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personasintro · 4 years ago

Text

friendly dates | knj drabble

⇢ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; friendly dates sound nice... but without the friend part it'd sound even better, too bad you're too scared to face your feelings

⇢ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff, idiots to lovers au

⇢ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit language

⇢ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 3.7+

𝒂/𝒏: commissioned anonymously!

𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | ☕️ | © 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 (𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅)

“So where are you going for tonight's date?”

You're in the middle of trying one of the long dresses you own when your best friend speaks up from behind you, sprawled on your bed while looking at you in the reflection of your big mirror.

You give her a look, cocking your head to the side as you look at yourself again. The dress is pretty, you actually haven't worn it out yet. You've never had the opportunity since you ordered them only a week ago.

“It's not a date,” you inform her, glancing at your friend who has a subtle grin on her face. You're not surprised to hear her calling it a date, she always does this. “How do I look?”

Turning around, she eyes your outfit and overall make-up before she, like every good friend, tells you how beautiful you look. “For a usual hang out with him, you certainly do invest a lot of time and money to look perfect.”

Rolling your eyes, you purse your lips in annoyance. “Namjoon and I are just friends. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she says back, snorting as you sport a deep scowl on your face. “Friends don't go out every Friday and weekend to a freaking museum or hang out in a bookstore, Y/N. I'm telling you, this is not just casual hanging out with your friend. We both know you've a thing for him and he certainly has a thing for you.”

You didn't know it's possible, but your scowl gets even deeper. Even though you've never admitted that you've a thing for Namjoon, your best friend knows you and no matter how subtle you're trying to act and appear all the time, she just knows. It's not that hard to tell. But Namjoon has never made any move and even though you don't like the stereotypical thought of men always doing the first move, this is more about your fear of getting rejected. Also, you don't think he has a thing for you.

Sure, he pays for your food or drinks whenever you hang out, no matter how many times you scold him for it. One time he borrowed you his jacket because it was late at night and it was freaking freezing. Namjoon has done many things that made your heart even weaker for him. But he's nice to everyone and you don't doubt he wouldn't do all these things to another girl. As much as it hurts, it's true.

And the fact he has never even hinted at the possibility of him liking you in a more serious way than just a friend who he likes to attend museums, art galleries or just casually hanging out in a bookstore or a library. As far you know, he doesn't have that many friends that share the same love for books and art like he does.

You both just clicked. You have the same interests and you hang out because you like spending time together. He's easy-going and you making plans with him almost every weekend has become a certainty. But of course, there are times when one of you can't hang out and that's completely fine.

“Well,” you clear your throat, straightening the casual yet elegant dress. “We're exactly that. Just two friends.”

“Oh, so you don't like him?” She presses. You know what she's trying to do, but you won't give her that satisfaction of being right.

“I like him… as a friend.” you point out, voice getting slightly deeper when you add the friend part.

You watch her narrow her eyes, thinking about something for a moment before she grins at you. “So you wouldn't mind if I told you I like Namjoon?”

Without realizing, you automatically tense and if you weren't so focused on the uncomfortable feeling in your chest, you'd notice the way the corners of her lips twitch.

“Since when do you like him like that?” You decide to exclaim, slightly louder than you intended.

Just like you, your best friend is easy-going too and has no problem hanging out with whoever. Even though museums and art galleries aren't her thing, or anything that you and Namjoon enjoy the most, she hung out with you and Namjoon a couple of times when you weren't exactly doing that. She'd sometimes join and none of you really minded it.

Her and Namjoon get along pretty well, but you've never noticed anything suspicious or something that could hint at her liking him that way. It definitely doesn't feel nice to hear her say it. She knows how you feel, she just wants to hear you say it. But you're stubborn and there's still a slight chance she might like him.

You mean… it's Namjoon after all.

“Why do you look so surprised? Maybe I do like him like that. I thought you liked him and well, like any good best friend, I just backed off. I mean… I'm not the one who's invited to art galleries and museums.”

“Art galleries and museums aren't even your thing.” you murmur, ignoring the jealousy bubble in your stomach.

“Did you just ignore everything I said? Hello,” she sings out, “I like Namjoon!” she exclaims and you stare at her dumbfounded, blinking a couple times. Trying to detect any emotion on her face, or whether she's serious or not, is hard and almost impossible because she just stares at you.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask her nonchalantly. “You want to hear that yes, I like him but I'm too scared to admit it because there's a high chance he doesn't like me like that? The last thing I want is to ruin our friendship.”

And then, slowly but surely, you see her corners twitching in a pleasant grin. “Yes, I actually wanted to hear that exactly.”

She got you. Oh my god. You can't believe it was this easy for her to make you admit it out loud. Your face heats up and you uncomfortably shift on your spot, but then you're met with her amused eyes and grin all over again.

So you grab the first thing you get your hands on, the other dress you had prepared as a back-up in case the ones you're wearing right now wouldn't be it, and you throw it at your best friend who starts cackling.

“Was that so hard to admit it?” she laughs, catching your dress and placing them next to her. She sits up, calming down as her features soften at your huffed face. “Look… first of all, I don't like Namjoon that way. You guys just fit together perfectly, it's hard to imagine someone else having that spark like the two of you have. However… how do you know there won't be someone who really likes Namjoon in the future? I don't mean to scare you, that's the last thing I want. But you should look at it from another side. Maybe telling him how you feel will make things easier.”

“Yeah, or worse.” you murmur.

She sighs, cocking her head slightly at you. “You never know if you won't try it. Trust me, I know Namjoon likes you. I can't say I'm hundred percent sure how things could end up, but I think it's worth a try. He's worth a try. Don't you think?”

“It's intimidating,” you admit, “I'm not the type to admit my feelings, especially not to a man when he's...” Perfect, attentive, friendly, cute, handsome, kind… “Him.”

“I don't want you to get hurt, Y/N. And I know seeing him with someone else might hurt even more than a rejection.”

You get the feeling she's right, even though you don't like hearing it.

“Oh my, look!”

You almost flinch at the loud and excited voice coming from Namjoon. You barely get the time to react when your wrist is gently grabbed by him as he's pulling you towards another room. He's gushing over the art and once you make it there, you finally realize why.

The room is filled with multiple paintings (of course) but the only difference is, that each painting is centred with each color. From bright white to dark colors such as burgundy and black. Yellow, green, red, pink, purple, blue… so many different colors. The whole room looks like a rainbow, each painting different and interesting.

“Wow,” you let out, completely amazed because it's not just very colorful but also eye-pleasing for everyone's eyes.

When you glance at Namjoon, his mouth is opened and eyes shining with complete amazement. He lets go of your wrist, leaving you slightly disappointed but it's not like you expected him to hold you there more than necessary.

You both move to the first painting, admiring the white art that portrays something like clouds and apparently wings that Namjoon notices and comments.

You're equally interested in Namjoon and his own comments, always finding his opinion and own take very interesting, just as you're interested in the art itself. Between doing this, your own mind is sometimes wandering off to a different topic and that is – your best friend's words from earlier. You can't help it, every time you hear him or look at him, it's like her words scream inside your mind.

It leaves you more quiet than usual, you mostly let Namjoon talk and hum to whatever he says. You're both standing in front of blue painting – an art that portrays most things when you think of the color blue. Water, waves, even air… all of those things can be seen in the very impressive painting. You like it, however that's the only thing that leaves your mouth as you glance at Namjoon, finding him already staring at you.

Your eyes automatically widen, surprised by his furrowed brows and even more when he lets out a silenced sigh, although you hear it very clearly.

“You don't like this, do you?” he suddenly asks, leaving you even more shocked. But before you can clarify or even ask him what does he mean by asking this, he's already talking again. “I know it's not a fancy art gallery. These paintings are painted by artists that aren't that much recognized. A lot of students actually painted most of these. Profits from the tickets are going straight to those artists, students included.”

You listen to him ramble, cheeks slightly going red when his chest heaves from how quickly he said it without taking a breath.

“No, no, I like this. I really like this art gallery,” you assure him quickly, “Why would you think otherwise?”

“Can I be honest?” he asks sweetly as usual, eyes flickering to you almost worriedly as you nod. He sighs again, fingers brushing his soft honey hair. “You're quieter than usual. I can't explain it, I feel like there's something wrong.”

Attentive as always, you're surprised and not actually surprised at the same time. Of course, he noticed there's something wrong. You're not sure whether you should be touched by that gesture or be embarrassed he figured it out.

“I… I'm sorry,” you murmur, hanging your head low for a moment before you sigh too, looking back at him. “It's not your fault… I'm just… I really like it here, okay? Please don't think I don't. I'm sorry, I'm awful right now. You bought us these tickets and I just ruined--”

“Hey,” he cuts you off softly, stepping closer as he respectfully places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently. “You haven't ruined anything. You can be honest with me… or don't be. I just want to know if you're okay. If you're not feeling it tonight, we can just take a rain-check or--”

“No,” you cut him off this time, cheeks flushing at how quick you bursted those words. “I mean--I'm really happy to be here tonight. I just talked to Amia about something and that kinda got stuck in my head.”

“Did you guys have a fight?” he asks, brows furrowing in worry as you chuckle and shake your head.

You look him in the eyes, heart softening right away as you still hear her words echoing in your head. Maybe you could tell him what bothers you without telling him he's a part of it.

“No, we didn't,” you smile, bracing yourself to finally tell him the truth. Half truth, more likely. “There's just this one guy I like… and I'm kinda scared to tell him that. Amia keeps telling me I should tell him before it's too late.”

“Oh,” he lets out, dropping his hand off your shoulder immediately as he looks a little baffled. Your smile drops at that. “You like someone?”

“Yes,” You. However, you don't finish it as he gives you a slight smile. “It's stupid… I just don't know what to do.”

“Well,” he smiles again, although you don't find it honest and sweet as usual. He takes a step back, glancing at the painting as he shrugs. “You'll think of something.”

And with that he turns around and walks to another painting, leaving you with a cracking heart and open mouth.

One thing is sure… at least you didn't tell him it's him you were talking about. Because then your heart wouldn't be just cracking but it'd actually break from such a reaction

Despite what happened, the rest of your “hanging out” is going smoothly. Namjoon keeps his main focus on the paintings and just like before, you hum in response and smile his way whenever he looks at you. But you still feel a slight uncomfortable feeling in your chest. You're not sure if you're ready to cry or not… You guess you'll find out once you get back home.

Once you're about to leave, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom, to which Namjoon responds to a light and friendly “of course”. He waits for you in the lobby, fishing out his phone from the pocket of his coat in the meantime. You don't spend that much time in the restroom, you quickly do your business and join Namjoon.

You spot him almost immediately, seeing him turned with his back to you as he has a phone clutched to his ear. You stay silent, not wanting to interrupt him but you want to make your presence known, but before you can actually walk around him for him to see you, you catch a glimpse of his conversation with whoever is on the other line.

“No, it's not a date,” he groans silently. You see him lift his arm and you guess he uses it to rub his face frustratedly. “It's just… a friendly date, alright? Look, she likes someone.”

Your breath catches in your throat and for a second, you're sure you forgot how to breathe as you listen to his conversation.

“No, it's okay… I didn't exactly make it known. No, seriously. Taehyung stop--we're just friends. Nothing else.”

You bite onto your lower lip, hearing Namjoon bidding a goodbye to his friend. You take that opportunity to quickly take a few steps and stop beside him when he notices your presence. He flinches, staring at you with big eyes as he looks around himself.

“Sorry, it was Tae…” he lets out. You're not sure why he is apologizing. “He actually recommended this art gallery to me.”

He is rambling.

But you just stare at him, not really sure what to make out of his phone call. There's no doubt he was talking about you, but you're kind of puzzled what to think of it. He looks nervous, you notice right away when he keeps glancing from your eyes whenever your eye contact exceeds five seconds.

“How--how much did you hear?” he asks suddenly, gulping slightly.

You realize he knows you must've heard something. You can't see yourself, you don't even realize your features are scrunched in confusion but curiosity at the same time, but Namjoon sees it all and he almost cringes when he asks you about the phone call.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you apologize immediately, giving him a crooked smile. “I didn't hear much if that's what you're scared of. I mean… you haven't said anything that we both already didn't know.”

“What?” he breathes out.

“Well, you said we're just friends, right? That's what we are… and this,” you motion with your finger between you and him and around you, “Is just a friendly date.”

Your features turn sour, betraying you as Namjoon narrows his eyes and scans your face. He's always been very smart and you can already see the wheels turning in his head. Or it’s the bitter chuckle you let out that makes him think that you do sound almost hurt to hear him say that.

And when he looks up, the look he gives you almost scares you (not because he looks mad or something) but because he looks as if he already knows what you’re thinking. The possibility scares you and you curse at yourself for opening your mouth. You should’ve kept it shut while you had the chance.

“Somehow, you don’t seem too pleasant with that.” he tells gently, tilting his head slightly which makes your throat dry.

“With what?” you mutter. You’re stalling, knowing he already caught onto that but you act as if you didn’t know.

“With me saying that we’re just friends and this is a friendly date,” he still answers. “Would it be too bad if I said I’d be more happy without that friendly part?”

Wait—

“What?” you breathe out, eyes widening immediately. Did you hear him right?

“You know why Taehyung called me? Do you want to know what he told me?” he asks, chuckling a little at the end as he doesn’t wait for your answer. “He was trying to encourage me to tell you the truth. But I told him I can’t do that because there’s someone else in your life that you like.”

“And what is the truth, Joon?” you almost whisper, figuring out where this is going and you can’t believe it — not until you hear him say it out loud and confirm your deepest desire.

“Come on, you’re smart. You already know.” he offers softly, giving you a pained smile.

“Maybe I do want to know,” you ponder for a moment, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I’m a freaking coward for not telling you sooner and for always backing away whenever I had the chance to tell you how I feel.”

Your insides tremble with happiness and shock at the same time, your mouth opened and lips stretching to the biggest smile but that’s until you let out a big laugh. Namjoon looks confused, tips of ears already getting read from embarrassment. Thinking he feels the same fear of rejection that you felt at the idea of confessing, you quickly explain yourself.

“We’re both so stupid,” you shake your head, an amused grin playing on your lips as you take a step closer to Namjoon. He watches you with big curious eyes, not moving an inch. “You’re the guy I talked about. I like you too, Joon. All these evenings and days spent with you… I can’t imagine doing it with someone else. And Amia told me I should tell you but I feared you don’t see me the same way. Joon, I think we’re both idiots and cowards.”

He stares at you for a moment, not moving before he suddenly wraps his arms around your frame and hugs you tightly.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispers as you giggle, hugging him back. “All this time you liked me back?”

“Of course. I thought you wouldn’t like me back, you never made it known. You’re always sweet to anyone and apart from being the same old and amazing Namjoon, I wouldn’t be able to even guess that there’s a chance you like me.”

“Of course, I like you. You’re smart, funny and goofy. I genuinely like spending time with you.” he tells you, pulling away so you can see his honest eyes full of adoration.

Namjoon notices how skeptical you look, almost as if you don’t believe him and that’s why he decides to finally man up and take matters into his own hands. One step and he’s so close to you that your chests almost brush as you stare at him with big eyes. He cups your face, watching how your eyes grow even wider but that’s all you can do — just stare at him and thinking how this look, because it looks like he’s about to—

And then he connects your lips in an innocent kiss, soft and tender that you almost think as if you just imagined it but when you close your eyes, he’s there gently pulling away. Your lips tingle with excitement, happiness and shock at the same time and when Namjoon notices your flustered face, he chuckles.

“Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too straightforward of me,” he says, features slightly twisting to worried eyes when you don’t respond and just stare at him.

Did he really kiss you? He kissed you. Namjoon kissed you.

“I’ve been meaning to do that every time we hung out.”

“I—wow,” you breathe out, fingers slightly grazing over your lips as you smile at Namjoon. “I guess we’re both cowards. If I told you sooner too, we could’ve kissed way sooner.”

That makes Namjoon laugh, a genuine laugh as he reaches for your face and gently strokes your cheek.

“Can I take you on a date? A real date that we both consider a date?” he pleads.

Your heart is jumping with happiness, hands slightly trembling as you let out a nervous giggle. But then you reach for his hands, squeezing them while all he can see in your eyes is genuine happiness. However, it’s Namjoon’s turn to look slightly nervous as he shifts on his spot but doesn’t usher you to give him an answer. He is patient, looking at you with fondness and honesty.

And when you finally open your mouth to respond, you see the most beautiful dimpled smile that makes your whole chest tingle with so much love. Maybe it’s too soon to call it that but you already know what you’re feeling, so your answer is more than clear.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#networkbangtan #ficswithluv #bts smut #bts fluff #bts au #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfic #personasintro

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beardrabbles · 4 years ago

Text

composed together. [ ♡ ]

characters: venti, reader

warnings: alcohol mention

word count: 3,029

notes: been trying out venti as a muse on a roleplay blog i have, but I wanted to have a crack at writing a reader with him. i'm not a poet in any sense of the word, so i'm sorry if isn't up to venti's standards lmao. if you tolerated all the rhyming, you deserve a gold star and a high-five.

You had tried so hard to make it back in time, but were disappointed when you returned to find Mondstadt barren of the usual Windblume decorations. There were no wreaths or elaborately decorated banners, no potted plants sporting twirling pinwheels. The scent of fresh flowers and baking goods persisted, but it didn’t carry with it the festive spirit. People were, once again, content to ask for help rather than tend to their own needs.

‘ And that’s why I missed out. . . ’ You brooded. It was because you offered yourself as a member of the Adventurer's Guild that you had found yourself pulled away from your home. You had been promised that the job in question wouldn’t take you longer than three days, give or take a day depending on how well you did. But, as it turned out, you had been gone for an entire week. And in that week, the festival had come and gone.

Windblume had never been about the romance for you. Every year, you looked forward to the food and atmosphere, letting the spirit carry you away. This year, however, you had held onto the fleeting hope that someone might show interest. Or that you might gather the courage to approach the one you so adored. You knew it was a lame excuse to depend on one holiday to steel your nerves, but the time and your chance had dashed past in the blink of an eye.

“Shouldn’t have taken the damn commission.” You slumped at an outdoor table near The Angel’s Share, a half-empty tankard of cider resting in your hands. You drummed your fingers along the side of the tankard, willing yourself not to be bummed. The holiday would come around again next year, you reminded yourself as you downed another gulp. “But I’ll probably get sent out then too.”

You stooped forward even further, cheek nearly pressed flat to the table when the familiar sound of plucked lyre strings thrummed in your ear. You sat straight so abruptly that you made yourself dizzy, your need to look around rapidly for the source not helping the fuzzy feeling in your head.

“Venti?” You called his name with such unbridled hope that he couldn’t keep himself hidden for long. A giggle sounded above you, and you felt your diminishing mood soar when you spotted the colorful bard sitting along the eaves of the tavern, beloved lyre in hand.

“The one and only!” He cooed, soaking in your glee. “Looks like you started without me.”

You frowned and peered down at your table, noting the two other empty tankards. Cheeks flushed from embarrassment, you pushed them aside, as if that would make them ( and your shame ) disappear. “Look, I just got back and I find out I missed out on Windbl——!”

Eyes up, you realized too late that Venti had vanished from the roof. You blinked once, then twice, your cider-addled mind slow to catch up. Where did he go?

“I was wondering where you’d gone off too.” His voice bobbed along the air, light and playful, and it tugged your attention like a hook pulling along a caught fish. He sat across from you, his chin resting in his palm and bright eyes twinkling with eternal mischief. “Missed Windblume, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You grunted and polished off the rest of your drink, mood dropping again. “I was looking forward to it too. Did I miss anything important?”

Venti hummed and leaned back in his seat. Absentmindedly, he toyed with the strings of his lyre. “Let me think. Margaret thought of a new, non-alcoholic drink and it went over pretty well with the kids and those looking to keep themselves a little more dignified during the festivities. Our own Honorary Knight was named this years Windblume Star! Oh! That’s right, I taught a class on the art of expressing ones love though poetry.”

You snorted.

“You taught people to write poems?” Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “At what cost?”

“Come noq, Y/N, do you really think I could put a price on the ability to write out what a person’s heart yearns for most?” He paused, saw your deadpan stare, then let out a nervous chuckle. “A few bottles of holiday-exclusive wine is all I asked for.”

“Begged is more like it.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “How many bottles exactly?”

“Enough to tide me over.” Answered the bard vaguely.

“Is there any left?”

His silence was all the answer you needed. You groaned, let your head hit the table, then left it there as your forehead throbbed. Venti, sporting the rare flicker of guilt across a normally jovial face, leaned forward to pat at the back of your head.

“Hey, don’t be down. I have an idea!”

You lifted your head, but your eyes were downcast and dulled. “Is it a bad idea? I don’t think I want to mess with anyone right now, Venti.”

“I thought of the idea, so of course it’s a good one! And we’re not going to mess with anyone.” Venti grinned from ear-to-ear and stood, offering you a single, delicate hand. You gave it a hard stare, wondering what sort of troublesome plans he had brewing in his head. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to come up with a believable excuse as to why you couldn’t indulge him.

Leaving your empty tankards behind, you stood and took Venti’s hand. You stumbled the slightest bit before finding your footing. “What’s your idea, O Great and Fantastical Bard?”

“Since you’re being so kind as to lavish me in well-deserved compliments, I’ll tell you.” He winked at your withering glare. “You’re going to help me compose a song!”

“How is that going to cheer me up? I’m not poetic.” You grumbled. Venti clicked his tongue as he guided you away from the tavern and towards the cathedral.

“That is wildly untrue, Y/N! Everyone is capable of expressing themselves through poetry.” He argued.

“But I’m not good at rhyming or thinking of pretty words.” You countered. Venti sighed and gave your fingers an encouraging squeeze.

“That’s not what it’s about. No one said that poetry was meant to impress people. If it does, that’s a bonus, but the point is to shape your feelings. You write how you feel, not how you want to sound. If you don’t rhyme, that’s fine. If you want to use big words, then by all means! Short words are still words, and they can still carry your thoughts with them. There are no rules with it comes to poetry, no matter what some stuffy scholar might say.” He tugged your hand and pulled your arm up high, leading you into an impromptu twirl. Unable to help yourself, you fell into a fit of laughter that instantly lifted your mood.

“I guess you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.” You followed along, a new spring in your step. Venti shrugged.

“Practice means progress!” He clearly wouldn’t allow you to wallow in your negativity, and you were quietly grateful for it. If there was anyone that could lift you out of a funk, no matter how deep and depressing it may be, it would be him.

Venti lead you past the statue of Barbados and around the side of the cathedral, where he perched on the side of a stone railing. Beyond you sat the lake, it’s surface a constantly shifting sheet of vivid oranges, cheerful yellows, warm reds and sleepy blues. The sun was setting, and soon night would fall, but Venti didn’t seem concerned. If it didn’t worry him, then it didn’t worry you, so you found a seat beside him and made yourself comfortable.

“The breeze is nice. . .” You let your eyes fall closed, skin kissed by a gentle twirl of the air against your heated cheeks. You couldn’t see then how Venti’s lips quirked up subtly, an adoration in his eyes that not many earned. He watched you for all of one, still moment before your eyes opened and he was forced to look elsewhere.

“Yeah, it is. So!” Quick to discard the hammering in his chest, Venti pulled forward his lyre and cleared his throat. “About that song——”

“What is it about?”

“Unspoken love, the kind that lives in your chest and makes every moment spent with the person you adore both exciting and painful.” His fingers strummed one string, then another. You frowned, the first few notes squeezing at your heart.

“Why is it unspoken?” You wondered, keeping your voice low.

“Because, sometimes, confessing is more selfish and cruel than never saying anything at all. Because opening up one’s heart may lead to more pain than you first expect.” The melancholy notes only proved to add more hurt to your chest, but still the bard smiled.

“Do you really want to write a song that sad?” You weren’t sure that your flimsy mood could handle thinking about such a morose subject.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand, dear friend~ The reason for love’s silence is upsetting, but the love itself is anything but!” Venti began to swing his legs, and you felt the breeze pick up. Green eyes turned up towards the sky, while a subtle tinge of pink touched his cheeks. “I’ll think of the first few lines, then you chime in with whatever your lovely little mind and heart think of first. Alright?”

“If you say so.”

“Great!” Skilled fingers began to play, the heart of the music beating in time with your own. “I want it to start like this: I want always to treasure your warm soul and kind eyes. . .”

You waited for more, but were met with a calm quiet. A single glance from the bard, and you suddenly felt as is everyone in town could hear and see you. Face burning hot with embarrassment, you looked out towards water rather than at your companion.

“I want always to treasure your warm soul and kind eyes. Hmm.” You breathed in deep and muttered the first thing that came into your head. “Every smile and glance like a hard-earned prize.”

“Good! And you said you weren’t skilled at this.” Venti beamed, the sheer glee behind his praise lifting your mood higher still. “Let’s keep going. Next line: Your voice it rings like the sweetest prayer. . .”

You thought hard again, arms crossed tight and lips pursed. This was as difficult as you thought it might be, but Venti’s enthusiasm was infectious. So, again you offered the only words that rose to the top of your mind. “. . . a blessing from lips so fair.”

Venti hummed, the sound soft and low in his chest. “Indeed they are.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Moving on!” He slipped from the stone railing and came to stand in front of you, posture loose and playful even as he came dangerously close. “I adore you, I do. My heart is yours, it’s true. Little skips and steady pounding, my dear, you are astounding.”

Feeling him so near, his eyes mirthful and intent on you, you couldn’t help but to shrink into yourself a little. You grasped the railing you sat on and hunched your shoulders, eyes glued to your feet. If only those words were meant for you. Oh, but then what would you do?

“Is this meant to inspire other people to think of their love, or are you thinking of someone in particular?” You couldn’t and wouldn’t dare to hope, but you had to ask.

The strumming stopped, but you didn’t turn your gaze up.

“Perhaps I am,” Venti purred coyly, “why? Is there someone you’re thinking about?”

“Don’t be such an imp.” You kicked a foot out, but he was quick to step aside. Your aggression, though harmless, pulled a laugh from the bard. “I might be thinking of someone.”

“Who is it?” Venti pestered. “Do I know them?”

“Maybe.” You sported a cheeky smile of your own. Venti moved in an inch or two more to your side, leaving only a breadth of space between the two of you.

“Do they inspire you?” He asked. You sighed, completely unable to contain the need.

“He does.”

“Oh, so they’re a he, are they? That narrows it down.” He tittered and let himself play a soft, ambient tune. “Does he know how you feel?”

“No way!” You let out a bark of laughter. “Been trying to keep it a secret.”

“Why?” Venti blinked, appearing thoroughly baffled. “He should know!”

“What was it you said? Confessing is selfish sometimes. . .”

“Using my words against me. Cruel.” Venti sighed. “You really won’t tell him?”

“Not until it’s right, and not until I’m strong enough to accept the possibility that he might not feel the same.” Your smile was feeble and didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Chances come and go, away with the wind they blow, so I hold these lovelorn words inside my chest, never to be confessed.”

Venti frowned, watching as your fingers pressed and rubbed at the sudden ache right where your heart sat. His own reacted in kind, the horribly familiar grasp of doubt squeezing at his chest. He knew those thoughts and feelings all to well.

“In your heart the feelings run deep, but darling, don’t put them to sleep.” He reached out again when you dismissed his lyrics with a scoff, only this time you didn’t hesitate to place your hand in his. He didn’t drag you away from where you sat, but let his fingers slip between yours. Your heart stuttered a moment, the gentleness of the gesture filling you with gratitude and trace amounts of confusion.

The breeze picked up again, and you thought you could still hear the gentle song of the lyre despite him being preoccupied.

“Look at me.” He voice dropped to a whisper, so soft and airy that you almost didn’t catch it. But when you did, you bashfully locked your gaze with his. The sweetest smile pulled at his lips, the glimmer in his eyes so sincere that it made your own eyes prickle at the very corners.

Why did you have to fall for someone like him? Why couldn’t you have fallen for someone forgettable, or someone that wasn’t almost always within reach?

“Listen to my words, find them true, only a moron would reject you. You are wanted, loved and adored, you are more precious than any treasure hoard.” Venti arched himself forward, his forehead meeting with yours. Music continued to play in your ears, making the air around his words sweet. Could you believe them when they came from someone as flighty as him? You wanted desperately to, but you had to argue, to contest his open fondness for you.

“By the time the day is done, you’ll have said that to everyone.” You countered. Venti couldn’t hold back a laugh, his head moving away from yours. Already, you regretted sassing him. Come back, stay close.

“You’re getting better at that. While it’s true that I love to sing peoples praises, what I give you aren’t throwaway phrases. You’ve caught me, dear heart, and I want to surrender, allow me to bask in your unending splendor.”

You snorted and gave him a harmless shove. Venti grinned and gave in to your push, but he was near again in an instant.

“It can’t be that hard to believe that someone would love you. Don’t you believe me?” His question hung heavy in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth opened and closed, and each time your words failed you. Only after a long moment of listening to you stammer did Venti cautiously lean in. “Should I be selfish?”

“What does it mean for a bard to be selfish?” After a moment of mental screaming, you felt a smirk tease at your lips, but it was short lived. “Aside from drink all his wine before sharing it with someone?”

“Selfish bards do many, many things.” He spoke slowly, making sure each word dragged and lured you in. “I’ll admit it was silly to drink all the wine without you, but I can make up for it.”

You hummed contemplatively, each passing second tugging you closer and closer.

“How?”

“More wine?” He offered. You pulled a face.

“Mmmn, maybe. And?” Your mind was numb at this point, the idea that you two were so close making every inch of your body squirm. You had only daydreamed of sappy little scenarios like this, so living one out felt too good to be true. You were waiting to wake up, in fact, because this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be tempting the idea of confessing to you when the entire world of Teyvat could offer him better.

“Songs written just for you?” Venti’s grin broadened, but there was a hitch in his breath when you nudged the tip of your nose against his.

“Anything else?” You egged him on, catching a flare of darker green in his eyes. He said nothing, but the way he moved his hand to touch your cheek spoke volumes. “How about a share of the apples you pick every day, or some mora, or——?”

“You’re talking too much.” He muttered, lips only a fraction away from yours.

“That’s rich coming from you. . .”

His breath was warm and welcome and mingled with yours for all of one second before you felt the notion of a kiss. It was then that the bell above the cathedral chimed, it’s proximity and the intensity of the clap jarring you and the bard from your shared trance. You jerked away, flushed and wide-eyed, while Venti clicked his tongue. Vexed, he glared up towards the cathedral.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I need to go.” You scrambled from your spot, heart hammering so hard in your ears that it almost drowned out the sounds of the bell. “I forgot to see Katheryne about the commission!”

Venti arched a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” You vaulted over the railing and contemplated running off without another word, but it didn’t feel right. Rather than succumb to cowardice and embarrassment, you turned to face the bard. “Tomorrow. We’ll do this again, I promise, and. . .”

“And?”

“We’ll finish where we left off.”

“I was hoping you’d say that!”

#venti x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #( almost got a smooch! )#( it was another long one dang )#( i get too wordy sometimes :/ not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing HMM )#( tried to keep this one gender neutral but if I slipped up at all please let me know )

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patt-writes-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Pink (Hawks x gn!Reader)

Pairing: Hawks/Takami Keigo x gn! Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: cursing but that’s about it!

Genre: Fluff, slight angst, Romantic/Relationship

Tags/Aus: boss x secretary, pining, slow burn, slight cannon divergence probably

Summary: 5 times your boss, Hawks, made you flustered + the one time you made him flustered

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! This is my fic for the Attack on Academia server’s Secret Santa Event!! This is for @sugacookiies !! and I really hope you like it!!!

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 1

“Thank you so much for coming today, we’ll be sure to get back to you soon,” the lady who had been interviewing you said, smiling at you. You bowed your head slightly, thanking her for her time with a small smile on your face.

After exiting the room and closing the door, you took a deep breath, as if to calm your still very present nerves. You had been up for a job as a secretary at pro hero Hawk’s agency, something you were more than thrilled about.

Growing up, you’d always been immensely intrigued with the world of pro heroes. Your room had been decked out in hero figurines and posters, the whole nine yards. Hell, even your comforter was hero themed at a certain point in time. It had just always fascinated you how these people would use their quirks for the good of humanity and to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Sadly, your quirk, MoodLocks, wasn’t very useful in crime-fighting. All it did was allow your hair to change colors depending on your mood. It was pretty, of course, but you had a hard time controlling it and it could never help you beat an opponent. If anything, it would give the villain an insight into your thoughts and put you at a clear disadvantage.

So, as time passed, your childish fantasies of becoming a hero did as well. It didn’t bother you anymore, as you were more than happy with the career you’d chosen. Your love of heroes was still very much present, hence why you were so nervous about today’s interview. If you got the job, not only would the pay be incredible, but you’d also get the chance to help an actual hero. Maybe you’d even get the chance to meet more of them!

You were pretty sure you had made a fairly good impression so hopefully, you would indeed get a call from the agency soon.

Walking out of the agency, you couldn’t help but let out a yawn. You’d stayed up far too late last night googling commonly asked job interview questions so you wanted nothing more than to get back to your apartment and catch up on some much-needed rest. Maybe you and your roommate could order in.

“Oh God, I am so sorry that was my fault. I just finished this super stressful interview and I’m super tired so I was not watching where I was going-” your babbling came to a sudden halt as you looked up, brain losing all ability to form coherent thoughts.

Right before your very eyes was the man who’s “a bit too fast” in all his red-winged glory. You’d seen him in interviews online, of course, you kept up with most pro hero interviews, so you knew he was handsome. However, the cameras most certainly did not do the man justice. His yellow glasses were resting on his forehead, pushing his messy (and very soft looking) blond hair back. His gold eyes seemed to be looking right into your soul, calculating yet calm.

God, you wished you could make your eyeliner look remotely similar to his.

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you realized that you’d been staring for what you could only describe as an uncomfortably long amount of time.

Before you could embarrass yourself further, the winged hero placed a gloved hand on your shoulder. He looked at the top of your head, an intrigued expression adorning his face before morphing into an easy smile, he spoke, “‘S no problem, chickadee. Good luck with your interview.”

And just like that, the hero went along his merry way.

Curious what he’d been staring at, not to mention the nickname, you looked up at your hair, which had previously been a bright shade of orange due to being anxious, was now very pink. You blanched at the thought of having lost control of your quirk so easily, in front of a cute guy pro hero who might be your future boss no less.

‘Well,’ you thought, ‘at least I can say I met Japan’s #2 hero even if I don’t get this job.’

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 2

Much to your surprise, and pleasure, you had indeed received a call from Hawks’ agency about a week later. After several follow up interviews (much more than you were expecting, honestly, but you suppose it made since he’s such a high ranking hero) a very thorough background check, you had gotten the job.

When you had gotten the job, you had been hoping that the blond would have forgotten your first encounter, since you had literally malfunctioned right before his very eyes. The chances of him forgetting weren’t exactly small, after all. You were sure he met plenty of people every day and your interaction had been incredibly brief.

A month into your job as his secretary, you seemed to be in the clear. Sure, he knew about your quirk, since he was your employer and the ever-changing array of colors in your hair aren’t exactly subtle, but seeing as he hadn’t mentioned it so he’d probably forgotten.

You’d stayed at the agency long after your shift was overdue to a couple of low-ranking villains attempting to rob a bank. It had been an easy win for Hawks, he was in and out of there long before his sidekicks had even gotten there, but the villains had caused a lot of unnecessary damage to the building, so there was a ridiculous amount of paperwork.

You couldn’t wait to get home and change out of your stuffy work clothes and into the comfiest pair of PJs you owned. Your roommate, always a sweetheart, had been kind enough to save you some leftovers from her dinner so all you had to do was warm it up, eat, shower, and crash on your bed.

Whilst you were getting ready to head home, your boss had decided that it was only fair to walk you home, seeing as it was late. You had insisted that he didn’t need to do that, even showing him the can of pepper spray you carried around your person at all times. Still, he’d insisted, and who were you to say no?

The winged hero had originally offered to fly you home, but you’d profusely told him it wasn’t necessary. So, the two of you ended up taking the train. The two of you got a couple of weird stares from your fellow passengers, seeing as the flying hero was taking a train instead of y’know… flying and his wings took a significantly large part of the seat the two of you were occupying (it seemed uncomfortable but he didn’t mention it). Hawks seemed to either not notice or not care, opting instead to have an animated conversation with you about the best fried chicken places in Fukuoka. It was mostly him talking, but you’d add to the conversation every once in a while, and sometimes people would interrupt and ask for an autograph, which he’d sign with a carefree smile on his face.

“You don’t have to walk me home, sir,” you told him after the two of you had exited the station closest to your apartment.

“What kind of hero would I be if I let a civilian walk alone across the dark streets of Japan?” He asked you, tone light and teasing. “Also, didn’t I tell you to call me Hawks? Sir makes me feel old.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at his words, turning to the left towards your apartment. You’d get there soon and a small part of you wanted to keep the banter going for as long as possible.

“I don’t think that would be very professional of me, sir,” you said playfully. He laughed and the two of you settled into a comfortable silence while you walked.

After a moment, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and he spoke up, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, how exactly does your quirk work?”

“Oh well, y’know, it changes color depending on my mood, so red means I’m angry, blue can mean I’m sad or calm, pink means I’m flustered or embarrassed, purple means I’m scared, etc.”

“So your hair went pink the first time we met because you were starstruck by my devilishly good looks?” He asked in a faux haughty tone. “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you.”

The asshole remembered your first encounter.

Your hair turned pink and you celebrated inwardly as you approached your apartment. As you opened the glass door to the complex, Hawks laughed at your hurry.

“Good night,” you stated, tone indignant at his laughter, as you made your way inside.”

“‘Night, Pinky.”

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 3

Working for the red-winged hero himself was both everything you were expecting it to be and completely the opposite of it at the same time.

The hours were crazy, something you were anticipating considering villain activity had been increasing and your boss was a busy public figure. What you were certainly not anticipating, however, was that Hawks would be such a teasing little shit.

Not only had the man remembered your first encounter, but after you had explained your quirk to him (he’d asked you about it despite it being in the agency’s records since you had applied for the position, you guessed he’d done it as a way to break the ice) he’d taken it upon himself to fluster you to get your hair to go that embarrassingly bright shade of pink.

He’d call you all sorts of nicknames ranging from pinky to songbird (your favorite was by far Pinky since it feels so personal. Not that you’d ever tell him that). He’d also gotten into the habit of trying out all sorts of ridiculous pick up lines on you. The greater majority of them were bird-related, of course. Those never really got you but they did make you laugh.

The one that probably got you the most was when he’d bring you your favorite drink or lunch from a place you’d mentioned you’d like offhandedly, saying he had just been “flying by” and remembered your conversation.

You didn’t mind his flirtatious banter in the slightest. He never crossed any boundaries and kept things professional when it came to business. It was pretty fun to see what nicknames or pickup lines he had up his sleeves.

The only downside was that you’d begun to develop a slight crush on the red-winged hero. It would never lead to anything, you were well aware of that. He was not only a famous hero who was constantly under public scrutiny, but he was also your boss.

It can’t hurt to dream though.

“What’s got you so distracted?” An all too familiar broke your very him-centric train of thought. You looked up from the paperwork you’d been blankly staring at. You’d been trying to multitask between eating and doing paperwork so you wouldn’t have to take any work home. After much insistence from your roommate, who was well aware of your crush on Your boss (she’d teasingly gifted you a pair of Hawks themed PJs on your birthday), you had finally given in and agreed to let her set you up on a date with a former schoolmate of hers.

“Nothing, just thinking about a date I have tonight,” you lied, looking up from your desk to meet those lovely honey-colored eyes you spent more hours than you’d care to admit thinking about. You scanned his body language, trying to gauge his reaction. Not that you could ever get a read on him. More often than not, it was impossible to get a read on him under the visage of carefree indifference he was so well known for. In the almost half a year you’d known him you’d never once seen the hero lose his cool or show any emotion other than the ones he wanted to portray. It was kind of unfair seeing as he could get a picture-perfect look into your thoughts and emotions just by looking at the color of your hair and here you were, left grasping at straws.

He seemed to have no outward reaction other than his shoulders tensing and his eyebrows scrunching up a bit in mild distaste. It was gone so fast you were sure you must have just imagined it.

“Pinky’s got themselves a date?” he said after a moment, a slightly forced teasing tilt to his voice. He crossed his hands and placed them on the taller part of your desk and leaned his weight on them, staring down at you with a cheeky grin.

“I guess so,” you said, fiddling with your chopsticks as you continued, “I’m kind of nervous though. I haven’t got on any dates since I started working here, I’m a little rusty.”

“How come you haven’t gone on any dates?” he asked, staring at you with an intensity you weren’t quite expecting from him. “Had a special someone in mind?”

The roots of your hair went white in surprise before you managed to school them into going back to your natural hair color. It was brief but he had surely noticed.

“I’d go on lots of dates if my boss gave me more days off,” you said, pushing past the momentary lull in the conversation and giving him a pointed look.

He let out a laugh, a real and genuine one, unlike the ones he’d let out during interviews or out in public. The thought made your face heat up. It made you feel special. Even if he didn’t see you in the same way you saw him, he at least trusted you enough to be real around you. That was enough for you.

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, kid, any person would be lucky to land a date with someone as beautiful as you,” He stated, looking at you with a certain emotion behind his gaze that you couldn’t quite decipher. “If your date happens to go south, just give me a call and I’ll pick you up. After all, what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t look out for my secretary?”

You looked at his retreating form, your hair as pink as bubble gum and heart threatening to beat out of your rib cage. He’d just called you beautiful. He’d also said that anyone would be lucky to date you. Did that include him? Did he like you?

“Hey Hawks,” you called out, surprising both him and yourself. Despite him telling you to just call him Hawks instead of ‘sir’, you’d stuck to calling him sir for the sake of professionality. “Thanks for the offer.”

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 4

You let out a tired sigh as you watched the number of floors go up on the tiny screen atop the doors of the elevator you were currently in.

When you had signed your contract to work at Hawks’ agency, you were aware that you would need to be accessible 24/7, however, you thought that if he did contact you at an ungodly hour, it’d be for something important, perhaps something along the lines of a press scandal or a massive villain attack that you’d need to start filing paperwork promptly so that the agency could report the casualties or cost of the destruction. You had highly doubted Hawks, Japan’s literal #2 hero would call his secretary at 3:00 a.m. in the goddamn morning and order them to bring him a bucket of fried chicken from fucking KFC.

You clearly hadn’t known the man at the time, you thought as you stared at the red and white bucket in your arms.

The elevator dinged, alerting you that you had arrived at your destination. Making your way through the hallway, you tried to figure out why your boss would be so cruel as to make you get him fast food when he had two perfectly capable wings that could take him to and from the nearest KFC faster than you ever could. You bet it’d even be warmer.

You’d need to download UberEats on his phone.

Before your fist could make contact with the door, it was swung open, surprising your half-asleep brain. Before your eyes there was a very awake looking Hawks, his eyes zeroed in on the bucket you were holding

“Hey there, chickadee,” he said in a teasing tone, resting his arm on the door frame in a very attractive manner. God, if you were just a bit more coherent and a little less sleep-deprived, your hair would be the most embarrassingly bright pink color imaginable.

Thankfully, you weren’t and you could hear your bed calling your name from across the city, so without bothering to answer, you shoved the bucket of chicken into his arms before turning around to speed your way back to your at this point cold bed.

Before you could get very far, however, Hawks had grabbed your wrist with your free hand.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” He asked you, letting go of your wrist.

“It’s 3 in the goddamn morning, Hawks,” was your deadpan answer.

“C’mon, you wouldn’t let your poor boss eat all alone would you,” you could tell his tone was meant to be light and playful but it was lacking his usual flare.

Your concern for the overgrown pigeon won out, and with a defeated sigh, you walked into his apartment, Hawks trailing behind you, visibly pleased that you stayed.

Despite all your time working for Hawks, you’d never actually been inside of his apartment. You had come here several times before to drop off documents he needed to sign or a new schedule (because the Hero Commission apparently couldn’t send emails directly to him) but you had always left the things at his building's front desk.

Hawks’ apartment was… emptier than you had expected it to be. It was nice, the furniture was obviously high quality, not that it was surprising considering he was a high ranking hero, but it lacked a personal touch. It had no pictures or knick-knacks in sight. It felt more like a house instead of an actual home.

“So, how’d your date go?” Hawks inquired once the two of you settled in his living room, him on the couch and you in the armchair next to it. He picked up a piece of chicken, offering it to you. However, it was far too early to even think about consuming food, so you politely declined.

“It was fine. He was nice,” you answered.

To be honest the date had gone well. He’d been nice, a complete gentleman. He’d taken you to a nice restaurant, he was great in conversation, he’d even walked you home but at the end of the night, the two of you had agreed that there was just no chemistry between the two of you whatsoever. You had decided to just stay friends.

“There won’t be a second one, though,” you added after a beat of silence.

“Good,” your eyes widened at his words and suddenly you had an epiphany.

Hawks had been jealous. He was jealous because he liked you. That’s why he had asked you to come here.

Before you could voice your thoughts, he spoke again, a sly smirk on his face, “By the way, I love your pajamas. I wasn’t aware you were such a fan.”

Your hair turned pink, as it often did whenever Hawks was around when you looked down at your clothes. In your haste to get Hawks his food so you could go back to bed, you had forgone changing clothes. You hadn’t realized you were wearing the Hawks themed PJs your roommate had gotten you as a gag gift. They were mustard-colored with lots of cute red feathers and tiny Hawks chibi heads scattered around the fabric.

He would never let you live this down.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 5

Following the KFC event, the two of you hadn’t spoken about the situation further. At this point, you were well aware of his feelings for you, and you hadn’t exactly been subtle about liking him. The two of you just hadn’t spoken about it. You weren’t official but there was an unspoken rule that neither of you would go on dates with other people.

You were fine with it. Really, you were.

Except that you were definitely not okay with it and you were very much upset that he had just answered that he was single when the lady that had interviewed him had asked him if he was seeing anyone.

Rationally, you understood why he said no. You weren’t official and saying yes would just throw the media into a frenzy while they speculated who he was seeing. You remember how crazy everyone went a couple of months ago when pictures of Mirko and Hawks in their street clothes hanging out started circulating on Twitter. They were trending for weeks, and you had had to answer call after call, explaining that no, they are not dating and no, they don’t have time to go on the 8:00 a.m. news to answer questions about what it was like to date as pro heroes.

On the other hand, you were tired of dancing around each other. You were aware that dating a pro hero would come with hectic schedules and even some danger, but you didn’t care.

“So I was thinking you could come over and we can watch that hero documentary you told me to watch- hey are you mad at me?” Hawks asked, brows furrowed as in confusion.

“No, I’m not angry at you,” you answered, putting your stuff away and heading to the agency’s doors. You were more than ready to go back to your apartment and there was a pint of your favorite ice cream waiting for you in the freezer with your name on it.

“You totally are,” he scoffed, following after you.

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are.” Your overgrown pigeon of a boss insisted, mimicking your tone, “If you’re not angry then why is your hair red?”

With a sigh, you spoke, failing to hide the snarky tone to your voice “So what if I am angry? Why do you care? It’s not like we’re dating or anything.” You walked out onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, that’s what you're upset about?” He asked, realization dawning upon his features. When you didn’t answer he kept talking, “You of all people know why I didn’t say anything.”

“I know. It’s just- nothing, never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” You told him, looking away with a defeated sigh.

You were about to walk away before he stopped you by placing his glove cladded hand

“At least let me take you home,” it wasn’t much of a question, but you nodded anyways.

All of a sudden, you let out a shrill scream when he picked you up bridal style, hands instinctively clasping on to his coat to assure you wouldn’t fall.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you home,” he explained as if it were obvious. Before you had a chance to argue he set off into the sky.

You couldn’t hear anything but the wind in your ears and his heartbeat, but you finally understood why he loved flying so much. Exhilarating was the only word you could use to describe it. And cold. It was also really cold. You understood why he walked around with such a heavy coat now. You snuggled more into him, trying to get some more warmth, which caused Hawks to tighten his hold on you. The affectionate gesture alone had your hair going a shade of pink.

You got to your apartment building much faster than you ever would by taking the train, something that you regretted a bit since it meant he’d let go of you.

“Look, Hawks,” you started, “maybe we should-“

“Keigo,” he said, effectively cutting you off,

“W-what?” You spluttered, caught off guard.

“I want you to call me Keigo,” he said with a sense of finality, looking into your eyes with an emotion you couldn’t quite read, or at least one that you were just choosing to ignore. It’d just make what you were about to suggest harder.

“Look, Hawks,” you started, opening the door that led to the stairs, “I really like you, hell, maybe even more than that, and I want to be with you but I don’t want to be whatever we are right now forever.”

Ignoring the way his wings physically dropped at your words, you closed the door behind you and headed to your apartment.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 1

Once you got home, you immediately stripped out of your work clothes and into your Hawks-themed pajamas (because they're the comfiest, not because they remind you of him, obviously) and you’d taken out your ice cream and went to town on it. Your roommate had noticed the dark blue that had taken over your hair but you’d brushed her off, saying it was nothing to worry about. She’d been doubtful, but she had a night shift so she left, but not before making you promise to call her if you needed to.

You’d spent the rest of the evening eating your ice cream and watching tv before deciding to get some sleep so you would feel at least a little less sorry for yourself tomorrow.

You were currently in your room, scrolling through your phone on your bed before calling it a day when you started to hear a tapping sound. You’d ruled it out to be some tree branch knocking against your window due to the wind. However, the longer you ignored it the more incessant it became.

You nearly fell out of your bed when you realized it was Hawks, your boss, the #2 pro hero of Japan, tapping on your window while squatting on your fire escape.

You got up, heading towards your window and unlocking it before pushing it up. You helped him in before sitting down on the bed and motioning for him to do the same. An awkward silence filled the air, neither of you was quite sure of what you should say.

“Hawks, what are-“ you started before being cut off by him.

“Look, Pinky, I love you so much it scares the shit out of me,” he declared. Your hair went the brightest shade of pink it had ever been at his words.

He played with the embroidered design of the throw blanket you kept in your bed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the red-winged hero so vulnerable in all your time knowing him.

“But there’s a lot of crap that comes with my job and I could never forgive myself if I brought you into it and you got hurt. So-“ before he could finish speaking, you grabbed onto his coat’s collar with both of your hands and crashed your lips against his.

You’d waited almost an entire year for this. One thing was for certain, it was well worth the wait. You loved every single thing about him. And he loved you. That was all you needed.

After a beat, you pulled away, choosing instead to cup his cheek in an adoring manner. The two of you looked at each other with nothing short of pure unadulterated adoration.

“I love you Keigo,” you spoke his name for the first time, “as long as you’re by my side I don’t care about what happens.”

His reaction was, for lack of a better word, cute. His honey eyes were wide in shock, his face as red as his wings, and his aforementioned wings were puffed up in shock. Now you understood why he loved teasing you so much.

“So, do you wanna watch the documentary?” You asked him, walking out of your room and into the living room with a victorious smirk.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #takami x reader #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #secret santa fic #patt’s creations

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fairefolked · 5 years ago

Photo

so @okelli said they wanted a more in depth tortilla so ya gorl is here to deliver. here you go. click this link. that's it. that's the tutorial.

ok i'm done trying to be funny. i've chucked this in here under a cut, but please keep in mind, this is not a professional tutorial. i am in no way an artist/professional/the be all and end all/guru/god; this is just my editing process. so you don't need to follow it exactly to the t. you're more than welcome to change any processes and do your own thing. i know there are some more technical and frankly better tutorials out there by other simblrs that go really into details and what have you which are really helpful (and i do encourage everyone to go check them out), but please keep criticisms close to your heart bc i reiterate; i have no fucking clue what i'm doing. but let's get started bc this bitch gon be long.

what you're going to need:

photoshop or some other editing program. i personally use ps cc 2019, however gimp will probably also work

reshade; however whatever version you use is up to you. again, i use 4.6.1.

google is your best friend and mine

a screenshot of your choosing w some slick lighting

a lot of patience

for images where the resolution isn’t clear, click here for full size.

step one:

open up your screenshot in your editing program of choice. i have picked this screenshot for the purpose of the tutorial bc of the spicy lighting. also did i spend an hour building this for the purpose of this tutorial? i cannot confirm or deny these suspicions, but we're usin it ok. for this picture i used @intramoon‘s alethiology reshade preset bc it’s my fav atm. you can find it here.

step two:

apply your colourgrade. i used the sonder actions by again @intramoon bc this tutorial is sponsored by asia. i’m not going to go too in depth here, bc this differs from screenshot to screenshot. i’m only mentioning it bc it’s fairly important to the next step. adding the colourgrade turned my screenshot from what you see above to this.

as you can see, the colours are now slightly more muted and there’s more of a green hue to it.

step three:

depending on the colour scheme you’re going for with the screenshot, you’re going to want to pick a colour that compliments it. since my screenshot is still quite warm toned, i chose #fff4d8 which is a pale yellow. you’re going to want to take this onto a soft brush (they come with photoshop so if you’re new to using ps, it’s a default, you don’t need to download anything). i’ll include a screenshot of what it looks like.

before painting anything, what you’re going to want to do is create a NEW layer. you can do this by either pressing shift + ctrl + n or by clicking layer in the menu bar up top, selecting new, and then new layer.

on your new layer, with the colour and brush selected, what you’re going to do is paint over the areas that are already highlited by ea lighting. for example, my screenshot ended up looking like this.

looks pretty messy, but that’s ok bc we’re going to change the blending mode to overlay as seen below. obviously this made the lighting look slightly too intense. dw this is not how we leave it.

i also change the opacity to suit the image. i set my opacity to 50% and this is what it ended up looking like.

i added in an extra step that i only use occasionally for this tutorial, and basically that extra step is going in with a soft WHITE brush and taking it to the areas that look extra glowy - i.e. the typewriter, the pie and the counter handle. this is what mine looked like. this needs to be again done on a new layer, so make sure you ctrl + shift + n or select a new layer in the menu bar.

again changing the layer to overlay, and changing the opacity. this is what my settings looked like.

again, please refer to the full size image folder, however for those lazy like me; opacity is at 65%

step four:

on your main layer of lighting overlay (if you didn’t add more like i did it should be your only one), you will want to add a layer mask. this can be done by clicking this little button here

once you’ve done that, it should add a white box on your layer and look like this

because the colour has lightened some of our shadows, and depending on how deep you want your shadows to be, you’re going to want to click onto the white layer mask and with a soft brush set to the colour black, you’re going to want to draw over the shadowed areas that you want to deepen again.

for reference these are the areas that i went over. and my layer mask now looks like this

step five:

creaTE A NEW LAYER!!!!!! this time we’re going in with shadows. pick a dark grey colour (or black, your choice. i prefer dark grey), i used #1c1a18 and paint over the areas where you want to deepen the shadows further again.

this is what mine looked like

set that to soft light and change your opacity (don’t use overlay this time, it’s too harsh on the picture).

my picture now looks like this:

subtle changes make a world of difference.

step six:

FIND A LIGHT RAY!!!! i mentioned in the ask i published that i particularly like using this one i found on google, and i did use it for the purpose of this tutorial as well.

pop her on your picture and change the positioning. positioning can be changed by pressing ctrl + t and either flipping/rotating (which can be done by right clicking on the texture and selecting flip horizontal etc) and dragging the corners. if you’re dragging the corners to make the texture smaller, maKE SURE YOU’RE HOLDING SHIFT DOWN WHEN YOU’RE DRAGGING SO THE DIMENSIONS STAY THE SAME. with the positioning, make sure you’re putting the light areas of your texture where the light source is coming from. it’s really important to have a basic understanding of light and shadows. i flipped mine horizontally and made the texture smaller as well as rotated a little.

set her to screen and change you’re opacity.

boy i’m sounding like a broken record lmao, but my picture now looks like this.

starting to look kinda nice right?

step seven:

download this video. open it up in photoshop and make sure you have your timeline window on. if you don’t and don’t know how to change it, up the top, select WINDOW and make sure there is a tick next to timeline which is near the bottom of the drop down. once you’ve done that, click ANYWHERE along the little timeline that has shown up and it gives you a frame for the dust texture. it should look something like this. (the red is bc that little blue and red guy is important)

press ctrl + a on your keyboard to select all and copy that motherfucker. past her on your screenshot, set her to screen and play with her opacity again.

if you’re unhappy and feel like it’s too busy, you can go back and add a layer mask and using that same soft black brush, erase problematic areas the same way we did in step four. mine ended up looking like this.

NOW THIS PART IS OPTIONAL!!!!!

using the colour fill or paint bucket tool, i went in on another new layer with another pale yellow (#e4dcb1) and filled in the whole image. i set that to COLOUR and put it on a clipping mask RIGHT ABOVE the dust texture. you can add a clipping mask by right clicking and selecting set clipping mask. it now only applies to the layer directly below, which is our dust layer. i only did this because the white was too harsh (lol) and i wanted the dust to blend a little better with the surroundings.

finally step eight:

again optional, but if you like the vintage look like i do, select the layer with your screenshot and using the noise v2 action by @intramoon (hi again asia) in this set, add some noise. it creates a duplicate layer, which you can then play with the opacity of to set to your desired strength.

once you’ve done that, you’re basically done!!! this is what my screenshot ended up looking like by the very end.

that concludes our spicy lighting tutorial. i hope you were able to do better than i do on a good day. enjoy!!!!!! if there are any parts that you need clarification on, please feel free to yell at me and i’ll see if i can help lol

#ts4 tutorial #s4 tutorial #editing tutorial #the sims 4 #s4 #ts4 #ts4 screenshot #s4 screenshot #ts4 edit #s4 edit #i tried #it's long #i got lazy #i'm sorry

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fandomlovingfreak · 4 years ago

Text

Incidentally In Love (4/?)

Charlie Weasley/Reader

Rating: T and up (Triggers: Pregnancy and maybe commitment)

Masterlist Link I AO3 Link

Summary: Sleeping with Charlie Weasley was easy. He was charming, and handsome, and was quite talented in bed... Finding out you're pregnant with your casual fuck buddies baby was not easy.

Reader's journey through co-parenting, an overbearing Molly Weasley who wants reader to marry her son to give the baby a "real family", and maybe falling a tiny bit in love with her baby daddy.

Notes: POV change (it’s Charlie’s POV) after the second *** break! Hope you enjoy!

Enjoy

"What do you want?" he asks as he glances over the Prophet at me. I'm trying not to inhale my food even though I'm starving, and it is seven A.M. on a Friday. I'll probably be a tad bit late to work. My boss gets it, though. He and his wife have three of their own, and he's gone through his fair share of pregnancy weirdness.

"What do I want? For what?" I wipe a bit of jelly off my lip with my finger, popping the digit in my mouth, so I don't waste any of it.

"For the baby." His nose is a little red from the cold November air that always seems to creep into my house no matter how many times I fix it with magic or any of the numerous Muggle ways.

"Like, gender?" I tilt my head, wondering where this came from.

"Yeah. Do you want one or the other, especially?"

I think about it for a second. Secretly I want a boy. I want the baby to be all Charlie Weasley, but a little girl could be nice as well. Honestly, as long as the baby is healthy. That's what matters. "I don't know, really. Why? Do you have a preference?"

"I think I want a girl," his blue eyes light up, "there are just so many boys in the family already. It could be nice to have a little girl." Oh, that's a sweeter answer than I expected. I don't even know why I expected Charlie to want a boy. Maybe because of how having a son is seen as some sort of 'continuation of a name' prized by many men? I should have known better than to expect Charlie Weasley to be anything like other men.

"That's sweet," I grin, "what would you name her if it were up to you?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment, "I don't know. If I had my way, you know, I'd choose something related to dragons."

"Hebridean Black Weasley has a ring to it, ya know?"

Charlie rolls his eyes, "That's now what I meant, and you know it, (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"What did you mean then?" I lean forwards in my chair. I'm eager to know if he's come up with something already.

He flushes slightly, looking at his hands, "Maybe name them after one of my dragons?" The laughter spills from my lips when what he said registers. "It's not that funny!" Charlie's so red his hair blends in with the brilliant hue of his face.

"You can't expect me to tell my little girl someday that her father named her after one of the dragons he looks after, Charles!"

He grins, "fine. I guess that would be sort of odd."

Shaking my head, I rub a hand down the barely-there swell of my stomach, "Luckily, we have a lot of time to decide on names, or else you'd end up with quite an interesting name, baby." I glance up at Charlie, who's watching me intently. "What?"

"Nothing," he picks the Prophet back up, hiding behind the pages. Not like it does much to hide him.

"Well, we better be off then. I've been late already twice this week, and I can only use this pregnancy as an excuse so many times before someone's bound to question me."

***

I get through the day without any truly eventful moments. Ever since I made it known to my superiors of my condition, they've been giving me more desk work than usual. Not like I did a ton of work outside of my desk, but the paperwork seems to stack up to the ceiling nearly every day now.

Per usual, Charlie got me for lunch, which was a nice way to stretch my legs after a morning of dull cases.

"How are you feeling?" He asked like he always did when we walked to the same muggle cafe we went to when I told him I was pregnant. It had become somewhat of a little tradition to go there at least once a week since that day.

"I'm okay. Just needed to stretch my legs. I'm not sure why they think I should sit my entire shift."

"They're probably just making sure you don't get too tired." He shrugs.

I laugh, "I feel like if anything, I'm more tired sitting there all day."

"I could talk to them?" he offers. Charlie Weasley, always the chivalrous Gryffindor.

"Thank you, but I don't think I want my baby daddy coming into my department to tell off my boss." I grin at him.

"Well, if it's bad for the baby and you, then I ought to intervene. But, if that's really not what you want, I'll just have to make it up to you at home." Home? Charlie's been using words like this more frequently than before. It sounds so--domestic. And I can't blame him, honestly. He spends more time in my tiny flat than his parent's house.

Suddenly I'm wondering if...Should I just ask if he wants to move in? Does that make this easier? We can still only be co-parents--well, co-parent's who find themselves in the same bed every night and morning--and no, this is so weird and complicated already. But, how much easier can it get than just moving in together. Charlie won't miss anything then, and we can really effectively be parents. And when the baby comes, it's not like I can be away from them.

My words move faster than my mind, and I find myself blurting out a quick, "what if you moved in?" I'm mortified by myself immediately.

"You want me to move in?"

I open and close my mouth, trying to find my words, "well, you said 'home', and I was just thinking how you practically live in my flat already? And well, logistically, it makes the most sense if you want to be around for all of the babies firsts and everything--But, if you don't want to, I understand. It's a lot to ask..."

"I want to," he clears his throat, "I mean, I want to if that's really what you want."

"Is it going to be too confusing for your family to understand we're just living together because it's easier? Not because we're involved or anything?"

I think I detect a subtle change in his face like he's a little upset that I've brought this up. "No. It's fine. I don't care what they think."

"Okay. I just don't want to give your mother the wrong idea. Cause this is for the baby and simplicity for us." Why I add the last thought...I'm not sure. Maybe I'm convincing the both of us it's not some selfish...feelings thing. We're moving in together as of today because Charlie should be around for the babies' life; living in the same space is the easiest way for all three of us. There are no ulterior reasons why he's moving in, no sir.

"If she does, I'll talk to her." He looks down at the table for a moment.

"Okay, well, I mean, do you need to move anything big in?"

"I don't think I have much more to move in. Pretty much everything I use every day is already at your place."

"Well, then, Weasley..." I try to diffuse the tension by raising my brow and grinning at him, "I guess you're my new roommate."

He rolls his eyes, "Looks like it."

***

"Mum?" I walk in the front door to find my mother hunched over her knitting at the kitchen table. I kick my boots off as she sets down her needles.

"Charlie! Where's (y/n)?" she comes round the table to kiss my cheek.

"Still at the Ministry finishing up some last-minute paperwork."

"What a shame. I was just about to start another hat for the baby. What do you think she'd like yellow or purple?" The image of a newborn baby in a yellow hat makes my insides feel fuzzy.

"Yellow?" I don't actually know if (y/n) would choose yellow, but I don't think she'd object.

"Perfect. Are you staying home tonight or heading back to (y/n)'s flat, dear?"

"Heading back. That's actually what I wanted to talk about. I'm moving in with (y/n)."

Mum's head shoots up, "You're moving in with her? Are you--"

I flush uncomfortably, "No! No, we're not together. (y/n) thought it would be best. I won't miss anything in the baby's life. Plus, we've become quite close, and I don't think she wants to be alone?" Molly Weasley looks like she wants to say something, and I'm pretty sure I know what she wants to say. But, we're not together, and moving in together won't change that. (y/n) made that pretty clear.

"You're sure--"

"I'm sure. It's for the best." She gives me a look, and I know she can detect that there's at least something else there for me.

Taglist: @paigeyisme @hannah220506

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collisiondiscourse · 4 years ago

Note

YOUR NEW ART PIECE IS MWAH. CHEFS KISS

Also for the question: do you have a specific method for choosing your colors?? I’m rlly bad at picking colors that work well with one another 😔

!!! HI AUSSIE MWAH I LOVE U N KISSA U ON THE CHEEK

i dont really have a specific method per se on choosing my colors? except i tend to stay on the warmer parts of the color spectrum!! i use a LOT of subtle gradients and overlay layers on all of my art, and i tend to stick to complementary colors for lighting!! (specifically yellow and purple)

now, just a reminder that i am FULLY self-taught with the exception of some online tutorial videos, so take my words with a grain of salt since im not a professional :D coloring guide under the cut !

the thing with coloring things digitally is that you rarely ever actually stick with the colors you first put down! its important to keep note that the best thing about digital coloring is that nothing is ever uneditable and you can always adjust the hue, saturation, and brightness of any layer. (for reference, i use FireAlpaca to do art :3 )

now, if youre familiar with my art, my drawings tend to be on the more vibrant colored side! i like colorful and light looking drawings for the most part and all my lighting/shading tends to be either very soft or colored.

one thing i almost NEVER do is shade with direct black.

Now, why is this so? Black is the color of shadows in real life anyway, and its much easier to just shade everything with black and fiddle with the opacity! by all means, black as shading makes the most logical sense.

But the reason i don’t shade things in black or even just move the color of the flat towards the darker end of the spectrum is because the tendency of the shading is that it ends up looking very... dirty. and grimy. and i dont really like that/have the ability to pull it off. so what i do is i use color theory (or, well, a butchered version of it.)

now, before we get into that--on the point of black shading looking grimy & dirty, im certain that there are some styles that can pull it off (like julia lepetit, a drawfee host and a content creator i absolutely adore!). but it really all depends on what kind of mood you want your drawing to evoke. If youre like me and use coloring to express the emotions of a piece and like very eye catching coloring methods, then its important to know that RGB SUCKS.

(For me at least.)

using rgb as your coloring reference tends to create a lot darker or muddier pieces which can be nice depending on your target/intention, but for the most part is terribly annoying. The solution to this (again, which works for me but not everyone) is that i choose to color with CMYK aka Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, Black. THIS is the color model i work with when coloring my flats.

Now theres a whole explanation for why CMYK and RGB are different and why CMYK appears better digitally and for printing things, but im a stem student and im tired as hell of hearing about waves and optics so yall can google that if youd like.

But basically! Yes. I use CMYK in most circumstances to make sense of coloring. Going further from there however, the way i choose what colors to shade/highlight with has everything to do with contrast and color theory. The common understanding i have is that yellow tends to be more adjacent to light while purple is closer to shadows.

NOW.

the basic system i have for coloring goes like this:

if the flats are warm, the shading and the highlighting is cooler. if the flats are cool, the shading and the highlighting is warmer.

for example: (flat color - shading - highlighting)

orange/skin tone - purple - yellow

green - blue - pink

yellow - orange - light blue

THEN i go a little more complex with midtones and what not in order to blend colors!! like with skin for example, i shade it with purple and ease the transition with red midtones. sometimes for fun i add some (subtle) cooler shades for a more painter-like effect.

Colors tend to reflect off of one another too, so i add soft gradients and airbrush very subtle colors unto different components. When im drawing a person for example, i airbrush some of the skintone very lightly unto the hair that frames the face to bring the piece together a little bit more!!

for final touches, i add things like yellow to purple gradients, the side of the light source being where the yellow begins. I also love fiddling with layer settings and setting things to overlay etc. because it unites all the colors a little bit more. I try to also adjust the colored layers to have less contrast between them so that its less of a rainbow eyesore lol

hope this answers a lot of questions!! if anyone wants a more detailed explanation ig, you can always hit up my kofi ;)

#codi gives advice #codi.txt #asks #isaustraliaathing #collisioncomrades

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foxsstoriesarchive · 4 years ago

Text

|| The Main Muses ||

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Name: Nox Hethaway Age: 25 (May 5th 1995) Immortal - Stopped aging at 21 Nickname: Nox Gender: Female Sexuality: Straight Height: 5ft'4 Race: Demon/Succubus Ethnicity: British Looks: Short, messy raven hair falling into her right eye, Nox had the unique gift of having intense violet eyes that seemed to slightly shift in colour like the shimmering of liquid gold. The raven female mainly wears black, with articles of purple to accent her look. Whether it's a waterfall black cardigan with a purple tank top underneath which tends to be her signature look, or perhaps a purple plaid shirt, it seems that she truly favours darker shades of the spectrum that make up her 'aesthetic'. She might be seen wearing little red accents, due to her little crush for the colour.A purple, four leaf clover necklace hangs from her neck at all times, quite the important keepsake that she made with her own hands, and she has one ear pierced with a silver four leaf clover. Has the looks of a 21 year old. Key Personality Characteristics: Relaxed, Flirty, Sassy, Fiery, Enigmatic, Intuitive, Curious, Clever, Mature, Observant, Playful, Neutral, Thoughtful, Good Natured, Sympathetic, Faithful. About: Nox hadn't had the easiest of youths, and due to that case, in her younger days she was seen as a rather lazy and sassy female whom tended to throw insults at people, as well as ignore much of the population around her. However after certain events when she was eighteen, the female grew up to be a lot more mature and understanding to the situations around her. Perhaps whatever has happened, allowed her to open up to everything around her more? Nox is the type of a person that allows curiosity to get the best of her, yet she can be a delightful person to talk to at times. Having studied photography in University, Nox has a fairly keen eye to detail, seeming to pay attention to those around her more than the usual Joe. She can show a strong interest in things that catch her eye or amuse her, and her favourite past-time is playing her guitar. If you're a good listener and fascinated with life, it is very likely that Nox will take quite the liking in you. Likes/Interests: Night, Purple, Violets, Cats, Moon, Stars, Sky, Sunsets, Fire, Fireplaces, Music, Guitar, Hot Chocolate, Philosophy, Cafes, Streets, Photography, Darkness, Crows, Ravens, Streets, Heights, Cinnamon, Napping. Weaknesses: Cold! Nox can get very ill when in prolonged contact with cold, and any sort of frozen things, whether ice, icecream, or something like snow can cause her to get a fatal fever that can be difficult for her to get better from. Demons are known for their higher body temperatures, so imagine what happens when one goes into a feverish state! Suitable/Preferred partners: Angels, Fallens, Fair Folk, Vampires, Demons, Shapeshifters. Pets: N/A. Aesthetic Blog: https://noxhethaway.tumblr.com/ Faceclaim: (c) Lord Kevins, Josefine Jonsson Bandclaim: The XX Voice claim: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCKWly00BHM

Name: Charlavail Harelwood Age: 19 Appearance wise, 1,987-ish in reality. Nickname: Charlie, Charla, Char, Carla Gender: Female Sexuality: Straight Height: 5ft Race: Fallen Angel Ethnicity: British Looks: With her long, beautiful white hair and stormy grey eyes, Charlie can oftentimes be seen in a light blue shirt that's covered in stains of paint due to spending a lot of her time, well- Painting, alongside her white jeans. Sometimes a black cardigan can be covering the shirt, or perhaps she's wearing a hoodie with jeans when not in her usual, 'casual' painting clothes. One of her ears is pierced, and a silver feather earring tends to decorate it. Key Personality Characteristics: Stubborn, Violent, Sassy, Angry, Fierce, Firecracker, Bashful, Demolishing, Irritable, Sullen, Creative, Capable, Colourful, Blunt, Quirky with a sprinkle of sweetness. About: You'd think with age comes maturity, right? Wrong. Charlavail is a spitfire that can surprise most with her vivid personality. She used to be a lot more violent when she was younger, her stubborn streak really affecting how she treated those around her, however over a certain amount of time she began to learn to control her emotions at least to the point where things weren't always flying in the air whenever someone said something she didn't like. She's a pretty touchy girl when it comes to people mentioning her height, and it is rather likely that she will cuss you out if you're not careful, but it's kind of her charm, no? However don't let her fool you, she might be a fierce female but she has her own sweet side, if one gives her the chance to open up to them. Careful though, that's not an easy thing to achieve and it takes quite the mighty patience and steady hand to get to that point with her. It's worth it in the long run, though. Likes: Art, Paint, Art Supplies, Studios, White Roses, Paint brushes, Feathers, Spring, Winter, Blue, White, Pink Milk, Pastel, Skies, Clouds, Stars, Forget-me-nots, Colours, Paris, Afternoons, Creativity, Dogs. Suitable/Preferred partners: Angels, Fallens, Demons, Werewolves, Pets: A white cat called Halle. Aesthetic Blog: https://charlavailharelwood.tumblr.com/ Faceclaim: (c) Charlavail Effron Bandclaim: Phoenix Wolfgang Amadeus Voice claim: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qePo_r1KXhQ

Name: 'Kassidy' Kassandrea Smith Age: 23 [Immortal] Nickname: Kass Gender: Female Sexuality: Bisexual Height: 5ft'5 Race: Fox Shapeshifter/Goddess Ethnicity: British Looks: A very skater-girl style, Kass loves plaid shirts of all sorts and shades. Her long, dark red hair often covers one of her eyes a little, which have a fantastic and vivid green-y yellow tone to them that makes her stand out from the average 'human'. She has somewhat fair skin, yet not too pale showing that she perhaps spends a bit of time outside. On her left arm one can see two golden bracelets, which have interesting rune-like patterns on them, yet with no possible obvious way of taking them off. Perhaps hidden clips? Key Personality Characteristics: Easy-going, Playful, Witty, Daredevil, Boyish, Wild, Dynamic, Flirtatious, Bold, Smart, Likeable, Humorous, Frivolous, Genuine, Warm, Understanding, Optimistic, Protective, Non-committal. About: Kassidy is the kind of easygoing but extremely flirtatious female whom struggles with commitments. It's not easy for her to truly 'fall' for someone, and is often seen hanging out with different people over the week. She's simply not the type to sleep alone due to 'reasons', which may refer to the nightmares she tends to get at night when alone. She can be seen as a bit of a player, however Kassidy has a good-natured personality and often means no harm. Many people seem to like and gravitate towards her, perhaps because she's a fairly genuine yet playful person. She had a bit of a difficult past per say, but if questioned upon it, she might end up explaining why she's the way she is. Perhaps she'll settle one day, or maybe she won't; that's up to the future to hold. Kass does live a very 'All or nothing, nothing can bother me' sort of a life, however whether she truly feels that way on the inside or not, is up to one to find out by getting to know her more and perhaps spending more time with her than the usual person she hangs out with. Get close to her, and you might make a strong connection that you won't regret, but be prepared for moments of heat as well as seriousness. Kassidy after all, can be a little unpredictable. Likes: Coffe, Coffee Art, Cafes, Steamy Windows, Desserts, Forests, Skateboards, Wildness, Plaid Shirts, Animals, Sex, Music, Indie, Laughter, Good Atmosphere, Hippie, Bohemian, Sleep, Pizza, Red. Suitable/Preferred partners: Shapeshifters, Deities, Demons, Pets: Maine Coon cat called Nala. Aesthetic Blog: https://kassidysmith.tumblr.com/ Faceclaim: (c) Noukka Signe/ Amber Mccrackin / Littlemewhatever Bandclaim: Of Monsters And Men Voice claim: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-Zszn3yQqw

Name: Harper Jane Bryant Age: 23 [Immortal] Nickname: Jay, Harp Gender: Female Sexuality: Demisexual Height: 5ft'4 Race: Witch Ethnicity: Irish Looks: Somewhat tanned skin hinting to spending plenty of time outdoors, Harper has lively auburn hair that matches wonderfully with her hazel eyes. Her style is fairly modest and she tends to stick to long sleeved shirts for one reason or another. As far as seen, she has no piercings and doesn't add too much to her clothing, preferring simple styles. She can however be seen wearing a Tree of Life pendant with a tiny pentacle in the middle of the trunk. Key Personality Characteristics: Calm-seeming from a distance, Delicate, Anxious, Weary, Hostile, Cautious, Nervous, Hard-to-Approach, Pacifistic, Selfless, Subtle, Timid, Dependant, Intelligent, Kind, Sweet, Humble, Peaceful. About: The epitome of gentleness, Harper is a very sweet kind of a girl who cares about flora and fauna incredibly so. She's not really a 'cute' or 'shy' type per say, however she struggles with anxiety enough that some people pin her to be so. As a witch, she feels very in sync with nature around her, however her magic comes at a cost. It causes intense waves of anxiety and depression within the female whenever she uses it, and due to it she takes medication, which in turn weakens the magic within her to something far more manageable. It doesn't help that the female had a rough past that involved abandonment issues in her past due to what she is, which causes communication to be incredibly hard with her unless one is willing to show her that she's safe and that they're trustworthy. She's truly one of the kindest person to be around though, and she has such a deep love for the world around her. She can be rather clingy towards Kassidy, whom she has known for a few years and had been looked after for the time, which the Goddess is rather fond of. Likes: Flora, Fauna, Herbs, Cooking, Kitchen, Gardens, Warmth, Sunshine, Tea, Quiet time, Books, Comfort, Notebooks, Windows, Seasons, Fairytales, Gentleness, Greenhouses, Trees, Crystals, Green, Outdoors. Suitable/Preferred partners: Witches, Shapeshifters, Humans, Pets: Cats (?) Any temportary animals that she may find and take care of. Aesthetic Blog: https://harperjanebryant.tumblr.com/ Faceclaim: (c) Patrycja Dorynek Bandclaim: Said The Sky - Listen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbUK0XAbaow Voice claim: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0--uTxz9ojk

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years ago

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in the footsteps of giants

Anon asked: I know you briefly mentioned Ash meeting Motley Crue in the 80s but does she ever meet Lola?? If so, like how does that go down???

A/N: RTP and AYDTD have always taken place in the same universe in my mind. So this is just a little thing i wrote today in rehearsals on my phone abt a potential way that Ash and Lola meet, plus a little bit of a hint at what ash does when she’s and roger split in the late 70s/early 80s ;) (also just so you know, once ash and queen reconnect after the release of A Night At The Opera, Ash asks freddie if she can take his last name because she doesn’t want to be associated with the family that ostracised her; Ash Mercury is what she goes by in her day to day/non-professional life, after 1975) (Established Nikki/Lola & Ash/Roger)

{Ash | AYDTD} | {Lola | RTP}

Early 1987. Los Angeles.

“Hey do you know if the photographer Vince likes is around in the next few weeks?” Lola barges into Doc’s office, disregarding his assistant’s squawk of protest. Doc looks surprised, looks mildly annoyed, holding his jacket and standing just beyond the door. Behind him is a woman with hair as red as a flame, standing a few inches shorter than Lola herself.

“I’m about to go to lunch,” Doc tells Lola, voice flat, “can we discuss this when I get back?” The woman behind him is pulling on a dark jacket with yellow floral detailing that’s a little too big for her, watching Lola with an intense, green eyed stare.

“Who’s this?” Lola asks instead, completely ignoring Doc, who sighed and pulled on his jacket.

“Lola, this is Rocket; Rocket, this is Lola Gone, she’s Motley’s,” he turned the thought over in his mind, frowning a little. The woman, Rocket, raised her eyebrows, and Lola’s expression already soured; “who was that little fella Reid had with Queen for the day to day?”

“Oh, she’s their Paul,” realisation dawned on Rocket’s face, speaking for the first time with an unexpectedly thick accent, and Lola frowned, not exactly sure who she was being compared to. After a beat, the ginger frowned at Lola, and Lola frowned right back, “Paul was a rotten little bastard.”

Doc laughs.

“Fuck you.” Lola spits, and Rocket smiles, all sharp teeth. “Fuck both of you.”

“Lola, don’t get your knickers in a twist; which is the photographer Vince likes?” Doc heads down the hallway with both Lola and Rocket a few steps behind him, Lola holding a sketchbook.

“The one that Nikki didn’t yell at last time,” Lola groaned, her face scrunching up, “Barry something? Vince is convinced he always catches his good side.”

“And why do you need him so soon?” Doc presses the elevator button and Lola sighs.

“Nikki wants to put together some draft cover designs for the single and he wants a photo of the band for it.”

“If I give you Barry’s number can you set it up?” Doc asks, his voice condescending, and Lola stands up straighter, expression darkening.

“Give me some fucking cred-”

“Just answer the question.”

Lola narrows her eyes, her gaze locked with Doc’s as he raises his eyebrows at her.

“Fucking obviously.”

Rocket watches her as the doors of the elevator close, wearing a strange little Mona Lisa smile, setting Lola on edge.

“What the fuck kind of name is Rocket?!” Lola groans, draping herself over Nikki in the studio, handing back his sketchbook. Nikki, who was spread across the sofa chatting about lyrics with Tommy and Vince.

“Did you get the good photographer?” Nikki asked, shifting to get more comfortable with her on top of him.

“Doc’s gonna give me his number after his date,” she sighs.

“Who’s Rocket?” Tommy asks, just as Vince snorts.

“Doc’s on a date? Yeah fucking right.”

Lola doesn’t know much about the woman apart from the fact that she’s got hair like fire and she seems like an asshole.

“She said I was a rotten little bastard!” Lola crowed, her whole face wrinkling with irritation, though Nikki laughed loudly, pulling her close.

“Lo, you are a rotten little bastard,” he told her fondly, smirking.

“You’re an asshole too;” though her voice was soft as she propped her chin on his chest, scowling at him, “you’re lucky I love you.”

“I only know about one Rocket even mildly attached to Doc - maybe -” Mick interjects, his arms crossed as he twists in a spinning chair, “and there’s no way she’s getting romantic with him.”

“Well you don’t even know if we’re talking about the same person,” Lola responds loftily.

“Red hair? Kind of an asshole? In town same time as Queen, and she knows Doc? Girlie, I’m pretty sure we’re talking about the same Rocket.” And he’s smug with good reason, because almost an hour later, Doc makes his way into the studio while Mick is redoing his solo for the third time. Rocket comes too, watching with bright eyes and hands clasped behind her back. Lola hadn’t gotten a good look at her before, but now, with the floral jacket folded in the woman’s arms, she sees Rocket’s impeccably tailored pastel blue silk shirt tucked into acid washed denim cutoffs, and the powder blue converse; the outfit looks so couture and summery, and Lola feels like a mismatched child in her vicinity.

Tommy is giving her the most starry-eyed look, whilst also turning bright red.

“Ash Mercury.”

That’s enough to get Rocket’s attention, and she turns with raised eyebrows away from where she was watching Mick.

“Motley Crue, this is Rocket; she’s a designer, she requested to meet you all.”

“No fucking way did Ash Mercury ask to meet us.” Tommy’s acting like a starstruck fool, like he did when he met Nikki, eyes bright, tapping excitedly against the sound desk with his drumsticks, much to the sound engineer’s chagrin.

“Who in the fuck is Ash Mercury?” Lola finally asks. Nikki’s not paying much attention to the situation, in his own little world with his bass, and Mick hadn’t realised they had company, but Tommy and Vince were watching the newcomers with interest.

“I am.” Rocket smiles toothily at Lola, “though, granted I hadn’t assumed that’s how you’d know me.”

“Tommy saw your tits at a very formative time in his life,” Vince snickered, “of course he remembers you.” Tommy threw a drumstick at Vince’s head, but the blonde can’t help but cackle. Ash at least has the decency to blush.

“I was seventeen, you make me sound like I was twelve!” But he turned to Ash with what he hopes is a winning smile, “I’m not- I mean, I wasn’t twelve then and I’m not seventeen now. I’m Tommy.” And he actually stands, walks over to her and holds out her hand. Ash’s handshake is surprisingly firm, and his enthusiasm seems to be endearing her rather than putting her off.

“Good to meet you, Tommy; you’re the drummer, right?” She smiled when he nodded, standing back and trying to be subtle where he’s all but preening under her gaze. She knows who he is! He looks like he’s about to cream himself. “You remind me of my favourite client,” she says, something gentle about her words.

“Who even are you?!” Lola half laughs, though she’s more confused than before.

“Hey dickhead, Ash Mercury’s here.” Vince throws the drumstick that was just lobbed at him at Nikki, which at the very least gets the bassists attention.

“Yeah right,” Nikki snorts, looking over at the ginger, who looked mildly bemused, “what would she be doing here? She’s in fuckin’ England isn’t she? Is Bowie in town?”

“Jesus Christ you lot are a bunch of perverts,” Doc sighed, but Ash smiled brightly.

“I’m Scottish actually, but close enough I suppose,” she paused, “and I haven’t seen Bowie in a few years; I do have a life outside of him ah,” she turns a little red, “those photoshoots I did for and with him,” she can’t be quite sure which they’re referring to, but both make her a little self conscious, “but if it’s enough to convince you;” she untucks her shirt, lifting it up to expose her ribs, and the worn tattoo that sat just below her breast.

An orange, about the size of a quarter, with a little green leaf. Lola recognised that tattoo, and could feel herself starting to heat up with embarrassment.

“It’s a clementine, I got it right after Queen released A Night At the Opera,” she clarified, and Tommy makes a noise of understanding.

“You must be a big fan of theirs, what with the tattoo and the name and the-” Tommy was cut off by Doc, who held his head in his hands.

“Do you really not know about Rocket apart from that Rolling Stones shoot she did with Bowie?” Doc asked. Ash was tucking her shirt back into her shorts, since the rest of them seemed satisfied that she was the real deal.

“She also did that shoot for him,” Tommy adds, very pointedly, and with maybe a little too much confidence. Ash’s smile is a little too bright as she refuses to acknowledge that particular career move of hers.

“I’m actually a costume designer, you see, and I just wanted to stop in and tell you I love your look; I appreciate your theatricality. The Bark at the Moon tour looks were,” she mused, gaze a little far away, “oh they were something else.”

“Is that a good thing?” Nikki asked, typing his head to the side as his tone betrayed his amusement.

“Absolutely.” Ash grinned in return. “Well I just wanted to stop in and say hi.” She shrugged, “I should be getting back, Rog is taking me out for dinner.” She told Doc, who nodded sagely, and though she left, he didn’t.

“You chucklefucks sure know how to embarrass yourselves in front of one of the most sought after designers and fabricators in the industry,” Doc sighed, but the rest of them were preoccupied by Lola hurling everything within arms reach at Tommy.

“You had that centrefold of her and Bowie on your bedroom fucking wall!”

“I know!” Tommy snorted, easily deflecting the empty cans thrown his way, “how did you not recognise her?”

“Because it’s been years since I saw the poster and on it she had sparklers covering her nipples; I wasn’t exactly paying attention to her face!” Lola cried, before falling back into the sofa, covering her face at the sound of Vince and Nikki crowing with laughter.

“Don’t think you’re getting let off so easily, Tommy, you’re just as dense as Lola;” Doc snaps, which shuts everyone up, Tommy most of all, wearing a wide-eyed, confused state, “’you must be a big fan of theirs’” Doc parroted mockingly back to the drummer, before cuffing him over the back of the head, “she’s engaged to Roger Taylor.”

Tommy’s look of dawning horror was enough to set everyone off and laughing again. His despair was almost palpable.

“And I asked her if she was a fan of Queen.”

“She still seems like a bit of an asshole,” Lola finally announced, and Nikki snickered.

“Isn’t that a bit ’pot-meet-kettle’?” He asked, and Lola gave an small smile, rolling her eyes. It’s Doc, however, who interjects.

“She’s allowed to be an asshole sometimes, she’s damn good at her job.”

#motley crue #vince neil #tommy lee #nikki sixx #mick mars #nikki x lola #the dirt #aydtd #the angry lizard writes

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tinabritton-photography · 5 years ago

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Still Life and Product Photography

New brief called “Cheap”, but there is nothing cheap about the objects I acquired during the object finding exercise at 3 different pound shops. First shop was PoundBasket in Port Glasgow, 2nd was a pound stretch shop next to Tesco in Irvine, and 3rd was a pound shop at Irvine Mall. Ok, so what have I learned thus far? Well, I’ve learned that I am bipolar all over again. Bipolar people have difficulties with their moods, and their mood swings from different poles, but they also have problems mangaging money and making decisions.

Those last 2, yeah, that is me through and through the last few weeks. I bought enough stuff, and I am broke, to cover the entire class. That being said, much of it is fun, and you too could find this in your xmas stocking this year once this brief is finished ;). Yeah, I mean you.

This all being said, and, I digress, were some of the items a bit more than a pound? Yep, I won’t lie, but it astounds me what kinda-cool stuff you can get for £1 pound here in the UK, because in America your hard earned $1 gets you diddly.

Soon I will share an image of all the stuff I bought. LOL, yep, the horror :D.

This little guy below is so cool. You open it up and pour him into your hand and let the fun commence!

I told you! I cannot get everything I bought on this A1 sheet of white paper! The yellow bottle is the coolest, except, someone had stolen one of the batteries. There is a tiny wire inside with very small inline fairy lights. I had to order new batteries. They will be to here tomorrow. I have no idea whether it works or not yet. I walked up to the counter and asked the lady, ‘Is this really £1?”. She said, “Uh, yeah?” Ok, Sold! The Daisys on a stick, well, those are so cute, and the green bottle, it is shiny and has a skull hanging from it. Decisions, Decisions!

The first photographer and image I want to speak about is Laura Letinsky, a still-life photographer and her image “Untitled #54 from Hardly More Than Ever series 2002″.

When I first saw this image I felt like I walked into a room where there had been an indoor picnic happening, that must have ended because the ‘2′ people went outside to enjoy the sun after the rain had stopped. I say 2 people because there are 2 plates, however, could this be only a small section of a larger table? There is a sensuality about the scene. Peaches have long since represented the feminine. So what does the lollipop represent?

Being a dark person, I was pleasently surprised at how much I loved the colours in this image. In the background, the white looks muted green which is beautiful against the delicate oranges and reds in the image. Even the shadows appear a bit green. I even love the wrinkles in the make-shift table cloth and used napkin beneath the melon. I am actually waiting for someone to walk back in and grab one of those peaches or that lollipop before anyone else can.

What also catches my eye is the wonky line of the sloping table and the asymetric hanging of the back of the table cloth and leaving a bit of floor to give us a feeling of stability even though it appears there is none. There is a haphazardness to the whole seen giving the implication that the festivities are still going on elsewhere, otherwise, this would have already been cleared away.

Laura Letinsky, Untitled #54 from Hardly More Than Ever series 2002. Courtesy of the artist and Yancey Richardson Gallery, New York. (//www.umanitoba.ca, 2019)

Laura Letinsky was bornin 1962 in Winnipeg, Canada. She attended the University of Manitoba in 1986, and Yale School of Art in 1991.

Another of her works I really like is below . . .

It this too considered a still-life? I think so, yes, even though these are images of objects arranged. What brings these pieces together are the colours set against the vast violet white of the background.

Untitled #40, from the series Ill Form & Void Full, 2014. Archival pigment print. 49.5 x 58.12 inches, edition of 9. (Yanceyrichardson.com, 2019)

I am trying to stretch my mind and my acceptance around the fact that this is truly still-life. As an artist, I rail, however, I cannot deny that this is a spectacular still-life . . .

The colours, the placement. You can almost taste colours of the fruit. There is a depth to this piece, yet it is composed entirely of images cut and arranged on a surface.

(The Photographers' Gallery, 2019)

The second photographer I would like to take a look at is Peter Lippman.

The first image below is so apt; ash covering the old mechanical camera. A death of the analogue. But for me, not quite yet. The image is almost in total -grey with a very hint of blue? Subtle soft light causes a gradation across the still life and picking out highlights here and there. It could be natural light, or a soft box on low power. Even though the camera lies amongst the greys, there is good contrast, and the image gets its meaning across.

(Harvey et al., 2019)

The title of the image below is Banane. Apparently, it is a plantain fruit/pod from the banana family. This image is the plant on black background.The deep contrast and muted reds and purples coupled with the green of the stem really makes this image come alive. It reminds me of the human heart. The subtle smooth texture of the leaves juxtaposed with the texture at the crown of the plant is a visual treat.

(Harvey et al., 2019)

First of all, I actually love the colour of the background in this next image by Lippman. Is it the true colour of the scene, or is it burned in, a gradient as it gets darker toward the bottom? The broken glass provides visual texture and interest. Since these are fragrances for men, I think it adds a sense of danger to make men want the products. Heavy shadows weight the objects to the background. As for lighting, it could be continuous, but probably flash. I am not yet proficient enough to make that decision yet.

The 3rd photographer I’ve decided to write about here is Guido Mocafico. Mocafico is an Italian photographer. Though he now is getting more into the fine art of photography, he has been working as a commercial photographer with such names as Louis Vuitton, Rolex, Ralph Lauren and Chanel, just to name drop a few.

The image below is stunning. As soon as I saw it, I was intrigued, not only about the watch, but about that gorgeous shiny material it is sinking into. The highlights in the ‘goo’ mimic the hightlights of the watch and the white of the Roman numerals on the watch face. This makes the product really pop in my opinion. I can’t find a thing to criticize in this product image. The blacks and whites are perfectly balanced.

Heure noire. Num��ro 122. Avril 2011. (Mocafico.com, 2019)

The image below feeds the need for black in me. The contrast, the middle tones, the grays, the highlights. I really am pulled in my all the textures and shapes. The smooth of the watch-face, the different directions of the toothed gears and motorcycle chain or timing belt, whichever it is. The glossy motor oil spills across the gears causing them to become something more beautiful than grimy metal. The solid blacks in between all the shapes makes each piece stand out to be counted.

Les temps modernes. Numéro 129. Décembre 2011 - janvier 2012. (Mocafico.com, 2019)

References

//www.umanitoba.ca, U. (2019). Laura Letinsky: Still Life Photographs, 1997-2012. [online] News.umanitoba.ca. Available at: https://news.umanitoba.ca/laura-letinsky-still-life-photographs-1997-2012/ [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (//www.umanitoba.ca, 2019)

Yanceyrichardson.com. (2019). Laura Letinsky - Artists - Yancey Richardson. [online] Available at: http://www.yanceyrichardson.com/artists/laura-letinsky [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (Yanceyrichardson.com, 2019)

The Photographers' Gallery (2019). An interview with Laura Letinsky. [image] Available at: https://vimeo.com/57683797 [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (The Photographers' Gallery, 2019)

MCA. (2019). BMO Harris Bank Chicago Works: Laura Letinsky. [online] Available at: https://mcachicago.org/Exhibitions/2012/Laura-Letinsky [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (MCA, 2019)

Peterlippmann.com. (2019). PETER LIPPMANN. [online] Available at: https://peterlippmann.com/ [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (Peterlippmann.com, 2019)

Harvey, O., Naroop, A., Matthews, D., Dumontet, E., Almas, E., Walker, M., Riches, N., Lippmann, P., Douglas, W., Lippmann, P. and Lippmann, P. (2019).

Still Life/Food/People Photographer - Peter Lippmann - Trayler

. [online] Trayler & Trayler. Available at: http://traylerandtrayler.com/artists/peter-lippmann-2/ [Accessed 29 Oct. 2019]. (Harvey et al., 2019)

Maree, S. (2019). Peter Lippmann – Sophie Maree. [online] Sophie-maree.com. Available at: https://sophie-maree.com/portfolio-item/peter-lippmann/ [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (Maree, 2019)

Milkbooks.com. (2019). Guido Mocafico. [online] Available at: https://www.milkbooks.com/blog/photo-wisdom/guido-mocafico/ [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (Milkbooks.com, 2019)

Mocafico.com. (2019). Heure noire – Guido Mocafico. [online] Available at: http://www.mocafico.com/projets/photography/still-life/numero/heure-noire/ [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (Mocafico.com, 2019)

Mocafico.com. (2019). Les temps modernes – Guido Mocafico. [online] Available at: http://www.mocafico.com/projets/photography/still-life/numero/les-temps-modernes/ [Accessed 27 Oct. 2019]. (Mocafico.com, 2019)

#Cheap

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kae-karo · 6 years ago

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Christmas Lights and Evergreen - fic

for the lovely @phanarchy for our holiday exchange! thank you for being such a wonderful human, i adore your insight in our gc and you never fail to make me smile. so i hope this makes you smile, dear!

Christmas Lights and Evergreen - 1.4k

read on ao3

insp by dnp bein cute n walkin around town seeing holiday displays n stuff

Phil's a lot like Christmas lights, Dan thinks.

He's not like the kind that you could probably call fairy lights any other day of the year, the whites or yellows that're the same color all down the string, more like the multicolored masses that he's always found a bit tacky but ultimately remind him of Christmas more than anything else about the season.

And they remind him of Phil - not by virtue of being tacky, although that does add to the case, but because they're bright and colorful and elicit an inexplicably warm feeling in his chest.

It's the kind he has right now, staring at Phil silhouetted by the myriad of Christmas light displays along the pavement; perhaps that's why he made the connection, although the pinpoints of color pale in comparison to Phil.

"Dan?" Phil asks, but Dan's just staring. Of course he is - he gets sappy, and he hates that he does because god how embarrassing, but he can't help it. It's nights like tonight that drag him back through the landscape of time to the day they'd filmed the Christmas adventure, all snow and wet clothes and silly endings that Dan hadn't even questioned because it was Phil asking to film them, it was Phil standing there and grinning that goofy grin with a camera pointed at him, it was Phil.

It's always been Phil, hasn't it?

"Hm?" He finally remembers that Phil's said something, the way his brows are quirked up and his lips are parted as he stares back at Dan.

"Are you coming? Or did you want to look at this display a little longer?" Phil glances back over his shoulder toward the array of Christmas trees that Dan's not even really bothered to notice. Phil's been far more interesting to look at - his skin reflects shades of red and blue and green, and his eyes sparkle alongside the lights.

It's sappy and cheesy and Dan sort of wants to gag at his own thoughts but 'Phil outshines all the Christmas lights' flits through his head before he can stop it. Phil turns halfway back to Dan, then, his lip curled in a smile; it’s the same kind he's had on all evening, bright and full of wonder.

"Pretty, right?" Phil asks, and Dan can feel his smile widening to match Phil's grin.

"Yeah."

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

If Phil had to pick, he'd say Dan's a Christmas tree.

Not the kind decorated with a hundred lights and ornaments (at least, not always, not unless he really wants to be) but more the kind you might find while wandering through the forest - ironically - late in the afternoon, wading through snowdrifts in search of the 'perfect' Christmas tree to chop down and drag home.

After passing quite a few that look almost right, just slightly too tall or too short or too whatever, this one would appear in the path, haloed by the setting sun and cast into a dark shade of green that might appear black if you were standing too far back.

But Phil gets to stand close, as close as he wants, so he takes a step toward Dan and appreciates him for the colors he gets to see. Dan's subtle, that's just how he is, not exceptionally vibrant until you get him in just the right light, catch him at just the right time.

He looks that way now, Phil thinks, with the soft kind of smile on his lips and the warm glow of the Christmas lights surrounding him.

"Should we go? Cornelia and Martyn'll be waiting," Phil says, even though he could stand and stare at Dan for an eternity and never get bored. Dan would probably say there's layers to him, make some Shrek pun, but Phil sees him more like a tree: branches and needles and all sorts of things, and Phil can't always see how they’re connected but Dan knows it down in his soul.

In place of an answer, Dan just turns in the direction of the theater, so Phil follows. Of course he does, he'd follow Dan to the ends of the earth and back if he asked. Fortunately, he’s only asking to go down the street.

Colors bounce off the curls of Dan’s hair, tint the tips of his ears that he's refused to hide under a hat in spite of the cold. He'd gotten his hair just right, hadn't wanted to mess it up, and Phil couldn't argue with that.

Some days, Dan's the kind of Christmas tree you find in the middle of a forest, and it's exactly what you were looking for but you can't bear to chop it down, can't bear to change it at its core. So you leave it, and you return the next morning with a bag full to the brim with tinsel and ornaments and decorations and a sparkling star to place at the top of the tree even though you've got no idea how you'll get up there but it just felt incomplete not to bring it. He's the kind of tree you don't want to change, you just want to exist in its presence and help it shine.

It only takes a moment for Phil to catch up, then he's walking right beside Dan, the sleeve of his jacket brushing against the sleeve of Dan's. Winter air floats around them both, but they’re inside a little bubble where Phil can feel the warmth radiating off Dan and it doesn't matter that Phil’s hands are a bit chilly and he probably should've brought gloves because he feels warm.

Warm on the inside, like drinking hot chocolate while curled up against Dan on the sofa and under their biggest blanket, their Christmas tree lighting up the corner of their lounge and a holiday-scented candle lighting up their coffee table. Warm like their home.

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

There's something about this time of year that gets to Dan - it used to have a negative connotation, the lights and music and way-too-giddy laughter from passersby - but that was before Phil.

Now he has a reason, he knows that giddiness, he feels it when he glances over to find Phil right beside him, cheeks dusted red from the chill and forehead and hair tucked up under a matching-colored hat. Phil has an unreasonably easy time fixing his hair if it's been messed up, of course, so he doesn’t have to concern himself with whether or not he can keep his ears warm.

Then Phil turns, catches Dan's eye, and he feels like a disgustingly in-love eighteen-year-old again, cold and hot all at the same time in the middle of winter and lost in Phil's eyes. It's a flash of a feeling he gets every now and then, one that threatens to overwhelm him the same way it did all those years ago, but he lets it fade into a warmth in his chest. It doesn't overwhelm him, Phil doesn't overwhelm him.

Even after nine years, Phil doesn't overwhelm him, somehow. Maybe because he's all different colors, reds and oranges when he's mid-game and leaning into his competitive streak, bright yellows when he's excited, when he's laughing. Green when he's in business mode, curt and methodical and brilliant and focused. Blues and purples late in the evening, early in the morning, when Dan's lucky enough to catch him half asleep. Sometimes pink, when he looks at Dan the way he's looking now, full of love.

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

A tree suits Dan, especially a pine of some sort. Something with needles.

Not because he's prickly and pokey, although he's definitely that on occasion, but because there are so many little bits and pieces to him. Dan is so much, so full and nuanced and Phil wonders if he'll ever know every single branch, every single needle.

He's sure some of those needles have fallen off over time, he knows they have, and yet Dan is still Dan, still his Dan, in his entirety. He's still the tree- the person Phil fell in love with all those years ago. He hasn't changed, even though he's changed so massively. He's just growing, becoming more himself.

They go on in silence for a while, Phil lost in his head, in the idea of Dan, as snippets of miscellaneous Christmas songs drift into his ears. They pass shop after shop, and Phil thinks this is it, this is how it should be. This is how he wants it to be, his whole life, with Dan. He wants his whole life with Dan, whoever Dan becomes, whoever they become together.

#phanfic #dnp #dan and phil #fluff #domestic

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lxveille · 7 years ago

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afterglow

wonwoo x reader

word count: ~ 2900 a/n: nothing explicit, but sex is mentioned as a thing that happens.

For the first time, Wonwoo doesn’t have to leave before dawn.

4:06AM

You wake up and immediately know it’s far before sunrise. The sky outside the one window in your studio apartment is still pitch dark. You shift in bed; your left foot is the first part of you to make contact with the body lying beside yours. For a split second, you panic. (Who? Why? How?) But then you remember the night before and ease slips back over your tired bones.

It’s only Wonwoo. That’s an inaccurate use of the modifier. Rather, it’s the only Wonwoo you can imagine so wonderfully warm beside. And right now you’re very grateful to the friend who’d downloaded some dating app and liked every guy in a 5-mile radius on a night out. Sure, you may have been swarmed by bad openers, poorly chosen pick-up lines and a few explicit requests. But somehow through all that mess you’d actually seen and responded to a simple, sincere-enough sounding request to simply chat. Chatting on the app had turned to texting, texting to meeting up for tea, and tea turned into dinner and you kissing him messily at your doorstep despite telling yourself earlier that you absolutely would not kiss some internet guy on the first date.

You’ve decided now that was one of the better impulsive things you’ve ever done. It’s five weeks since that first face-to-face meeting, and you haven’t gone a single day since without at least an evening text exchange checking in on how your days had been. You’re starting to think it’s possible that you’re falling for him, though you’re far from saying it out loud. But you have started practicing in your head, from time to time, exactly how you’ll go about asking him if this thing you’re sharing is exclusive if he doesn’t bring it up himself sometime soon.

The two of you slept together for the first time three days after that first, half-day-long date. It had been a little awkward and hurried, with Wonwoo preoccupied with the worry that one of his housemates would come home unexpectedly at any moment the whole time. Since then sex had exclusively happened at your place.

You turn over in bed so that you’re facing him. Through the dark you can still tell he’s on his side, facing your way with his face half-buried in one of your pillows. You move a little closer and slip one arm carefully over his waist as you cuddle into his chest. This is the latest Wonwoo has ever stayed. Mismatched schedules between the two of you meant your time to cuddle was usually limited. Either he had to go or you had to ask him to leave.

But last night he’d kissed your cheeks and asked if he could spend the night.

It’s not uncommon for you to be a bit of restless sleeper. But you swear you get back to sleep a little faster than usual with your forehead tucked against his chest.

5:41AM

Wonwoo wakes up out of habit from several days worth of horribly early alarms this past week. He notices the body pressed against him right away, and smiles sleepily as he drapes one arm over your shoulders. You’re so close that he can’t make out your features very well without pulling away. He certainly doesn’t want to do that.

From the steady rise and fall of your shoulders and chest, he can tell you must be sound asleep. This is the first time he’s seen you truly sleeping. You’ve been sleepy before. In particular, he recalls the night he texted you past midnight to say he’d finally finished practice and how he missed you. He’d sent it with the hopes of an invitation over, but he’d been shocked all the same when he actually got one. You were exhausted, though, so he’d stuck with lazy make outs and gentle cuddling until he inevitably had to say goodbye at nearly three in the morning.

You’re so good to me, he finds himself thinking through the drowsiness still clouding his mind. His shoulders shift, wrapping himself a little more around your form. He doesn’t know what time it is at this point, but he hopes this can linger on for a whole lot longer.

He can hardly believe he’s never managed to be in this exact circumstance before. He’s absolutely engulfed in the soft scent he’s come to associate with your living space. It’s a distinct mix of your usual perfume, of the detergent and the floral-scented candles you liked to burn, and, somehow most distinct to his nose out of all of these, of your uniquely you smell: subtle and laced with an undertone of warmth and some faint spice he could never quite name. Wonwoo would like nothing more than to bottle it up and keep it on his bedside table so he could always go to bed surrounded by this smell.

In absence of that possibility, he’d gladly take sleeping with you by his side instead.

Actually, he’d prefer that version.

6:00AM

Your phone, long forgot on the small table cramped between your bed and small your kitchen area, comes to life with an obnoxiously loud beeping.

You jolt up and clamber out of bed, practically tripping over your own feet in your rush to turn off the alarm. The text that goes along with your daily alarm makes it clear through the number of exclamation marks that it isn’t a notification you can just ignore. You turn it off without a moment’s hesitation, but it’s still not quick enough to have not woken up Wonwoo.

The proof is in the small, sleep-ridden groan that comes from your bed. When nothing more comes from him after a few seconds, you think perhaps he’s gone and fallen right back asleep without being too disturbed. You set your phone down sheepishly and tiptoe over to your nightstand, opening the draw slowly in hopes of making as little noise as possible.

Wonwoo turns over in bed just as you’re carefully pushing a tiny yellow pill out of its blister pack.

“Do you have work today?” he asks groggily, unable to mask his disappointment at the notion. You shake your head before popping the medication into your mouth and swallowing. “Then what…?” Being half-asleep still has made him less capable of forming full questions.

“Birth control alarm,” you explain simply as you push the drawer closed.

“This early?” he asks, reaching a hand out for you. You take it without a second thought and titter as he tugs you back onto the mattress.

“Mmm -- used to take it at night but I’d always forget or end up taking it with, like… a soju chaser. Mornings were the more responsible choice.” All the while, Wonwoo and you are shifting blankets around as you slide back into bed, now on opposite sides than you were before.

“Ah, you’re responsible,” he almost echoes as he gets you as close as he can, body curving slightly so he can rest his forehead against yours as you both lie on your sides facing one another. “You let the cold in,” he adds the complaint with a tired, contradictory smile.

“Sorry,” you whisper to him. He presses a senseless kiss to the tip of your nose that sets a frazzled grin onto your lips. “Forgive me?”

Wonwoo only hums in response and shuts his eyes.

You debate between letting yourself soak in his peaceful, practically perfect features and closing your own eyes as well. Lingering sleepiness ends up making the decision for you. It’s hard to resist when you’re as wrapped up, warm and secure as you are right now.

10:23AM

When he comes back to consciousness, you’re still close to him, but you’ve shifted onto your back and are scrolling through your social media. “Good morning,” he calls out gently for your attention. A smile flits onto your features before you set your phone aside and turn to look at him.

“Morning, Wonwoo,” you say, and it feels like his heart is thumping out in rapid morse code ‘I want to hear that every day’. He props himself up onto one elbow just so he can lean in over you and properly kiss you.

Early conversations and thoughts feel like they were ages ago. Now that sunlight is flooding fully in through your window, it seems like a different time altogether.

He pulls away only to kiss your forehead, grinning at the way your eyelids flutter shut momentarily at that more innocent affection. Your fingertips brush against the back of his neck and into a bit of his hair, waking Wonwoo up more fully with the coolness of your touch.

“Good dreams?” you asked him kindly. He lays back down beside you, pushing the covers down his torso some. With the added warmth of sunlight, it’s beginning to be almost too much heat to be comfortable between your two bodies.

“I don’t remember,” he admits, “But I slept really well.”

“I’m glad.” You pull your legs up to your chest as you sit up and slip out from under the blankets. For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, Wonwoo appreciates exactly how you look in a loose-fitting tank top and pajama shorts.

You stretch your arms out in front of you and then up over your head, your back arching as you will yourself awake. As you do so, Wonwoo notices the dark purple-blue splotches dotted along collarbone and shoulder. His gaze trails down to your crossed legs and he frowns at the similar bruises that litter the insides of your thighs.

He leans towards you and kisses your shoulder gently before muttering a low, rumbling apology.

“For what?” you question, chuckling with surprise at the sudden appearance of his remorse.

“I got a bit carried away.” Clarification of his meaning comes from him skimming one hand over the flesh of your right thigh, calloused fingertips just barely making contact with your skin as he traced the outline of one of the lovebites he’d left behind.

“I liked it,” you reassure him.

“Don’t say that,” he replies as his nose runs up along your neck until his lips are beside your ear. “You’re being a bad influence.”

“How?” You squirm from the tickling sensation that comes when Wonwoo dips his head back down to lick softly over one of the red-blue bruises staining your clavicle.

“I don’t like seeing your skin all marred.” Any pretense is gone from his voice, it’s honest remorse. He nuzzles innocently into your neck for a moment.

“They don’t hurt,” you remind him, bringing one hand up along his spine and up further until you’re toying with his hair absentmindedly. “I told you I liked it.”

“Yeah, and I liked how pretty you sounded when I made them,” he confesses, tone dipping lower, almost reminiscent of the night before, as he lifts his head to place a brief kiss to your temple. “Hence the bad influence.”

You lean into him with a small laugh. “Don’t rile yourself up,” you warn, “I’m not a morning sex person.”

He chuckles at your straightforwardness and winds an arm low around your waist. His fingers brush the waistband of your pajama shorts delicately. “I’m okay.”

11:03AM

That’s the time on your cell phone screen when the two of you decide hunger is going to force you out of bed.

You rummage through cabinets and a nearly empty fridge before settling on eggs. Wonwoo offers to help several times over before letting you navigate the kitchen on your own. Still, he keeps hovering beside you, leaning his head on yours or wrapping an arm around the front of your chest and shoulders when you don’t seem too preoccupied.

The spell of morning is wearing off. You both know you can’t stay wrapped around each other in your apartment all day. So you don’t mind the way he can’t seem to step away from you for longer than a minute. He’s collecting as much contact as he can before the two of you have to part ways.

You end up eating the eggs off of a single plate, mostly because you’re past due for running your dishwasher. But the intimacy of sharing isn’t lost on either of you. He compliments your cooking, and you insist that it’s one of the easiest things there is to make.

When the plate is empty, neither of you make a move to get up. You stay seated across from each other at your small table, chatting about anything that crosses your minds.

11:58AM

“I should probably make sure I’m back at the dorm before it’s too late into the afternoon,” Wonwoo muses, sounding like he hates the words even as he says them.

You look up from the quick text you were sending to a friend who’d just texted to ask if you wanted to do lunch today. “Do you have to?” you ask despite already knowing the answer. Still, it’s been too nice having him here to let him go without at least a pout.

He nods with an apologetic smile.

“Do you want to shower before you go?” you offer. “My water pressure is awful but it gets the job done.”

“That’d be nice,” he accepts easily.

Mostly he just rinses off. Though he spends more time than he’ll care to admit staring at the various soaps and hair products in your shower caddy. Somewhere in between them all, he figures, must be some magic ratio of aromas that contributes to his favorite smell.

12:17PM

Wonwoo comes out of your tiny bathroom fully dressed, towel slung over his shoulders as he continues to ruffle his hair dry.

The dampness of his hair strikes you as a timer, counting down to when he’ll officially gather up all his things and leave.

And you’re right because once his hair is dry to touch Wonwoo sighs heavily and puts the things he’d brought along back into the bag he’d brought over. You watch him from where you’re lounging on your bed. “Don’t forget to grab your toothbrush,” you remind him as he’s taking a last glance around your apartment for his belongings.

He nods gives an appreciative smile and turns to head back into your bathroom.

You take this moment as your cue to stand up.

Wonwoo crouches down as he zips shut the bag. When he comes back up to his full height, you’re standing in front of his with as bright a smile as you can manage at goodbye.

“Don’t look so down,” he speaks softly, wishing his own voice was more lighthearted with the sentiment. “It’s not like I’m going far away.”

That’s true. He’s right, but it’s not the same as having him right here. It’s only the first time he’s properly stayed the night at your place and you’ve been spoiled by it already.

“I don’t want you away at all,” you tell him as you wrap arms around him. He pulls you into his chest, fingers dancing along the length of your back as he tries to convince himself he ought to just get the farewells over with.

“I know,” he says, hoping it doesn’t come across as conceited in any way. “I’m pretty busy tomorrow, but maybe we can meet up on Tuesday?”

You nod without lifting your cheek from the soft cotton of his shirt. “You gotta tell me again how you need to go, or I’ll just stay like this forever.”

It doesn’t sound so bad to him.

“I need to go,” he humors you. You sigh and unravel yourself from around him. His hands take yours before you can step away from entirely. “Come back,” he beckons.

He kisses you slowly, savoring every detail. Not only the feel of you but the small sounds that resonate in the space of your apartment, too.

It must take five minutes for you to cross the small amount of floor between where you’d started and your apartment’s front door. Every few steps one of your stops the other, coming together once more to kiss, each time lingering on each other as if it’s the very last chance you’ll get to be alone together.

You walk him out into the hall and only let go of his hand when he starts to go down the stairs. You, after all, are still in only your pajamas.

Wonwoo makes it down no more than five steps before turning around and quickly ascending them again to get to you just one last time. It catches you off guard, and you laugh as he (for what must be the first time) has to be the one to lean up to meet your lips, given that he didn’t bother stepping back up onto the landing.

When he pulls away this time, he grins foolishly, looking utterly like a man in love. You’re smiling back, and it’s exactly what he was waiting for. He couldn’t bring himself to leave with you looking anything close to forlorn.

“Have a good day,” he wishes for you, squeezing your hand lightly as he takes a cautious step back down. “I’ll see you soon.”

You stay exactly where he leaves you as his back turns to continue down the stairs. He smiles back up at you with a small wave as he rounds to head to the next flight down.

“See you,” you mirror him with a small wave in return and a lovesick grin on your lips, only bringing yourself to head back into your apartment once he’s fully disappeared from view.

Tuesday can’t come soon enough.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagine

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henrybcwer · 7 years ago

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Good Riddance

A/N: I deleted the request on accident but the main jest is that the Bowers gang looks after Henry and gives him things he needs without being obvious about it. I tried doing this in Stephen King’s style but I’m not sure if it worked. Also this fic mixes canon from the movie and novel so keep that in mind.

His home is overtaken by a mosaic of pulsating blue and red lights and a crowd of people that didn’t belong. Henry could see them a mile away and hear them half a mile. In his foggy mind he tells himself to stop, turn around and get the hell out of Derry; there was nothing for him now. Yet his body keeps moving on its own, craving to be anywhere that wasn’t in the dark. The moment he, a patch of vile stenches and discoloration, steps within the police’s line of sight, they tackle him to the ground with enough excessive force to keep a man twice his size subdued.

They surround him in the integration room; five to seven officers all tall meaty men with an axe to grind. He’s quiet, almost could be described as timid, never looking any of the looming figures in the eyes, and he supposes that’s what pisses them off most. The Chief of Police slaps him across the face, startling him to the point of yelping. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, son!” The Chief demands.

It takes the stinging of a second slap for Henry to obey, vacant eyes that mourn the loss of—everything, slow rise to meet black eyes, and for a moment, Henry got a glimpse of what the Losers club had been forced to witness throughout each of their encounters over the summer; the blazing eyes of a cold man.

“We know you killed em. We got the evidence to prove you did it.” Chief Brandon bluffs. “We found the books in your closet that belonged to Reginald Huggins and Victor Criss. Think how their mothers must be feeling. My

Derry High School/ 4th period lunch … mom made extra.” Belch says, holding out a brown sack lunch to Henry. “She forgot she made me lunch last night and made me a second this morning.” That was a lie. Belch always made his lunch the night before, since both he and his mom had early morning shifts with barely enough time to get up and get dress. Last night Blech decided to prepare an extra lunch for Henry after the Bowers boy came to school with beans in a small Tupperware for the fourth time that week. It had been a while since all three of them were able to eat lunch together since Henry was a grade behind them. So much so, that Belch and Vic had forgotten that Henry’s diet consisted 94% out of beans his old man’s girlfriend brought over. A large, obvious part of them knew that Henry must have been sick of the stuff; he would eat only one or two spoonfuls per lunch, and then dumped the rest in the trash. Of course, Henry’s pride would keep him from accepting anything he deemed as a handout, hence the lie.

It wasn’t a subtle lie, lucky for him Henry wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shied. “Your moms goin’ senile.” Henry jokes, taking the bag.

Victor does catch on however, and pawns in his Twix bar. “I already ate one this morning,” he lies.

“Jackpot!” Henry snatches the candy off the table before Victor could invoke a take back, still oblivious to their motives. Twix only happen to be Henry second favorite candy, right after Juicy Fruit gum, so to him it didn’t matter why Victor was parting with it as long as it was going to him.

Add in Patrick’s mandatory milk from the cafeteria line and Henry had enough to constitute as a balance lunch.

The potluck lunch continues into the following week. Soon enough time passes that it becomes the norm, with each of the boys either bringing from home or taking their classmates’ lunch. One day around the middle of the school year, Belch pins down one of the losers, Richie Tozier, to the wall with his arm. He had only planned on taking the kid’s lunch until Richie open his fat mouth to make some poorly thought out joke about Belch’s mom. In an instant Belch draws his fist back and

Police Integration Room/ 2:14 am knocks the wind out of his lungs. Henry hunches over in a coughing fit, clutching his stomach. A sluggish stream of red starts adds new color to his already messed up face. He had taken quite the fall down that well, chipping one of his canines and breaking his nose against the old stone and bricks, after running from his gang and getting into a wrestling match with Mike. The man who punched him in the gut, a detective by the name Lottman, tells him to stop zoning out and fess up.

“We know you did it.” Lottman says. “You know you did it. Those people out there know it’s true too. So just admit it. Admit

Kansas Street/1:34 pm it!” Patrick shouts, pointing an accusing finger down at Henry. “You’re a cheater!”

“No I ain’t!” Henry stands up, tossing his cards on the ground in a similar fashion to what Patrick did seconds ago.

“No deck has five aces.”

“This one does.”

Patrick makes a face, one of indifference and annoyance, the kind of face that says, yeaah sureeeeee. He could deliver Henry irrefutable evidence that clearly states what Henry did was cheating and the boy would deny it venomously.

“Hand over the belt, Hockstetter.” Henry stretches his arm out, vigorously opening and closing his hand, gauging Patrick’s lack of a comeback as a victory for himself. Patrick makes somewhat of a display rolling his eyes, looking down at Henry’s own belt. Calling it worn out would be an understatement. The leather had become brittle, faded, and stained in the light, the holes where the hook went through have stretched with age creating long noodle like holes that did little to keep the belt tight around his waist. Some of the holes merged together and the seams have started the process of coming apart and fraying. It was a wonder Henry wore a belt at all. His was utterly useless.

Removing his belt and folding it, Patrick reaches out to hand it over to Henry, who by this point is absolutely giddy. But he stops midway, tugging back from Henry’s hand, relishing in the sudden twist in Henry’s expression. “Admit you cheated.”

“I didn’t.” Henry grits.

Patrick raises a brow, slowly bringing the belt closer towards himself.

“Fine!” Henry bellows, stomping his foot down. “I admit it. I

Police Integration Room/2:27 am did it.” Henry whispers face cast down.

“You did?” Lottman asks, a mixture of relief and surprise peppering his expression.

“Yes.” Henry says.

“Do you confess to killing your father?”

“Yes.”

“Do you confess to killing Patrick Hockstetter?”

“Yes.”

“Do you confess to killing Reginald Huggins and Victor Criss?”

“Yes.”

Veronica too. The police never asks how and for that he’s grateful, not sure if he could even think of a plausible explanation that would satisfy them. He could never tell them the truth. The horrors he witness. Only those who’ve had a first person encounter with—that thing could understand. No one else could ever have an accurate conception of the intangible power it possesses over the town and its people.

His trial was a long and drawn out. The police had over exaggerated how much ‘damning’ evidence they had on him, no surprise to Henry, and the District Attorney was only able to get him convicted of murdering his father. Not for a lack of effort mind you, the District Attorney pulled all the stops, calling upon witness after witness to testify to Henry’s character. Three of them were the mothers of his friends: Belch, Victor, and Patrick. Their testimonies were painful to listen, striking chord after chord, playing a haunting melody within the hollow emptiness of his being.

He’s remanded to the care of the Augusta State Mental Hospital during the trial and the following nineteen years afterwards. Often restrained physically and chemically, he saw the facility as a sort of purgatory, one that did not lead to heaven but another layer of hell; Juniper Hill.

On his first night at Juniper Hill the staff straps him to a gurney and preps him for shock therapy. They drug him with succinylcholine, a muscle relaxant to keep him from convulsing, but does little to spare him the terrifying feeling of suffocation that comes as a side effect. The initial pain comes in brief pulses but the searing sting lingers throughout the night. By the end Henry’s in a daze of confusion, droopy eyes wander the room with no recollection of how he got there or why. It was a very lonely experience.

Months peel off the calendar and his shock therapy increases to three times a week. For the most part everything’s the same. Same muscle relaxant, same terrifying feeling of suffocation, same searing sting that lingers, and same lonely experience. The only real change is in Henry. He stops fighting the staff when they take him to his treatments so they let him ride in a wheelchair without restraints. It’s a small thing, asinine really, but it gives him a sense—however misguided—that he still had some control over his life, that he was no longer confined and sedated and force to watch others make decisions for him.

His chest is heaving and his pale face is streaked with tears, a common occurrence during his treatments. His eyes are barely open and he makes not a single move to sit up. The staff comes for him, positioning him back in his wheelchair and wheels him to his cot. They tuck him into bed and he instinctively rolls over to his side, staring at his nightlight intently. Winnie the Pooh holds his honey pot close to his chest and glows softly, emitting a comfort in addition to its light. If Henry squints juuuust right, he could morph the yellow bear into something that crudely resembles Belch carrying something…someone.

The Kissing Bridge /5:00 pm “That was fucking crazy, man!” Victor laughs, playfully punching Henry in the shoulder.

“Didn’t think you had it in you.” Patrick admits.

“I did.” Belch boasts being one of the few, if not only, people in constant awe of what Henry could do.

“Suck up.” Patrick adds.

Henry, with arms cross, shrugs his shoulders, leaning into Belch’s chest. Their praise overtakes any pain in his mangled leg and elicits a proud grin from the teen. “It’s nothing. I ain’t no chicken.” Now he had the injuries to prove it. The nearly white skin of his leg begins to blossom with purple and yellow beneath the river of red oozing from a half crescent gash on his upper calf and a stiff, warm numbing pain has settled all the way to his foot.

The boys were playing chicken in the middle of the road with oncoming cars. The goal was simple, run to the other side of the road just when a car comes rushing by. They had picked a one way street, not completely daft, and took turns freighting drivers and themselves alike. Ironically, as their leader Henry had the least and most to prove all at once; therefore he was the most reckless out of the bunch, taking on the more dangerous stunts. His luck—and the game—ended when a car narrowly runs him over, clipping his right leg and causing the teen to tumble down in writhing pain as he screams bloody Mary. His friends recoil in unison, then rush to his aid, quick to pull him out of road.

Simultaneously they try to help him, touching and prodding and pushing up against his leg. Henry shoves them off all him. “GET OFF ME!” he bellows, his eyes were water glazed and the familiar pain of a broken bone throbs loudly in his ear and leg. Five seconds later he gets on to them for not helping him up. They scramble for the best position. Victor on Henry’s left and Patrick on Henry’s right, hoisting him up by the hips with Henry’s arms slung around each of their shoulders. Through team work, Henry’s able to stand, his bad leg dangling an inch off the ground. Together: Henry, Victor, and Patrick, try to maneuver down the narrow slope of the hill but find it a challenge as Henry’s foot unwittingly kept dragging too low and tripping them up. Finally it was decided that Belch would carry Henry bridal style the rest of the way home, a plan Henry vocally veto but was out numbered.

At one point, Patrick asks “When’s the honeymoon?” and Henry told Belch to walk closer towards the boy so Henry could punch him in the jaw. Belch denies the request, leaving Henry to sulk in his arms.

“You think it’s really broken?” Victor asks, looking down at Henry’s ratty excuse of a leg.

“Probably.” Henry says. “Might need a cast.”

“If you get one, I wanna sign it.” Belch says grinning.

“Me too.” Vic nods.

“Me three.” Patrick smiles, getting caught up in the excitement.

“You all can sign it.” Henry reaffirms them. “Big signatures too. Don’t want no ijit thinking I’m a loser with no friends.”

They all talk over each other, a rambling mess of ideas and opinions on what would look make the cast look the coolest.

The sun sets on the rag tag team of bullies, their silhouettes behind them erasing their differences. All of them blissfully unaware of what violent terrors were awaiting them the following summer as they focus on enjoying the moment, having the time of their lives.

#Henry Bowers #Belch Huggins #Vic Criss #Patrick Hockstetter #My writing #not to be THAT person but canonly Henry should have had a donald duck night light his first year at Juniper Hill #but that didn't advance the story so I had to tweak it #Mood of the day: Good Riddance by Green day #ok but i've been listening to this song for half a month now trying to vision this whole fic within that short time slot #i'm sick of it tbh

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roxy-davenport · 8 years ago

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Tricks-O-Matic

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Beta: @raspberrymama

Word Count: 2,653

A/N: This was written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing’s SPN Hiatus Writing Challenge- Week 4 with the prompts, “You’re supposed to talk me out of it,” and a gif of a couple dancing in a laundromat. Fluff and humor, just go with it trust me.

Also on AO3

You huffed out a breath. You hated doing laundry. It was the bane of your existence, so you always waited until the last minute when you were down to your last panty to do it. You literally couldn’t wait any longer.

You put your laundry in a shopper and wheeled it down the road to the laundromat ignoring the honks directed at you. Of course the bunker’s washer and dryer would break just when the boys left and gave you mountains of dirty clothes. Oh, what fun.

You sighed loudly when you were hit in the face with intensely hot air. Not only was it summer but the Laundromat was even hotter, if that were even possible. Who needs a sauna when you can just do laundry?

You slowly wheeled your mountain of clothes into the laundromat rather awkwardly might I add, nearly tipping over your entire mountain of clothes on the way in. God forbid someone else would be here to help open the door for you.

In a way, having the Laundromat to yourself was kind of nice, if not slightly creepy. You imagined most people would be at jobs at ten in the morning, not half asleep needing to do laundry after discovering they were down to the last panty. Talk about a rude awakening.

You stepped in front of a washer yawning, happy to be doing busy work because doing nothing in the bunker but waiting for the boys to come back didn’t sound fun. In fact, if you were being honest, you had no idea what to do with yourself for a week alone in the bunker. Hello, boredom.

You quickly put everything in several washers spreading out a little bit as you slowly meandered over to the sorry excuse for chairs that looked as if they’d break the second you sat on them and even worse they were all bright orange to boot. They really matched the yellow wallpaper.

You were desperate for a distraction right now from the boring day you were bound to have. You looked at the magazines. As you guessed they were months behind, nothing good.

And that’s when the TV turned on, no remote in sight. A note fell off the TV as if a wind blew it but there was no wind. The note said, “Broken.” That made your spidey tense tingle. What the ever-living fuck was going on. You whirled around looking for the culprit. You didn’t smell sulfur or feel a cold chill run down your spine. You walked around the laundromat finding no cold spots. Okay, this was creepy. What was going on?

As if in response to your apprehension, the newscaster on the television program seemed to address your concerns. “No need to be afraid, sweet cheeks,” the news announcer said winking at you. There was only one person that called you that and the newscaster looked nothing like him. Eerie. The newscaster actually looked like an underwear model. That guy missed his calling.

The emblem behind him said “Fenrir News.” Now that’s an unusual name. You were starting to have a distinct idea who might be doing this. The news announcer winked at you as if he knew that you knew.

The news announcer was still looking at you clearly and not the teleprompter. “Before we get into the local news, there’s something I have to say: There is an epidemic sweeping our country with few solutions available. An epidemic of boredom. It’s a horrible condition that leaves the intended victim without the ability to have fun. I know, that sounds truly horrible. The victim is so bogged down by the inability to come up with or do anything fun they just lie there, frustrated. Take this amazing, beautiful woman watching. She’s stuck in a laundromat desperate for a little adventure. It kills me to know just how bored she is and even more upsetting that they didn’t take her on the hunt. That her besties benched her because she’s recovering from a wound on the last hunt. Not cool, right? Her besties sentenced her to a week of boredom. Sounds like they should have some payback when they return. Anywho, Y/N this one’s for you.”

There was white noise and a blank screen for only a moment when what looked like a commercial came on.

A woman with a huge smile on her heavily makeuped face waved at the studio audience.

“Hello there fellow hunters. Do you find yourself struggling to get out hunting stains? You try and try but you just can’t wash out the blood and monster guts? Am I right? Mmmhmm. I know. I’ve been there. It’s terrible but don’t worry I have the solution. Here is Tricks-O-Matic. And it really does the trick. You wanna see?”

She holds up what looks like Dean’s shirt, the raspberry plaid shit you could have sworn you just put in the washer. You walked over to the washer and looked for the red shirt not finding it. Tons of greens, blues and blacks but no dark red plaid shirt. Huh.

The woman in the commercial poured a very bright blue substance on it that had the consistency of paint. You shuddered to think what’s going to happen and how you would explain it to Dean. The second she put the substance on the shirt; she dunked the plaid shirt in water. Then she wrung it on a little and then held it up like a champion belt at a wrestling tournament.

Of course the shirt was wet but there was no mistaking that the stain was in fact gone.

“That’s right. One, two and gone. No matter the stain, Tricks-O-Matic will get it out. Tough on stains, gentle on your skin. So next time you’re leaving for a hunt remember Tricks-O-Matic. It really does the trick.”

You chuckled at that. Ridiculous the levels you boyfriend would go to, to entertain you but you had to admit, it was working. The commercial was clever and he did get out those monster guts for you that you were sure the washer never would. Dean would be quite impressed with you.

The catch-phrase was pretty awesome. Tricks-O-Matic indeed.

The TV went blank again, white noise coming out of it for only a few seconds until a soap opera come on. The title flashed across the screen, “Angelic Lover.” Oh how very subtle right? That was your boyfriend, the archangel of subtle.

A woman ran into the screen, her eyes puffy as if she was crying. “Luke?”

A man that looked just as tall as Sam came onto the screen. “You should be with the angel,” he said in a gravely voice.

“What? “You’re supposed to talk me out of it.” The woman said in a hitch-pitched and rather nervous tone. “You’re supposed to make me marry you. That’s what our parents want. You’ve lusted after me for years, now desperate to claim me as yours but you will never have me.”

“How can you be sure I’m Luke?” the man asked with a quirked eyebrow smiling at her.

“Who are you then?” the woman asked apprehensively as she slowly stepped away from him.

“Can you not recognize the man you love? I am your angel, my darling,” the man confirmed, his arms outstretched.

“But you -.”

“Have the face of your enemy, I know. I got a face transplant to break into the mansion and get past the guards but it is I, my love. I killed your enemy. He is no more.”

The man took off his face revealing a completely different man. The studio audience went wild. As did the woman. She fainted into his arms, waking up a minute later. He looked down at her adoringly.

“It is you,” she said in a soft voice.

“It is me,” he repeated.

She looked at him again, growing nervous. It couldn’t be. She slowly stepped away from the man. “No. That’s not possible. We can’t be together. I’m a human. You can’t possibly love me.”

“But I do.”

“You do?” she asked incredulously.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“But what of my friends?” Gasp. “They…They…will not let us be happy. My father will never rest until you are dead. You must leave. We can never be together. We’re from two different worlds. We don’t belong together.”

“But we could.”

“Could we? Could we really?”

“Yes.” The man then grabbed the woman and kissed her passionately on the lips. She swooned and her legs fell out from under her before she fainted again into his arms.

You rolled your eyes. “A tad dramatic, no?”

The TV went blank again and then what looked like men playing a game of basketball outside came into focus. One of the players stopped playing and stepped up to the camera. The rest of the players were fuzzy and out of focus.

“Dramatic is better than being bored and you know what else is better than being bored? Taking twice daily Baldur. It cures the boredom right up so I can get back to doing what I love doing like playing ball.”

The commercial faded out as the men played basketball in the background. A list of side effects came onto the screen. Some caught your attention such as; intensive farting, love of anchovies, need for kinky sex, need for the Trickster, a deep yen to prank others, acid reflux, vomiting negativity, becoming more awesome, so awesome in fact that you can’t hang out with people wearing plaid. That had you laughing. You were sure who it was now.

You glanced at the washer. Time to add more soap. The TV went blank as you put more soap in. You had to admit that this was making you happy and a lot less bored. You loved being with Gabriel and was hoping he would be able to visit you when the boys were away. The silence was deafening and you missed his assortment of entertainment. Sure enough, the second you sat back down, the TV came on again.

A black and white program came on called, “Tricked,” but the actors looked like the same ones that were on the TV show “Bewitched.”

“My friends will be here soon. No powers okay. You promised.”

“Of course I’ll be on my best behavior,” the man stated holding his hands up.

“Why don’t I believe that?” she said in a grumpy tone.

Smirking he replied, “I don’t know. I have an incredibly believable face.”

“Mmm hmmm.” The woman opened the door and she found two dogs on the doorstep.

“Your friends weren’t already dogs? Maybe they never showed and they sent dogs instead? Strays?”

The woman turned around and glared at him. He simply shrugged. “It beats them wearing plaid all the time. This is a new look for them and besides, they always ruin my fun and all I want is to-“

The screen went blank again. Talk about a cliffhanger.

An announcer came on waving at a studio audience that was clapping wildly. “Welcome to Dance Wars: Laundromat. We have Y/N and Gabriel, returning champions. Can they keep the throne? You’ll have to tune in and watch.”

You looked at the TV confused. You felt a shift in the air behind you and then what felt like a gentle kiss placed on the back of your neck. You jumped and he laughed a warm laugh. His breath fanned over the back of your neck.

“Did you really not guess it was me? I mean I thought I was being pretty obvious. I’m kind of offended. Who else would dedicate all this time to making you smile? Fenrir and Baldur? Hello? Trickster? Loki myth.”

You smirked. “I knew it was you from the beginning. From those clues.”

“Aren’t you clever cupcake?” Gabriel grabbed you around the waist, rutting against you, pressing his hard cock against your ass. “How am I doing about making your day better? I thought I heard laughter and I definitely saw smiles.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job as always.”

Gabriel twirled you around and brought you back into his waiting arms and then out of nowhere swing music appeared and you danced around the laundromat.

A customer tried to come in to wash their clothes and saw you both dancing. He tried the door but it was locked. You gave Gabriel a look.

“This is our time,” he pleaded with you.

You rolled your eyes. “We have all day; and if you’re free, all week. Let the poor man wash his clothes?”

Gabriel sulked.

On the next twirl, you spun away from him, unlocking the door and spinning back into his arms. Gabriel’s frown only intensified. He dipped you and gently ran his hand down your face to your collarbone. You let out a shaky breath at the tender touch. He righted you and grabbed you closer to him as he kissed you passionately. You chose to ignore the customer who looked at you both uncomfortably.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” Gabriel implored.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling silly. You should have called. “You’re an angel. One that’s trying to keep a low radar and you have angel stuff to do that is definitely more important than preventing a human from being bored.”

“No. Okay yes. I am trying to hideout. Dear old Dad and Luci need to think I’m dead. I plan on staying out of the whole epic battle. And yeah there may be some angel tasks and just desserts I have to attend to from time to time, but you and only you are the most important thing to me sweet cheeks. No angel business is more important than the love of my life. Anytime you want me, please let me know. If I could, I would never let you go. But I know you love the Winchesters and you hunt. I know but I would want to be with you every second, if I could. And hello Trickster here: curing boredom is kinda my speciality. “

“Can you forgive me?”

“Always.”

The random dude in the laundromat was eyeing you two weirdly. Did he hear your conversation or did he just see the massive amounts of PDA? Whatever the reason, you pushed on Gabriel’s chest to release you from his arms. He disconnected with you slowly after a lingering glance. You slowly took out mountain of clothes from all the washers. Gabriel proceeded to grumble behind you.

Gabriel whispered into your ear, “That guy there will never know. He’s not even watching us right now. Why can’t I just snap my-.”

“He’s giving us side-eye. He is most definitely still watching us. Why not show him you have magical abilities? Why could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m sensing sarcasm in your tone.”

You smirked back at your boyfriend. “Hey, I have an idea - why don’t you just turn him into a dog?”

“Don’t give me any ideas.”

You shook your head at your boyfriend and slowly left the laundromat. Gabriel happily held open the door for you. The second that you were clear, no one on the road and the man from the laundromat couldn’t see you, Gabriel snapped his fingers and you got back to the bunker with all the clothes there, clean, dry and in everyone’s respective drawers. You looked down to see the both of you naked.

“I might have another idea on what to do to cure boredom.” Gabriel said in a playful tone

“Do you now?” you asked in a seductive tone.

“How long are the boys away?”

“A week.”

Gabriel’s smile was huge. “We could fit in a lot in a week.”

“Well, what are you waiting for tiger? Come get your girl.” He pounced on you like a lion and you squealed and giggled when he tackled you to the bed. A week with Gabe never sounded better.

Tagging

Forevers @purgatoan @killerofthesouth @charliebradbury1104 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @chelsea072498 @everyday-supernatural-af @kalliravenne @toogardenenthusiast @winchesterprincessbride @one-shots-supernatural @take-me-tonirvana @hellsmother @ellen-reincarnated1967 @faegal04 @deals-with-demons @mamaredd123 @atc74 @hamartiamacguffin @donnaintx @love-kittykat21 @impala-dreamer @evansrogerskitten @lucifer-in-leather @hiswickedkitty @riversong-sam @rosie-winchester

Gabe peeps @manawhaat, @bkwrm523, @whispersandwhiskerburn, @deathtonormalcy56, @for-the-love-of-dean, @jelly-beans-and-gstrings, @deansleather, @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname, @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @mrswhozeewhatsis, @ilovedean-spn2, @wi-deangirl77, @deanwinchesterforpromqueen, @fandommaniacx, @revwinchester, @oldfashioncdvillain, @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell, @castieltrash1, @mysaintsasinner, @bohowitch, @vintagevalentinexx, @thinkwritexpress-official @deals-with-demons, @bowtiesandapplepie, @itsemmyb, @crzcorgi, @deerlululucy, @mrsjohnsmith, @growleytria, @sleep-silent-angel @walkingencyclopediaoffandom, @thegleegeneration, @babypieandwhiskey @supermoonpanda, @sis-tafics, @kittenofdoomage, @lilyoflothlorien, @ferferelli, @ackleslaugh, @curliesallovertheplace, @trenchcoats-and-bees, @katnharper, @winchester-princess @notnaturalanahi, @skybinx-blog, @thebunkerismyhome, @feelmyroarrrr, @tia58, @winchesterswoonathon, @castiels-forbidden-angel, @jotink78 @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave, @wayward-mirage, @hexparker, @alangel1895

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broadwaybydesign · 8 years ago

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'S Wonderful: Costuming “An American in Paris,” Part II

Good afternoon everyone, and welcome to Part II of my review of Bob Crowley’s beautiful designs in the stage musical An American in Paris! Yesterday we took a look at the designs for the character of Milo Davenport, and today I want to look at the female lead, the character of Lise Dassin, as played by Leanne Cope in the original Paris and Broadway productions. Whereas the character of Milo is a stylish sophisticate, the character of Lise is a bit more down-to-earth, a charming ballerina who ends up falling in love with the male lead.

Some of these costumes are quite simple, and I like that about them; they give the character a clean look and allow you to focus more on the actress’ movements. Given the character is a ballerina, that’s not unimportant. Let’s take a look at some of Mr Crowley’s designs:

In general, I’m not a huge fan of polka dots as a pattern, but here I think that it actually works quite nicely. The dress itself seems to be a very, very pale purplish white that shows up well against the dark staging of the production. The skirt has a beautiful cut that allows the fabric to flow and twirl nicely, which is a great nod to the character being a ballerina. The dots are in shades of red and blue, and while sometimes polka dots can distract from the overall costume, here I think they complement the design. Rather than being in an orderly, geometric pattern, Mr Crowley has chosen to with a more randomized design. While that has the potential to go awry, here it puts me in the mind to think of flower petals or cherry blossoms floating down from the sky. Indeed, against the light coloring of the dress, that effect comes through even more. There’s a celebratory feel to it, and the relative lack of adornment helps it to stand on its own. It’s a clever piece that turns one of my least favorite patterns into one of my favorite costumes from this production.

This number is sleeker and a bit more “sexy” than a lot of the costumes in the production, as well as avant garde for a production set in the 1940s. The shape of the dress itself is relative simple, and the fabric allows it to form folds that will open as the actress and character move around the stage. Given the elaborate choreography of An American in Paris, that is most definitely a good thing. The monotony of the black--in which Lise and the male lead, Jerry Mulligan (as played by danseur Robert Fairchild)--is broken up by just the slightest bit of red on Lise’s bust, a triangle in the center of the fabric. But what makes this dress a bit risqué for the era is not the length or the fabric itself, but the adornment on the upper chest and arms. Using netting in a dress is always an interesting choice, because it adds a kind of sexual allure; think about how it’s used in productions like Chicago or Sweet Charity for a comparison. Here, it causes Lise to look just the slightest bit more forbidden than if her shoulders were bare.

I think that has to have been an intentional choice by Mr Crowley, and it draws a nice contrast to Milo (who is the competition for Jerry’s affections in the musical). Her seductiveness is in the richness of her wardrobe, whereas Lise goes for something much simpler, offering a hint of sensuality in this costume rather than being overt. It’s very clever, and it’s something I haven’t seen a lot of outside of this production.

I haven’t talked much about patterns in this production, because there haven’t been a ton of examples, but this yellow dress worn by Lise is one that deserves some commentary. With a basic white fabric, the pattern is in fact a floral, but one that takes inspiration (I think) from ferns and plants rather than flowers directly. There are more sharp edges in the emblems that cover the dress, and less in the way of flowing blossoms. And that’s okay; the overall effect imbues the costume with a sense of excitement and motion, even while Lise is (as in this still) holding a pose as part of a dance or performance. The color is a nice choice as well, adding some warmth and glow to an austere set design (which is, I would note, intentional). Notice the way that this costume allows your eye to travel right to Lise, even though she’s in a close pose with Jerry; the yellow absolutely pops and makes sure you pay attention both to the dress and to the woman wearing it. That’s not necessarily difficult to do; balancing light and dark is Costuming 101. But what is interesting is that it’s done with a pattern, and one that fits the production rather well indeed.

Taken from another angle, you can see the floral portion of the pattern a little bit easier. The dress actually has an interesting cut to it around the bottom and doesn’t appear to be designed to lay perfectly flat; that’s a neat effect, especially when the actress is in different positions throughout her time in the costume and on stage. I also love the lack of a definite waist in this dress; it allows the pattern to be continuous rather than being artificially broken up.

That, for me, is a must with a patterned dress and costume. Breaking up the design should be done sparingly or not at all, unless it’s a repeated design (say, a geometric pattern) or a randomized one like the dotted dress above (and even there, the interruption is small and complementary with a thin belt). Maybe it’s not a sign of genius, but leaving this one alone has helped to improve its overall appearance considerably.

There is one more outfit I want to take a look at in this review, because it’s the one that comes closest to the “stereotypical” ballerina look without being too much of a tutu. Lise ends the musical and the actress takes her bows in a rather nice pink number (I seem to notice a theme with that...Roman Holiday, War Paint, An American in Paris) that deserves some special examination. Take a look first at the dress as it’s seen onstage, in motion and from a slight distance:

There’s a kind of softness to this dress that none of the other costumes possessed in the musical that I observed. The pink is a light, soft, cotton candy color that absolutely pops against the blue stage design and still manages to be a contrast to Lise’s dance partner. It has straps, which I think fits the idea that Lise is a bit more of an ingenue than Milo and wouldn’t really wear something entirely baring (black ballet number above notwithstanding), and the skirts flow in an almost satiny display. But what I like most about this dress is that it’s not one cut of fabric. Rather, it’s a number of layers of a sheer chiffon or chiffon-like fabric that combine to form the pink color. On their own, the chiffon layers would look almost translucent, but in combination they soften the color and make the dress pop even more. You can sort of see the end of one of the layers in the lower left of this picture, just above Lise’s right (viewer’s left) foot. But there’s an even better closeup from the bows that shows what I am talking about:

You can see that there is a white underskirt to provide a solid background for the chiffon to rest on, and that helps to brighten the color just a tiny bit. But the real work of the dress is in the ultra-thin, sheer layers of chiffon that combine to give that really eye-catching pink color. It’s so utterly soft and feminine in comparison to the staging for this production that I can’t help but really admire it.

If you look closely in this still as well, you can see that the bodice of the dress has a bit of beadwork on it that’s rather subtle, but definitely designed to help this gown catch the light and create an even more memorable effect. I think that it was needed here, despite the perfection of the fabrics, because otherwise there really would have been no adorned costumes for the Lise character. Adding some simple beadwork to the bodice is also a nice tip to the ballerina origins of the character and the ballet costume styles that would have been popular in an era contemporaneous to the one in which An American in Paris is set.

Overall, I’m a fan of Bob Crowley’s designs for this production. He designed two very different sets of costumes for two very different characters, but managed to give them all the delightful themes and styles of the 1940s. This is an elegant production that takes its cues from couture design and high fashion, and which still managed to make the dresses understandable to a modern audience who does not follow fashion religiously. All in all, it’s a fantastic outing and I really can see why Mr Crowley earned a Tony nomination for them. Absolutely spectacular!

That about wraps it up for my commentary on An American in Paris. I’m still deciding what show to review next after a jam-packed week, so look out for a preview post in the next day or so with a teaser of the week ahead. And as always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging!

#an american in paris #bob crowley #broadway #theatre #musicals #costumery #costumes

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