weird.”

You playfully hit Stiles on the arm when Isaac came jogging over to you.

“Done already?” you asked.

“I’m a werewolf remember babe,” Isaac smiled at you.

“Right…,” you smiled back.

With his werewolf hearing Isaac heard your whole conversation, but he still wanted to make sure everything was okay. “So… are we good,” he asked as he looked between you and Stiles.

Smirking at Isaac you replied, “We’re more than good.”

He smiled slyly at you. “Good,” he said as he leaned in to kiss you but Stiles stopped him.

“Hey!” You two turned to face Stiles shouting as he flailed his arms about. “Can you guys at least wait until I’m not around for you to do that?” He began to stomp down the bleachers loudly as he walked away from you two.

Looking back at Isaac you grinned, “He’ll get used to it eventually.” You leaned in to kiss your boyfriend. Now that Stiles knew, you could finally tell the world Isaac Lahey was yours.

[somethingaboutklance]

OKAY! This is my first fic of three for @lunana98 who is my VLD Secret Valentine! This one is centered around a crafting store! It’s pure Klance-y goodness so I hope you enjoy! 

Keith had never classified himself as an artsy person, it was more of a hobby than anything else. So every now and then he would find himself at the local craft store, gathering supplies for his doodles. Sure, he could’ve gone to Wal-Mart for pencils and paper cheaper than at Voltron’s Craft Shop, but what could he say? He liked quality. Then again, there was something else that encouraged him to go to the store whenever he could make up the excuse.

Or, better to say, someone else.

Lance had been working at Voltron’s for way too long. He started in the back, stacking boxes at four in the morning but had eventually made his way up in the world. He didn’t start working there for no reason, after all. Lance classified himself as an aspiring artist, and was going to do whatever he could to show it.

He had been taking classes at Voltron’s since he was but a toddler, and it was his goal to someday teach those classes. He wasn’t quite there yet, but at least he had gotten off the shelving business.

Lance recognized the guy with the mullet, he was a regular costumer. He would come in, walk around for at least fifteen minutes, and end up buying the same set of graphite pencils.

“Oh, wow,” Lance smirked, scanning the pack of erasers, “Feeling risky today?”

The boy blinked, “Huh?”

“You usually just buy the pencils, but looks like you felt like actually being able to erase.”

“You remember what I buy?”

“Of course, you’re my favorite customer,” Lance winked, and then said, “That’ll be 7 dollars and 14 cents, please.”

The continuing exchange was awkward at best, the boy avoiding eye contact as he handed in his card and signed the receipt.

“Have a nice day,” Lance grinned as he gave the boy his bag, deliberately brushing against his hand in doing so.

The next week, Keith had decided he needed a new sketchbook and went back to Voltron’s. His roommate was visiting his girlfriend at her work, a tech store called Altea, and offered to give Keith a ride. Which was nice of him, but that meant Keith had to actually spend a bit more time than usual. Attempting to not look as awkward as he felt, he took some time looking at some of the artwork hanging in the back, next to where they have the classes.

Keith had never taken an art class in his entire life. From the looks of it, it wasn’t just painting, there were quilts, sculptures, home-made clothing, which was typical for a craft store. Keith was intrigued by a modern art type piece. It was a colorful spiral on a blank canvas that seemed to be made up only of string and yarn. The bright blues, reds, and purples stood out dramatically on the stark white background. Simple, but intricate and stunning.

“It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” commented a voice suddenly close to him.

Lance had seen Keith from the moment he walked out of his class. He had over a hour to kill before he started his shift, and immediately canceled his plans with his buddy when he spotted that familiar mullet.

(“Really?” Hunk frowned, “I thought we were gonna go get burgers,”

“Hunk, my main dude, my man,” Lance had insisted, “You know I love you but-” he lowered his voice, “that’s the guy.”

“Mullet boy?” Hunk peeked over, and smirked, “Go get ‘em,”)

The boy looked surprised to see Lance, “What? Oh yeah, it’s really good.”

“You’re too kind,” Lance grinned.

“Is-is it yours?”

Lance laughed, “No, wish it was. Mine is over here,”

The two walk over and Lance gestures to a small painting hanging in the corner. It’s a watercolor sea scene, a view of the ocean from a bird’s perspective. A small boat can be made out, a orange speck in the middle of a vast blue. It’s a minimalist, geometrical painting. Speaks familiarity and nostalgia.

“You painted this?” The boy asked.

Lance nodded, “Not my best, but hey, it got on the wall.”

“It’s beautiful. I’m guessing you like the ocean?”

“Oh yeah, I used to live right next to the beach. I was there everyday. Surfing, making sand castles with my older sisters. I like it well enough up here, but I always look forward to visiting in the summer.”

“That’s…really nice.”

“Yeah,” Lance nodded, “Where are you from?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “I’m not completely sure. I was adopted, and my birth parents didn’t leave us much to work with.”

Lance bit his lip, then held out his hand, “Hey, I’m Lance by the way. Guess I should’ve introduced myself before we jumped into our life stories.”

The boy accepted it, “Yeah, I know, and I’m Keith.”

“Keith,” Lance tested, “So, were you looking for something, I can help you find it?”

Keith shoved his hands in his pockets, “No, not really. My roommate is at the store over, so I decided to stop by while I was waiting for him.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I could show you around? We can take advantage of my employee access.” Lance grinned.

“Oh yeah?” Keith raised an eyebrow, “What are you going to show me? The storage room?”

Lance glared, “I’ll have you know I worked in the storage room for six months and wanted to die each and every day, I am not going back there. We are going to go into one of the open classroom and paint to our hearts desire.”

“Uh, I don’t really paint-”

“Well, it’s a great time to start!”

Lance and Keith go into the back room, and Lance shows him how to make art with more than just pencils. Keith watches in amusement and the craft store employee starts pulling out the most random supplies from fabric to charcoal.

For the next two hours, they play with the supplies together. Lance focusing on watercolors, but watching Keith with a slight smile as he tried to think of something to make.

In the end, Keith simply drew with his pencils, it was more of his forte. Keith was a bit flustered with how quickly Lance rushed to him and acted like they have been friends forever, but he had just assumed he was a friendly person. After Lance had told Keith how much time he had, he texted Shiro, telling him that he actually might be the one needing more time. Shiro sent a winky face and nothing else.

“Done!” Lance shouted, standing up and holding his canvas in the air.

Keith looked up from his doodling and examined Lance’s painting, he squinted, “Is…what is that?”

“Right!” Lance ran out of the room for a moment. Keith shook his head, and went back to his drawings.

Keith hadn’t known what to draw at first. Lance had plugged his phone into the stereo, and was playing a playlist on shuffle. Some music was unfamiliar to Keith, but he recognized a few songs and was rather impressed with Lance’s music taste. So he had decided to focus his drawing around music.

“OKAY!” Lance walked into the room, a pack of googly eyes in his hand. He set his canvas down for a moment, sticking something on to it, “OKAY. Now, I am done.”

He held up his painting over his head, making a face of a proud artist and Keith stuttered as he said, “Wh-I still don’t know what that is.”

Lance groaned, “UGH. Look! It’s you!”

“That’s-wait, did you paint the back of my head?”

“YEAH! It’s your mullet!”

“Why does it have googly eyes?”

“Artistic creativity!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s a MASTERPIECE.”

“No,”

“Well what did you draw, Boring McBoringhead.”

“What are you, twelve?”

“I’m at least thirteen.” Lance commented and then walked around to look over Keith’s paper.

Keith had started with doodling music notes, but then moved to draw a picture of someone wearing headphones, eyes closed, sitting on a bench. It was a simple, but realistic and professional doodle.

“Wow, this is really good,” Lance grinned, “Who is this?”

“Nobody, just a person,” Keith shrugged.

“Are you an art student?”

Keith shook his head, “Just a hobby. I’ve never taken an art class.”

“Well, I always go to the class here every Tuesday. You should join sometime. First class is free.” Lance handed him the mullet painting, “For you.”

Keith shook his head but accepted, “Thanks, I’ll hang it up on my wall.”

“You better. But, uh, I have to get to work now. Can I-can I get your number?”

“Uh,”

“Just! To give you more information on the class. Or, well, I guess you could get on the website, so uh,”

Keith had already written his number down on his drawing and was handing it to Lance, “Yeah.”

“Oh!” Lance grinned, “Cool! Well, I gotta go, but I’ll text you!”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you, and we can like, hang out sometime,” Lance rambled as he backed out of the room.

“Okay.”

“I can introduce to some more people around here. Who knows, maybe you could start working here.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” Lance blushed, “Uh, yeah. See you around,” then he walked out of the door.

Keith put his head in his hands for a minute to regroup, face warm and flustered, before cleaning up some of his mess, grabbing the canvas, and heading out the door.

By the time he got to the front of the store, Lance was at the cashier, waiting for a someone to stop by his registrar. When Keith walked past him, Lance grinned brightly and waved, as if he hadn’t seen him two minutes ago.

Keith shook his head but couldn't help but smile, holding the canvas tightly in his hands.

[spektijim]

Hello everybode!

Been awhile since I posted here but hoping to get back in the swing of it…we shall see!

So, I hit Shrove Tuesday (aka Pancake Day) pretty hard with some lovely friends of mine, including awesome all-singing all-dancing graphics man, Aaron Itzerott.

PIctured: All my sins on a single plate

And now I want to talk about Lent. Specifically,  what I shall be abstaining from from now (well, last Wednesday) until Easter Sunday.

Although I am not a Christian, or have any leanings towards any faith (my leanings are thoroughly away, I assure you) I have observed Lent three or four times thus far in my adult life and have always found it an edifying, if difficult, experience. I think the forty day timeframe is an ideal one for personal challenge, self discovery and positive habit forming.

I think it is good to try to give something up for a time, especially something you feel you can’t live without, something which is a real keystone in your life (I am generally thinking about diet here, but it could be anything – smoking, using your car, watching TV) because you will often find that a) you are stronger than you thought and b) that your life improves as a result of this restriction. After forty days you may find it has become second nature to, for example, avoid sweet treats and eat fruit instead. If total abstinence is proving too painful, you can cut down instead. It’s a doorway to new behaviour.

Also I feel that collectively we need to have some kind of reflective, more spartan experience once in a while (a detox if you will, although the phrase is somewhat tainted by bogus nutritionists and fad diets) – our culture at the moment seems to be built on one of excuses to stuff ourselves with food after another – supermarkets, restaurants, pubs, TV, magazines et al have got this down to a fine art. Case in point – there was no real ‘cheap chocolate day’ (a traditional post-Valentine’s bargain hunt) because supermarkets had already started stocking for Pancake day in a fortnight’s time. And Easter Eggs appeared in shelves on Ash Wednesday – the full forty days until when they should be eaten!

We are encouraged to have all the treats with none of the breaks, and although do I find any kind of compulsory austerity practiced during religious fasting rather sickening, equally I find this polar opposite distasteful. Is there no room for moderation here?

So, without further ado, here is what I have decided to give up for Lent…

1. The Booze

Difficulty: Very Easy – I don’t drink that much anyway

Why? I’m currently training for a run in April, the Derby 10k which I have done twice before, last time was 5 years ago in 2012 – I really want to be in good shape for it, and in general, and alcohol is a no-no for staying healthy, not just because of what it does to your body, but because of what it makes you do to your body – kebabs at 2am? Don’t mind if I do! If you’re interested, I am running this year for the Trussell Trust, a fantastic charity which runs food-banks and helps people get back on their feet after difficult times. I hope to raise a fair bit (JustGiving Page here) and beat my previous time of 49 minutes.

2. Chocolate

Difficulty: Easy

Why? I don’t eat a HUGE amount of chocolate, but I thought I could probably cut down. Most of my intake comes from my sunday Roleplaying group (NEEERRRRDDDDDDDDD) where there are invariably choccy snacks on the table and I have trouble resisting them. Drawing a hard and fast line about this sweet treat will help me no end. Also, that Easter chocolate will taste soooo much sweeter after this break – which is the point of it, surely?

Pictured: Worth waiting for. Image source: Chocablog

3. Chicken

Difficulty: Medium

Why? I gave up all piggy-wig-related foodstuffs a year or so ago (that deserves its own post) and that has been hard, and it’s the poor chickens which have borne the brunt of this decision. It has become my ‘fallback’ meat of choice, and I want to see if I can cut it out. After all, it may be one more step on the road to becoming a veggie. Probably not a vegan, for reasons I’m about to explain…

4. Cheddar Cheese (and similar hard cheeses)

Difficulty: Hard

Why? I love cheese sooooooo much. So so much. And I know it is in many ways just as bad as meat when it comes to its origins, but I have to be honest about my selfishness when it comes to cheese. Can I give up hard cheese? I’ll certainly try. Feta cheese and soft cheese I have allowed (for now) but nothing else. It is also a health thing as that stuff is very calorific.

5. Bread (and all bread products)

Pictured: Bread is bae. Image source: Thingiverse.

Difficulty: Ridiculously Hard

OH GOD WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS? Once again, health is the key to this decision. Bread has a LOT of calories and very little nutrition. But I also  think a challenge has to be challenging. You see, I adore bread. All bread. Crusty rolls, baguettes, tiger bread, seeded batch, granary bread, farmhouse loaves, pumpernickel, toast, toasties, bloomers, baps, all of it – but that’s not the only thing that’s going. Also bread’s close cousins crumpets, naan, pitta, wraps, waffles, pancakes, buns, scones, bagels et al are out. Crackers and biscuits are acceptable, to a certain extent, but even they are subject to controls, as is cake. This will also, I hope, let me have a feeling of solidarity with my gluten-free friends – after all, this is a pain I am visiting upon myself for 40 days. They have to be careful their whole lives.

Well, that’s that – what about you folks? And if you don’t fancy cutting things out, I have heard the novel suggestion of taking something up for Lent, which is equally positive – a new exercise regime, complimenting people more, a new hobby – all great things. Perhaps we could all use these forty days to become better people.

Spekti out!

What are you folks doing for Lent? Here's my 5 lenten promises... Hello everybode! Been awhile since I posted here but hoping to get back in the swing of it...we shall see!