#the only other thing I’m finding is the ‘make a clay sculpture and wrap the sucker in tape’

[plaguedoctoraeneas]

Hm. Do any of you have resources on making/designing a pattern for a plush? I’m. Struggling to find anything

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 22

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 22 - This Venerable One's Shizun is Getting Angry

When Chu Wanning heard this, he was so angry that he could barely keep himself from retracting Tianwen and slashing the Chen couple. But he couldn't open his eyes to confront them. Once he opened his eyes, the barrier would be broken. The Return to Truth barrier could only trap a ghost once. If his interrogation was interrupted, he wouldn't be able to listen to any more of Luo Xianxian's story.

All he could do was contain his overwhelming rage and continue listening to Luo Xianxian.

After she died, her soul entered the underworld, unaware and confused.

The only thing that she could make out was a woman wearing red and green robes with facial features that resembled the Master of Ceremonies Ghost enshrined in a temple. The Master of Ceremonies Ghost stood in front of her and asked her in a soft voice: "You and Chen Bohuan couldn't share a bed in life. Would you like to share the same grave in death?"

She hurriedly agreed: "Yes. . . Yes please!"

"Then I can let him come join you right away. What do you think?"

Luo Xianxian wanted to blurt out a yes, rushing to agree, but suddenly remembered something and froze. "Am I dead?"

"Yes. I am the Master of the Underworld Ghost. I can give you the destiny you deserve and fulfill your long-cherished wish."

Luo Xianxian was startled: "Then, if he comes to join me, will he. . . also die?"

"Yes. However, if loves persists in the afterlife, life and death are irrelevant. What difference does it make?"

Chu Wanning heard this, he thought to himself that he had been right; this Master of Ceremonies Ghost would persuade others to make a wish so that she could reap the benefits. This immortal was truly diabolical.

Although Luo Xianxian died unjustly, she hadn't yet become a malevolent ghost, so she repeatedly shook his head: "No. It wasn't his fault. You can't kill him."

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost smiled compassionately: "And what did you get in return for this kindness?" It didn't force Luo Xianxian to do anything. As an immortal being, they could persuade someone to make a bad wish, but they couldn't force them. Its figure gradually faded away, its voice becoming hazier and hazier.

"Return to the world in seven days. During those seven days, go and see how the Chen family is faring. After that, I'll ask you again if you still have no regrets about your decision."

Seven days later, the day arrived.

Luo Xianxian's soul returned to a conscious form and returned to the world of the living.

Following the old road, she eagerly walked towards the Chen house to see her husband for the last time.

Unexpectedly, the Chen house was decorated with lights, and outside the courtyard, there were fireworks. Bridal flowers were decorating the halls. and a big "double happiness" banner was hanging in front of the main hall. Madam Chen was radiant, not appearing sickly in the slightest. She was smiling and instructing the servants to wrap the bouquets with red silk.

Who. . . was having a wedding?

Who. . . were the bride and groom?

Who. . . no one was engaged, what was going on?

Who. . .

She walked through the busy crowd, listening to the sound of people in the world of the living.

"Congratulations, Madam Chen. Your son is getting engaged to the daughter of the county magistrate. When's the wedding?"

"Madam Chen, you're so fortunate."

"Yao Qianjin is truly the lucky star of the Chen family and they aren't even official yet. Madam Chen, you look so much healthier already."

"Your son and Yao Qianjin are a match made in heaven. I'm so jealous, hahahaha."

Her son. . . Her son. . .

Which son?

Which one was marrying the daughter of the Yao family?

She shuttled back and forth across the familiar front yard, growing more and more frantic, looking for that familiar figure in the midst of all the laughter.

Then she found him.

In front of the peony flowers in the back hall, Chen Bohuan stood with his hands behind his back with a haggard face and sunken cheeks. However, he was dressed in red. Even though it wasn't a traditional wedding outfit, it was a Caidie Town custom. When a prospective son-in-law comes to propose marriage, he should wear this type of red gown.

Was he. . . going to propose. . .?

The decorations in the whole house, the strings of gold and silver beads, was it all. . . was it all from Chen Bohuan, her husband, as a dowry for the daughter of the Yao family?

She suddenly recalled the time when they got married.

There was nothing but two people that shared one heart - nothing else.

There was no master of ceremonies, no bridesmaids, and no dowry. The Chen family weren't wealthy at that time and didn't even own a decent set of jewelry. He went into the yard and picked a delicate orange blossom from under the orange tree they had planted together and carefully tucked it behind her ear.

She asked him: "Does it look good?"

He said it looked beautiful. After a moment of silence, he stroked her hair with some sadness and told her: "You deserve so much better than this."

Luo Xianxian smiled and pursed his lips, saying that it didn't matter.

Chen Bohuan told her that when he married her three years later, he would hold a lively wedding banquet. He would invite people from all over the world. He would have her make a grand entrance on a large sedan chair. He would give her gold and silver to wear, and the dowry gifts would fill the entire main hall.

Those vows still echoed in her ears. Now, all those promises have come true, the hall filled with gifts and guests.

He was getting married, just not to her.

A monstrous flame of anger and sorrow surged through her. Luo Xianxian screamed, trying to tear at the hanging red silk in the room.

But she was a ghost; she couldn't touch anything.

Chen Bohuan seemed to vaguely notice something. He turned around, staring at the silk moving despite there being no wind. His eyes were dull and hollow.

His little sister came over, a white jade hairpin clipped on the side of her bun. She didn't know who she was secretly mourning by wearing it.

She said: "Big brother, go to the kitchen to eat something. You haven't had a proper meal in days. You have to hurry up and go to the county magistrate's house later to propose. Your body won't hold up."

Chen Bohuan suddenly asked without thinking: "Sister, did you hear someone crying?"

". . . What? No, brother, I think you're still. . ." She gritted her teeth and didn't finish her thought. Chen Bohuan still stared at the fluttering silk sheets.

"How is my mother? Is she happy? Has her illness been cured?"

". . . Brother."

". . . I'm glad she's feeling better." Chen Bohuan stood there, muttering to himself. "I already lost Luo Xianxian, I couldn't live without my mother."

"Brother, go eat something. . ."

Luo Xianxian wailed. She yelled and bawled with her head in her hands.

Don't go. . . don't go. . . please don't go. . .

Chen Bohuan said: ". . . Alright."

The tired figure disappeared around the corner.

Luo Xianxian stood alone in a daze, large tears rolling down her face. Suddenly, she heard the brothers of the Chen family who killed her approaching. The second eldest brother and the younger brother were whispering to each other.

"Mother is finally happy. Finally, things are going our way."

"Right? She pretended to be sick for half and year. Now that that cursed bitch is gone, how could she not be thrilled?"

The younger brother tsked and said, "How come she died? We wanted to force her out, not kill her. Was she really so stupid that she couldn't even find someone to help her?"

"Who knows. She was weak, just like her rotten father. It's not our fault that she died. Even though mother pretended to be sick to get rid of her, our family has its own struggles. Think about it, when the options county magistrate’s daughter and some pauper girl, only a fool would choose the latter. Besides, even if Yao Qianjin is a brat, she's got enough money to go around."

"Yes, she's so dumb. She didn't want to live so she let herself freeze to death. No one could've saved her."

The words drifted to her ears.

After Luo Xianxian died, she finally understood the so-called "Divine Fate". She was completely broke and couldn't compare to the county magistrate's daughter who was so noble and honourable.

Only a fool would choose the pauper girl.

She finally snapped.

She returned to the Master of Ceremonies' temple full of hatred and resentment.

She died there. Unlike how weak and helpless she was when she died, she returned with overwhelming hostility.

She used to be such a kind person, but now, all the hatred and evil that had been built inside her while she was alive came flooding out. She roared, her eyes turning red, her soul trembling.

She said: "I, Luo Xianxian, would like to give up my soul and follow the path of wickedness. I only ask you to avenge me! I want the Chen family - I don't want you to kill them!!! I want. . . I want to let my beastly mother-in-law kill her sons by her own hand! All her sons!!! I want Chen Bohuan to go to hell with me!!! Let him be buried with me!!! Do it for me!!! I hate them! I hate them!!!!"

The eyes of the clay sculpture on the shrine shifted and the corners of its mouth slowly raised.

A hollow voice echoed through the temple.

"I have heard your prayers. It will be as you wish. As an evil spirit - kill all those that you resent -"

A piercing blood-red light flashed, and Luo Xianxian couldn't remember anything after that.

However, Chu Wanning already what happened next. After that, the Master of Ceremonies Ghost manipulated Luo Xianxian's spirit to possess Madam Chen and force her to kill each member of the Chen family.

The red coffin on the top of the mountain, the reason why Chen Bohuan was dug up, naturally, was because the Master of Ceremonies Ghost was fulfilling Luo Xianxian's greatest wish - "Let Chen Bohuan and I be buried together." Moreover, it deliberately placed the coffin on the property of Chen Bohuan and his new wife as an act of spiteful revenge.

As for the floral scent in Chen Bohuan's coffin, it was the scent of the butterfly fragrance powder that Luo Xianxian had worn before her death. The resentment and fragrance in the coffin were both extremely strong because Luo Xianxian's soul was resting alongside Chen Bohuan inside it.

Luo Xianxian had no family. According to the customs, if a person like that dies, their bones should be cremated instead of buried. Therefore, she had no physical body and could only be contained within the coffin by the Master of Ceremonies Ghost. That's why, when Chu Wanning opened the coffin with his willow vine, Luo Xianxian had escaped the coffin's containment. Her soul flew away, and it was difficult to recapture. It was a situation of "a closed coffin being heavy with resentment but an open coffin being light".

But during the illusion, why did other people have dead bodies as their partners but Chen Bohuan only had a paper-mache ghost bride?

Chu Wanning thought for a moment and figured out this much:

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost didn't break its promise. The paper-mache bride was the "physical body" that it gave Luo Xianxian. It was a vessel so that Luo Xianxian could be buried with Chen Bohuan.

Everything was clear.

Chu Wanning looked at the weak and helpless girl in the barrier. He wanted to say something but didn't know what to say.

Elder Yuheng wasn't particularly good at comforting words. He couldn't think of anything, so he stayed silent, not having anything he could say.

The girl stood in the vast darkness with her soft round eyes open.

Chu Wanning looked at her eyes and couldn't bear it. He wanted to leave. He didn't want to take another look. He was about to open his eyes and leave the Return to Truth barrier.

Then the girl suddenly spoke.

"Lord Yama. I. . . I have something else I want to tell you."

Chu Wanning: ". . . Alright."

The girl suddenly lowered her head, covered her eyes, and cried. She said softly, "Lord Yama, I don't know what I did after that. But, I. . . I really didn't want to kill my husband. I didn't want to be an evil spirit. I really. . ."

"I didn't steal the oranges. I really am Chen Bohuan's wife. And I truly, truly didn't want to hurt anyone either."

"I truly didn't want anyone to get hurt. Please believe me."

Her voice choked and trembled, her words breaking.

"I. . . didn't lie. . ."

I didn't lie.

Why is it that, in this life, almost no one believed me?

She sobbed and screamed. Chu Wanning's voice sounded low in the darkness. He didn't say much, but he said it with conviction.

"Okay."

Luo Xianxian was shocked.

Chu Wanning said: "I believe you."

Luo Xianxian wiped her tears with her hands indiscriminately but couldn't hold them back. Hiding her tearful face, she lowered her head and bowed her head in his direction in the darkness.

Chu Wanning opened his eyes.

After he opened his eyes, he didn't say anything.

Time in the barrier wasn't the same as in reality. He had stayed there for a long time but, for the people waiting outside, it had only been a moment. Mo Ran hadn't returned yet. The few remaining people in the Chen family were still looking at him with bated breath.

Chu Wanning withdrew Tianwen and said to Madam Chen: "I'll avenge you. You can find peace."

Madam Chen froze and opened her blood-red eyes, and suddenly fell to the ground with a thud, knocked out cold.

Chu Wanning raised his head again. His eyes swept across Chen's face then landed on the youngest son. His voice didn't waver, and it was still frighteningly cold.

"I'll ask one last time." He said each word slowly and decisively. "Did you really not recognize whose voice that was?"

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[shelbyshoe]

Divine Touch

One-Shot

Lucy is a renowned artist for the nobility longing for a man, well a muse, that she can't stop painting. Natsu is a god of creativity who craves freedom from Lucy's studio. Their desire for each other mount, but they fear the one golden rule. With just one touch their contract is dissolved, destroying everything they've built and keeping them apart forever.

(A nalu fic with some gruvia.)

Rated: Explicit (Sexual Content and Harsh Language)

Words: 8413

FF.net

AO3

“You made my nose crooked.” Lucy’s hand jerked, and her heart jumped to her throat. Natsu stood behind her, leaning against her worktable that stretched out in the center of the room. His long pale sleeves rolled up on his forearms. The fabric fell loose enough to hang slightly open at his muscular chest. Her countless hours of mixed media stained the wooden table. Lucy had warned him about staining his clothes, but he never listened. To be fair, he materialized in her studio each time without a spot on him. She checked the room in case anyone entered and heard her speaking to no one. Long windows perched on the walls just below the high ceiling. Only the clouds viewable from where they stood as though she worked in the sky. “Well, now you’ve just ruined it.” Natsu pointed to the lump of clay she worked on. His interruption had startled her enough to make the nose sit at an awkward angle. The life-sized mess of clay mocked her efforts. The rest of the body molded into a crude shape to suggest she sculpted a person.

“If you came to critique my work so early, Natsu, you can leave.” Lucy splayed her hands over the face to conceal it. Embarrassment crushed her chest as it did when he caught her working in her messy appearance. She cut her fingernails short, tied her hair up in a lopsided bun, and wore a gray smock covered in clay. Lucy put her tool down on the table beside him. “Shouldn’t muses be helpful?” He was. “And inspire their creative?” Oh, he did. The little tilt of his lips told her he already knew her true feelings.

“You’re my favorite creative,” Natsu said. If Lucy had ever felt swayed by his blunt declarations, she hadn’t let it show. She hung her smock on a hook behind her. His soft masculine laughter ran up her spine like fingertips. Objectively, a muse was a conduit for inspiration that she used daily. Subjectively, if Lucy remained in his presence for much longer, she’d break the one golden rule. No creative could touch their muse. One soft brush between them, and it was bye-bye inspiration. At the height of her career, she couldn’t risk losing the one thing that got her there.

“I’m your only creative.” She moved to the stone sink at the back of her studio. The water was cool against her skin and ran murky with the clay that caked her fingers.

“You don’t know that.” His warm breath brushed across her ear, but when she glanced over her shoulder, he stood in the same position far from the sink. A trick of the gods and Natsu was nothing if not a trickster.

“I told you not to do that.”

“Do what?” He held his hands up and leaned away from the table. She turned back to her sink as to not give him anymore fuel to his fire. His footsteps fell light against the hard floor. “The eyes are right.”

“What?” Lucy took the small towel on the serving tray and wiped her hands dry. Natsu stood in front of the unfinished clay version of himself. He leaned forward with a hand resting at his chin to stare his imitation in the eyes. At least she’d gotten the height correct.

“The eyes.” He pointed to the sculpture’s face. The crooked nose distracted her from the observation he made. “They’re perfect. Don’t change them.” Lucy stood beside him to see what he saw. When she made a sculpture, she worked on the face first. This was the first piece she’d ever done that clearly resembled Natsu. All the male figures she painted resembled him in one way or another, but she had concealed that fact well enough. When during the process of this project had she decided to sculpt Natsu completely? “Why did you stop?” He gestured to her freshly washed hands. They stood close enough that if she leaned, she could press her arm against his. The warmth of his skin sliding against her palms. Her fingertips tiptoeing across the valleys of his tanned muscles. His hands lazily navigating her body. Only a daydream.

“I don’t feel like having an audience.” She twisted away from him, keeping her focus on the material she used to wrap the sculpture, to prevent the clay from drying in her absence.

“That’s a shame.” His head tilted to the side and unabashedly examined her. Like a child observing an ant under glass. The casual way his long rosy hair fell to the side of his head made the youthful flush of his skin stand out. “I wanted to stick around longer.” He shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan pants. “Guess I’ll see you around.” If those around them could see Natsu, they would surely know he wasn’t mortal. Power clung to his unblemished skin like embers on coal. The unfinished sculpture loomed over her. What a fool she was to believe that she made anything near the real thing. She threw the drape over the clay and tied it securely. The room still enough for her to know he’d disappeared. In Natsu’s absence, the room no longer felt vast like the sky— just another room in the long rows of studios. Her bag lay by the door where someone lightly knocked and peeked into the room.

“Oh, you’re already done?” Gray ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. An awkward habit, though not as awkward as his sporadic nudity.

“I feel uninspired.”

“The muse didn’t show up?” Gray chuckled and stepped into the hall. She closed the door behind her as if by seeing inside, he’d know Natsu had stood within. To everyone else, a muse was a mythical being. Speaking of divine assistance would put her job in danger.

“I wish,” Lucy said.

“I figured we could eat something.”

“I thought you had a class?”

“They canceled, so I picked up a job. I’ll have enough time to eat beforehand.” They fell into step together through the pristine hall. Each intricately carved door was a studio with an artist within. The royals collected them the way one would collect art itself. Lucy never complained—thankful she had a job and a place to stay, a small boarding room with all the other students at the adjacent university. Gray was in a similar boat, and while he didn’t like to talk about his past, she knew he’d come out of tough times. He pushed open the tall heavy doors to the gallery. The nobles displayed the artists’ works inside.

“Sometimes I wish your medium weren’t ice. Your work deserves to be here just as much as the rest of us,” she said. All her sculptures and paintings remained here, one-of-a-kind pieces. She eyed a painting she’d completed a month ago. A male back spread bare across the canvas. His tan muscles contorted while swathed in pink silk fabric. No one would know the subject was Natsu. Not even the muse himself knew. Lucy painted the torso alone in fear that his blossom hair would give her away.

“Why? So, the nobility can display my work and keep it from the rest of the world like pack rats?” His face scrunched in a scowl.

“I honestly don’t care what happens to my pieces.”

“I never understood that about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always felt attached to my pieces.” He squinted at another one of her paintings. The portrait was tall and shrouded in dark colors. The man in the piece wrapped his arms around himself, gardenias peeked out between his clenched fingers, and red carnations bloomed in place of his face. The darkness wrapped around his bare body like an intruding force. She named it Vulnerability. When she painted this one, she had suspected the nobility would hate it, and Natsu would know it was of him. Thankfully, neither of those things happened. In fact, this was Natsu’s favorite painting. She often caught him gravitating toward it when she left the studio late at night. Lucy only ever met him in the art building. When the crickets sang their lament and the world lay still, she’d lie in her cupboard-sized boarding room and question whether she had imagined the muse. Then, she’d find him there gazing at a portrait that she chose not to say was him.

“That’s the thing.” Lucy paused in front of the painting. As much as she wanted to have a strong connection to it, she didn’t. The work merely paints on fabric compared to the real thing. “I’m attached to the act of creating, not the creation.” He shook his head, and they moved to the door that led to the outside world.

“What kind of job did you take?” she asked. The summer heat whipped her in the face as soon as they left the building. The daylight kissed her skin like a familiar whisper at her ear.

“I’m posing for some art students at the university.”

“Nudes again?” She worked to keep the smile from showing on her face while Gray scoffed at her.

“I do more than nudes, Lucy.” His brows came together in a look of indignation.

“But they are nude poses, right?” She jabbed him playfully with her finger.

“Well, yes, but that’s beside the point.” The farther away they were from the palace, the more her mind cleared of her work, and of Natsu. She’d return as she always did.

________________________________________

If the daylight whispered to her, then the moonlight howled. Lucy’s feet brought her to the studio like an obsession that evening. The studio remained the way she had left it trapped in time, waiting for her return. She lit the room and pulled the cover off her work. While Natsu’s impromptu visit flustered her into destroying a part of the sculpture, she had a chance to see the real thing as a reference.

With a carving tool, she scraped the abomination from the sculpture, sat at the table to remake the nose, and attached the clay to the face. Of course, Natsu was right. The nose rested perfectly with the rest of his face now that she had redone it. Lucy stepped back from the clay figure and eyed her work. He’d told her not to touch the eyes as though he knew she’d thought of changing them. Why? This version of Natsu loomed dark and pensive. The real one radiated mischief and stood bright in her room, in the sky. Yet, he’d told her they were perfect. She would keep them, if only for his confirmation of his likeness. Lucy dipped a brush in water and smoothed the surface of his clay face, an intimate gesture as if to caress his skin. She had a tune stuck in her head and hummed it as she worked. Her body relaxed into the familiar rhythm of creation, and her fingers made light guiding markings for a mouth. Natsu wore a smile the way others wore clothes. His upturned lips in a guise of charm. Her sculpture told another story. The story of a man who peeled off his smile at the end of the day and gazed at a world in which he wished he belonged. With another wet brush, she worked to mold the lips in a way that she imagined. They came easiest to her. Once the eyes told the story, the rest of the face followed. She mixed more clay, sat at her workbench, and went about shaping the ears. Her body hunched forward in full concentration, so she hadn’t noticed another presence until she heard the tune she’d hummed earlier. Natsu sat across from her at the table. His forearms rested on the wooden surface, he hummed soft enough that she had barely heard it before, and his eyes fixed to her work. He didn’t appear playful like the afternoon, but his face lacked the pensive look her sculpture wore.

“When did you get here?” Lucy’s hand hovered over the clay ear with her detail brush. She sat up straighter and prayed she didn’t look a complete mess.

“The better question is, have I ever left?” The grin returned in full force, and he slouched into his arms to lay against the table. His eyes flicked up to the figure behind her. “Looks good so far.” A surprising sense of relief washed over her. He liked it. She took great interest in the half-formed ear in her palm as to avoid his gaze.

“I left the eyes.”

“I see that. I like the mouth.” She glanced behind her at the pensive mouth she’d made.

“Do you have to be present to give me inspiration?” she asked. He tilted his head and raised a brow.

“Yeah.” No explanation, no flowery language, and a look that told her she was ridiculous for asking.

“Then you really are always here?” Somehow, Natsu trailing behind her without her knowledge didn’t disturb her the way she knew it should.

“Yes and no.” His eyes flicked to the night sky out the high windows. “You know, this building doesn’t have a lot of windows.”

“Well, there’s one there.”

“The only skylight in the entire building is in this room.” A fleeting frown dashed across his face until a fixed grin took its place. “Sometimes I want to burst out that window and set the world on fire.” While an alarming confession from anyone else, from Natsu it felt free and harmless.

“You can’t leave?”

“None of us can.” Her hand froze amid a brushstroke down his clay ear.

“There are more muses here?”

“Yeah, you’d like them, Lucy.” He said her name with a cheerfulness that gave her a false sense of endearment as if she could believe he truly felt fond of her. She held the clay ear at arm’s length to see it next to the real thing. Just focus on work, Lucy. Other muses are none of your business.

“Move your hair back.” Lucy focused on the ear in scale and overall shape. Natsu propped himself on the table so that his face hovered next to the back of her hand. If he wanted to, he could lean in and press his cheek against her. Her heart perched at the base of her throat humming at the beat stuck in her head. He slid his fingers through his hair to expose the naked curve of his ear.

“This better?” he asked. The soft warm breeze of summer breathed through the room and brushed against the back of her neck. A shiver ran through her like static.

“I told you not to do that.” Her voice dropped lower than she expected it to. How bothered was she by this little game he played? His eyes traveled over her face and down her neck. He allowed his hair to fall forward and sat back in the chair. She expected the seat to creak under the adjusted weight, but the only sound in the room was her own breath. The absence of noise the reminder of what he was, what they were. When he stood from the table, the room chilled.

“I hope I helped you.” Natsu shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants and left through the door. Had she done something? The weight of his absence pressed against her chest. Her brush hovered over the clay cradled in her hand. Her inspiration had evaporated along with him, like a slap in the face that said they were different. A creative and their muse. Without Natsu, her progress slowed to a crawl. She agonized over her work, and her brain screamed for her to start a different task. She couldn’t work without him.

“This is ridiculous. One ear. I just need this one ear.” Her brush made all the wrong moves, all the most undesirable shapes, but she made progress. That was enough. “I’ve made art without him before. I can do it again.” How long had she relied on his inspiration for her own motivation? And like a muscle unused for years, she stretched.

________________________________________

“Lucy, wake up.” A warm hand shook her shoulder. Lucy pealed her cheek from the table. When had she fallen asleep? Her hands clutched the clay ear. She’d redone it a million times. The rim of the clay had lightened overnight from drying. Her stomach dropped sharply, and her body burst with adrenaline. Dry clay meant the end of her project, yet she found her work covered and tied. The spray bottle of water sat beside it. Relief washed over her body, her legs turned to mud, and she slouched back in her seat. “Whoa, are you okay? You weren’t here all night, were you?” Gray asked. He sat across from her and leaned against the table. The position reminded her of Natsu that evening. Everything reminded her of Natsu.

“If it makes you happy.” She set the clay aside and stood to retrieve more.

“You should take a break. What’s got you working all day and night?” His attention snapped to the draped figure, and he pointed to it. “This?” She brought the clay to the table and nodded.

“What do you think so far?” she asked. Gray’s brows shot up and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I didn’t see it. You really should get some sleep, Lucy.”

“You covered it for me. You must have seen.” Movement caught her attention. Natsu leaned against one of her shelves covered in art supplies. His interest remained on a tube of paint she’d left uncapped and planned to dispose of. Gray followed her gaze.

“I didn’t, I promise. You sure you don’t want to go home?” he asked. She shook her head. “You do look tired.” Of course, he didn’t see Natsu.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m okay, really.” She kneaded the clay between her fingers.

“Do you need help with anything? I can at least come to check on you from time to time.” Gray leaned over the table to brush some hair behind her ear. How long had it been since she’d felt the warmth of someone’s skin? If he hadn’t pulled his hand away, she feared she’d lean into it. He apologized softly, lifting one of his dark brows. Natsu’s attention pulled from the paint and he moved to stand beside Gray. He leaned toward Gray’s head.

“That won’t be necessary,” Lucy said. These were the moments where the lunacy of having a muse sank in. If no one else could see Natsu, was he real?

“At least come to my studio for a bit.” He eyed her kneading fingers with a grimace. “A break or something.” He placed his hands over hers and the clay. Her fingers relaxed from their task. She grappled with his offer, as the sculpture loomed behind her and called like a siren. With Natsu in the room, it felt like a dam had broken. The object of her strange obsession stood beside Gray with a mirrored frown. Natsu tilted his head to Lucy and grinned. Oh no. If she acted out now, Gray would think her crazy. Natsu pursed his lips and blew a silent stream of air at the side of Gray’s face. Gods made no small gestures, so the gust of wind from his lips blew strong enough that Gray toppled from the table and lay on the floor. The artist sat up and held his cheek. While Natsu filled the room with laughter, Gray’s eyes widened as he scanned the room. Lucy dropped the clay and ran around the table to help Gray up. “What was that? Lucy, did you feel that?”

“Look, I’ll come by your studio this afternoon. I appreciate the concern.” She held out her hand to help him to his feet. His hand remained on his cheek as he spoke.

“Did you not feel that just now?”

“Feel what?” Play dumb, kill Natsu later. His hand dropped and he squinted at her. Natsu sat in the seat Gray ejected from and leaned his chin against his palm, watching the show.

“I’ll see you then; I guess.” Gray gave her a polite nod and scanned the room before he left. Lucy turned on Natsu as soon as Gray’s footsteps disappeared.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What? You didn’t want him here either.” He stretched as though he also took a nap at her art table. She went back to her spot across from him. “You have to admit his reaction was hilarious.”

“He was terrified.” Lucy worked the clay with aggression.

“He’ll be fine.” He waved a dismissive hand at the door and nodded toward her hands. “Lucy, you’re going to destroy that clay.” She slapped the clay against her work surface with a loud smack.

“I don’t need you interfering with my life.”

“Okay, then next time, I’ll leave your sculpture out to dry.”

“Gray covered it.”

“He told you he didn’t,” Natsu said. Lucy shook her head, picked up her clay, and carefully molded it into a new ear. When she completed them, she removed the cover from the sculpture and fixed the ears to Natsu’s clay head. She smoothed the clay with water and added clean details of the first strands of his hair that snuggly fit next to his ear. The flow of work kept her mind busy enough to ignore Natsu’s presence.

________________________________________

The bright afternoon sun soon flooded into the room and bathed the studio in warm light. Natsu had moved below the window and gazed up at the cloudless sky. His stance tense with hands wrapped in fists. His mouth tightened to a line and his jaw visibly clenched.

“I’m going to take Gray’s advice and take a break.” Her voice cut through his thoughts enough for her to witness him visibly relax. His scowl replaced with a sharp smile.

“Taking that ice queen’s advice?” He gave a clipped laugh. “I can’t believe he fell over like that.”

“What do you have against him anyway?”

“Nothing.” Natsu tilted his head away from the window. “He’s fun is all.” While his face appeared genuine, Lucy hardly believed his words.

“Muses are strange.” She washed up and covered her work to keep it from drying out. Her fingers slid her apron over the hook by the door. Natsu moved back to his seat, his leg bounced below the table, and his head turned back to the window. “Thank you.” His leg stilled.

“For what?”

“For keeping my work safe,” she said. He turned around in the chair, so that he straddled it, and studied her.

“Where are you going?”

“I said I’d go visit Gray.” Lucy held up a finger to stop him as he stood. “You are not coming.” His eyes glinted the way they did when she challenged him. “Natsu, I mean it, you’re just going to upset him.”

“It’s not like he can see me, Lucy.”

“I won’t be long. I’m coming right back here anyway.”

“Why do I feel like a dog that you’re leaving home for the afternoon?”

“Maybe, that is what I’m doing.” She closed the door as his laughter filled her ears. The sound made her stomach flip, and the feeling lingered all the way to Gray’s studio.

In the hall’s silence, she wished she’d allowed Natsu to go with her. Anything to liven up the cold dead air as she descended toward Gray’s place of work. She stood before his tall studio door and rapped at the metal entrance with the heavy knocker. When no one answered, she allowed herself in. The room dim except for a set of professional lights in the back. The room filled with the sound of tools on ice. His studio, half the size of her own, remained at a low temperature with dim lighting and no windows to preserve the piece.

“Gray?” The sounds stopped, and a chair moved behind a partition.

“Lucy, you made it.” Gray came to greet her, glancing behind her toward the door.

“It’s just me,” She said. He held his hand out for her to sit on a stool beside him. “How are you always shirtless in here? It’s freezing.” Gray laughed as he pulled away the partition to reveal the massive slab of ice behind it.

“Well, what do you think so far?” Gray stood next to her, eyeing the sculpture from her point of view. His fingers cradled his chin as he glanced between Lucy and the ice woman before them. Lucy had never seen this woman before. She lay on the ice like a mermaid basking on a rock. Her legs curled beneath her, one arm lay on the ice beside her, while the other hand slid through her hair. The dress she wore flowed beneath her. A slit on the side revealed ample hip and slender legs.

“Gray, this is amazing.” Lucy stood from the stool and walked around the sculpture. Sure, the fabric was still rough, and the ice beneath her needed work, but the person atop was beautiful. “Who is she?”

“Don’t smirk at me like that.” Gray reverted his gaze to the tools across the table beside the sculpture, but not fast enough for Lucy to miss the flush of his cheeks. Did he know this woman outside of work?

“Well? How long have you been dating?”

“It’s complicated.” Even without explanation, Lucy understood the feeling. Gray’s smile fell into a scowl at something behind her.

“What?” The room remained empty except for his equipment and other sculptures he’d worked on, all abandoned for this piece. From the moment she entered the room, until now, she felt another’s unfamiliar presence. Could it be?

“Nothing. I’m glad you like it.” He picked up a detail pick and went to work on the fabric of her dress.

“Hey, Gray?” Lucy’s mind swam with questions, but only one rang out for an answer. He acknowledged her without looking up. “Do you believe in muses?” His hand lingered over the ice.

“Muses are myths.” Even as the words left his lips, his hand remained still.

“I believe in them.” She crossed her arms over her body and shook in the icy room.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Gray, is this your muse?” She pointed to the sculpture in front of him.

“What if I said yes?” Gray twisted the pick between his hands and pursed his lips in the way he did when he bit at the inside of his mouth. Lucy placed a hand on his shoulder and felt him relax beneath her palm.

“Then I’d say—”

“Calm down, Lucy is just visiting.” Natsu leaned against the door with arms crossed over his chest.

“She’s all over him!” The woman stood behind Gray and shouted to Natsu. Her long, wavy blue hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward to point in the direction of Lucy’s hand. Natsu rolled his eyes. The woman huffed with hands on her hips, glaring at her.

“You’re his muse,” Lucy said. Juvia’s eyes widened, and her arms fell.

“Now you’ve done it,” Natsu said.

“Who are you?” Gray asked, noticing Natsu for the first time. He pulled Lucy closer to him and ignored the protest from the woman behind him. Natsu’s eyes narrowed on Gray’s hand on her waist. “What are you doing in my studio?”

“Well, now that she’s seen Juvia, I better introduce myself.” Natsu bowed low and gave Gray a shark’s smile. “I’m Natsu, Lucy’s muse.”

“Why can I see her?” Lucy asked.

“Probably because you guys were discussing us.” Natsu shrugged casually but tightened his grip on his upper arm.

“What do you want with Gray?” Juvia asked. She stood tall in the same dress as the sculpture.

“Juvia.” Gray’s voice warned, but he let go of Lucy.

“Want? He’s my friend.” Was his muse jealous? “Are you guys together?” Gray sighed.

“No, we work together,” he said.

“Juvia will change your mind!” the muse cried and blinked out of the room.

“Sorry about that, she’s—”

“Passionate?” Lucy said.

“Clingy,” Natsu added. Gray glared at him from his seat.

“What about you?” he asked. Natsu raised a brow, his smile remained planted firmly on his face.

“What about me?”

“Are you together?” Gray said.

“Gray, don’t do this.”

“No, I want his answer, Lucy.” Gray placed his pick on the tray and stood. “What is she to you? Just an artist to play with?”

“Are you not doing that with Juvia? Playing?” Natsu’s feet firmly planted to the ground as Gray took a step forward.

“Whoa there.” Lucy held an arm out in front of his chest. “I’m going to leave now.” She didn’t want to have them fight with each other. She also didn’t want to hear the answer to the question that Natsu avoided. She and Natsu weren’t together, she knew that, yet she feared hearing this from him.

“See you in the studio.” With that, Natsu disappeared.

“How have you not told me about him?”

“What is with that tone? I could say the same about Juvia, but you already know the answer to that.” Her frustration simmered, and Gray eased off.

“You’re right. It just all came out at once.”

“I know.” Lucy gave his hand a squeeze and pulled away. “I’m going back to work.” She hesitated in the doorway and gazed inside. Now that her friend stood alone in the room, he appeared so small. “Hey, Gray?” He glanced back at her. “I love the piece. Please, finish it.” He smiled as she closed the door and paced back to her own studio.

Her door slammed behind her as she entered. As she thought, Natsu stood under the high windows, gazing up at the vast sky.

“I told you not to follow me.” The frustration she thought she’d extinguished lit up.

“You know me better than that.”

“Yes, always meddling in my life.” Lucy pulled the smock over her and secured her hair on her head with a tie.

“How was that meddling in your life? You were talking about art and us.”

“What do you mean us? You and Juvia?” she asked, convinced he didn’t mean him and her. She pulled the cover away from her sculpture. How could she work on this while she fought with the very person she sculpted? I don’t need a muse to make art. Could she believe that now? All her success was due to the man standing in her studio. Somehow, the thought only infuriated her more. “Did you pick me?”

“What?” Natsu leaned against her art table, as she worked on the clay hair that fell around the sculpture’s face.

“Did you pick me to be your creative?”

“No.” Blunt as always. No hesitation. A part of her always imagined that he had chosen her specifically, that she was special to him. “Lucy, look at me, please.” Had she ever heard his voice this soft before? She turned to find him leaned off the table and in front of her. Lucy stood sandwiched between the art and the imitation in clay behind her.

“What? Have something else to add?” Her lip quivered. He no longer hid behind the veil of a smile.

“You’re crying.” He reached out, as if to brush away a tear, paused just before her skin, and pulled away. His brows came together, and his mouth set in a frown. “I can’t help you the way he can.”

“Gray? How?”

“I can’t touch you.”

“How would that help me?” she asked, wiping away at her cheeks. She took a breath to calm herself. Don’t fall apart, or he’ll leave. “Why are you bringing him up?”

“He can comfort you, can leave this building with you.” Natsu rubbed at the back of his neck and stared back up at the afternoon sun. “Can kiss you if he wanted to.” A warm breeze brushed against her skin, across her cheek, and down her neck. Her heart raced, and she worried he’d hear.

“Do you want to?” she asked. Natsu leaned forward so their lips hovered next to each other. Lucy closed her eyes and relaxed her mouth. The warmth evaporated, and when she opened her eyes, Natsu was gone.

Lucy sat at her studio table and stared at the sculpture swathed in fabric. Her finger slid over her lips as she pictured Natsu kissing her. She slumped against her worktable and shifted to see out her window. The afternoon sun had dropped away, and the studio tinted in purple and pink. Lucy stood and stretched. I can’t sit around forever. She stood before the piece that had taken so much from her already, uncovered it, and began to work.

________________________________________

“No peeking!” Lucy guided Gray into her studio with his hand firmly over his eyes.

“Can I look now?”

“Just stand here.” She positioned him far enough away that he’d be able to see the sculpture fully. “Okay, open your eyes.” Gray dropped his arms, his brows rose, and he gave a low whistle. “Well?”

“Lucy, this is incredible.” He stepped closer to the finished work. The clay stood dry and varnished. “The level of detail is amazing. Lucy, the clothes alone are immaculate.”

“So, you like it?”

“Of course! I mean, I wish it weren’t of that asshat, but I like it.” Gray’s smile allowed her shoulders to relax.

“I’m glad. And he’s not an asshat.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Since our fight,” she said. He shook his head and let out a long breath.

“I mean, I’m one to talk. I haven’t seen Juvia.”

“Really? I thought she’d be all over you when I left.” Finding out about each other’s muses felt like so long ago.

“Not like we can really be all over each other,” Gray said.

“So, if you could, you would?” She nudged him with her elbow. His cheeks warmed and he nudged her back.

“I want her to see my piece once it’s finished, but I don’t know where she is.”

“Natsu told me once that he never really left. When I’m inspired, whether I see him or not, it is because he’s there.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I do. I never lost inspiration while I finished this piece. Something drove me that could only be described as supernatural.” Lucy had stared at the sculpture far longer than she’d like to admit, yet she still found her eyes gravitating toward Natsu’s face, his lips. “Did you ever resent her? Did it feel like you weren’t good enough without her?”

“Did I resent her for inspiring me? No.” Gray slumped into the seat beside them. “I have always been grateful to Juvia. I think of a muse as someone who boosts the talent we already have.” He shrugged and pointed to her piece. “Hard to resent them when they have us make things like this.” She couldn’t blame him for feeling that way.

“I miss him,” she admitted.

“I know.” Gray stood from the chair and made his way toward the door. “Let me know if you see them. If you need me, I’ll be finishing up downstairs.” Lucy nodded and sat down in her usual seat.

She stared at the door, out of focus, long after he’d closed it. Her thoughts swirl back to her own question. So, if you could, would you? She’d asked him that question without asking herself.

“They chose you for me.” Lucy nearly jumped out of her skin from Natsu’s voice. He leaned against the statue of his likeness and inspected his own face. Her heart twisted in his presence and her stomach lighter than air. When had she begun to feel this way for him?

“Who?”

“The fates. They told me you were important to me. I hadn’t even met you yet. Weird, huh?” He grinned and ran a hand through his rosy hair. “But I get it now.” Lucy still had to process the fates when he stepped forward and pressed his palms to the stained worktable. “Sorry that I haven’t been around to talk to.” His laughter bounced off her studio walls. Was he joking with her?

“What are you talking about, Natsu?” Lucy moved around the table and stood in front of him.

“I needed time to think about what I really wanted.” He eyed the statue of himself. “I realized that I need something from you first.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“It’s perfect, Lucy.” Her name on his tongue sounded sweet, and his eyes sparkled with excitement. “Looks just like me.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Are you? You’ve done it before.”

“I haven’t sculpted you before,” she said. Natsu felt different as he stepped closer. Desperate, maybe? She wasn’t going anywhere, so what was he doing? She shook her head. “Are you okay?”

“You’ve painted me perfectly. Every single time. Like you looked inside and pulled me out.” His eyes softened and his hand reached out to her. She sucked in a breath as his hand hovered over her cheek, her neck, and down her arm. While he never made contact, somehow, she still felt him against her skin.

“How did you know those paintings were of you?”

“I always knew. I assumed it was because I’m a muse, not because you cared. I still gave into that. I shouldn’t have.” He stared down at his open palm. “I keep thinking how selfish I am. A god with nothing to lose, and a woman who could have everything taken away.” This time, Lucy held out her palm. Her hand lingered just above his face, fingers traveled over his lips and hovered splayed over his chest. She could see his jaw work and his muscles tense, allowing her a moment to pretend. To have this power over a god. Intoxicating.

“Natsu, do you love me?” she asked. A warm feeling brushed over her hair and traveled along her jaw. His eyes softened, focused on her lips.

“Every day.” His eyes widened as he searched her face. “I made you cry again?” She shook her head.

“Damn the gods and the games they play.” She inhaled and willed herself not to break. “I want to be with you, to touch you.” She gladly took a gift from the divine, and this was the price she paid.

“Let me.” Natsu hadn’t wavered, as stone still as the statue that stood beside them. “Tell me and I will.” What was more important to Lucy? Could she live without the career she had worked tirelessly for? If she told him no, what would they be? Like a ghost, he’d linger. No amount of paint could give her what she really wanted. She’d forever wonder if she didn’t take the plunge.

“Please,” Lucy begged. Natsu pulled her to him like she was sand through his fingers. Quick enough and they’d never part. His lips pressed firmly to hers, softer and warmer than she ever expected. Her hands splayed against his chest. Then the world turned cold. Her hands grasped to nothing in the chilled air. Her eyes opened and she was alone. “Natsu?” Her blood turned icy in her veins, and her heartbeat pulsed in her ears. Just as he said, one touch and he disappeared. I can fix this. Her palm pressed against the worktable for balance. But how?

Lean tan arms wrapped around Lucy’s shoulders, a warm chest pressed to her back, and lips dusted a light kiss against her neck. She whirled around to face Natsu and the empty platform where her work once stood. “How?”

“I don’t know. I opened my eyes and stood in your art’s place.” Natsu’s gaze darkened and roamed across her body as if seeing her for the first time. She’d created a form for him, for a god. The relief welled up inside her chest. Lucy gripped the front of his loose shirt and pulled him to her. This time, she smashed her lips to his, hot and wanting. He wrapped his arms around her as she threaded her fingers through his silken hair. Natsu explored her mouth and pressed her back against the worktable. She nearly lost her breath when he pulled away, gazing down at her against the familiar wooden surface. The sun created a halo of light around his hair, and his lips flushed from their kiss. She reached up and finally pulled down his shirt. His tan skin chiseled like the god he was.

“Wanted a peak?” He grinned and pulled her hair down from her tie. Her blond hair fell around her head. He hovered over her and gave a long exhale.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying to calm down.”

“Why?” Lucy tugged at the loose fabric at his waist, tossed the shirt to the side, and worked on his pants. Her sex clenched at the look he gave her.

“I want to savor this.” He trailed his fingertips against her cheek, a whisper of contact against her skin, and her body arched up into his divine touch. So starved for him, her body responded. Natsu took his time to lazily trace her curves with his fingertips. When he moved around her most sensitive places, she groaned. Her skin going up in flames from the lack of what she really wanted. Lucy slid her fingers against his growing erection. Natsu sucked in air sharply through his teeth and grabbed her hand. He pulled her arm over her head and pinned her there. He feathered kisses down the base of her throat to her awaiting chest. Her nipples hardened to sensitive peaks through the fabric of her top, and his eyes flicked up as his lips surrounded them in heat. She wiggled her hips beneath him and pushed her breast against his mouth. The corner of his lips raised, as he pulled her button top open with a pop. Instead of pulling off her bra, he slipped the fabric around her breasts, pushing them up toward his mouth. He groaned as he suckled her nipple, running a thumb against the other in a languid tease.

“God.” She groaned and clung to him as he feasted.

“You called?” he said with a mouth full of her and skimmed his teeth against the flushed bud.

“Fuck.” She groaned when he slipped his hand to the juncture between her legs.

“I will in a minute.” Natsu flicked his tongue against the other nipple. The one he left cold without the warmth of his mouth.

“Will you quit joking.” The whimper left Lucy without her consent, dragged out by the long stroke of his tongue and his fingers that worked her folds over her pants. Natsu leaned back and pulled her body further on the table so her legs straddled him. He worked her pants and underwear from her hips, dropping them to the ground. With one swipe, her bra pulled from her body and into the heap of her clothes on the floor. “Natsu, please.” She reached out for him, her voice husky and lost. He worked his own clothes from his body. Heat pooled to her core with the full view of him, hard shaft freed and eager, and the tip glistened with precum. Instead of plunging forward, the way she thought he would, he kneeled before her and spread her bare to him. She raised herself up on her elbows unaffected by the slight embarrassment in the position. When he pulled her legs over his shoulders, her heart raced. Natsu’s deep green eyes met hers as he spread her folds with his thumbs and lowered his tongue to her damp arousal. Lucy’s head lulled to the side, her eyes half closed, as the pleasure rippled through her body. His name left her lips in a rush, and his tongue plunged deep into her heat. One of his thumbs swirled around her clit, and her body ached for more. She felt herself building up as he pushed further, stroked her faster, and made her legs shake at the sides of his head. She shoved her fingers into his hair. His eyes still locked on her face like a jungle cat. The look alone sent her into a frenzy of lust. The euphoria of her climax made her cry out. As soon as she thought he’d stop, he dragged another from her. Her body dropped against the table when he slowed. He moved her legs from his shoulders and rose with his mouth glistening from where he devoured her. Natsu buried his fingers inside her and pulled them out to slide them over his cock. His hand making an erotic squelch sound as he lubed himself with her. The anticipation built with each jerk of his hand, and she wiggled beneath him. Natsu grinned at her movement and clutched her thigh to still her.

“You’re not going to let me last, are you?” Natsu asked. She shook her head and opened her legs wider for him. He placed the head of his cock against her drenched vulva, and slowly sheathed himself into her, filling her with the length of him. Her moan resonated inside the studio, and his eyes rolled back with delight as he fully sank into her. He sat there for a moment inside her, breathing long and steady before he pulled out to the tip. Lucy almost protested until he surged deep into her with a hot smack of their skin. This time, it was his moan that filled the room. “Fuck.”

“I thought that’s what you’re doing,” she said. His hips moved, keeping any other joke from leaving her lips. He positioned his hands on either side of her head and moved his hips in a delicious rhythm inside her. Her hands clutched him for dear life, and she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts in exquisite pleasure. He slid a hand beneath her and pulled her hips up higher in just the right position. Her cries louder, faster than before as he rocked against her sweetest places.

“Coming for me, Lucy?” The teasing tone replaced with the husky sound of his voice, and the absolute ecstasy that she saw in his face. He slammed into her, as she rode her climax, and leaned back with her thighs in each hand. His lip caught between his teeth as he positioned himself. His cock visibly impaled her tight core. The sensual sight of him forever engrained into her mind.

“Come for me, Natsu.” Her voice, husky and raw in her own ears, spurred him on.

“Lucy.” Her name rolled off his tongue as he came deep inside her. His thrusts slowed and his chest worked to catch his breath. Natsu dragged out one of the chairs, sat, and pulled her to his lap. She straddled him and wrapped around him with her lips pressed into the crook of his neck. Warmth surrounded her in his embrace. Lucy slid her fingers through his tousled hair as they breathed. Natsu’s hands caressed her back in an intimate gesture that reminded her this was real.

“Don’t leave me again,” she said. His warm breath at her shoulder as he spoke.

“Never.” He enfolded her in his arms. She glanced at the pedestal that once held her work.

“You stole my sculpture.” Lucy felt his laugh against her.

“Would you like it back?” Natsu asked.

“No, you can keep it.” She sat back and cupped his face in her hands. Her thumb skimmed his skin. “I want to thank the fates.” Natsu placed his broad hand against the back of her head and pulled her into a deep kiss.

“Holy shit.” A voice came from the door followed by a click as it shut. Natsu’s boisterous laugh shook her. Lucy felt the heat spread instantly to her cheeks and playfully smacked him.

“Stop laughing. Someone saw us.”

“It was Gray.” Natsu barely got the words out. Lucy stood up quickly and moved around the table toward the door. “Hey, don’t go out like that.” He tossed her his long button up shirt. She wrapped the fabric around her and allowed it to hang to her knees. She peaked out of her studio and found Gray with his back against the wall beside the door. His hands clasped over his eyes.

“Stupid, stupid,” he said. She moved into the hallway and hugged herself tighter.

“Gray?” The man jumped from the wall and took in her appearance. His blushing cheeks darkened with the sight of her.

“I’m sorry. I should have knocked. I only came to tell you that I found Juvia.”

“Oh, well, I, uh.” What could she say to make this any better?

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Gray said again.

“This is a weird question, especially now, but did Juvia become your ice sculpture?” she asked.

“I freaked out, couldn’t say anything. I told her to wait, so I could tell you.” He wiped a hand across his face. “But, apparently, you didn’t need me to tell you.” The guilt of not having thought of Gray sank like a stone, and the embarrassment rose again.

“Shouldn’t you be going back to your girl?” Natsu opened the door wider. He’d pulled on his pants and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Gray glared at him.

“I thought I’d tell my friend the good news, asshole.”

“Well, congrats. You better get to her. Hope everything works out for ya.” Natsu wrapped an arm around Lucy and pulled her into the studio. “Bye, ice boy.” He closed the door and pressed her back against it. “Thought he’d never leave.”

“Natsu! I was talking to him.”

“He’ll thank me later. I’m sure Juvia is losing her mind with jealousy since he came all the way over here for you.”

“You were helping him?” she asked. He shrugged and pulled her into another kiss. His hands snaked into his shirt, cupped the weight of her breasts, and slid his thumbs against her sensitive skin.

“I think we have a problem,” he said.

“What?”

“Now that I can touch you, I don’t want to stop.” Natsu pressed his forehead against hers and grinned.

“Then don’t,” Lucy said. He picked her up, her legs wrapped around his waist, and hoisted her to the worktable. She had to agree with him. She’d never get enough of this.

[inkedtae]

rupture; rapture ⇾ kth. [M] | teaser

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ex-boyfriend!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾  angst, smut, f2l(?), e2l(?), ex lovers au, rekindled lovers(?), sculputor au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  responding to a late night call for help forces you to revisit truths you so skillfully ignored. was it always meant to fall apart to fall back into place?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ full: 20k | teaser; 1.2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ slight upsetting themes, mentions of a new relationship, mention of infidelity (tae thinks reader used him to cheat on her date), mention and consumption of alcohol, switch!Taehyung, mullet!taehyung, sub!reader, [redacted] [redacted]!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), clay/paint/art sex(?), rough sex, hate-love sex(?), [redacted] sex (?), [redacted] kink, [redacted] (f. receiving), multiple [redacted] (f.), [redacted], overstimulation, a lil [redacted]-[redacted]ing, [redacted] worshipping, [redacted] worshipping, a lil [redacted] biting, [redacted]ing, [redacted]ing, [redacted]ing, begging, teasing, swearing

anon asked: taehyung19angst asghjkll. U have a prompt list ? So for that. Maybe. If u want to. WOW. Ur awesome. The bestest. Okay. Bye. Love. Me.

#19 ⇝ “You said you knew how to do this.”

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾  i decided to share an unedited teaser of what i’m currently working on

☾ banner by ⇾ @editingverse​ (thank you so so so much dear~ please go give her all your love!! this banner is beautiful!!)

☾ anticipated post date ⇾ 15 AUGUST 2020

☾ le playlist (coming soon...)

☾ tag list ⇾ open (leave a comment and/or send an ask to be added)

◖send me a prompt from dabble drabble. i will try to get to it as soon as i can. please note that i have the right to refuse any request i find uncomfortable.◗

Navigating to the chipped yellow door is second nature. Four months of distance does not change how easy it is for you to find your way to his place from across town. Your most haunting regret, however, is accepting his call. You sat around your apartment for months, fantasizing about how powerful you’d feel when your phone rings and you see his name flash only to decline the call. You told yourself that is how you will regain your dignity, how you will reclaim your life. He’s been a big part of it since freshman year. Best friends instantly, lovers only a year down the line. Clicking that red button, rejecting his apologies is how you believed you’d be able to move on and fully erase him from your life for good. 

But, when he does call, and you do not refuse. You don’t even think about declining at all. And then you hear his voice, and he sounds so unsure, so nervous. 

The shame creeps upon you, condescendingly soothing your ego. Where’s your dignity now? It’s as nonexistent as when you stormed out of this very door and swore never to return. You can hear the fates snickering now, watching your pathetic self stand outside of the door. Shaking out a shiver, you gather up the broken pieces of your courage and knock on the door. 

The screech of metal on metal echoes as he unlocks the door. The sound is more comforting than you expected it to be. You can’t remember the amount of times you’ve nagged him to replace the damned thing. It’s old, rusted, and the scratches of the metal made you cringe as though your bones are rotting. It used to make your jaw ache, now it only shudders your courage. Little things already undress your confidence. What will seeing him again do? What emotions will it beckon?

Misery leaks from your bones and into your bloodstream. The door opens to a vision of grace. In his clay-smeared jumpsuit, the sleeves wrapped around his waist and his bare chest exposed, he stares back at you. Though frozen from the winter air, you feel your face grow hot. Eyes shaking, you don’t know where to look. You’re not even sure if you can meet his gaze. It intensifies with every ticking second and his long bangs fall over his lashes. He let it grow out? You’ve begged him to do so for months and once you’re apart he finally gives in? You knew he’d look good, maybe even better than his shorter cut. 

The sight only confirms that you’ll never understand him. But, you suppose, you don’t have to. He’s not yours to understand anymore, not even as a friend. That statement should give you a sense of relief, but it only resurfaces the loneliness you’ve been ignoring for months. 

Shakily sighing, you plaster a polite smile and greet, “Hey Tae.”

Taehyung parts his lips, but his voice catches. He stares back at you, gaze dancing up and down your frame. He drinks in the way your black dress pants hug your curves, and how you dare to wear a tube-top under your coat in the freezing weather. Gulping, Taehyung flashes you a kind, tight lipped smile and moves aside to welcome you in. 

Each step back into his apartment fogs your mind with memories of joy and despair alike. Sometimes, those emotions rose in tandem during the same memory, within the same five minute time span. But other times, those memories are saturated with one emotion or the other. You two could never find that balance; not as lovers anyway, not as you thought.

“Make yourself at hom-” he cuts himself off just as the door shuts. 

You turn to face him, raising a brow at his slip up. Funny how things circle back no matter how much either of you try to suppress them. This place has always felt like home to you. In fact, revisiting it proves that it still does. He just never let you make it official. 

The gloom of four months ago has followed you back in here as well, it would seem. You gulp down the little scratch in your throat and try your best to flash a kind smile. His brows raise at the gesture. You assume a teeth braced wince paints your features instead. 

Clearing his throat, Taehyung corrects himself, “Comfortable. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab you a hot drink to warm you up.” His gaze shifts to the slanted window over his little studio sectioned in the corner of his apartment. “It’s really coming down out there.” 

Setting your clutch down on his work table, you nod. He glares at your action before looking back at you. You are fully aware of his distaste for you to dump your things on his work table, even if it happens to be your own sculpting supplies. However, he distrubed your date tonight and that little slip up of his recalls more anger than you care to accept right now. Playing into his pet peeves is the very least you can do to show him that you’re not here for anything else but fixing his sculpture. 

With a pleasant smile plastered on your lips, you peel your jacket off and set it down on the table as well. Taehyung sarcastically smirks then makes his way to the kitchen. You know you shouldn’t but you let your eyes linger on his frame and follow him around the kitchen while he prepares something for you. His shoulder blades flex as he reaches for a mug from the top shelf - a detail you always found makes you anxious because the cups can easily slip out of his hand from such a height and break. 

He must feel your gaze as he glances up at you. “You must be freezing,” he comments. 

Glancing down at your half top, you shrug. “Not really. That’s what a jacket is for.” You shouldn’t sass. It always gets on his nerves. But, with the way he regards you with such tamed hostility and smirks all knowingly, you cannot hold yourself back. He cannot expect to call you over here in the dead of night for help only to glare and sneer at you. 

Out of sheer spite, you sit on one of the stools by the table and bend down to untie your thick heeled boots. He absolutely hates this. Sloppy and messy, is what he tells you when you come into the apartment with your shoes on and take them off near his studio. Taehyung stirs the contents of your mug, tossing daggers at you in his stares. 

It is only now, in the thick silence, do you hear the soft voice of Sinatra through the vinyl player. Glancing over at the source, you recognize the album cover immediately. It’s the same one you gifted him for his birthday last year. His next one is in a couple of weeks. The realization unexpectedly twinges your heart with guilt. You feel as though you should have already bought his gift, planned his party. It is not your responsibility to do that anymore, but you want to and that’s enough for your tongue to coat with disgust and remorse. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[sunshinejihyun]

The Shape of Love || Jihyun Kim

Summary: A date night turns into discovering how deep their love runs for the first time

Word Count: 2.8K

Masterlist

After Jihyun Kim had come back from his self healing journey and had confessed his feelings to you, he thought your relationship would be smooth sailing from that moment on. Little did he know, he would become a nervous, stuttering mess every time your hands so much as grazed his own and his whole neck would flush red when he caught you staring at him with admiration.

So this is what it was like to be loved unconditionally. It was a nice feeling, it kept him warm on the coldest nights, but it wasn’t something he was used to. To better acclimate to the feeling of a new relationship, after some time you and he had decided that you would have a date night once a week. You both would each switch back and forth on who planned it and the whole goal was to just spend time with each other outside of the RFA messenger app and hiding from Mint Eye.

It was a good idea too, Jihyun had learned so much about you just from the places you took him and he only hoped his soul was being displayed for you as brightly as yours was for him.  On your fourth official date, Jihyun decided he wanted to take you somewhere special to him, somewhere where you could create art together. What better way to explore each others souls than to create something beautiful and straight from the heart together?

“Jihyun, won’t you please tell me where you’re taking me?” you giggled and Jihyun felt his stomach do a flip at that sound. That sound: one of his favorite things in the world. Something that he wished he could paint so that he could never forget it. It was a sound that made him forget where he was and just made him stop to listen in amazement at one of the things about that brought a feeling of serenity.

“It’s a surprise, patience.” Jihyun hummed softly, grazing your hand with his own before pulling away, not before flushing red across his nose. “We’ll be there soon.”

You and Jihyun were walking side by side on a sidewalk in the city. It was a warm summer night and you held a light coverup in one hand, leaving the other closest to Jihyun swinging freely in hopes that he might envelope it with his own. He didn’t, he never did, which is fine. You knew he loved you and that he just needed time to get used to being in a relationship again. You wouldn’t push him, being patient would give you more of a reward in the long run. Not that you needed a reward, just even being in Jihyun’s presence was more than enough for you.

“Then can you at least give me a hint as to what we’re doing.” You pleaded and this time you hesitantly wrapped your free arm around his closest to you. You felt him shudder underneath you before gently pulling away and sending you a kind smile. “Sorry.”

“We’re going to get a little messy today. I hope you don’t mind, I brought you an extra tee shirt of mine so your dress wouldn’t get ruined.” Jihyun’s clear eyes sought out your own and your heartbeat sped up just with your eyes meeting.

“I don’t mind, thank you darling.” Jihyun’s gait slowed and you followed with him, standing outside of a darkened building. “What’s this?”

“Our date location.” He sent you a cheeky wink before pulling out a key from a chain under his shirt. “I hope you like pottery.”

As he opened the door and ushered you in, your senses were bombarded with the smell of wet clay and you glanced at Jihyun hesitantly. “I can’t say I’ve ever tried, to be quite honest.”

Your lover sent you a soft smile and quietly handed you the extra tee he had promised you. “That’s alright, love. I can show you.” As he turned on the lights, you noticed the way Jihyun walked around with a sense of familiarity and fondness. “I’ve been coming here for a few weeks now. I’m no expert, but I do think I’ve got the hang of it.” You watched as he sat down in front of a pottery wheel with a clump of wet clay in front of him. “Want to come over here and we can work on something together?”

You silently padded your way over to him and sat down behind him on the bench, your head straining to see anything above his shoulders. Jihyun chuckled and adjusted himself so you both were sitting thigh to thigh, one of his arms wrapped around your waist and that same hand connected with your own as he started guiding you in kneading out all the bubbles in the clay.

You relished in the feeling of his bare thigh pressing against your own, of his arm around your waist and the way his lithe fingers guided yours gently, but also in a way that exuded strength. Jihyun’s hands were something of a sculpture to you; his fingers were long and gentle and the way that he held everything with such grace was something that you wished you could display like a painting.

“Here darling, like this.” Jihyun’s hands covered your own completely and guided you to press out the last of the bubbles with more intensity than before.

Feeling his eyes watching you, you turned your face up to Jihyun’s and your nose brushed against his softly. “Hi,” you breathed out, afraid to move in case you startled him.

“Hi,” he whispered back before moving his hand from yours to push back a piece of loose hair that had fallen out of place behind your ear. “You’re beautiful.”

Your face flushed and you broke eye contact with the boy you loved. “Jihyun,”

Jihyun gently grabbed your chin, smearing it with clay, and he forced your eyes to meet his again. “Don’t,” his soft voice came out firm and your mouth opened slightly in shock. “You’re beautiful. Please allow me to tell you that.”

“You’re beautiful too, Jihyun.” You whispered back, taking your free hand and resting it against his cheek. “Your soul shines so brightly.” Leaning into your hand and not caring about the clay getting all over his face, Jihyun closed his eyes peacefully and as you moved your other hand to his other cheek, you inched your way closer to him, close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips. “Is this okay?”

Jihyun closed the small gap between you two hesitantly and you sucked in a sharp breath as his lips met yours sweetly. As your heartbeat started picking up, so did the intensity of the kiss. Jihyun’s tongue swiped softly over your lip before you opened your mouth to meet his tongue with your own and his hands moved into your hair, holding your head with such tenderness that you didn’t want to move, even if you could. A soft moan escaped from Jihyun’s mouth as you gently nipped at his bottom lip before soothing it over with your tongue and pulling away.

“I am so in love with you.” Jihyun’s words brought blood rushing to your ears and you rested your forehead against his, your noses brushing with every breath you both took.

“I’m in love with you too, Jihyun.” He pressed another light kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away slightly.

Taking one look at you, Jihyun started to laugh and once you took a look at him, you started to laugh as well. The pair of you continued to laugh until there were tears streaming down your faces and you were doubled over and leaning on each other for support. “We look ridiculous.” Jihyun smoothed his hand over your hair, frowning at the clay matted in it. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you smiled, lacing your fingers together with his own. “This has been our best date yet.” Jihyun repositioned himself behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands on top of your own. “So, artist Kim Jihyun, what are we molding today?”

As his foot gently pressed down on the pedal that spun the wheel, he guided you hands to start a bowl shape. “How about a flower vase?”  You hummed in agreement and he continued. “It’s something we can use on our kitchen table.”

“Good idea, darling.” You murmured, looking over your shoulder and studying your lover's face as his brow furrowed in concentration. “Next week you and I will have to go flower picking for flowers to go in the vase.”

“I would like that. Maybe you’d let me paint you laying in the flowers?” Jihyun’s hands stilled for a moment for him to look at you and you smiled softly before nodding your head and kissing his cheek. The rest of the time spent shaping the vase was in a calm quiet, both of you relishing in the comfort of being around the other. “We will have to wait for the shop owner to come in tomorrow to put it in the kiln and then we can choose to leave it blank or we can paint it.”

“What will give me another date quicker?” You asked as you ran your joint hands under hot water, you and Jihyun both taking turns scrubbing the clay out from under your nailbeds.

“If it would make you happy, we could go on a date every day.” Jihyun answered as he watched you pull off his tee shirt you had previously put on over your dress and a blush covered his cheeks when more of your thighs started to get exposed as your dress rose up from the action. “Let me help.”

You couldn’t help but notice as his gaze lingered on your bare chest that was flushed red with the feeling of Jihyun being so close to you. “Thank you.”

Jihyun bent down and stole another quick kiss from you, causing both of you to giggle. “Thank you, for this wonderful date. Now, what do you say we head back to my place and open a bottle of wine?” Jihyun held his arm out for you to wrap your free one around, much like you tried to do earlier and you smiled at him before doing so, comfortably easing your way into his side as he led you to his home. “If you would like, you can take a shower to get the clay out of your hair. I can give you one of my shirts and some pants to wear home, I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’d like that, thank you Jihyun.” You stole a quick glance at the man to find him already watching you, a soft smile painting his lips and as you opened your mouth to speak again, he covered your lips with his own.

This was a sweeter, a lazier kiss than the one you both shared earlier but nonetheless, it still left you breathless and wanting more. That was a common theme in your relationship with Jihyun: you always selfishly wanted more. More time spent in his presence, more stolen glances and brushes of your hands against one another. There was something just so intoxicating about being around him.

“Go on then, you know where the bathroom is. I will set some clothes for you to wear on my bed and then cue up a movie to watch.” Jihyun reluctantly released you from his grasp and you felt his eyes trail you the entire time you walked to the bathroom.

Humming to yourself, you turned on the warm water and stepped into the shower, taking comfort in the smell that could only be described as Jihyun. Sweet and spicy with a small hint of paint that always constantly lingered on his skin and after you dried off and dressed yourself in some light blue silk pajama pants and one of his signature black tees that he laid out for you, you met him in the living room.

“You look comfortable.” He noted, handing you a glass of wine and you took it from him, settling down on the couch next to him. “I hope you don’t mind that I put this movie on.” You glanced at the screen and was met with Zen’s face, contorted in something you could only hope was anguish. You raised your eyebrows at Jihyun, an amused smile playing on your lips. “It’s actually good if you watch it.”

“Sure,” you agreed, leaning your head on his shoulder and Jihyun sighed contentedly as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t you want to take a shower too?”

Jihyun ruffled his damp hair and you shrieked as some water droplets covered your face. “Already ahead of you.” Before you could respond, Jihyun repositioned himself to where he was sitting facing you, his nose touching yours. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

You silently nodded your head, your breath caught in your throat and Jihyun brought his hands up to your face, lightly running his fingertips over your forehead, eyelids, down your nose and tracing your lips, almost like he was trying to memorize every single curve of your face. You shuddered under his touch as his fingers traced down your neck and dipped into your shirt, gently covering your collarbones with soft touches. As his hands reached your face again, Jihyun covered your lips with his own and you let out a soft sigh. His hands roaming over your shoulders and down to your hips, brushing the bare skin underneath the loose tee shirt you were wearing was a distant memory as his lips followed the curve of your neck. Your hands that were previously by your side had woven their way into his hair and you urged him to continue with his slew of kisses.

As his kisses turned more passionate, his hands wandered under your shirt, gently brushing your stomach with his knuckles and you did the same, your hands slipping under the unbuttoned part of his shirt and his chest quivered under your touch as he explored more of your bare skin. Pulling away from your exposed collarbones, Jihyun looked at you with his eyes wide, chest heaving up and down. He held you close for a moment, both of you opting to stay quiet and sip on your wine. After a beat of silence, Jihyun opened his mouth to speak. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

“Jihyun, loving you is a great blessing,” you admitted, brushing back a strand of his hair that had fallen into his eyes. “You have nothing to thank me for, I’m willing to wait for you as long as you need, you know that.”

“I’m tired of having you wait.” Jihyun cupped your face in one hand and rubbed gentle circles on your cheek. “I’m tired of waiting. I waited two years to see you again, I can’t stand not being without you for one moment more.”

You pressed a kiss to his palm, covering your hand with his own. “Then don’t,” you replied softly. “Be with me, let me be yours. I love you, Jihyun.”

“I love you, MC.” Jihyun replied, kissing you once more. “I cannot wait until our next date night.”

“Flower picking will be lovely,” you hummed, settling in so your back was against his solid chest, Jihyun wrapping one arm around your waist, the other bringing the wine glass back up to his lips. “Shall we restart Zen’s movie so we can tell him we saw it?”

Jihyun brushed a kiss against your temple and your senses were filled with him. “If that’s what you’d like to do, darling. I’m happy just sitting and holding you like this all night.”

You laughed and turned to press a kiss against his adams apple. “Or we could do that,” you agreed, turning off the TV and starting in on mindless chatter with Jihyun.

After that night, Jihyun and your relationship was smooth sailing. You two were drawn to each other like a moth to a flame and you would have it no other way. To anyone else, waiting for someone for two years was a something of a nightmare, especially when you weren’t sure they would come back to you. But to you, the wait was worth it; you would wait a million more years just to be able to love Jihyun Kim for even a moment.

Every time you passed by your kitchen table in your house you shared with Jihyun, you stopped to adjust the flowers in the lopsided vase that you and he had sculpted that night many years ago. It was a reminder of the night you molded your two souls together, never looking back at any regrets of the past after that moment.

[vykodlak]

Do you have any tips for amateur artists who want to improve? I love your painting style so much, and find your grasp of muscles and faces really impressive.

Ah, I’m always incredibly honored when people ask me for advice. Note that I don’t consider myself a pro and I still have a lot to learn too, but I hope that some of this’ll help;

You’ve probably heard all that stuff about doing studies and practicing countless of times before, so I’m not gonna go repeating that [but study is important – try to mostly work with live references, and maybe throw in a master copy every once in a while]. Note when studying from other’s art, like with master copies: be critical, and try to make sure that while you’re picking up their techniques, you’re not also picking up their mistakes! This is why mostly working with references of real life objects or models is important, and why people usually choose old ‘masters’, like painters from the renaissance, to study from [but keep in mind that they all had their own stylistic quirks as well].

Some other things I personally do;

- When you finish a drawing, put a date on it. Then, if you’re a pedant like me, make a separate folder for each month of the year and sort your drawings into them. This is mainly so you can chart your progress! Plus, it can be a lot more encouraging to compare drawings done between june and august than a drawing done in october and... something you drew at some unknown point in time a year ago.

- Actively observe everything! Take mental notes, notice and connect patterns. I can’t watch movies or shows anymore without making note of how the lighting in a scene hits the actors’ faces, and what shapes the shadows & highlights make, the way a limb looks when it’s bent a certain way, clothing folds, or even minute detail like the shadow cast by the nose. Hell, I do it when I’m looking at pictures, or even catching myself in the mirror.

'Course, observation alone isn’t enough, so you should try to apply these observations to your art as soon as you can! Doesn’t even have to be a finished piece, just jotting down some notes or a quick scribble of what you’ve noticed can go a long way in cementing it into your memory, especially when you do it often.

This observation can also extend to watching other artists paint, there’s a ton of process vids on youtube. In short, don’t just copy what you see, try to figure out why it is the way it is, and how it all connects!

- If you can, get your hands on some clay or a 3d program of your choice [I used sculptris for a long time, it’s really simple to learn]. I studied sculpture for 4 years so maybe this is coming from a biased perspective, but just being able to have something in 3D form and touch it and turn it around has made it much easier to later visualize the same thing in 2D. You sort of learn how to paint or draw ‘sculpturally’ when you think of everything as having surfaces, and ‘wrapping’ your lines, colors & lighting around a shape. Hopefully that makes sense, lmao. 

When painting in light, try to think of every form you draw as being separated into planes that the light hits at various degrees [see the Asaro Head below for a human face that’s broken down into planes]. The further the plane is facing away from the light, the more shadowed it will be. So, for example, if the light is coming from up top, notice how the top of the eye sockets, top lip, the area underneath the lips etc. are all in shadow, since those planes are facing away from the light. Try to group these shadows together instead of focusing on one detail like just the eye socket alone. 

The more you work on being able to visualize 2D shapes as 3D in your mind, the easier it’ll come to you to apply lighting even without precise reference. 

Then you can work on applying the same principle on a smaller scale, like the curve of a cheekbone – that sharp, drastic line between light and dark on the Asaro head wouldn’t be as clearly present on someone with more meat on their bones. Instead, there would be a more gradual movement from light to dark, depending on how pronounced their cheekbones are.

Another thing to note: the harsher the light, the sharper the shadows. The light in the image above is pretty bright, so the shadows are pretty stark and distinct. If the light came from further away or was more diffused, the shadows would be less sharp and there would be more mid-range values [halftones]. You wouldn’t get this kind of sharp contrast in a neutral light like a midday, overcast outdoors scene, so try to take into account the environment and the source of your light source!

Also, 3D models can be excellent references for drawing stuff at various angles. Sketchfab is a good site for this. More under the cut:

- Use references. I say this every time I’m asked abt advice. I spend about 10-30 mins gathering refs or contorting myself horribly in the mirror to try and get the right ref before starting a drawing. Open a pinterest account or make a folder on your computer and start gathering pictures. Personally, watching videos of photobashing helped me get out of that “if it’s referenced, it’s cheating” mindset. That’s not to say that photobashing doesn’t take skill as well, but when you see someone make these gorgeous paintings out of stock photos you might go “well, it wouldn’t be so bad for me to look at a picture sometimes”.

PureRef is a really good app for gathering all your references in one window, so you can check them as you draw. 

But also, don’t get too bogged down in finding the ‘perfect’ ref, because then you won’t get any drawing done. Which leads me into the next bit.

- Sometimes a drawing’s just not going to come out ‘’perfect’’ no matter what you do. And the more time you spend on it is less time you’re spending working on other drawings, or doing studies, or petting a cat or whatever. 

Part of this is instinct, part practice, but you can work on recognizing when a drawing is just... the best that you can currently make it. When you find yourself painting over the same eyeball 10 times, it’s time to go “I need to do more studies in this area, so this’ll have to do for now”. To make it sting a bit less, try to note what you Did learn from the drawing [did you make headway into painting folds better, or metals, or anything]. Not every drawing has to be a learning experience, but practicing to be critical [in a FAIR way] of your work can only help you in the long run.

- Critique your work on occasion. Open up some older drawings from a month ago and try to pinpoint what you did right and what you did wrong. Then, do more studies of the thing you did wrong. Try not to fall into the trap of only looking for mistakes, or criticizing yourself too harshly for them. Better yet, think of it less as a mistake and more as a gap in your knowledge that you’re about to fill.

- If you’re working digitally, have a black & white layer above your main paint layers so you can toggle it on and off occasionally: helps to check your values. Also, you can use the ‘levels’ adjustment layer in PS to easily bump up the contrast a bit. Uhh, also in photoshop, the mixer brush tool is actually a lot better for creating ‘natural’-looking blending than the smudge tool. Make it your friend. I still use the smudge tool if I want really smooth blending, though. Sometimes I just use the hard round brush and paint studies like that, no blending tools or anything – it can be a fun learning experience.

That’s all I can think of for now! Good luck! If you need any elaboration on anything don’t b afraid to ask, I’ll try to answer to the best of my abilities [or redirect you to a more knowledgeable source].

[thatgoblin]

Small Town Affairs Chapter 4

Summary: Hazel is an Omega in the small town of Tin Springs, Midwest America. She’s trying to live her life after breaking up with the local sheriff, John Walker, and his mate, Brock Rumlow. New people aren’t something that happens often, but when a new pack comes to town her whole life goes from a small mess to a complete disaster in the best way.

Warnings: Domestic Violence, Assault, Sexual abuse, Himbo Bucky, Misogyny, will update as story goes.

Chapter 4

Peggy gave me the silent treatment that morning and while I wanted to tell her she was being childish over the night before, I didn’t have the energy in me to do it. So, I did my morning routine and got to work with little words exchanged between us. Lunch time rolled around before I knew it. Clint was bringing me food which was the only saving grace of the day so far. I clocked out after letting Peggy know before booking it out the back.

“Hey,” Clint said, as he sat in the patio chair with several take out boxes. “How’s it going today?” He asked as I flopped into the chair opposite of him, groaning as I covered my face with my hands. “That good, huh?”

“Just fantastic,” I huffed before sitting up. “Did you have any trouble at the restaurant?” I asked, looking at the boxes before finding mine. Wait, there were three boxes and three drinks. Who else was there?

“Hello.”

I looked up to see Helmut walking over with a smile as he waved to me. Waving back with a nervous giggle, I wanted the ground to just open up and swallow me whole.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I sighed, giving Clint a dirty look. He looked anywhere but at me as he twiddled his thumbs and whistled as Helmut took a seat next to me. “Hi, how are you?” I asked him, looking to Helmut with a tight smile of my own.

“I’m good. Clint said he was having lunch in town with a friend and asked me to join,” Helmut said, turning to look at Clint as he shot his own dirty look at the blond. “He gave the impression that you knew I would be joining.”

“Funny how he left that part out for me completely,” I said.

“Who’s hungry?” Clint asked with a grin as he opened his box.

“Forgive him, he means well, but I’ve been telling Howard that he should really get him looked at by a psychologist,” Helmut said.

“Hey! I’m perfectly sane!” Clint cried, sitting up. “The military had me tested.”

“It was the American military, it barely counts,” Helmut said, giving me a suffering look. “Poor thing.” I couldn’t help the smile as I giggled while Clint glared at Helmut. Okay, he was funny and good looking. The guy had those points going for him.

“You were in the military?” I asked as Clint stole Helmut’s pickle spear from his sandwich.

“Yes, we all were. Well, almost all of us in the pack,” Clint said. “Howard was a private contractor for a while, selling arms before he stopped developing them and turned his business into a medical research facility.”

“Wait, Howard is Howard Stark? The billionaire, genius, philanthropist Howard Stark?” I choked out.

“Yep, that’s him,” Clint said with a proud grin.

“I gave Howard Stark a lap dance,” I whined, making a face.

“It’s okay, you also gave Helmut a lap dance too,” Clint said, making both me and Helmut choke.

“I swear to god Clint,” I said, glaring at him. “You want to die or something.”

“Howard always says my self preservation is lacking,” he smirked, leaning back in his chair.

“You should definitely work on that,” Helmut said, shaking his head.

“So, military?” I asked, trying to bring things back away from lap dances.

“Yes,” Clint said. “I was in the Marines and went through sniper training, Howard made things go boom, Helmut was a colonel in the Sokovian army, and his mate Bucky was in the US Army with his friend Steve Rogers.”

“Wow, that is a lot of military experience,” I said, raising my brows. “You were a colonel?” I asked, looking at Helmut. “I thought that was like after years of service. Like, many more years than what you look to have.”

“Thank you,” Helmut said with a chuckle. “You are correct in that I am much younger than most colonels, but I went to a military school growing up as well as a military university.”

“He’s also a land Baron,” Clint added. “So, he’s Colonel Baron Helmut Zemo.” My eyes went wide as I looked from Helmut to Clint.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Yes. I do have a land title back in my home country,” Helmut said with a deep sigh. “Clint, maybe you could allow me to speak for myself before I let it slip about how you started dating Howard as a mission from your former position.

“What?” I asked, grinning as I looked between the two. “Is he serious?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about. Oh, hey, look at the time. I told my sweet, wonderful mate that I love dearly that we would be back in, well right now. Who knew time could fly so fast?” Clint rambled, chuckling as he looked at his watch.

“I’m not ready to leave yet and I drove,” Helmut said, relaxing back in his seat. “I still have to finish my food as does Hazel.”

“Yeah, I’ve still got at least 10 minutes left of lunch as well,” I said, giving Clint a smirk as I picked at my food.

“Fine, I’ll leave it alone,” he said with a groan.

“Good choice,” Helmut said with a hum. The last bit of lunch was spent talking about the town, how the pack was settling in, and how work was going. It felt refreshingly normal and healthy that I didn’t want it to end.

“Now I should really get back to work before Peggy comes looking for me,” I said, checking my phone. “I had a nice time today though. Thanks for the food, Clint.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll start bringing you lunch everyday if you want. Howard works remotely now from home and it’s mostly just business meetings. I get bored during the day,” Clint said.

“What about you?” I asked Helmut. “You wanna start coming everyday for lunch too?”

“As much as I would love to, I cannot. Unlike Clint, I have a job,” Helmut said with a chuckle.

“Oh yeah? What do you do?” I asked, gathering the trash.

“I make and sell sculptures,” Helmut said. “I most often use clay as my medium. I find it therapeutic. As does my mate, Bucky.”

“Bucky’s your mate?” I asked, freezing up a bit. Fuck. “I mean, you two look good together,” I said, shaking it off and smiling. Of course, the one guy I started to like was already taken.

“I’ll be in the car,” Clint said, quickly exiting the situation.

“He is, but we’ve been discussing for a while about opening up our relationship to someone we both were interested in,” Helmut said once Clint was gone, shifting in his seat. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. There was no way I could have another relationship with two Alphas. Everything in me panicked and I didn’t even realize that I was shaking till Helmut touched my hand. “Hazel? What’s wrong?”

“Look, uh, it was nice meeting you again. Properly this time,” I said, jerking away as I stood up. “I’m sure Clint is waiting for you in the car-”

“Hazel, wait,” Helmu said, standing up as well. He wasn’t demanding or accerting Alpha scents, that was what made me stop. “Please, I did not mean to offend or presume.”

“What did you mean then?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest as I involuntarily shrank myself as much as I could.

“I meant I would like to pursue you as a romantic partner, but if that is not something you would like, then I would very much like to be your friend,” Helmut said. “Even if it means that we never become more.” Could I do that? He seemed genuine and unlike any other Alpha I’d dated before, he wasn’t trying to force it or bargain with me for what he wanted. He was concerned with what I wanted and what I needed. But John had been like that at first too. Brock not so much, but John had been a friend first too.

I wanted to trust Clint that he wouldn’t let someone close to me that was like John or Brock. Unlike John or Brock though, I didn’t live with Helmut and Bucky, so I had a place to go if things went south. Maybe. . . Maybe it was time to try to move on in some way from my wrecked past.

“Okay,” I said with a nod, relaxing. “Friends. Even if nothing happens. I could always use a few more of those.”

“Thank you. I assure you, friends are good to have,” he said, smiling again.

“Especially if they’re Baron’s,” I said, chuckling as he rolled his eyes. “I do need to get going though. It was nice seeing you again and having actual time to talk to you.”

“I agree,” Helmut said with a hum. “Here, before I forget. I’ll give you my number and you can message me to talk or spend time together.” He started to dig in his pocket for pen and paper before I stopped him.

“Here, just put your number in my phone,” I said. He nodded, offering me his. We exchanged numbers before handing the phone’s back. “Send me pictures of your sculptures. I wanna see them.”

“Of course,” Helmut said. “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?” An Alpha was asking if they could hug an Omega? The panic from earlier began to feel unneeded as he was proving to be a totally different person than who I was used to dealing with.

“Yeah, I’d like a hug,” I said, my cheeks flushing a bit as we stepped closer. Helmut wrapped his arms around my shoulders, resting his chin on them as I wrapped my arms around his middle. Our bodies slotted together so easily and his scent had me nuzzling against his chest. It was the most content moment with another person that I’d had in so long that I swear I would have jumped into his arms to be carried away to nest if he’d asked.

I could have stayed there all day, but I knew I had to get back to work. Slowly, I pulled away, his arms sliding down mine to grasp my hands and give them a squeeze.

“I’ll message you later,” I said, feeling a dopey smile spread over my face. “Be safe getting home. Tell Bucky I said Hi.”

“I will. Have a good day at work,” Helmut said, slowly shuffling away. At the back door, I gave him one last look before heading back inside.

Oh, he was something else.

“About time you came back from lunch,” Peggy said from her register.

“Sorry, got uh. . . Got caught up in something,” I said, logging back into my register and time card.

“What is that?” She asked, looking around confused before walking over to me. “Is that. . . Did an Alpha scent you?”

“No, we just hugged,” I said, unable to hide the smile.

“It was the bearded one, yes? From the other day?” She asked, leaning in to keep our voices down so no one could eavesdrop.

“Yeah. His name’s Helmut and he’s from Sokovia,” I said. “We’re not. . . Doing anything really. We’re friends. That’s it. It’s what I’m comfortable with.”

“Well, good for you,” she said. “You deserve a bit of happiness. Just let me know if he turns into a prick and I’ll make sure he disappears.”

“Peggy!” I gasped, grinning at her. “Thank you though, I appreciate the thought.”

“Oh, it’s not a thought, I have a tractor with a, what do you call it, a backhoe. No one will find him,” she said, looking at me over her glasses.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” I snorted. The sudden moment between us was comforting, showing me that things weren’t ruined. “Look, about last night, I’m sorry I got awful. I was stressed and money is tight, and a lot of pent mental nonsense from the last few years kinda blew up all at once.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed all that I did,” she said with a sigh. “It’s easy to believe what everyone else does and not question how things are. I also shouldn’t have pushed on the subject. I overstepped boundaries and that may have been some maternal instincts. You’re like family to me and I want you to be happy and healthy, so that may have come across less than helpful. If you need some help with anything, just let me know, even if it’s just to have a cup of tea and some quiet time in the garden. I’ll even scrounge up biscuits as well.”

“Between you and Clint, I’m going to be forced out of my hermit routine,” I said, chuckling as I shook my head.

“Good,” Peggy said. “You need to get out of that routine. Just because it’s safe doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”

“I know. I’m having lunch with people and not hiding behind the building anymore,” I said.

“You’re still behind the building, you just have company,” she said with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah. Baby steps,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Just don’t shut everyone out anymore. Even if it’s not me, Clint is a nice person and it seems so is the rest of the pack. Let someone, anyone in,” she said, moving towards the office, pausing to give my shoulder a squeeze. “I know it's been hard since Ethan left, but you have to take care of yourself too.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze back. The mention of that name made my chest tight and I felt the air knocked out of me slightly. She was right though, since Ethan moved out of state I’d shut down and relied on John and Brock solely till recently. It was time to change that.

“Good, now get back to work, you lazy git,” Peggy smirked, walking back to the office.

“Rude!” I gasped, laughing at her wink.

At least things were back to normal, if not better, between us. I felt less burden and with Clint basically declaring that I was his lunch partner I was a little less on my own. Did it scare me to open up again? Oh fuck did it, but it was better for me and I didn’t feel that constant hovering of dread. Well, as much as I used to. Yeah, it was better and I could only hope that it kept going up.

Of course the universe had to say no.

At the end of the day when I was home and making dinner when Nick got back to me.

[Nick SMS]: Sorry, Haze. We don’t have any more positions for servers or dancers. If something opens up, I’ll let you know.

The urge to hurl my phone at the wall was great, but my lack of money to replace it was greater.

[Hazel SMS]: Thanks anyways, Nick. Keep me in the loop in case something happens. I’ll be by later this week to get my stuff from my locker.

My options were dwindling and the more I thought about it the more depressed I became. What was I going to do?

[brandstifter-sys]

Love Like Winter

Word Count: 2362                         (Ao3)

Pairings: Dukexiety, Roceit

Rating: T

Warnings: Trans!Remus, Sex Mention

Just in time for Cheap Candy Day, here’s a Dukexiety soulmate au with a twist. And it’s a song fic, so might as well link that here

Warn your warmth to turn away Here it's December everyday (I like that)

It was strange how much emphasis was put on soulmates in this society. Remus hated it. Everyone had their soulmate's name in their handwriting marked on their body. It was supposed to be magical when you meet your soulmate after searching for ages. 

Remus knew his soulmate and he knew that the man he was destined to be with wanted nothing to do with him. He sat on his bed, holding an old photo from when he was just starting high school. He was such a wily girl back then, with wide green eyes and a wild brown mop. He had to laugh at how even then he wanted the mustache. He was sitting on an emo boy's shoulders cheering. 

Virgil. He absolutely adored Virgil with his snarkiness and wit. He was mean a lot but he was kind and caring. He was everything, and his name was on Remus' wrist in purple ink. 

Press your lips to the sculptures And surely you'll stay. Love like winter For of sugar and ice I am made, I am made

In his other hand he held a tiny clay spider that he made in pottery class junior year. It was a gift he could never give. His heart shattered as his fingers trailed over the fragile legs. He was just as fragile and his sweet caring side ached. He brought the cold glossy sculpture to his lips and let the icy memory fill him. 

It's in the blood. It's in the blood I met my love before I was born

Remus, before he knew he was Remus, skipped down the bland school hallway, violating the dress code in his short shorts and tube socks, as usual. He was going to meet up with Virgil behind the school. He was so excited, ready to show Virgil his mark and to give him the little figurine he finished. 

He crept out the door and into the sunlight. No one was outside but as he rounded the building he spotted the emo himself, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. 

"Virgil!" Remus sang and skipped up to him with a bright grin. Virgil spotted him and offered him one of his shy smiles that could melt the ice caps, killing multiple species and destroying the climate as we know it.

"You showed, Beets. Didn't think you'd actually want to come to the make out corner with me." 

"Are you kidding? I could feel it in my soul!" Remus giggled, "And I have something for you besides this bod." 

"Bod!?" Virgil yelped and went red, "I'm not ready for that kind of thing!" Remus giggled and stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket. 

"I mean I'm down for kissing or whatever." Virgil rambled, "I don't want to move too fast."

"Breathe, Scare Bear. How long have we been friends? Long enough for you to know that I run my mouth." Remus cooed, "And long enough that you're out of ways to shut me up!" 

"Am I really?" Virgil questioned. He shrugged and tapped his lips.

"I dunno, are you?" Remus jeered, pressing his entire body against Virgil's. Virgil huffed and leaned down to press their lips together. 

Stars exploded at the contact. A warmth that Remus could only dream about filled his chest as he dragged Virgil down to deepen the kiss, bringing about more of the pure magic coursing through his veins. Virgil grabbed his waist and gently tugged on his bottom lip before snaking his tongue into one willing mouth.

He wanted love I taste of blood He bit my lip and drank my warmth From years before 

"That was amazing." Remus breathed when they finally pulled away, "I guess it's true what they say about soulmates." 

"Soulmates? I like you, a lot, but we're not soulmates." Virgil pouted, "I don't need to be your soulmate to like you and care about you, do I?" 

"But look!" Remus rolled up his sleeve to show off his mark. Virgil's face went pale and he shook his head. 

"That isn't me. I'm sorry... this was a mistake."

"A mistake!?" Remus shouted with tears welling in his eyes

"I'm not that Virgil. I don't want to play rebound or make you think we're destined to be together."

She exhales vanilla lace I barely dreamt her yesterday

Remus set the sculpture and photo on the end table and sighed, wiping his eyes on his arm. The woman in the bed next to him was stirring. Elisabete was definitely not his soulmate, a cuddle buddy who would indulge him occasionally, but she was, first and foremost, his friend. 

"Good morning, Remus," she said with a yawn and sat up, "Have you been up long?" 

"Hmm? No, not really. How did you sleep?" 

"Fine, fine. Though I did leave you a note when I got up in the middle of the night. I'm completely relaxed." she hummed and directed his attention to the mirror across from him. She had to use his favorite black lipstick, of course she did. And of course she was lying.

Read the lines on the mirror Through the lipstick trails Por siempre

"'Amigos mejores, por siempre'" Remus read aloud, "You've been practicing." 

"I have. You told me your twin is fluent, and I want to impress." she shrugged and pulled her hair back to reveal the extent of the birthmark on her face, "Portuguese won't do much good, especially if he's the elegant Roman who's on my calf."

"Oh that's definitely his handwriting." Remus mused and stared past the wall. He was going to help her find her soulmate, probably his goddamn brother, and he would lose the only physical comfort he ever got anymore. He was jealous, but happy for her, Roman was super supportive of trans women so Liza was safe. It didn't keep the ache in his chest away.

She says it seems you're somewhere Far away, do explain

"Remus, you're getting lost in thought." Elisabete pouted and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She had other things to worry about, but her friend out ranked her foolish worry over meeting Roman finally. He glanced over his shoulder at her and shrugged.

It's in the blood It's in the blood I met my love before I was born

"The soulmate stuff is getting to me." he admitted.

"Virgil. Remus, have you ever considered that he was right, and that your Virgil is out there looking for their Remus?" 

"I know. It's just that I don't want to meet him. I still love—yes, love—the boy from school who was my best friend. It's silly but I can't help it." 

Elisabete cupped his face and captured his lower lip between her teeth. It was her go-to distraction when he was in the dumps about something that couldn't be changed. 

She wanted love. I taste of blood. She bit my lip and drank my warmth From years before

"How about you shower and get ready to see your brother? Making yourself miserable over this won't do any good." 

"Do I have to? I like my natural musk!" Remus whined. Liza glared at him and inched away. 

"Yes. Even if we only cuddled you need to bathe." she droned, "It will clear your head." 

"You first."

"What do you think I did last night after I practiced my Spanish? Relax and curl up next to you?"

"Fine. But I am not binding before we leave." Remus huffed. 

"That's fine, just remember to wear your deodorant without eating it." 

"No promises!" Remus sang and made his way to the bathroom. It was gonna be a long day.

Love like winter

Remus wasn't sure why Roman texted him last minute about bringing a friend, but considering how Elisabete was a stranger to him, it made sense. He led her into the cozy establishment and found a table for four in plain sight.

"You wanna grab a couple coffees and a couple raspberry danishes?" Remus asked, "Roman knows my face, even without my fake stache, so I'll hold the table." Elisabete nodded and smiled sadly at him. It was rare to see Remus so low-energy and depressed. 

Love like winter

He wanted to be anywhere else but here. He sat down and pouted looking around the relatively empty cafe. He wanted Liza to be happy, even if it meant losing her time. He was tired of loss. He lost his best friend over the soulmate bullshit, and hadn't seen him since graduation. His college flings had no meaning and all he could think about for the last eight years were stupid scenarios like coffee dates and running into Virgil on the street, destined to reunite. Foolish dreams like that left him cold.

Winter! 

"There you are!" a familiar voice called him from his thoughts. Remus hadn't noticed that Liza was sitting next to him with a couple danishes and two coffees, and he hadn't noticed that his brother was there, nearing him with his guest. Remus had to stare, ignoring his brother's smug expression. There was no way. 

This had to be a dream. Virgil, his Virgil, was standing just behind Roman, studying the floor. He got taller and he dyed his hair purple. He had some piercings and better eyeshadow. It couldn't be real.

Winter

"Remus, you remember Virgil, I see," Roman chuckled and approached Elisabete, "But I believe introductions are in order. What is a rose by any other name? Surely yours is more fitting for a rare beauty such as yourself." He bowed and brought her hand to his lips. 

"Elisabete, darling" she cooed despite the blush darkening her cheeks. Remus ignored their mushy introduction and focused on Virgil, who had taken the seat across from him.

"Remember? Have we met before?" Virgil asked confusedly, daring to look up. When he did, his jaw dropped. Remus forced himself to play it cool and wiggle his fingers to wave at him.

"[REDACTED]?" Virgil gawked and immediately covered his mouth with his hand. That was not his name.

...2, 3, 4!

"No, no, I'm Remus," he chuckled, "And as you can see I'm a lot more comfortable now." Virgil's eyes welled with tears as he shrugged off his patchwork hoodie. At least he was smiling.

It's in the blood It's in the blood

"Remus is a good name." Virgil said and extended his arm. Remus' eyes went wide when he saw the mark above Virgil's elbow. "Remus" was written there in bright green. He traced the letters with his fingers in awe. 

Remus wanted to pinch his own ass to be sure he wasn't just dreaming again. He looked up at Virgil's face, the shy blush and smiling eyes staring back at him were real. His pulse hammered in his ears and Remus didn't have time to think.

I met my love before I was born

He launched himself over the table and tackled Virgil to the floor, knocking the chair out of the way and spilling both coffees all over the table. Liza and Roman jolted and stared at the scene. Remus was clinging to Virgil for dear life. 

"Ow." Virgil grunted but made no move to get up.

"I was right!" Remus laughed, "I was right!" 

"Yeah, and I'm glad you were," Virge mused and ran his fingers through Remus' mane, "You have no idea how badly I wanted that stupid mark to change to your name."

"Soulmates or not, I wanted to find you again but I didn't want to get in your way, like always." Remus laughed and cuddled into his chest.

"You? In the way? Nah!"

He wanted love, I taste of blood

"Not to intrude on such a touching moment," Liza hummed, "But you are on the floor, in the middle of a café. And you owe me a latte." 

"I really do!" Remus giggled and got up, offering Virgil a hand. 

"Not to worry, I'll handle this one!" Roman chuckled and stood up at the same time Virgil got to his feet.

"You two should catch up." Liza said with a smirk and got up, "the park is lovely at this hour. I'll make sure Roman is safe." Virgil raised an eyebrow at her and glanced at Remus. Remus was beaming and nodding. Virgil's expression softened and he took Remus' hand.

Hip bit my lip and drank my war  From years before

The pair left the cafe and went to the park across the street. The cool air didn't bother them much and the autumn leaves littering the ground were just beautiful. 

"You know, ever since that day we kissed, I couldn't stop thinking about how amazing it was and how magical I felt." Virgil said as they strolled, "I never understood why no one else could make me feel like that until now." 

"Well it's not everyday you have a trans soulmate." Remus mused, "Kinda funny how fate knew my name before I did."

"Yeah, it caused some bs, Beetleduce." 

"Now there's a nickname I haven't heard in years!" Remus chuckled and leaned into Virgil's side, blinking up and him with a soft smile. Virgil glanced at him and smiled back.

"Wanna know what else I haven't done in years?" Remus goaded. 

"What?"

"I haven't kissed my sexy Scare Bear soulmate in years." he teased. But that playful demeanor fell when Virgil stopped and pulled him to his chest. 

"That's something you can fix." he smirked. 

"How forward of you!" Remus giggled and dragged him down into a kiss, slipping his tongue into Virgil's mouth and wrapping his arms around his neck. Virgil kissed back with just as much passion, grounding himself by holding Remus' waist and gently nipping at his lower lip.

From years before, From years before

"Only for you," Virgil mumbled against his lips, "because I am never letting you go again. And I am so sorry for the years of doubt." Remus swore he would melt on the spot. He pulled his emo into another kiss to shut him up and taste the magic that set his heart ablaze. His winter was blossoming into spring again.

[ghosttotheparty]

say my name and say it twice (cotton candy skies)

24. also on AO3 chapter twenty-three

There’s a pressure on Lucas’s chest when he wakes up, before he even opens his eyes. It’s gentle, right over his heart, and it doesn’t hurt, so he stays there, taking a deep breath, feeling sunlight on his face. It’s bright, pressing through his eyelids in a soft red glow, and he feels warm. 

His hands ball into fists under the blanket on top of him and he raises them slightly as he stretches, arching his back as he yawns. He can feel his sleeves bunch up in his hands, and his legs slide, bare, against the smooth blanket. There’s something, a hood probably, gathered at the nape of his neck, and it’s uncomfortable, but he leaves it.

He hears a quiet breath, a short sigh, next to him, and he smiles as he realises what’s on his chest. 

Lucas slowly pulls the blanket down, reaches a hand out from under it (the air is cold outside), and he places a hand on top of Jens’s.

Jens’s fingers spread as soon as their hands touch, and Lucas turns to look at him. He’s close enough that Lucas could count his eyelashes. He would if his brain wasn’t too foggy from sleep.

His eyes are closed, his lips parted as he exhales soft breaths. Lucas turns onto his side, setting a bent arm under his head, and he catches Jens’s hand as it slides off his chest, letting their fingers twist around each other. 

Lucas expects Jens’s hair to have fallen in his face, but it’s pushed back. (Maybe Lucas pushed it back in his sleep. He could see that happening.) If he didn’t want to keep Jens’s hand pressed to his chest, he would reach out and touch the mole by his eye, trace an invisible line down his cheek, let his fingertips drift over his lips. Draw him. 

He doesn’t unlink their fingers, doesn’t let Jens’s hand fall, so he traces the line with his eyes, gazing at him like his eyes are paintbrushes, like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory, every eyelash and mole, the stubble across his chin. 

“You staring at me?” 

Jens’s voice is soft, scratchy from sleep, but it still makes Lucas startle, and then he giggles quietly, squeezing his hand. 

“Yeah, I think you’re pretty.” 

“I sure hope you do.”

Lucas squeezes his hand again and Jens’s eyes open, soft on Lucas before they close again as he moves in. Their lips press together gently, the position awkward as Jens avoids Lucas’s elbow. When Jens pulls back, he smiles, sitting up and pulling the blanket down before moving down the bed, releasing his hand from Lucas’s and using it to pull at Lucas’s leg as Jens lays with his face against his chest. Lucas’s leg wraps around Jens’s waist and he tangles his hand in Jens’s messy hair, not trying to comb it down, but gently scratching at his scalp as Lucas sighs. 

It’s early in the morning. Or at least he thinks it is. Raindrops (or maybe it’s just condensation) sparkle like stars on the window that Jens forgot to cover with covers last night, making the walls and ceiling glisten. The room is washed in a yellow glow, and Lucas thinks this is how mornings are supposed to be. 

Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Slow. 

He hears Jens take a little breath before he speaks. 

“I like how you talk about art.”

A small smile crawls across Lucas’s face and he closes his eyes. Jens’s hand runs up and down Lucas’s bare leg under the blanket, his fingertips trailing over the skin, leaving sparks in their wake. 

“How do I talk about art?”

“Mm…” Jens sighs, shifting his head against Lucas. “Like you invented it.”

Lucas laughs. 

“I definitely didn’t.” 

“Wait, let me…” Jens shakes his head, laughing. “How do I say this…”

“Take your time.” 

Jens is quiet while he thinks, and there’s a chance Lucas might fall asleep. He’s still smiling absently to himself. He can feel his own heartbeat, and it’s slow. It doesn’t speed up when he notices it. 

“You talk about it like just talking about it is art.”

Lucas hums, pressing a kiss to the top of Jens’s head. 

“I think I just really like it.” 

“What do you like about it?” Jens whispers. 

“Hm… It’s relative.”

“Tell me.”

“Like… There’s no set… ideal, I guess, for what it is. It’s whatever the artist makes it. It’s so… diverse? There are so many different forms, like, photography and painting and drawing, and sculpture. And then even in just sculpture alone there are so many forms, there are clay and carving and relief and casting and contemporary. And then there’s performing arts, and culinary arts.” 

He sighs, feeling Jens gently scratch his nails across his leg. 

“There’s no good or bad.” He shifts his head, combing his fingers through the hair on the back of Jens’s head. “Actually that’s the one thing I don’t like about it. Or rather, about the people who do it.” 

“Good and bad?” 

“Yeah. People who say stuff like ‘I’m not good at art,’ or ‘this looks bad’ about their art. I don’t think there’s such thing as good or bad art.” 

“Keep going.” 

Lucas giggles to himself, wondering if Jens is going to fall asleep listening to him.

“I think that if someone is passionate about it, any form of art, it’s art, and it’s beautiful. Like if they draw something for the first time, but they’re excited about it and they enjoyed doing it, it’s good. It’s only going to be ‘bad’”— he does finger quotes even though Jens isn’t looking— “if they don’t want to do it. If they don’t believe in it. If they’re passionate about it, it’s good, whatever that means, no matter what style they do or skill level they’re at.”

Jens’s hand slides up to his hip and slips under Lucas’s hoodie.

Which is actually Jens’s hoodie.

They both woke up last night, cold, and giggled at each other in the dark as they scrambled to find their clothes. Lucas ended up finding Jens’s hoodie and grabbed it before Jens could find it. He put it on backwards at first, and, trying to turn it around, got tangled in it. Jens had laughed at him, trying to help him, but it didn’t work very well, as they couldn’t see. When they finally managed to get it on right, and Jens got another hoodie on, they were both shivering, laughing quietly as their hands shook, fumbling and searching the foot of the bed to find the blankets. They ended up falling asleep with their arms and legs tangled like knots. (Lucas can’t remember a night he slept so well.) 

Jens pulls at the small of his back and Lucas moves closer, wrapping his arm around Jens’s neck, his fingers still in his hair. 

“Of course, it might be a little harder to enjoy someone’s first time making art if they’re playing like the violin or flute or something.” He doesn’t hear it, but Jens’s shoulders shake against his as he laughs. “But we can still appreciate it. They’re still exposing a little piece of their soul for the world to see. Hear. And that’s beautiful.”

“It is. I’ve never thought about it like that,” Jens says, his voice muffled by Lucas’s arm. 

“Hm.” 

Jens pulls away and Lucas lifts his arm for him, but he doesn’t move much, just tilts his head up in Lucas’s direction. Lucas smiles as he leans down, pressing their lips together. Jens’s hand slips across Lucas’s skin as Lucas licks gently into his mouth. His hand is cold, but Lucas doesn’t mind. He shivers when Jens bites his lip, squeezing his fist in his hair, and Jens gasps as he pulls away. When he does, his face falls from Lucas’s and Lucas gently kisses his forehead before glancing down and seeing Jens’s eyes fall shut. 

“That’s why I like watching you dance,” he murmurs without thinking.

“Why?” 

Lucas leans back, analysing his face. He brushes his fingertips over his cheekbone, admiring him silently. 

“You look so peaceful. But focused. You’re making art.”

Jens’s eyes open and lock with Lucas’s. 

Lucas can see the sunlight in them, looking like shattered glass, flicking back and forth between Lucas’s before moving down his face, his gaze intense, like he’s trying to memorise his freckles. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he realises that he’s holding his breath and he inhales, gasping lightly. 

“You’re art,” Jens says softly.

Lucas scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes at him before leaning down and kissing him, his smile slowly fading as the kiss intensifies. Lucas pushes himself up, his hand holding Jens’s jaw, and Jens slides his hand down to grasp Lucas’s leg, pulling Lucas on top of him. 

He feels some type of way when he kisses Jens. When Jens holds his legs and waist and slides his hands around him to hold his neck or face. When Jens bites his lip and swallows his gasps and moans, when Jens lets out that little noise when Lucas pulls his hair that Lucas loves so much. When Jens brushes his fingertips over the back of Lucas’s hand while he talks or when his hand absentmindedly squeezes his thigh. When Jens cracks a shitty joke and grins at Lucas, waiting for a laugh (and of course he always gets one), or when Lucas teases him and Jens responds with a sassy remark and a quick kiss. When he gets a text from Jens, no matter what is said in it.

A feeling that he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. 

Loving Jens is making art.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

A Strange Convergence

Mitch walked past the alley as he had all the others, at first believing it to be empty. He would have continued on in that belief if he had no also struck a match at that very moment, to light a fresh cigarette between his lips. There, deep in the alley, he noticed a slice of pale flesh. The match burned itself down to his fingertips as he stared. Mitch dropped it to the damp ground with a hiss of pain, but his eyes never left that strange, still form. It took him longer than it should to recognize the waifish figure, iridescent moonlight catching on his slender limbs.

Deep shadows cast the alley in darkness. Mitch could hardly make out anything around the boy, that single point of light. There was nothing to see, and yet Mitch found himself stopping to watch. He leaned against the nearest wall so that he would not make too obvious a spectator, backlit by the streetlamps behind. Silver smoke filtered past his lips when he exhaled.

As Mitch watched, he noticed the oddest thing. Stiles’ shadow began to move behind him, a long, twisted thing, writhing as if in unspeakable agony. Yet the boy stood still, his face upturned in supplication. Mitch could not see his eyes, but somehow, he knew that if he could, they would be distant. Like the glass-eyed taxidermy in his uncle’s estate.

Shadows pulled away from the wall, moving with the same fluidity as the move Mitch exhaled. His eyes struggled to focus on the rippling darkness. That liquid absence of light that dew everything in; a starving, ceaseless hunger, consuming all it touched.

Mitch stood frozen with his mountain horror, watching as the shadows reached out to Stiles. It was an impossible sight, there was nothing there, nothing to cast such a sinister image, and yet it was happening right before his eyes. And undeniable, grotesque vision. Stiles’ mouth fell open in a soundless scream and Mitch was helpless to watch as they spooling darkness poured itself into him.

The cigarette burned to nothing between his fingers, the only measure of human time that existed in that alley, suddenly filled with the endless, eternal expanse of void.

Then, just as soon as the shadows had warped, they twisted themselves back into order. A reversal of the entropy surrounding Stiles, filling him, devouring him. Like a marionette with its strings cut the boy collapsed. His limbs fell in a loose tangle, and the spell was broken. Mitch rushed to him.

Already Mitch decided it was some kind of illusion, a trick played by his exhausted mind. Grief over his uncle’s death must have reached deeper than he realized, for his eyes to twist things into such horror. Still, he checked for a pulse, and was relieved to find it sluggishly breathing beneath Stiles’ ivory skin.

***

November 26, 1923

My nightly walks have continued to trouble me. I feel as though I am searching for something, although I do not know what that may be. I find myself walking a strangely familiar path each night, but I am certain I have never walked it before. I haven’t seen these streets since I was a boy; they are as foreign to me as the would be the crowded streets of London.

I feel I am not as along during this excursion as the oft-empty streets would have me believe. There is a… malevolence to the shadows. My own silhouette is alien to me. It responds to my every movement as it should, and yet it is not me. Perhaps it is that my shadow lags behind a second too slow; almost like it must consciously decide to copy me.

Sentient shadows. Not a subject I care to entertain. There is enough occupying my mind as it is. I’ll sound like Hurley before long, and I have no desire to follow his path.

It all comes back to pathways. Those trails we follow through life, forged for us by braver souls. Few seeks to blaze their own way. Fewer still find others to follow in their wake.

For some reason, my path seems to converge with Stiles’ time and again. I find myself inexplicably drawn to him. He has made several appearances of late, although I rarely confront him. Half a dozen times I’ve wanted to shake him and demand an answer: id he him following me, haunting my nights like a specter? Or do I follow him, ignorant of where he leads? Either way, I know not where we are going, only that we seem to be heading there together.

I am… troubled by him.

***

“Such a strange thing.” Mitch traced his fingers over the jagged clay figure, messily sculpted and poorly finished. It was certainly done by a novice; the clay was rough and scratched, not worn smooth by practiced hands. More than that, the geometry was senseless and odd; it made his head hurt to look for too long.

“Do you like it?”

“Christ!” Mitch almost dropped the heavy figure—thought it might be better if he had, to destroy the thing before it could cause him anymore sleepless nights—as he whirled around. Standing just outside the doorway was Stiles, with his big round eyes and his lips downturned into their perpetual moue of discontentment. Mitch set the figure back on its pedestal. As soon as it clicked into place Stiles stepped forward, and Mitch was struck by the sudden impulse to retreat, keep the heavy oak desk between them. He didn’t.

“I made it.” Stiles brushed his finger down one of the arching curves. “Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

“Me neither. It came to me in a dream.” Stiles shuddered and wrapped his arms around himselves, spindly fingers covering the jut of his elbows. “Do you ever have dreams?”

“Sometimes.” Mitch didn’t tell Stiles how more and more, he featured in them. He wondered if Stiles somehow knew anyway.

“Are they good dreams?”

His mind was forced to turn to Stiles; a strange, twisting creature, writhing in his sheets. From fear or pleasure or both, Mitch could never tell. The shadows were too severe over his features to ever fully make out the expression on his face.

“Sometimes,” Mitch answered again, because some of those dreams left him to wake panting and sticky and unable to feel the shame curdling in his belly when desire still ran so hot through his veins. More than one page in his journal was taken with frantic sketches done in the middle of the night, a hollow attempt to commit to paper what Stiles looked like in his dreams. The delicate curve of his breastbone, the rapturous arch of his spine. The open, welcome line of his legs and the soft, plush shape of his lips, always bitten red. Mitch didn’t know what possessed him to immortalize his indiscretions; perhaps if he could not see Stiles in the flesh, he could at least have this crude rendering.

Stiles pulled Mitch out of his mind just as swiftly as he had dredged up those awful imaginings he kept locked away, only to be examined in the dead of night. Mitch realized he was staring too long at Stiles’ lips when he saw them curve into a small, secretive smile. A rare thing.

“My dreams are nightmares,” Stiles said, possible—probably—for the second or third time. “They’re filled with monstrous creatures. They haunt me.” As he spoke Stiles approached, gliding over the floor, until they were almost chest to chest. Only the pedestal crowned with the crude statuette stood between them, little enough distance that Mitch could feel Stiles’ breath ghost against his jaw, second after it left his lungs. Strangely cold. Maybe he should have put the desk between them after all. “Your uncle was very interested in my dreams. He has me tell him about each one, recording them into his little wax cylinders, taking his notes. My draws as well, and my sculptures. Are you interested in them, too, doctor?”

“Yes,” Mitch breathed. There was nothing else for him to say. Anything else would stop Stiles from speaking to him, break this strangely intimate moment between them.

“Maybe I’ll tell you of them, then. Mr. Hurley always wanted to hear about them straight away. While they were fresh in my mind, he said. He even let me stay here for a time, while he conducted his research, holding vigil outside my bedroom at night.” Stiles leaned in a little closer and looked up through his long eyelashes, moistened his lips with his tongue. “Truth be told, I think he would watch me as I slept. Only to note down anything I said, of course. Things I wouldn’t remember come morning. I think that’s would he would have said if I ever caught him.”

“If you thought he was watching you, why did you let him?”

“I liked it,” Stiles said simply. Mischief sparked in his golden eyes, at offs with his deceptive, innocent demeanor. “Knowing he was watching over me made me feel safe. I haven’t been able to sleep since he died; I still feel like something is watching me. Do you think you could help me, doctor?”

Mitch stumbled over nothing. Mistakenly, he tried to catch himself on the thin pedestal and instead overbalanced it. Stiles sculpture crashed onto the ground and broke; too blunt and heavy to shatter, although the delicate, wispy pieces on the edges splintered away. Thich crevasses cleaved apart the heavy core.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Mitch leant down to pick up the pieces, but the damage was done.

“it’s alright.” Stiles tilted his head consideringly. “Looks better this way. More right.” Stiles left without another word, leaving Mitch to stare after him in bewilderment.

“What the hell was that?” Mitch asked the now-empty room. He picked up the largest pieces of the statuette and tried to fit them together again, to see if they could be salvaged. Mitch couldn’t figure out how to align the pieces. Somehow, the hardened clay was distinctly twisted into a new shape, no longer fitting against itself.

Mitch resolved to throw it away and think of it no more.

[chloe-clegane]

My Devotion and Mah Protection, Our Love - Chapter 5

My Favorite Gift is You

Summary - It’s Royal Announcement day!

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

AO3

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A few days later they celebrated Ezran’s birthday. The desserts flowed freely, in fact, there were no other meals, just dessert. The whole eating unwholesome foods in extreme portion sizes was no joke. Contributing to the overload of sweets made Rayla feel a bit… unethical? Enabling? Disgusted? Her own misgivings aside she knew Ezran would appreciate her idea for an Ultimate Deluxe Super Moonberry Surprise Cake, it would be the perfect gift… if she could pull it off.  

Rayla woke up early that morning and after some kissing and cuddling with her favorite human, she met with Barius. She explained her vision and the baker was a little distressed when he realized she didn’t have an actual recipe. But he was able to approximate what she described. Barius insisted that he should make the sponge. But figured she would be able to execute the filling and frosting easily enough. She figured it couldn’t be that hard so she followed instructions and got to work.

Most of Ezran’s day was spent with Zym, he’d flown to Katolis with an escort of three skywing dragon guards. He was only able to stay for 2 days so he and Ez were getting in as much quality time as possible. When Rayla left the kitchens to go find her family, she was shocked to see Ezran riding Zym. The dragon had grown considerably in the almost 3 years since he’d hatched and was bigger than a horse now, but Rayla still couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The two kings zipped around the castle towers and through the clouds, Ez whooping and Zym happily chirping. 

Rayla came up behind Callum and took his hand, he turned his attention from the sky to smile at her. She gazed up with him “Been quite a’while hasn’t it, since all this started. Funny how they’ve both grown up so much but still somehow managed to stay exactly the same. A couple o’goof balls.” 

Callum chuckled “Yeah, it’s true.” He smiled and brought her hand up to place a kiss on it. “The world has changed so much, but somethings, the people you love, they stay the same. Like how amazing you are for example.”  

As always his words warmed Rayla’s heart but when he leaned in to kiss her she wiped her head back up to the sky when she saw the aerial duo heading into a tower, grazing it and thankfully not smacking into it full force. “Oye!!! EZ!!! TOWER!!!!” Rayla screamed up at the teen.

“WE’RE OK!” He yelled down and waved, Zym nodded in agreement. 

“DON’T BREAK YOUR NECK! I WILL BE SO PISSED!” Callum screamed back. Some of the color drained from his face. “PAY BETTER ATTENTION!” He looked like he was ready to go all mage wings and bring his brother down himself.

Amaya also looked distressed. Frustrated she wasn’t able to scream after him she nudged Janai to make girlfriend do it for her. Even Bait had turned purple. 

“Teenagers are stupid” Rayla sighed. 

“Hey, we weren't... technically still aren’t” Callum defended. 

“Seriously? We’re just lucky our bullshit paid off” She laughed “I climbed the side of that” She pointed “wall. Thinkin’ I could kill a child in cold blood, almost fell to mah death about three times doin’ it. And you kept playin’ with lightnin’ even though you din’ know what you were doin’, nearly killed me I might add!” 

He chucked “But I didn’t kill you! So it’s fine.”

“Oh you’re right, that makes everythin’ fine. Wasn’t stupid at all.”  

He pouted at her sarcasm but then narrowed his eyes at her “Human Rayla”.

“Don’ go there! I was amazin’ at that! How about Elf Callum or WiNtEr LoDgE, nO wInTeR, nO hUmAnS?”

“Owch” he glared “you've made your point and we should definitely stop this there. I still want you to marry me and I worry this conversation won’t end well.” 

She laughed “Aww you’re less stupid now” she cood and he continued to glare back at her. But held her hand anyway. She squeezed it “Like I said, lucky. Our stupidity might save the world.” 

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and they continued to nervously watch the air show, screaming every time the teens tried to do barrel rolls and loops. The March day was cooled by the breeze but warmed by the sun, winter was truly at its end and the group enjoyed welcoming the spring.

Soon it was 3rd dessert meal (second lunch?) and the group had it out in one of the courtyards as a picnic. This was the planned time for presents and so everyone had their wrapped packages or hidden gifts with them. Apparently, hand made was a theme. After all, what do you buy for a king? Amaya and Janai were the only ones who didn’t make their gift. It was a sunforged dagger. His aunt felt at 13, it was about time he had his own weapon. Ezran looked a little intimidated by it but thanked them nonetheless.  

Soren went second, his surprise was a shockingly not terrible ceramic statue of Ez and Zym hugging. The sculpture wasn’t good, but you could tell who the figures were supposed to be so Rayla felt that the dumb oaf had at least accomplished the goal. Ezran was a little confused but when he figured it out he seemed to really enjoy it. Bait was entirely unimpressed by it, and maybe a little jealous it wasn’t him made in clay. 

Callum was also miffed that Soren had made an art project, he muttered into her ear “art is my thing!” She laughed and rolled her eye’s at him. Her fiance’s gift was of extremely better quality, so if it was a competition he still won, but if cake counts as art Rayla thought this could be a very close race. Callum had done a detailed color pencil drawing and had it framed, it was a family portrait. Ezran sat in the front and Rayla and Callum stood behind him, each with a hand on his shoulder and Bait was in his lap of course. This art piece was much better received by the glowtoad than Soren’s. 

Ethari had made a simple bracelet of silver and purple braids. It was the kind of thing Rayla knew he could make easily and quickly with tools he probably borrowed. It was modest but as always the workmanship was impeccable. Ezran thought it was amazing. 

Finally, it was her turn, she rolled the huge cake around the corner on a tea cart. 

Ezran gasped. “Rayla it looks delicious! Give it, give it!” He reached out scrunching his fists. 

She laughed as she cut him a generous piece. The purple sponge and gooey red filling looked great! She felt a little smug as she handed Ez the slice. He took a huge bite and his face scrunched, he coughed a little. Rayla felt her face fall, why did he look like that, she wondered. Then Ezran smiled and kept nodding. “Wow Rayla, it’s so… thoughtful of you to make this, wow!” 

“Do you like it!?” she asked cautiously. 

“Mmmmhmmmm” he continued to nod. 

Everyone else cautiously sampled it, everyone started gagging. 

Soren hadn’t caught on to everyone's hesitancy and took a large bite, his response felt overly dramatic “Ugh blah” He spit it directly on the ground. “That’s terrible. hack hack. I think it’s poison! I’m too young to die!”     

Rayla looked hurt but then crossed her arms and scowled at her friend “Wow Soren you’re sure bein’ an arse about this. I go to all this trouble, and you can’t even be nice? It can’t be that bad.” Now she stupidly took a huge bite and was immediately filled with regret, “so salty! Egh, what did I? Water!?”. She realized Ethari had never even taken a bite of his piece, his lack of faith was added salt in the salty, salty wound. 

“Rayla, it’s ok. I really appreciate it!” Ezran tried to comfort her but she had already stormed away red faced and humiliated. 

Ezran found Rayla outside “That squirrel was right, you are in a tree!”.

She and her bruised ego were hiding. When she saw him she turned away “just leave me with mah shame!” 

He started climbing, it took him a minute but he made it up and nudged her so he could sit next to her. Luckily it was an old sturdy tree. “I meant it when I told you I appreciated the effort.” 

Rayla made a noise somewhere between a whine and a chuckle and tossed her head back “Thanks, but also I’m still sooooooo sorry”  

“Seriously Rayla.” He insisted. “But you know what my real favorite present is?” 

She still had her eyes up and her shoulders slumped “Hmmmm Soren’s statue was pretty good... very lifelike” her words were heavily laced with sarcasm. 

“You know? I do like it” he smiled “Soren put a lot of effort into it, same as you. Want to guess again?!”

She took a moment to think “Well I know it wasn’t the fire dagger, I’m pretty sure yer afraid of it.”

He laughed “yeah, you got me there. But really, my favorite gift, is’s you Rayla.”

This time she actually righted her posture and made eye contact. “Me? What do you mean, me?” She was honestly confused.

“Yeah, you. When you guys came and told me you're getting married, it was such a good surprise. My favorite thing out of all of this is knowing in a few months you’ll really be my sister.” she felt her prickly mood soften as he continued “In a way, I’ve already thought of you like that for a long time. But now, it’s real and official! Best birthday ever!” His sincerity, something she’s always loved about him, was acting as a salve on her wounded pride. 

“Oh, Ez” Rayla smiled, his sentiment was humbling and she exhaled some of her negativity “I feel the same way about you, I’m happy to have you as a brother too. Now come’ere.” She pulled him into a hug and they stayed together for a while kicking their tangling feet and talking. Catching up about all kinds of things. He told her weird stuff animals say sometimes and that he met their shadowpaws. Apparently they’re both very nice but don’t think they’re getting nearly enough fish. Rayla made a mental note. He also confided in her some of his worries. There had been rumors about underground meetings to talk about hating and not trusting elves. Now that ambassadors and scholars have started visiting Katolis, and now… her, not everyone is happy about it. Rayla thought about keeping the procession incident to herself but decided to fess up about it. He understood why she didn’t want to worry anyone but they both ended up going quiet for a bit to sit in their worry. It always broke Rayla’s heart to see these things on his shoulders, he was too young to carry so many burdens like this. So she broke the tension with a few jokes and they hugged before returning to the group for 5th dessert (dinner?). 

After a few more days in Katolis it was time for everyone to part ways. It was decided that the Wedding would be in 3 months, as they wanted at the Moon Nexus. With the mages disappearing suspiciously and Aaravos and Viren’s location unknown, they had to be careful about having politically important guests all in one place. The exact date and location would be kept private and invitations would be hand-delivered along with illusion medallions to the human rulers. Lujanna would be assisted in creating a burrier hiding the Nexu, similar to the one that protects the Silvergrove. 

The public announcements of the marriage would be made when things were settled. After that Rayla would be made an official Princess of Katolis. That scared her, absolutely boggled her mind. Never in her life had she thought things would turn out like this for her. The most terrifying part was the fact that until Ezran had his own heir, which at 13 was a long way off, Callum would be next in line for the throne, which would make her a queen. That thought was horrendous for a number of reasons. But for every negative or worry Rayla’s joy and excitement was tenfold. 

Ethari went home to the Silvergrove and Rayla and Callum left for Lux Auria with Amaya and Janai. Callum worked on his fire spells and she helped investigate the 3 Sunfire elf mages who had disappeared. She traveled alone a few times to the Silvergrove to visit Ethari, flying on a twin tail tooth tiger, courtesy of Janai, made the trips easy. The more things came together, the details, her vows, the dress, everything felt more and more real. Soon she’d be bound forever to her best friend, and it was the most spectacular thing she could imagine. She was counting down the days, they both were.

[the-space-above-the-stars]

piece de resistance

lee taeyong x reader

Summary: You’re a sculpter. Taeyong is a painter. And all you need is each other, your supplies, and for Paris to never change. 

Warnings: making out, grinding, nudity, references to sex

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1.5K

Taeyong remembers the summer he met you, just a few years ago. He was beginning to gain notoriety for his paintings in Paris and was invited down to the seaside village of La Flotte where some artists were getting together to showcase their work. The train ride from Paris was incredibly dull but when he got to the open-air gallery, his eyes were immediately captured, not by the art, but by an artist. 

A certain artist, her hair tied out of her face with a red bandanna wrapped around her head, wearing a t-shirt for some band he long forgot the name of tucked into ripped jeans. Her fingers were still coated in the thin dried remnants of clay, and he could tell she was standing next to her own work, a sculpture of Medusa, the gorgon from Greek mythology. He wanted to meet her, know her, and more than anything, he wanted to paint her.

They talked the entirety of the event. He was staying in La Flotte over the weekend, so she showed him her studio and he showed her his paintings and they road bikes by the water. Her name was Y/N. The first night he knew that, he whispered it up to his ceiling when he should have been asleep, a smile on his face. 

He sketched her in his sketchpad on the train ride back home, the shadows cast by her cheekbones, strands of her hair escaping that messy bun she threw it up in, her tongue poking through her teeth in a smile. Paris didn’t seem as bright, probably because he had seen something even brighter. 

It took him a month to realize why there was that dull pang in his heart, why his paintings spoke more of lovers and love than of the city around him, why he couldn’t help but paint a woman with her hair tied back in a red bandanna. 

He had your number, pinned to his wall, and so he used it, asking you if you would like to come up to Paris for the weekend. You had agreed and at the end of the weekend, one of wine and dancing and art and the Eiffel Tower, he had kissed you at the train station. You had kissed him back and missed your train, but it didn’t matter. There were always others.

You had been dating for almost 6 months when you packed your bags and moved to Paris with him, another occupant in the small appartement he called home. You shared the bedroom, cooked together, he painted on the balcony and you sculpted in the spare room. 

Taeyong’s long forgotten the hollow moan in his stomach, the yearning for the crepes Madame Laurent was making in the cafe across the street as he painted. He had forgotten the feeling of the cold air against his bare chest, sensitive and littered with purple marks from the night before. He was in a trance he only got in when he was smearing colors across a canvas.

A cigarette hanging lazily between your lips, you shivered slightly from the cold air as Taeyong continued to paint, eyes flickering from your body to the canvas every few seconds. “Yong, it’s cold,” you complained, your voice low as you huffed out a puff of smoke.

“I’m  almost finished, mon amour,” he assured you, your lover’s mop of red hair disappearing behind the canvas once again You sighed, limbs growing stiff from the pose you were holding, but you couldn’t complain. A smile crossed your lips as the memory of last November came along, Taeyong posing for hours as you sculpted his features, the striking angle of his jawline, the pucker of his lips, the softness in his eyes. He probably had it worse than you.

 “Would you like to come see it?” He asks, sitting back with a groan and rubbing his shoulders. You nodded, putting your cigarette out and crawled out of bed, throwing one of his dress shirts over your body. You didn’t care to do the buttons as you moved behind him to inspect his work of you. “I still have to touch up the bed,” he sighs contently as you wrap your arms around his neck, placing a warm open kiss to his shoulder. “The way the light comes through doesn’t look the same, but i think I’ve managed to-“

“It’s beautiful, my love,” you assure him, head buried in the crook of his neck. You look back on the canvas. In all reality he’s captured you perfectly, the slight curl the humidity gives to your hair, the curve of your breasts and the way the light falls onto your body through the open window. The thin cloud of smoke rising from your lips. The scattered purple marks along your neck and hips. “How much will they pay you for this one?”

He chuckles at the joke, pulling you to sit on his lap. “You think I’d let any other man look upon ma chèrie like this? I’m keeping this one,” he sighs, rubbing his thumb against your bottom lip. “All to myself.”

“Why need a painting when you’ve got the real thing right here?” Taeyong chuckles and leans in to kiss you, tilting your head down with his thumb gently on your chin. You moan softly against his lips, completely content with life as your fingers bury into his hair. “Mon ange,” 

“Mon couer,” he smiles against your lips, sliding his hands under your thighs and picking you up. He stumbles slightly as he carries you over to the bed, laying you down gently like his latest masterpiece being set to dry. That was what you were after all. A masterpiece, and incredibly, irrevocably, his. Putting a hand to the small of your back, he helps you shrug out of the shirt you’re wearing before pulling you onto his lap again. This time, you capture his lips, tongue gliding against his bottom lip as his hands roam over your body. “Ma belle,” he groans at the friction of your hips moving against his, rolling over to trap your body under his. “I have something for you, wait here.” He presses a kiss to a love mark he left on your neck, sighing in contentment before getting out of the bed and searching through the bedside drawer. He comes back with a box wrapped in a thin pink bow. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Yong,” you complain but nevertheless, you open the box, Taeyong wrapping his arms around you, thumbs rubbing warmth back into your forearms. You pull out a small leather pouch. “Oh, Taeyong, you didn’t-” You undo the pouch and find the set of sculpting tools you’d been admiring for so long in the store window, the ones you convinced yourself you could afford once your commission for  the new opera house was done. “Taeyong, these must have cost a fortune, you can’t just-” 

“I had a buyer willing to pay more than he asked for for a painting of his wife,” he explains himself, laying his head on your shoulder. “I thought you deserved a little something.” 

“Je t’aime,” you sigh, turning to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. When you pull back, however, he’s already pressing something else into your hand. 

It’s a small, thin gold pendant, oval shaped, but it’s the engraving that means more. It’s a singular rose, thin stemmed with two leaves turned up to the sun and an open bloom. Etched near the flower are three initials L.T.Y. It’s Taeyong’s signature, what he puts on all of his paintings, the small rose and the initials. “Ma belle,” he hugs you close, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. “Ma couer, ma muse, mon amour, mon chef-d'œuvre, mien.”

“Le tiens,” you nod, letting him take the necklace and slip it around your neck. “All yours.” 

“You know,” he sighs, laying the small pendant in the middle of your chest and smiling. “I used to be in awe of how much color there was in the world, how alive everything looked, but now, but when I met you, it was like the world took all that color, all that life, all that energy, and put it straight into you.” His fingers lace through yours, giving your hand a soft squeeze. “Everything else feels like black and white, but you- you’re in screaming colors.” 

“I love you, Taeyong,” you sigh as you relax against his lips, your heart swelling with love for this man, your lover, your other half. “I love you so much.” 

“And Y/N Y/L/N, I’m fantastically in love with you as well,” bringing the back of your hand to his lips, he kisses it softly, the warmth of his lips sending chills up your spine. 

Paris is still waking up. Madame Laurent will still be making crepes in a few hours and there will still be food in the kitchen to fill your empty bellies. But right now, with the sounds of the city outside your window and the safety of each others arms, you lie down to rest, the painting drying at the base of your bed. 

mon amour - my love

ma cherie- my sweetheart

mon ange- my angel

mon couer- my heart

ma belle- my beauty

Je t’aime- I love you

ma muse- my muse

mon chef-d'œuvre - my masterpiece

mien- mine

le tiens- yours

[artboitrash]

His Bloody Rose (Stefano Valentini fanfiction) Chapter 23 - Obscura

-Rose's P.O.V.-

Stefano left me where I stood, the little girl laying in my arms. I glanced down at her, blinking at her as she lay there. I almost didn't believe it was possible that this girl had been wandering outside for so long with those creatures attacking those that aren't changed. Yet here she was, almost untouched and peacefully safe.

There was something about this girl that made me question things. She seemed odd, almost like she wasn't quite real. Stefano had shown me some of his photographs from when Union fell apart, and if the citizens weren't being used for his art, they were being stalked by those creatures and torn to pieces. So this little girl being untouched, and almost completely clean, aside from the bottoms of her feet, which weren't cut up or damaged, was almost a paradox to me.

I set her down on the bed I had been sharing with Stefano. She lay gently down, and I decided it might be best if she just rested for a while. If she's been awake as long as him, it's likely best to just let her sleep. I closed the door to the bedroom, quietly clicking the lock to make sure no one could enter without breaking the door down.

I sat down in a chair left in the room, allowing myself to think for a while. I wondered if it was okay to trust Stefano anymore. He seemed more... Manic, almost completely unhinged. I wasn't sure if the environment had helped him become more unpredictable, or if because he was left unchecked he began to indulge his work even more.

I scoffed to myself. Of course I shouldn't trust him. I should have never trusted him. I was surprised in myself for even trying to find him when he went missing.

Yet I still yearn to hear him praise me. I was sure that he wouldn't even care or remember me, no matter how much I wanted for him to love me back. I supposes it would be simple to think of me as a fling he had while looking for support of his work. But he still tried to hold me close and keep me by his side.

Seeing those limbs stitched together in the piece he made, the men with gunshots to their heads and knives slicing into their torsos... It honestly made me a little sick. I wasn't sure how I felt about his work now. Since arriving in Union, I didn't experience as much depression or mental issues as I did before. It made me wonder if it was even the real world, that is before everything went to shit. Now I know better, seeing the way he has magical abilities to make rooms appear and turn a single hallway into a maze.

I held my head up and tried to push passed the idea that he was going to hurt me. I tried to push down the idea of how he created his work, how he killed each person. I couldn't avoid it, but I tried.

This world was the first time I had seen a dead body.

And he was pleased with his work. When I still felt my depression, I was somewhat excited that he would turn me into a creation of his, but now that it's all gone... And it's much more terrifying. I'm not certain how to continue our relationship as it had been progressing. I had been scared of him before, but now I'm not sure how I feel. He's terrifying in that I watched him kill a man to show me his powers.

I think it's even more terrifying that I still love him. I can't pull my mind away from him, excitement overflowing me each time his lips met mine. It was like I fell into the stars when he brushed his knuckles across my face. I could feel my logic and rational side warring with my romantic and infatuated side; one insisting I run as far and as fast away from him as my legs can carry me, and the other begs me to stay by his side and give him everything he desires. I wanted to run away, screaming as I went to draw as much attention to the man, in hopes that he would never touch me again. And yet, as scary as it was, I couldn't bring myself to think about life without him. I loved the way he made me feel, even now. He made me feel special, the way he looked me over as he he held me, kissed me...

I watched the little girl sleeping on the bed. Was he really willing to pass her over to whoever asked for her? Was he really willing to...?

No, no I won't think about it. I can't bear to imagine what kind of a person asks someone to retrieve a child in a hellscape like this. Something about how Stefano had described the man asking for her, I couldn't help but think he had wanted to hurt the little girl. I couldn't imagine what that would say about Stefano if he was going to give her over to the man. I wanted to see the best in the person I love, but I can't ignore that mental probing.

I stood, allowing myself to stretch my limbs. I decided I needed to walk around. I began wandering around the room, just trying to stretch my legs. I paced slightly, moving to the door and moving back to the chair as I tried to get blood flowing through my body.

I heard a flashing sound, and turned as a blue light faded from the dim room. Stefano had returned, a wide, excited smile crossing his face. There was a blue light shining from underneath his bangs, and I stared for a moment. After a moment, I glanced into his visible eye as he approached me.

"Bella mia, I've had a wondrous idea!" he said excitedly.

"Oh, what is it?"

He pressed his lips against my head. "I have found I have some of the most wonderful ideas for bringing my creations to life. But, I need your opinions, and I need you to help me with my newest ideas."

He grasped onto my shoulders, and he disappeared before me. I looked around in hopes of finding where he had gone. Then I realized I was no longer in the locked bedroom. This new location was one I hadn't seen before, a long, outstretched hallway laying before me. The carpet looked like one of a hotel, and oddly looked like something from The Shining, but with a camera aperture instead.

I swallowed the small amount of fear that began to boil in my stomach. What did he want to show me?

I turned around, seeing an empty room laying behind me. I initially turned and began walking into the bare room, but there was only a table and an elevated arm that sat on it. I swallowed, and turned back around. I walked back down the hallway, slowly making my way forward. I was probably too wary for my own good, but I had made myself paranoid as I thought about Stefano's intentions.

I tried to laugh off my paranoia, but the silence and lonely hallway didn't quell the fear inside of me.

A loud, echoing scream knocked me off my balance. I jumped away from the sound, realizing it was coming from a window in the wall left of me. I looked into it, seeing Stefano's back turned to me. I couldn't see anything on the table in front of him, but I saw what looked like his darkroom surrounding him. It was like the window in the darkroom of my college, meant for looking out of to make sure you could transport a developed photo without letting light into the room.

"Sh, don't cry. You're becoming art." Stefano's voice said through the glass.

I could hear him, but it sounded far off. It was as though what I was seeing was something from the past. I watched the scene, his figure completely unmoving as he spoke.

"You shall be part of my Obscura..." his voice became almost breathless as he spoke, as though lovingly as he killed the woman, still screaming.

The scene before me disappeared, blackening as it all disappeared. I swallowed and began to move forward again. I continued walking down the hallway, carefully stepping one foot in front of the other.

Another screaming, coming from my right this time, startled me as I approached another window. I could see him again, standing with his back to me. He still didn't move, as though frozen. I could hear him working, though, what sounded like a wet tearing sound meeting my ears.

"Ah, flesh..." he said over the sound of the woman's screams. "Less malleable than clay, softer than marble... It really is the perfect medium."

I watched the still frozen Stefano, listening as that woman kept screaming.

"Agh! I can't concentrate like this!" He cried out, his tone sounding annoyed and angry. "A sculpture doesn't need a tongue..."

The woman's screaming was silenced, and a choking sound sounded off. It was like the sound of something being forced down her throat. Once she had stopped screaming, the window turned black like the one a few paces behind me. The scene disappeared before me, and I turned to the empty hallway.

Is this who I am? Is he showing me this to tell me I'm going to be his next creation?

I stood, frozen at first. I couldn't move at all, shivering quietly as the sound of the woman's screams being silenced echoed in my mind.

"Ah, bella mia," I heard as something grabbed my shoulders from behind, "why did you stop?"

I turned around, looking into the eye of Stefano, who had appeared behind me. I tried to swallow my fear, beginning to question myself as this man held onto my shoulders.

"You promised me you would be mine until I was tired of you."

I shivered as he began to brush a finger against my face. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself anywhere else.

"I think it's a little overwhelming."

"Hmm..." he chuckled. "My dear, what have I told you about cowards? About lying to me?"

I didn't answer, and after a moment he turned me around. His arm wrapped around my shoulder, guiding me down the hallway with him. I tried to think about how to get out of this, get away from this man. He wasn't the Stefano I knew, whatever his power was allowing him to do was changing the man I had fallen in love with.

We reached the end of the hallway, a dark red curtain hanging in front of us, and he reached his free hand out, drawing aside the dark fabric. It was a dark room, and I thought it was meant to be empty.

"Is... Is this my room?" I said, with a tremble in my voice. "Where you'll turn me into a sculpture...?"

He laughed. "Oh, no... Of course not. I have such plans for you, my dear."

Lights clicked on, focusing on the center of the room in which we stood. What faced me was skin stretched across barbed wire, shaping what appeared to be three gigantic legs. They were at least as large as me, and they led up to an empty torso. The legs had tailored ballet slippers daintily placed on the feet, and tied up to the ankles. I glanced around, seeing what looked like an older camera being situated a little ways away.

I swallowed as Stefano pulled me closer to this sculpture.

"What do you think?" he said quietly. "You are the first to see this work in progress."

I glanced over at him, realizing there was something hidden in his voice. He chuckled as he regarded me.

"My dear, I told you so long ago that I would give you my best. You shall have it, and I shall have you by my side as we create art forever. You will not be powerless anymore."

I gasped as he pulled me into a kiss. I closed my eyes, feeling him beginning to undress me. He tore off the red dress he had given me violently, allowing it to be spread in tattered pieces along the floor. He held me tightly and pulled me closer to the incomplete sculpture.

"Do not touch." he whispered as I moved to undo his scarf. "This is not for pleasure, my dear. This is for the sake of art."

I gasped as something sharp pricked my bare neck. I grasped at my neck as he withdrew a needle. He wasn't bothering to smile now, a look across his face tantamount to glee without reaction.

"You are the finishing piece to my crowning achievement."

I stumbled backwards, and he disappeared. I felt myself being grabbed from behind, and my legs gave out from underneath me as I stumbled into him.

"Come, my muse... Your throne awaits."

His breath was hot against my ear as I felt him press his lips into my skin. My eyes drooped and I could feel myself passing out. The darkness took me, and the world disappeared. That was the last thing I remembered. The end of Rose Olian.

-

(author’s note)

Before it's brought up, this idea has been floating in my mind since the beginning of my story. I had an idea for how this would play out, but I've been worried about how it would be received. I can rewrite this chapter if it's not liked, but I kind of like the idea of Stefano creating Obscura from someone he knows loves him so she's easier for him to control.

Also, there is more to the story, don't worry. <3

[ilytuan]

Etched 「yugyeom」

genre › tattoo artist!au ︱ fluff  

pairing › reader ︱ yugyeom / mark tuan

word count › 4,890

warning ›  language 

“Hyung, you can’t just-” A voice whispered, although it was far from hushed. You heard heavy footsteps approach before the warm Egyptian cotton duvet was ripped away from you, making you shiver as your body became exposed to the air that came rushing in.

“Yugyeom, she’s awake. Just get her the fuck out of here before I do it myself.” A gruff voice commanded. You had only stirred away a few moments ago, when the door had been violently swung open and the knob hit the wall with a loud crash. The covers were already pulled up past your mouth before they walked in, so you shifted yourself down the bed a little to cover your face and try to stay calm amongst the commotion.

You had no idea what was happening, or where you were, but the familiar name made you gather enough bravery to peel open an eye, but you regretted it instantly when you were startled out of your skin at the sight. A rather tall and cold looking man, whose arms and neck from what you could make out were completely tattooed with black ink drawings of intricate designs and mostly unidentifiable Chinese characters, was standing right next to the bed, an angry scowl on his face and you guessed he was the culprit in the case, ripping away the warm duvet and slamming open the door. Or maybe you were the culprit.

A gasp of blind stupor escaped your lips before you could help it and in a flash Yugyeom had crossed the room with only a few long strides from where he was standing impotently at the door, snatching your hand and pulling you up from the bed with ease as if you weighed as light as feather. You didn’t.

“Thanks for the bed, hyung.” Yugyeom spoke in a clipped tone, barely nodding his head at the man who’s eyes were no longer focused on the pair of you, but the rather messy state you had left his bed. In any other circumstance, you would’ve gladly left it clean and well-made before departing, but obviously Yugyeom had other plans.

“Oh God, you almost got me killed, Y/N.” Yugyeom exaggerated, dropping your hand when you were finally in the clear. “Jaebum hyung does not like it when I touch his bed, let alone some complete stranger to him. It took you so damn long to wake up.”

“Why was I even in his bed?”

Yugyeom looked extremely unimpressed when he heard those words. “Do you seriously not remember? Not a single thing?” His eyebrows rose in curiosity.

You shook your head, at a complete loss for words. You were still drowsy too, the traces of sleep evident in the way your eyes were drooping and your hair was an utter mess. Shivering, you only just noticed the attire you were in, or lack of.

“Where the fuck is my shirt?” Your voice trembled from your decreasing body temperature despite how infuriated you tried to sound, attempting to cover yourself with your arms to salvage a bit of decency, or as much as you could from being only in a hot pink lace bra. Yugyeom had disappeared and you prayed for his own sake that he was gone to find your shirt, or at least something to replace it.

Glancing around, you discovered that you were standing half naked in a tattoo parlour. There wasn’t a sign to show the name of the store, but you could only imagine that it was insanely popular from the numerous amounts of drawings and sketches that adorned almost every wall in the place, to help customers with choosing what kind of design they wanted to get inked. If it wasn’t a drawing, it was a shelf full of coloured inks, needles and jewellery, which you tried to avoid looking at because body piercings had never settled well with you.

“I couldn’t find your shirt, but I found one that you can wear.” Yugyeom made his presence known by speaking considerably loud, or maybe it was just because you had been in the silence for far too long.

“Does it belong to you, or your hyung?” You joked, not really wanting to deal with the man you had seen from earlier because it was easy to tell that he wasn’t the friendliest of people, or maybe he had something against you for sleeping in his bed. You pictured the scowl he had worn so apparently on his face and shivered again, grabbing the shirt and pulling it on despite Yugyeom not having answered your question yet.

“I think it’s Mark’s. Or maybe Youngjae’s. But it’s safe to wear as long as it’s not hyung’s, right?”

You nodded in response, feeling so much better now that you had recovered your modesty. You began walking around the main lobby area of the parlour, inspecting some of the gallant drawings on the walls. Some were particularly interesting to you – the symbols, flowers and one that you instantly recognised, Yugyeom’s star tattoo that was etched into his right side.

“Is this where you work?” You questioned simply, moving on from admiring the drawings to peer at the interior design of the place. A comfortable black, leather couch was placed in the left corner of the room beside the receptionist’s desk, on the wall behind it was multiple paintings of anonymous artists, in front of the couch was a glass coffee table with a vase of white flowers and the walls were painted black with more drawings done in white and grey paints. You spotted a few sculptures here and there too but you didn’t look long enough to figure out what they were of. There was two rooms opposite the coach, leading into where you assumed tattooing and piercings took place. Leather chairs placed strategically in the centre of the rooms and wooden cupboards which stored materials but everything looked strangely modern and contemporary, and you were impressed by whoever designed the whole place. Even the lights were a bright light from the LED bulbs that were installed, giving a pretty glow and setting the atmosphere. You noticed it was dark out, but light enough to signify morning.

“Wow. I know it’s your first time here and everything, but you act as if we’ve been living in entirely different worlds.”

“Well, if you’d care to explain what the hell I’m doing here, then that’d help me to make a lot more sense of things.” You countered him, raising an eyebrow when he huffed.

“I’m Kim Yugyeom, your best friend, and only friend. It’s nice to meet you.” He quipped, proud at himself for whatever stupid reason. He stuck a hand out in front of him too, as if to shake his hand but you pushed it out of the way.

“Cut the shit, Yugyeom. Just tell me what happened, from the beginning.” He grunted a response, scratching his head as if he had forgotten himself. If he did, you would’ve slapped him because the audacity of that boy.

˞˞˞˞

You bustled into Black Phoenix, a frown permanently glued onto your face as you pushed open the absurdly heavy door of the intimidating store. You had never been in here, and you never wanted to because tattoos and piercings were entirely out of your world and you wouldn’t even imagine getting anything of the sort. The idea of getting something so committal inscribed into a part of your body never quite wrapped around your head.

A bell above the door chimed upon your entry, drawing the attention of Mark, who was sat at the receptionist’s desk. He had been hunched over on the chair behind the spruce wood desk, playing PubG on his mobile phone before you diverted his attention with your entrance. He put the phone down and flashed you a charming smile, before asking, “here for a tattoo?”

You shook your head rapidly, revolted by even the thought of someone thinking you’d even consider getting a tattoo. Mark titled his head to the side, “a piercing then?”

That made you shake your head even more, despising the idea of putting a hole into your body and skin more than you did of the ink. Mark scratched the back of his neck in brief confusion before shooting back up and springing out of his chair. An amused and triumphant look was now on his face as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper and turned to you after dropping the pen on the desk.

“You’re here for a removal!” He exclaimed, feeling proud of himself for finally figuring it out. You almost felt bad for shaking your head, because the disappointment that crossed his face was so gut-wrenching. A smile suited his handsome features much better, but you weren’t about to tell him that when he didn’t even know you. The only information you knew about him was that he was new to the job and was only just learning the basics of tattoo artistry. Yugyeom had talked to you about it one night about two weeks ago and you were thankful you remembered bits of it.

“Don’t tell me there’s more than those three? Just how much is there to learn.” Mark pouted and you found yourself smiling at how inexperienced yet adorable he was. It was strangely beguiling.

“I’m here to see Yugyeom.” Your voice was croaky from how long you had been walking for in search of this damned store, without getting a drip of water at all since your breakfast which was a shocking ten hours ago. “Is he here?”

Mark hummed in thought. “I think he’s with a client at the moment, but you’re free to wait here for him.”

You took a brief look around the space, deeply impressed by the fashionable interior of the place and how well everything looked in contrast with each other. The drawings attached to the wall were the most impressive, that and the multiple sculptures scattered around the place which were made of white marble and painted clay. There was only one place to sit, which was in the left corner of the parlour so you made your way there.

“Are you Yugyeom’s girlfriend?” Mark questioned innocently. He had sat back down quietly in his seat after you had taken yours, but he found himself unable to concentrate on his game and wanting to make conversation instead, which was a first because Mark hated talking.

You almost choked at the inquiry, shooting Mark an amused look that had him looking back at you sheepishly. “No way. We’re just friends.”

“Are you here to collect a bottle of wine? Yugyeom mentioned it this morning, said an ugly girl would come by in the evening looking for him and to give it to her when she did, but I think you’re far from ugly.”

You paused to think for a moment, barely containing a smile at him and his infectious happy mood. Wine? You were almost completely sure that you were here to collect the deposit money that Yugyeom was due to give you for entering him into a drawing competition that he hadn’t had the chance to apply for himself.

“Thanks man. See you in two weeks, make sure to keep it disinfected.” Yugyeom’s voice filled the silent air, a loud clap following just as you turned your attention to Yugyeom and a slightly older man who was heavily inked, to see them shaking hands vigorously. The man gave a brief nod to Mark, who nodded back and he did the same to Yugyeom. “Two weeks. I’ll be back.”

He left without much else, the chime of the bell which signalled your entrance ringing again to signalling his exit. Yugyeom turned to you after watching his retreating back for a short while.

“You’re early.” He noted, reaching behind the desk for something which you couldn’t quite make out. It was a pad of fluorescent yellow, which was what Mark had scribbled on earlier. Before you had a chance to reply to him though, another guy walked in after coming out from the room beside where Yugyeom had come from, a petite girl following behind him, although it was more like she was hiding. She whispered something to him and without even a nod of acknowledgement towards everyone else in the room, dashed for the door with hurried footsteps and pushing open the door you struggled with admirably.

“Hyung, I know you own the place but isn’t it gross to-” Yugyeom started, but he wasn’t able to finish his sentence before the guy wrapped his arm around Yugyeom’s neck and held him in a tight headlock. “Wanna finish that sentence, punk?”

Yugyeom shook his head, eyes begging for mercy but you knew he found the whole thing entertaining. He always has loved teasing everyone, especially you, so much so that he practically lived and thrived off of it.

“Jaebum, let him go. We have a guest.” Mark spoke up, successfully diverting Jaebum’s attention from ruffling Yugyeom’s hair playfully to you. His face immediately turned into an annoyed scowl, eyes glaring at you slightly with judgement. Jaebum released his hold on Yugyeom with a push forward in your direction, making Yugyeom stumble and almost trip over his own feet.

“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow if you’re getting a tattoo.” His voice was unbelievably hostile and you found yourself copying his demeanour, a scowl and glare of your own forming.

“I never said I was here for a tattoo, did I?” You challenged him, but Yugyeom shushed you, pulling you up from the comfortable black couch and dragging you along with him to his studio. You pinched his bare arm roughly to make him drop his hold and he yelped in pain, immediately letting go of your wrist to rub the spot you pinched.

“Do you have to argue with everyone you meet?” Yugyeom sounded annoyed with you, but you only took it as good nature. Both of you were always poking fun at each other, and this was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I didn’t argue with Mark.” You defended yourself but Yugyeom shook his head in dismay. He wasn’t wrong when he said you commonly argued with people, but in your defence they were always the ones who started or tried to aggravate you.

“That’s because Mark is Mark.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You were about to say, but Mark popped his head in the door and said it instead, a teasing glare directed towards Yugyeom. Good God, he was attractive. His skin was clear without a trace of a blemish and his hair was the perfect mix of styled and messy – just perfect, as if he had styled it earlier in the day but the course of today had tousled it a bit to make it what it is now.

You briefly glanced at the clock to see that it was nearing nine o’clock and you needed to get home soon and sleep decently because work was beckoning your name. Getting here was so tedious and tiresome, and you had instantly regretted not asking Yugyeom which side of town it was on and the exact address, because it was inconveniently situated all the way on the opposite side of where you worked and lived and you had gotten lost more times than you could count on your two hands. All for some money that he hadn’t even given you yet.

“Nothing. You’re just too kind for Y/N to pick a fight with.” Yugyeom smirked, pleased with the glare that deepened on your face and the smile that broadened on Mark’s. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N. I think you’re fine the way you are.”

You stuck your tongue out at Yugyeom, edging closer to Mark who was giggling at your childish bicker. “Anyway, is the wine for you? You didn’t reply to me earlier.”

“It’s not. I think Yugyeom’s been mistaken, because I’m not ugly and he owes me money, not wine.” You replied, smiling warmly at Mark. He hummed in thought, glancing back towards the desk where you now noticed a brightly coloured gift bag was placed, no doubt containing a bottle of wine.

“Yugyeom owes you money? And here I thought he was rolling in money.”

Snorting, you couldn’t help but laugh at that. Mark was so innocent that you found him incredibly endearing and easy to talk to. “I agree. I mean, have you seen all the designer clothes and jewellery he wears? Not to mention his car. That goddamned Audi.”

“Yeah! He drove me to work once and I wasn’t going to say anything, but how much did it cost bro?” Mark turned to Yugyeom with a curious look, only to receive a groan in response.

“Hyung! Don’t play along with her, she’ll make you evil.” Yugyeom whined, cheeks turning a bright pink colour at the mention of his car who he named Younghee. There was nothing he loved more than his car and the day he brought it to show you, you had fallen to the floor in a heap of uncontrollable laughter, because who on earth names their car, let alone the name Younghee.

“Mark, you know what name he gave his car?”

Mark turned to look at you incredulously, disbelief coating his dazzling features. “He named his car?”

“Yup. He named it Younghee. Kim Younghee.”

Both of you looked at you each other for a fleeting moment, neither of you saying anything before you both erupted into laughter at the same time. You had to clutch your stomach from laughing so hard and Mark had rolled onto the floor in a similar way you had the first time. Yugyeom had his arms crossed at his chest, growing agitated at you and Mark for making fun of him.

When you finally calmed down, which took a considerable amount of time and honestly, you were still occasionally giggling to yourself whenever you met Mark’s eyes, or there was a moment too long of silence, Yugyeom led you out of his room and back to the main lobby. Jaebum had disappeared long ago.

“If the wine’s not yours, who’s is it?” Yugyeom wondered aloud to which you shrugged your shoulders at. “We can just share it.”

Somehow, within the next ten minutes, you had given up on getting home and to the warmth of your bed and decided on playing a game of truth or dare where you would drink for everything you didn’t want to do or answer with Mark and Yugyeom, and Jaebum who decided to join too, much to his and your dismay. Yugyeom promised he would give you the money he owed by the end of the night, just to ensure that you wouldn’t run away if he or the boys gave you a particularly harsh challenge or if the alcohol ran out. You doubted the latter though, because whoever the wine was gifted from, gave you a whole three bottle set of deluxe Dom Perignon.

“Truth or dare?” You asked Yugyeom, an evil smirk appearing on your face as you tried to conjure up some good questions. He had been the sore loser of the game of rock, paper, scissors and you were more than glad to kick off the game. “Truth.”

You decided to start out easy, not wanting to say all the good ones right at the start but still wanting to start as fun as you could, with Yugyeom chickening out and choosing truth. “What’s your most embarrassing memory?”

Yugyeom visibly gulped and shifted uncomfortably in his spot, glancing towards each of you before taking a deep breath and answering. “I was with all my friends – hyung, Jackson, Jinyoung, Youngjae and Bam. They were pranking me with some stupid hidden camera for Jackson’s Youtube channel and broke a bottle of wine. They blamed it on me and I almost died of embarrassment on the spot, thinking I dropped some million dollar wine when it actually only cost like twenty. God, I wanted to kill all of you after I found out.”

All of you were in fits of laughter at the story. You didn’t even have to be there to picture what the scene must’ve been like, and it was a damn funny one. Yugyeom was a naive person and easily took the blame for others even if he knew he wasn’t at fault just so issues could be resolved quickly and forgotten easily. His friends loved him for being so kind, but it didn’t stop them from messing with him equally as much.

The night progressed and each of you got remarkably drunk, too out of mind to play the game properly anymore. Most of the wine had been devoured by the five of you, Youngjae had joined after waking up from a nap and coming down to find you all heavily invested in the game. Now it was your turn for the umpteenth time and you were amazed at how there was still more to be asked. Yugyeom pointed a lazy finger at you, barely able to hold it up with how dizzy his head was feeling. None of you had actually outed on a challenge, but the wine was disappearing like a cloud of smoke.

“Y/N, I dare you to get a tattoo. Right now.” His words were slurred, but you heard him clearly enough. “What? Are you fucking crazy. No way. Pass me the wine.”

You stuck your hand out, expecting to receive the green bottle any second but it never came. Jaebum was smirking, looking around at the rest of the guys who were egging you on, stating that a tattoo really wasn’t that bad and that you’d look cool with one.

“Oops, what can you do. Looks like we’re all out of wine.” Jaebum stated, a mischievous glint to his eyes. You refused to believe him and stumbled to your feet, tipping your head back and dangling each bottle over your tongue, only to find that they really were empty. Disappointed, you staggered around the parlour, looking for any sight of a fridge or stash of alcohol. You knew two of the boys lived upstairs. Surely they would have some alcohol there, they were all guys after all.

“Take me upstairs. There’s alcohol there, I’m sure of it.” You demanded, placing your hands on your hips in an attempt to look fierce but failing miserably when they all laughed at you.

“That’s against the rules, Y/N. You have to play fair; Mark streaked down the street, Jaebum has a mullet now and I got a tongue piercing. Youngjae joined late but even he’s done more than you! It’s just a tattoo.”

Sighing heavily, you gave up on trying to win against them. “I’ll get the tattoo. But you have to get the alcohol because there’s no way I’m going in there this sober.” You were far from sober, but not drunk enough to have enough courage to do this.

They agreed and each of them went their separate directions. Youngjae retreated to his room for the night, Mark went to prepare Yugyeom’s studio, Yugyeom went to wash his face with cold water to wake himself up and Jaebum went to retrieve the bottle of soju he had upstairs. You followed Mark to Yugyeom’s studio, pestering him about the whole process because as much as you hated to admit it, you were nervous as hell.

“I don’t have a tattoo myself but if the boys are so addicted to it, I can’t imagine it to be that bad. And hey, if you get scared, you can just hold my hand.”

Mark flashed you a blindingly bright smile, wiping down the seat and prepping it with a layer of cling film. He wiped down the tattoo gun and needles too, making you gulp loudly to which he chose to ignore because he knew it wouldn’t be nice to make fun of you when you were getting something etched into your skin for life. It was a commitment he wasn’t sure he’d like to take either.

Yugyeom sketched a few things for you after returning from the bathroom before you finally settled on one with a brisk nod of your head, afraid that all the alcohol you consumed that evening would come back up if you dared to speak. It was a long sequence of sakura blossom flowers, and it would be done in white ink on your lower back. Yugyeom warned that the white ink would be much worse than the black if you were to remove it, but you decided if you were going to get it done regardless, you would stay committed and not remove it, so might as well get something that you’ll actually enjoy seeing and not grimacing over each time.

Mark stayed true to his word and held your hand whenever you let out a yelp of pain. You would be lying if you said it didn’t soothe you immensely. The feeling of his warm hand tightening on yours whenever you got startled was incredibly nice and you may have feigned pain a couple of times just to feel it again. If he noticed, he chose not to say anything and the same went for Yugyeom. They had the decency to cover you with a warm blanket and shield the bits of skin that you exposed from taking off your shirt and of course, to keep you warm in the chilly parlour.

Jaebum never came back with the soju, but that was already expected and you were slightly relieved because he would’ve no doubt made you more tense with his presence and ruin the calm atmosphere you had going with just Mark and Yugyeom with you. Everything felt calm and familiar, which eased your racing heart a little.

Somewhere along the way, you must’ve fallen asleep because when you came to consciousness was the moment when Yugyeom and Jaebum entered the room earlier this morning.

˞˞˞˞

“So, you’re telling me, that you coerced me into getting a tattoo, while I was drunk out of my mind. And I slept in Jaebum’s room because there was nowhere else you could bring me.” You stared at him in disbelief, impatiently tapping your foot as you waited for an answer.

Yugyeom snickered, biting his lip to try and refrain himself when you glared intensely at him. “Pretty much, yeah. But don’t be mad at me, I know you enjoyed holding Mark’s hand. And the tattoo looks pretty good!”

“Hmph, yeah right. Show me what it looks like, asshole.”

Yugyeom manoeuvred around you, grabbing your phone from your awaiting hand to snap a picture of your lower back where the tattoo was laid, now etched into your skin for the rest of your life. The shutter of the camera went off at the same time as the bell chime of the parlour, signalling someone’s entrance and you turned your head back past Yugyeom to see Mark.

He greeted you with a warm smiling, bounding over to look at what you and Yugyeom were doing and making a sound of understanding. Even with the insanely early hour of the morning, he looked breath-taking and stunning, as if he had just come out of filming a commercial.

“Last night was quite the event, huh?” Mark jibbed, trying to dodge you in a failed attempt as you reached your hand out to grab him for the comment, chasing after him as Yugyeom stared at the photograph he took on your phone.

Yugyeom really wasn’t lying. You could see the obvious skill and care he took into sketching the flowers itself, and then inking them onto your skin, aware of how big of a commitment it was for you. The white blossoms had pink and brown accents and looked ethereal on your skin and you clapped him firmly on the back, feeling proud of his talent after seeing it so up-handed and personally. He smirked knowingly at you.

“I wouldn’t fuck up on something like that, Y/N. Don’t you know how skilled I am?”

That comment made you chase after him like you did Mark, disturbing Jaebum who was already in a sour mood as he came waltzing down the stairs like he owned the place. You know he did actually own the place, but it’s a figure of speech. Youngjae trailed behind him, looking as bright as ever and immediately rushed to your side, eager to see you tattoo after hearing about it from Jaebum. You figured Jaebum slept in Youngjae’s room last night after Yugyeom pleaded to let you stay in his room.

Yugyeom poked you lightly on the back where the tattoo was, making you whine in pain but both of you were grinning madly, amused by the whole situation even if you were fearful and drunk at the start.

His eyes trailed to where your hand was gently tracing the outline of the tattoo, feeling all of the crevices and bumps it had for the moment until it became fully settled into your skin. “Addicted yet?” He asked, eyes glimmering with a thrill that you would find yourself growing familiar with.

“Not quite yet,” you smirked back, but you know it wasn’t going to be long until you were etched in ink all over.

[thelazyeye]

hi em !! could you write something with potter eddie? like clay and stuff

YES I SURE AS FUCK CAN. I took a pottery class in high school and I fell absolutely in love with the art. Anon you reached into my chest and stole my whole ass heart. This wasn’t meant to be long but I saw an idea and I ran with it and I really, really hope you like it! Enjoy, anon!

There’s Clay Underneath My Fingernails, Earth Underneath My Skin

When Eddie first enrolled in ceramics in high school he thought he would hate every second of it. His curriculum demanded that he take an art class every year and, naturally, on the day of registration Sonia had kept him home because he looked ‘feverish’ despite having literally no fucking temperature. And, as luck would have it, no other art classes had openings that fit with what he needed to graduate. So, ceramics one it was.

He dreaded it. It was messy, useless, and a waste of his time. All art classes would be a waste, honestly. He wasn’t Bill. He didn’t understand how to draw and paint lines that somehow came together to look semi-decent. Or, dare he say, beautiful. He wasn’t artistic. He understood math and money and mechanics. He knew how to put stuff together, not create stuff.

He had no idea how good the clay would feel in his hands. He didn’t know how satisfying it would be to build something up from nothing. And surprisingly, he had no idea how good he was going to be at it.

So, Eddie spent the last semester of his senior year wrist deep in clay, building and molding and sculpting until he had filled an entire bookcase with stuff he made by hand. He learned how to make mugs, whistles, bowls, chalices, containers, jars, everything imaginable. He even made a box that he designed to look like a book. The top cover came off on a hinge that swiveled back and forth. He got an A on every assignment. Who knew something Sonia did could have paid off so well.

These days, Eddie finds himself at the local studio at least a few times a month. It’s enough time to sculpt something, bisque fire it, glaze it, and throw it in the kiln for its final fire. He churns out one piece a month, two if he’s dedicated or has extra spare time. His apartment is full of handmade mugs and vases. He gives a lot of his pieces away, never really bothering to sell them. Maintaining a store is too much effort and he isn’t in it for the money. Pottery is something he loves, not something he’s trying to build his life around.

The clay is cold to the touch, firm and slick as he moves his fingers around the first mounts of a new pen holder he’s been thinking of making for his desk. He has a design in mind so he works. He divides the clay up and rolls it between his hands and the wooden tabletop. When he’s done he wraps them around each other, coiling the clay until he has a base and the wrapping up the sides. He adds swirls and notches and bumps for texture. He doesn’t notice as other people file in and out of the studio. He just rolls, wraps, and molds his design, watching as what he’s pictured in his mind comes to life before him.

“It’s unique,” comes from behind, a gentle voice that startles him out of his concentration. He knows who it is without looking.

“Thank you,” he answers, soft and distant. Too wrapped up in the way he smooths out the inside of his sculpture for support. Too focused on the bend of his coils, the wrap of his spirals.

“Are you planning on finishing it tonight? I can throw it in for the first fire before I leave and you can come back and finish it tomorrow,” the voice says back, all easy charm. The same way it’s always been. “The shop opens at 10. Maybe we can grab breakfast and then head on over?”

Eddie stops at that and turns. His heart practically leaps into his throat as the studio owner leans over him. He’s got thick glasses resting on his nose and thick, black hair curling out of the bun on top of his head. It was infuriating. No hair that unkempt should look that fucking good. “Tempting, Richie. But I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Oh, come on Eds!” Richie cries, throwing his head back and draping his arm over his eyes. It’s for dramatic flair and it makes Eddie crack a soft smile. He turns back, though, quick not to let Richie see it.

“Not my name,” comes out quick. The venom that used to be there has long since died, though. It melted with the snow and left something blooming inside of him. It settled in his chest, taking root in his organs and binding itself to his nerves.

Eddie has been coming to this studio for the better part of 2 years now. He found it shortly after he moved to Monroeville. It was the perfect place to step away, to unwind after a stressful week. He met Richie the first time he came in. Richie was trying to set up him in the studio and get him everything he would need to become a regular member. The interaction was so bad that Eddie had almost abandoned the idea altogether. Richie was crude, he didn’t seem to take anything Eddie said seriously, and he pried too much for Eddie’s comfort. Serious boundary issues. He was everything Eddie had spent most of his life distanced from and Eddie was more than prepared to walk out of the studio forever just so he’d never have to see Richie again. He did walk out that day, a scoff on the end of his lips and his jacket hastily thrown over his shoulders.

For some reason, though, he found himself back the next week. The second Richie had seen him he bounded over, hands out in defense when Eddie moved to leave a second time. He apologized for his behavior and offered Eddie a discounted rate. Richie’d spent several months walking on eggshells. He was still infuriating but it was more tolerable. His one liners and crude comments were on the downlow and Eddie could swear he caught Richie smiling at him in ways he didn’t smile at the other members.

Shit didn’t really start to shift, though, until The Vase Incident. Eddie had this bright idea to make a Vase for his coworkers’ birthday. She’d caught eye of one of his pieces in their shared office and gushed over it. So, he decided hey, why not make her something nice?

Well, something nice turned into absolute hell. He couldn’t get it right no matter how hard he tried. He spent hours at the potter’s wheel, throwing his clay and spinning. He didn’t spin frequently but he wanted it to be nice for Bev. He wanted it to be perfect but he couldn’t get it right. Either the clay was off center or he spun his slope too thin or it collapsed at the base. He swears he nearly had a stroke over the damn thing.

He had been so wrapped up over it one January weekend that he hadn’t noticed the other potters left and that he was the only one in the studio, aside from Richie. Richie was on the opposite side of the studio, carving patterns into a tile that Eddie thought might turn out to be mosaic.

“Let me help you,” he offered after watching Eddie destroy the collapsed base of yet another vase. “If you keep this up we’ll be here all night.”

The clock on the wall read 11:23pm and Eddie all but kicked the chair out from under himself as he stood. His frustration was clear in the tension of his shoulders. If Richie could help him, fine. He would have taken anything he could get at that point.

Richie took his place, throwing a hunk of wet clay on the wheel and pressing the pedal down gently. He used his fingers to center it, pushing the edges until the met as an even ridge and then cupping his hands around the lump. He brought it high, pressed it low, and then dipped two fingers into the middle to create the opening. Eddie watched as Richie pinched the top and brought it outwide, eventually pressing his entire hand down to hollow the base and then guiding the clay up and redistributing the mass.

After ten minutes, Richie had constructed a simple, yet elegant, vase. It wasn’t very big, maybe big enough for one or two flowers, but it was standing and structurally sound. More than Eddie could say for his own work.

“How did you do that?” He asked, voice scratchy and hands covered in drying clay.

“Practice, Eds. I own all these wheels. It’d be a damn shame if I didn’t know how to use them,” Richie winked. He failed at covering a yawn before stepping away to grab a line of string. He gently cut the vase from the wheel and lifted it off. Eddie watched as Richie carved a crooked E.K. into the bottom before placing it in the kiln room. “I’m gonna fire a round tomorrow. I’ll throw this in then. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

“Sure. You, too, you know. It’s well past closing time,” Eddie said back, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I know. I just couldn’t bring myself to interrupt you. You’re cute when you’re concentrating.” Richie didn’t hide his flirting, this time. He let himself smile at Eddie from across the studio. It was like the defenses they’d both been wearing for so long had dropped from the exhaustion. “You know, if you took my last name you could carve E.T. into the bottom of your pieces,” he chuckled, “You know, like E.T. phone home?”

Richie eyed him, gauging his reaction with a toothy grin and a very clear wink. If he was waiting for Eddie to take the bait, he didn’t. Eddie simply smiled back and wished Richie a goodnight, effectively destroying most of the boundaries they had established after that first day.

Today, he’s not making a vase and as per their new usual Richie isn’t tiptoeing around him anymore. Eddie flips his piece over, minding the coils on the top and wetting his fingers to smooth out the bottom for structural support. When he’s done, he carves E.K. into the bottom and stands.

“Come on!” Richie chirps as he follows Eddie across the studio, “We both know you’re going to be back here tomorrow to glaze this beauty up!”

“I will,” Eddie answers, placing his piece on the cart and moving to wash his hands, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to get breakfast with you.”

“Lunch then? We can go after you finish,” Richie says. His voice borders on something other than teasing. Its new, almost insistent. It catches Eddie off guard. “It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow.”

Eddie watches him out of the corner of his eye, slipping his jacket over his shoulders and grabbing his stuff. “We’ll see.”

He doesn’t miss the way Richie pumps his arms in the air as he leaves the studio. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either, and he thinks they both know the meaning behind his indecision.

He can feel something twist in his chest as he drives home. It lingers through dinner and into the night. A date with Richie Tozier isn’t unattainable, it never has been, but Eddie has always stayed far, far away from the idea. He found every excuse to keep him far, far, away. He was too crude, too loud, too messy. He was too kind, he was too beautiful, his hands were too perfect. Richie Tozier was too much for him.

It wasn’t sustainable. Eddie knew it. Richie was just some person filling the void in his chest. He didn’t even know him. How could he have any real feelings? It was just a childish infatuation that would destroy everything if he pursued it. He’d lose the pottery studio and he’d lose Richie, too.

Not that there was anything real to lose there. But whatever.

“Spaghetti! Right on time,” Richie shouts as Eddie walks in the next day. The clock blinks 10:20 am on wall but Eddie pretends he doesn’t notice Richie greeting or the fact that he’s right on time. Instead, he places his jacket on the hook and moves to his regular workstation. Richie disappears into the back room and returns with his piece. “It really is unique. What color are you going to choose?”

They talk glazes for a few moments and Eddie watches as Richie ties his hair back at his own work station. He’s got a small pot in front of him. Its stubby and wide and very Richie. Richie flicks on the radio and they settle into silence. It’s too early for others to be in the shop on a Sunday, so they work in peace. Eddie paints with a green, speckled sort of glaze. The brush works over the indents and ridges of the coils. In the time it takes him to work three coats over the piece Richie isn’t even halfway finished with his own greenware.

He watches Richie work, deep concentration written on his face. He’s got his glasses pushed up and a detail brush painting small designs into the underside of the lip. The sunlight comes in through the window and hits him in a way that makes him glow. That feeling from the night before returns and, fuck it, whatever. Who fucking cares. This is ridiculous. This is insane. This is absolutely fucking silly. One hundred percent bonkers. Hands down the worst fucking decision he’s ever made was finding this god damn studio.

He places his piece back on the firing cart for its final run through the kiln and slips out of the front door. Richie is so deep in his work that he doesn’t even see Eddie go.

Eddie doesn’t go back to the studio for a few weeks. He tells himself he’s busy with work, life, whatever excuse he can shove into the situation. It’s not like he has anyone to defend himself to but he can’t bring himself to admit why he’s avoiding the shop. It drives him insane but it’s an insanity of his own creation.

It isn’t until he loses his favorite pen twice in the same day that he breaks. That dumb little coiled container was supposed to be for his desk. It was supposed to help keep his life organized. It was supposed to be a gift to himself. A gift to his fucking desk and pens and home.

God dammit.

Richie doesn’t work on Tuesdays, so Eddie finds himself in the studio before work. He’s dressed head to toe in scrubs and a light jacket to combat the Spring chill. He fully intends to be in and out without incident but naturally the universe has other plans for him.

“Eddie, fuck man it’s good to see you!” the assistant manager calls out from the front. He bounds over and Eddie doesn’t even have time to reply before Bill is in front of him, smiling and talking. “Richie’s been worried about you! Says he hasn’t seen your cute face in a few weeks. Everything okay?”

Eddie coughs quietly before answering. Richie was worried about him. God dammit. “Yeah, Bill. Everything’s good. Just been super busy with work and stuff.” He gestures to his clothes before placing his piece in a bag and angling toward the door. Bill just nods empathetically and waves him goodbye.

He shouts a quick see you soon, hopefully! before the door shuts.

For no reason at all his interaction with Bill burrows into his skin. Eddie is fifty percent emotionally driven impulse and he was more than ready to withdraw his membership from the studio on principle alone. He can’t date the owner. He can’t have a silly schoolyard crush on that man. There’s no reason for something so disruptive. And then Bill just had to tell him he that Richie was worried and that he hopes to see Eddie soon. Why that mattered so fucking much, Eddie had no idea. But it lives inside of him now. Eating at him until he breaks in the other direction.

He finds himself back in the studio again next Tuesday. Bill greets him gently before he takes his seat, grabbing some clay and rolling out two slabs to create about a quarter inch thickness. He cuts the first one, rolls it, and binds the seams. It’s a technique he’s used hundreds of times before and it comes easy to him. He cuts a circle for the base from the second slab and carves in a single word before binding it to the tube he’s created. He rolls a coil, twists it along the side, and boom. Its bisque fired that night and Eddie returns on Thursday to glaze it before work. He paints a simple design around the outside of it and then places it on the cart.

He meets up with Bill over the weekend outside of the shop to pick it up. Inside, he can see Richie teaching a young girl how to make a whistle. He can see the slope of the chamber and what looks like six appendages extending out. Even from here, Eddie knows it’s going to be a Richie Tozier original. Something ridiculous, unique, yet still beautiful in its own way.

He doesn’t return for another two weeks. The anxiety of his plan weighs down on him. It was an impulse that could go horribly, horribly wrong but he also knows that no one knows what he’s planning. He could abandon it entirely and no one would know. He could call the studio, end his membership, and be on with his life. He’d never have to see Richie again. Sure, he might have to give up sculpting for a few years, maybe the rest of his life, but damn if it isn’t a possibility.

Still, though, Eddie finds himself outside of the studio on a Saturday afternoon. As always, he can see Richie inside working on something. He steels himself and pushes through the doors, immediately heading over to the Keurig to make a cup of coffee. He grabs a handful of creamers and sugars and heads right for Richie’s workbench.

“You look like you could use a cup,” he says, trying and miserably failing to come across as natural. If Richie notices he doesn’t say anything about it. Thank god for small graces.

“Kaspbrak! You’re back!” Richie shouts loud enough for several people to turn their heads. Eddie can feel his face heating up as he places the mug on the table. Richie doesn’t fall for his casual motion, hand falling on Eddie’s wrist immediately. “Whoa! What’s this?”

Eddie does some sort of half shrug as he sits down across from Richie. Richie picks up the mug and admires it. It’s got an orange glaze on it with red and yellow accents. It’s really nothing special but Richie seems enamored with it. “You make this, Eds?”

“Not my name, Richie,” he quips, then adds “but yeah.”

Richie traces the designs on the outside and admires the binding and structure of it before sending Eddie a smile that makes him melt from the inside out. Man, he really is fucked, isn’t he?

They talk for a little while as Richie works. Eddie watches those slim fingers as they construct masterpieces from the Earth. Its captivating. Richie asks him questions and Eddie dances around complete truths. He doesn’t want Richie to know where he’s been or why he’s been avoiding the studio.

As Richie drinks his coffee Eddie can feel anxiety bubbling up into his throat. He gets closer and closer to the bottom and eventually he picks the mug up for a final time, gulping down the rest after making a comment about cold coffee being a sin against mankind.

Eddie’s worried Richie doesn’t see it at first. He watches as Richie lowers the mug, eyes trained on Eddie over the rim. Time slows for a moment as the mug starts moving down toward the table and Eddie watches Richie’s eyes shift from his own to the inside of the piece.

There’s literally no going back now.

A small smile creeps over Richie’s face as he sits across from Eddie. Silence passes between the two and Eddie can feel his heart hammering out of his chest. This isn’t the reaction he’d expected. He’d thought Richie would make some snide comment, say something funny, jump up and down in the air. Fuck. Maybe he’d been reading the signals wrong. Maybe Richie flirts with everyone. Maybe he’s destroyed his entire hobby by being a huge fucking idiot. He’s going to have to end his membership and give up pottery forever. No local studio will take him once they hear how intrusive and disruptive he is. He’s going to have to move across the country, change his name, reimagine his entire life. There’s no way he’s going to live down the embarrassment.

“Yes,” Richie whispers. It’s so quiet that Eddie almost can’t hear him over his internal beratement.

“What?” Eddie says back automatically. He’d heard Richie, but just barely. Maybe he’d missed something. Maybe Richie had said something he didn’t hear. Maybe Richie was fucking with him.

“I said yes, Eddie. How about tonight? I can close up a few hours early or maybe Bill can come in to close. Does seven work for you?”

Oh. Fuck. It actually worked.

“Yeah!” Eddie replies, too loud and too excited but somehow it Richie doesn’t startle. He looks at Eddie with an equal amount of excitement, just barely contained behind his own eyes.

“Okay, yeah, cool. Perfect. Meet me back here at 6:45, yeah?” Richie says fast. His hands fly around the table before he grabs a hunk of clay and starts pressing his fingers into it. It’s a nervous tick, Eddie thinks, but somehow it’s cute as hell.

“Yes. Perfect. Okay. Yeah. I’ll see you then,” Eddie says and then pushes up. He shrugs his jacket on and makes for the door. When he glances over his shoulder he sees Richie holding the mug he made, smile so wide it looks like it could tear his face into two. He’s staring into the mug where Eddie had carved out one simple word.

Dinner?

Tag List: 

@tinyarmedtrex @richardtoz @aizeninlefox @thestralskies @chocolatemangoose @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @studpuffin @oldguybones @its-stranger-than-you-think @honeybeehanlon @recycle-byn

[sunsetsinhoenn]

I absolutely love your writing! Can I have a sequel of the fic with the girl with telekinetic abilities where Sal and Larry found out that her existence and powers are somehow linked with the cult and the paranormal things that are happening in the apartments?

I’m really glad you liked it!! I’m thankful for all the compliments I get on my writing, but I’m pretty hard on myself so I do have a tough time believing them. I hope you enjoy this as much as the first one. : ] At first it felt like it was getting too long, but after reading it over it feels like it’s too short now? ( ´_ゝ`) hm.

part 1

“destruction”

“I think that if you really liked my sculpture of you like you said you did, you wouldn’t be making that face right now.”

“Ash… it’s great for what it is.”

“Which is?” Larry grimaced as he squinted his eyes on the subject of their conversation.

“A weird… naked? … Stickman with brown string for hair and a party hat for a nose.”

You snickered, watching silently as Ash showcased her latest masterpiece from art class, with her hands still gesturing towards it proudly as it sat on the cafeteria table. While there were hardly any intricate details over the Larry look-alike, you sensed a powerful aura surrounding it… As it looked out upon the rest of the students during lunch, you could feel its merciless gaze judge all around you. The one-foot high clay rendition of your metalhead friend was all that stood between the salvation and the destruction of earth.

Or so you and the gang had joked, before Ashley could ask for the muse’s official opinion. Even she knew that she could’ve done better on it, so none of you really held back on your jokes.

“Larry, are you saying that you haven’t had a skin-toned party hat on your face this entire time?”

In the middle of taking a bite of his food, Larry whipped his head towards Sal, mockingly hurt at Sal’s comment. He covered his nose shyly, still messing around.

“Sal… c’mon, dude… Don’t let the secret out like that.” A few of you guys laughed some more, eating your food at a leisurely pace (sans Chug) and not really caring about the time. Absent-mindedly, you poked the nose on the Larry statue as Ash sighed, shrugging her shoulders.

“Anyways. Sculpting is interesting for sure, but I think I’ll just stick to 2D and dolls for a while.” You watched as Maple also poked the statues nose and you both gasped quietly when part of it started to fall off. Ash only laughed as you both scrambled to try and place it back, as if you were two children who were about to get caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Practice makes perfect.” Todd pointed his fork towards Ash as he spoke. “It took forever for my latest tech to actually work. Not to mention I’m still trying to figure out how to make Sal’s upgrade for his guitar… I think I might make a prototype first.”

“Uh,” Sal chimed in as his shoulders tensed up the slightest bit when he maneuvered around to look at Todd. “You’re the smartest person I know, but that would be appreciated. A trial run sounds like a good idea.”

“Wait-” Larry took a second to swallow his food before wiping crumbs off his shirt absentmindedly. “You’re done with it? Can we use it today?” Todd shrugged.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Sweet.” Larry grinned in excitement as he bobbed his head. He turned towards you, where you were quietly and eagerly waiting to hear about whatever it is they were discussing. Even Chug and Maple were somewhat curious, despite not being interested in the ghost hunting. At all. “You’re gonna like this one a lot, Y/N. Todd was telling me about it the other day when I stopped by his apartment.”

“What is it?” You and Sal spoke in unison, glancing at each other for a second before deciding that it wasn’t the time to ‘jinx’ each other for a free soda.

“It’s something I like to call…” Todd pushed his glasses up, almost like he was doing it for dramatic effect. You think that maybe he was. “The Tele-flier. A telekinetic amplifier. Wearing it allows you to use your powers on supernatural subjects. I was having a hard time getting it to last longer than a minute without it short-circuiting my computer, but it’s finally ready. I’m glad it didn’t do any lasting damage to anything.”

Larry nodded along with Todd’s explanation before he turned back to you and leaned in close.

“I like to call it Cerveau. You know, like the thing Professor Y wears in Y-Men? Cause that’s exactly what it looks like.”

The group sat in silence for a moment as you tried to muster up a proper response. You were failing.

“Are you not a fan of having a metal spaghetti strainer sitting on your head, Y/N?” Maple joked, looking at you. You scrunched your face up and looked back at her, your voice obviously not excited.

“Oh… No, it sounds… Fun!” As soon as the words came out of your mouth, the bell rang to signal the end of lunch. That didn’t stop your face from contorting further, imagining a gigantic hat on you that made you look like you were getting eaten by a metal jellyfish.

“I think that’s the exact same face Larry was making when he saw the sculpture.” Sal joked. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, it probably was.” You all got up and grabbed your stuff. “I’ll meet up with you guys after school. We’ll see how well Cerveau works then.”

“You used my name! One for Cerveau, zero for Tele-flier.”

“You… know you didn’t make up the name, Cerveau… right? Like, that wasn’t you. That’s a name from a comic.”

“Don’t be jealous, Todd.”

By the time school had ended, you were just as excited to use the new tech just about as much as Larry had been, although you figured he was mostly into it because not everyone had a friend that was able to just lift things up using their mind.

It did make you nervous too, using something that would boost your powers. Todd had wanted the thing to be a surprise, so he kept it under wraps until it was ready (and apparently threatened Larry to not tell you when the day he came into his room, as funny as that was to imagine). It was one thing to invent something to deal with ghosts, but to add an extra layer of intricacy by throwing in telekinetic abilities was just impossible to you. How could Todd invent something like that without asking for your help?

Would it actually work? Would it hurt you, somehow? What if it amplified your powers too much and you ended up hurting someone?

You tried to think of how funny it would be to levitate a ghost instead, to try and get your mind off your worries. You hadn’t known Todd and everyone for too long, but in the few months that you had, you knew without a doubt that you could trust them with anything. He wouldn’t give you anything that could harm you.

“Just to let you guys know, I’m going to be busy studying for my AP Bio exam today. I’ll help you with how to get the gear working, but I can’t join in on any hunting today.”

“That’s okay, Todd.” Sal spoke as he watched Todd’s fish float around in his tank. All of you had already dropped off your stuff in your respective apartments, and Larry was already messing around with the Super Gear Boy.

“We’ll still fill you in if anything happens.”

“That would be great. Let me know if something… ever seems out of sorts.” You sat on Todd’s bed and watched him grab his new invention. Your face fell in shock when you saw that it did in fact look like Cerveu, but more like a portable version. There was three thick wires protruding from it, but they all had a strange circular device on the edges and you could see the green and red wiring that connected the devices all to each other. It looked like a strange, robot wig.

You snorted when you noticed the base was a spaghetti strainer like Maple had joked about at lunch earlier and gasped when you saw a strap sticking out at the front that also had another circular device on it.

“Wow! Did you actually take inspiration from Y-Men? This is crazy, Todd!”

“It’s good to know that after the wave of disappointed emotions that just crossed your face, you’re finally excited.”

“I was excited earlier.” He walked over to you and began strapping the device on for you, and you could feel the weight of everything press down on your head.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” He pressed the front circular device against your forehead and when he let go, it stuck. “But I… sort of took inspiration, yeah. It was a good jumping point.”

You felt him adjust something at the back of the helmet and you jumped, hearing a loud beep come from the helmet. You felt something strange move on your forehead for a few seconds, but then just like that it was gone and if it weren’t the helmets wires being in your peripheral, it would’ve also felt like you weren’t wearing it anymore either.

“Everything… is going exactly as it should, so far.” Todd backed up, to survey his contraption on you. “The way to use it is simple. Just use your powers like you normally would. You’re not technically psychic so I don’t think you’ll be able to sense any ghosts, but once you know they’re there, you can use it on them.”

“Sounds… easy enough.” You stated, sitting calmly. You didn’t feel any different. Everything seemed to be going okay.

“So… Are you ready to go?” You nodded at Sal, getting up.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

At that, the three of you set off to try and find more ghosts, first exploring the fifth floor, since it tended to have more supernatural activity than any other area. All of you ended up getting a little irritated, though. After about an hour of exploration, there was nothing to find and nothing to try your amplified powers out on.

“I wonder why no one is coming out? Not even Megan did…” Sal sighed, tapping the screen on his Super Gear Boy in hopes that something would alert him. Larry placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s just an off day for everyone?”

“I would hope it’s got nothing to do with this thing.” You turned around, walking backwards to look at the boys as you kept moving. You bumped the helmet with your fist and cringed when the ringing you heard was louder than expected. Shaking it off, you continued. “What if this amplifies my powers so much that they’re hiding from it?”

“I don’t…” Sal stopped walking, prompting the two of you to stop as well. “I don’t think so. Have you even tried using your powers since we started?”

You shook your head, the wires swishing around you.

“No. Like Todd said earlier, I’m not psychic. I can’t read the thoughts of others or manipulate people’s minds. So I can’t sense if there’s any ghosts nearby, and because of that, I can’t… tele-grab them or… whatever.”

Larry ‘hm’ed, placing his hands in his pockets. He glanced around a bit in the silence, staring around the abandoned fifth floor hallway before looking back at you. It almost made him look like he was about to do something he shouldn’t.

“Why don’t you just try?”

“What? That’d be like grabbing for air.”

“It’s better than nothing.” You frowned, not thinking that it would do anything, but knowing that it didn’t hurt to try. You huffed out a breath of air before taking a steady stance and closing your eyes.

“Ah, hell. Here we go.”

“Be careful.” Was all you heard from Sal just before your world went black.

It was a strange feeling, being suspended in nothing. There was no way to tell what was up and what was down. It felt like you could breath, but somehow you were simultaneously gasping for breath, drowning in water.

In the midst of the darkness that you were surrounded by, in the void and emptiness that encompassed you, there was a feeling of longing and fear buried deep in the center. Dazed and confused, you reached out for it, knowing it was there, but the problem was that you didn’t know where you were. Were you on the outskirts? Were you also close to the center of nothing, or were you not actually there at all?

In the back of your mind, a voice called out to you. Just like that, your world was grounded, but there was still something deeply and horribly wrong scratching at the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t right. The deep sense that something bad was working behind the scenes made you nauseous and disturbed.

Then you woke up.

It was hard to focus on what was around you, but you were vaguely aware that everything was floating. Debris, stray boards, trash… the only things that weren’t moving around was the blurred sight of your two friends as they kneeled right in front of you.

They were trying to talk to you, noticing that your eyes were half-lidded and that you were conscious, but there was no sound coming to you. You mumbled some words out, very tired and very scared. You knew there was something here that knew exactly who you were. They knew what you were and you knew that was not good.

“Get me out.” Was all you could say before you blacked out again, this time just completely losing consciousness.