#sorry all my mi wallpapers that no longer fit

[mlady-magnolia]

I upgraded my phone and then realised non of my wallpapers fit anymore so uh

Fuck it, new Hatchetfield backgrounds for my favs

(These are specifically sized for the iphone 15 max at 1290x2796 but should work on other models too! You might just have to crop out a bit of the top or bottom!)

[izzy-b-hands]

Marks

Another piece of what I’m calling the San Francisco AU for Papillon and Dega. Just a small snippet, but now that I’m working from home I’m trying to get out more smaller pieces as I can, and possibly longer stuff on the weekend if I can manage it (for any ship, no guarantees, but if nothing else I want to keep posting one shots as much as I can!) 

They had a budget, a limit, and Louis had trusted him with it. This wasn’t even the top of the limit, yet he was shaking as he led Louis up the path to the front door. San Francisco was expensive, and he knew Louis knew that too, but still...

“If you hate it, we can still back out. I sign the last bit of paperwork tomorrow; we’d lose a little bit of money, not enough to stop me if you don’t want this.” 

Louis pulled the blindfold off, and took in the front of the house. It was small, but he thought it would be to Louis’ taste. 

“I like it.” 

The weight was only half gone off Papi’s shoulders with that. “Good. I’m glad. Now, the inside-” 

Louis was inside before he could get another word out, and he could see the disappointment in his shoulders as they slumped. 

“Well. A bit plain inside, but-” 

“That’s where you come in! If you want, I mean; I had an idea, is the thing,” Papi interrupted, and pulled Louis gently to the sitting room. “You could paint, if you wanted to, I thought...” 

He’d bought actual supplies, nothing like what Louis had been forced to use on Devil’s Island. No matter what Louis said, he knew how much he wanted to keep working on his art, though he rarely gave himself time to do it. 

“I’m not go-” 

“Don’t you say it,” Papi interrupted him again. “You are. And if you had to force me to choose only one way to decorate our home, and it was between your art and anything else, I would choose your art. Every time.” 

Louis smiled, but it was a nervous one as he glanced about the many blank white walls. “This will take ages though, surely-” 

“I can be patient, especially when I know it will be well worth it,” Papi didn’t want to keep interrupting Louis, but he could just hear the excuses Louis had floating about his head to stop himself from being able to do this, to have fun making their house beautiful. 

“And what will I tell my job?” 

“This doesn’t all need to be done in a week, or a month, or even a year. You don’t work weekends, and if you want, a day off to stay at home and paint if you want or even just, you know, relax, would be good for you.” 

Louis nodded. “Okay.” 

“To the painting? Or to just the house?” 

“To all of it,” Louis replied softly, kneeling down to inspect the various paints and brushes on the sitting room floor. “Can I start tomorrow night?” 

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Of course. As soon as we get home.” 

“What about our things?” 

“I can move all that,” Papi said. It was no second thought to him, and he was more than happy to move everything they owned while Louis painted. 

“Even the couch?” 

Papi nodded. 

“The couch that the two of us couldn’t get in the apartment alone?” 

He nodded again.

“The couch that we had to get three strangers off the street to help us fit into the apartment because of how awkward and heavy it was?” 

“Louis,” Papi sighed. “I’ll be fine.” 

Louis shook his head and laughed as he stood back up and turned to Papi. “Let me help with the couch, at least. I can’t paint if I’m taking you to the hospital because you’ve hurt yourself moving it.” 

“If you insist,” Papi said. “But you could do a mural of our moving in, and include that in it.” 

“Oh yes, the grand mural on the first wall when you come in,” Louis snickered. “Yes, here’s the bit where you can see my husband nearly breaking his back moving our couch.” 

That stopped him cold for a moment. “Husband?” 

They had exchanged rings, but neither had used the phrase, and they hadn’t really ever addressed why. For Papi, it was because he felt bad it wasn’t legal. He knew there wasn’t a way to make it so, but he knew Louis would have been happier if it could have been. He worried about things like death and how the other would survive after, if they would have access to each other’s funds and things, if their bodies could be released to one another to plan a funeral. Without marriage, legally, none of that could happen. So he didn’t use the word, to avoid making Louis think about it. 

“Yes,” Louis replied. “I should have been saying that long ago, even before we got the rings. I was...being silly. Wanting things we can’t have, and completely looking past all that we do have. Maybe it will be a mess, later on, when one of us...” 

He could tell Louis wanted to look away, but he didn’t. The tears sat in the corners of his eyes, but didn’t fall, and his gaze didn’t break. 

“Anyway. I’m sorry, for not using it sooner. And now, especially, I should be. My husband bought us a house!” 

“Technically we both bought a house,” Papi clarified. “You contributed just as much money as I did.” 

“True, but it could only be in one of our names, and it’s in yours,” Louis said, and brushed away the tears before nearly leaping into Papi’s arms. “So, my husband bought me a house.” 

“And my husband is going to make it beautiful,” Papi murmured as he gave Louis a soft kiss. “Can you believe they left this place so...” 

“Dull? Ugly? Boring? Blank?” 

“Yes,” Papi agreed. “There’s so much they could have done with this place.” 

“We’ll fix it,” Louis said. “I’ve got ideas...” 

**

And ideas he did have. The first night in their new home he spent covered in paint in the sitting room, the furniture (including their heavy couch) moved to the center to be out of the way. At first it was just patterns, nothing overwhelming, but at the same time eye-catching and enticing to sit and stare at, curlicues and circular moving lines, intersecting and crossing one another in a way that Papi knew had a great deal of thought and technique behind it, but he couldn’t explain it if he tried. They were in light yellow and green, the paint dotting Louis’ skin, a gorgeous contrast that marked him with his art, marked the house as theirs, a mark of not just ownership but love. 

In the weeks to follow, it was shocking how much he got done. Papi would watch Louis come home, only to give him a quick kiss before dashing to change into his painting clothes and racing into the latest room he was working on. He missed spending their evenings as they had done before (usually both with a book, laying across each other in a tangle on the couch until it was time for bed), but this was good too. 

It was like watching math in action, Papi thought. All calculated lines and structure, but that flowed so softly and loosely that you could forget the cold calculations behind it for a moment or two, and take in how it all came together. A room of butterflies in blue and purple in their bedroom, a mixture of stripes and eyes like those on the backs of butterfly wings in the dining room, abstract flowing lines through the kitchen that showed up in other rooms as well, tying one room to another as if Louis sought to stitch the house together. 

And it was utterly perfect, but he didn’t get a chance to tell Louis that until he finally reached the last room, much sooner than Papi had anticipated. 

“Before you go,” Papi said softly, gently grabbing Louis’ arm as he started to charge into the guest room. “I wanted to tell you-” 

“I can make any changes you want,” Louis said, and up went his hand to nervously adjust his already mis-adjusted glasses. 

“What? No,” Papi said. “I love it all. I wanted to tell you. I don’t know quite how you do it, like you do.” 

“You’ve done your fair share of art.” 

“Perhaps, but this is different,” Papi replied. “You got done in weeks what I figured would take at least a year. And it’s all gorgeous, and I don’t know how you made it all happen like you did. It seems effortless.” 

Louis giggled, and ran a hand through the soft curls he was finally growing out, at Papi’s persistence, the same curls he’d helped wash paint out of the past few weeks, when Louis somehow managed to get it on them. “Effortless is...a very kind thing to call it.” 

“I know you’ve worked incredibly hard,” Papi said. “But you make it look easy.” 

“Want to watch me finish up?” 

“I’d like that.” 

The guest room was rich, red and purple jewel tones with gold. It made him think of the lush wallpapers from the fancier hotels in Paris, though none of them could ever beat what Louis was doing. 

He’d again gone for butterflies, a theme that Papi more than loved, but this time a singular line of them, all shaped fully but connected and made with one purple line, flowing up and down in flight across the red walls, with gold accents upon them in unique designs. It was warm, and easy to get lost in as he laid on the bare mattress they’d tossed in the center of the room until they could afford to better furnish the guest room. He ended up too lost, too relaxed, so that he jumped when Louis dropped down next to him on the mattress suddenly. 

“You’re half asleep,” Louis teased. “Is watching me paint so boring?” 

Papi shook his head. “Soothing.” 

He could feel the half-dried spots of paint on Louis’ hands and all over his clothes as Louis snuggled in close to him, but he didn’t mind. On the contrary, he wanted it. To be marked, to be covered in the colors of their new home, their new life, finally getting on track like they’d always said it would be after they escaped. 

Louis would draw up the tattoo designs later. “Do you really want another butterfly tattoo?” Yes, he did, and he knew exactly how he wanted it. The line to create the butterfly on his body matched up to where the one making Louis’ started, so if they laid together, side by side, the lines flowed together, connecting them both, the same rich purple and gold from the guest room. 

Marks of their new life, there forever, long after the drops of paint would be cleaned from their skin. 

[xx-eatmyheart-xx]

So I uhm, have the second chapter and probably will have the third one soon so yeah, there you go! I decided to post my story here too to you know, keep the blog a little alive cause drawing isn't really my thing lately, I kinda have a bad artist block.

This chapter will be a little "boring", but I felt like it was necessary.

Hope you like it 🌸

-Abigail

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

2 - Cupcakes

The image of her smile had tormented his entire night. That morning Arthur couldn't stop thinking at the woman's words while getting ready for his daily job, he couldn't stop wondering how someone that kind could exist in that city.

"Arthur? Are you sure, y/n? Randall is-"

"I'm sure, Mr. Vaughn."

Your stare almost scared him too, even if it was intended for his agent and his agent only. All that fire disappeared so fast when you turn to look at him that Arthur felt somehow special, for a moment.

Gotham was a really cold city. The trash that adorned its streets surely didn't help painting a good image of the big town and the still-not-painted clown's face was lost in those thoughts. Why would y/n chose Gotham? Was she really from another country? Or was that accent just an act? Her voice sounded so well in his ears, her words were so perfectly pronunciated that that must have been just a very original way to get a better and more realist idea of whoever she met.

Right, she wasn't a liar, she couldn't be one.

She was kind and gentle.

And she chose him.

"I want him"

While Arthur was feeling the seed of an obsession starting to force itself in his brain, his journey come to an end and his tracks stopped right in front of your shop.

Cupcakes, he should've imagined. They were so good, he surely was surprised when he took a bite out of one but he was even more shocked when he found himself wanting another one.

It wasn't a big shop, but you liked it so much. The walls were striped with the pastel version of your two favorite colors, the tiles on the floor were in shining black and white, as if mimicking a checkerboard.

The shop window took all the wall that faced the crowded street and it was decorated in the cutest way, with pastel cupcakes and delicate writings that said that one could have a tea party in your little shop.

In front of the showcase there were four black round iron tables, with ivy-branch-like legs that started from their center and fell gently on the floor with curles and iron leaves. The chairs recalled the tables, and in the same fairy-like way adorned your little tea space.

And your working space? Oh it was your favorite part of the shop. Behind your counter, which was the same color as the wallpaper, there was a wall full of toppings, tea sets and jars with tea leaves of all kind.

It was colorful, cozy and it was like entering in a tale.

That is how Arthur was feeling outside your shop: about to step in something that wasn't real.

You couldn't be real, neither could the wonderful little shop. He wasn't that far away from home, he probably walked for what? Twenty minutes? It couldn't be real. Not in that part of the city.

But then he looked at you, cleaning your counter, and your happiness while preparing for the big opening, he swore he could touch all of that joy.

"Come on Arthur. You can do it."

Maybe he let his thoughts slip from his lips, but nobody cared about whoever was speaking to themselves in that egoistic metropolis. So the man just took a big breath and stepped in your fairytale, ignoring the voice in his head.

"G good morning!"

He could feel it.

It was so close.

That damned laugh, it was so so close.

"Arthur!"

He had noticed the day before how your eyes sparkled when you smiled. He liked their color, it made him feel like everything was going to be okay.

The tenderness in your voice seemed to caress his anxiety and soothe it away, your energy was almost intoxicating.

Maybe the seed had started to grow.

His sudden entrance didn't even make you flinch the slightest, you had just turned your head toward him and smiled.

His appearence, though, made your stomach twist a little. He looked so pale and skinny in his camel jacket, you were just feeling like hugging him and telling him that it was okay, that you would protect him from everything.

Was it necessary though? You didn't know the man in front of you, but your instinct was once again louder than your worries.

You know you wanted to be friends with the trembling man.

You know he neede-

"I'm sorry for what Randall said yesterday."

Arthur's eyes were again locked to the ground.

"Dear you don't need to apologize for him, you did nothing wrong"

"Y yeah but he... He shouldn't have c called you that and I I I just-"

Oh no. Oh nono.

"Ha... Haha..."

No no no NO.

Stupid stupid STUPID.

"Did you already have breakfast? Do you want a cupcake?"

Y/n's voice was... Silvery. And sudden.

It was pleasant, clear and sweet.

Concerned.

Caring.

Arthur's voice was tremoulos, thic, it didn't want to be there.

He didn't want to speak.

Did he have breakfast?

" No, I hadn't"

Next thing Arthur knew was that he was sitting at her counter, with a warm cup of tea between his no longer shaking hands and your even warmer smile in front of his incredulous eyes.

Did you really just stop a fit with a single question?

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

You could've watched the clown all day.

Carnival, that was his name.

He told you that whilst getting ready in your little bathroom. Somehow the makeup seemed to help him, you did feel his voice getting more confident and it was not as shaky as before. Arthur told you about his mother too, how he took care of her, how they used to watch the Murray Franklin Show together, how much he enjoyed watching that man's performance.

And now that he was outside your shop swinging a bright sing that read "Gran Opening" and welcoming the people that had started to enter your shop, you couldn't stop asking yourself if that man was really as fragile as he seemed.

He looked almost happy.

Almost.

At a certain point he came inside the shop and spent the rest of the day entertaining kids. They loved him. You couldn't describe what was in their eyen in no other way.

For a few hours your shop really was a fairytale, with little giggles, chatting and people looking like they were enjoying the moment like nothing could touch them. Everything felt so far away from the cold reality of the city's critic situation that maybe, just maybe, you really made them forget about every single one of their problems for a few minutes and that feeling, that was what you were looking for.

Completeness.

But that didn't last as long as you would've liked.

Emptiness found its way back to your chest when the last costumer of the day left your shop.

You had dismissed Arthur a couple of times, but he insisted on staying until the very end. So now you were landing him a little paper box with an envelope attached.

"What is this?"

His gloved hands reached the thing and took it from yours, the fabric blocking his fingertips from feeling your soft skin.

"A little thank you, you did great. It's just a couple of cupcakes, but you have to wait till you'll be home to open the letter, okay?"

"... Okay"

Curiosity was clearly devouring him but your soft eyes were enough to suppress it. The man hold the box close and slipped the envelope in his jacket.

"Thank you again Arthur, I knew that you would've been the right choice"

He could feel his heart trying to break his ribcage to run away and scream at the world what you just said to him. But that was a good day and his embarrass bloomed in a simple blush and a little smile, no fits, no more awkwardness than the usual.

"Thank you, mis- y/n"

You had already jokingly scolded him for calling you "Miss l/n", but in all honesty you had found it kind of cute.

"I'm the one thanking you Arthur. Have a good night"

The sky was about to go dark and you had no intention of walking home at night. Sure, your little apartment was just a block down the street, but we're in Gotham, right?

The two of you remained in silence for what felt like hours. It was a comfortable type of silence and when Arthur almost jumped, you smiled at the thought of him feeling so at ease with you that he didn't even realize his own smile or his intense staring at you.

"I... Good night"