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link4eva · 4 years ago

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Kiro’s Work Visit Date (探班之约) Translation [CN]

Hi! Just a couple of notes before you begin reading...

This fluffy and wholesome date was just released (March 11, 2021) in the CN server and will eventually be released in the ENG server sometime next year.

I also don’t know any Chinese myself so all of this translation was done through the power of Google Translate and with help from the lovely @keliosyfan .

You can read his Couch Potato call that comes with this date here!

Hope you enjoy!~

*Spoilers ahead for future content!*

[First Part]

MC: So now the question is….

Kiro: Wait a minute! I didn’t seem to understand too much of what was said. Let me take a look!

During the video call, Kiro suddenly moved his face close to the screen with excitement.

Kiro: Miss Chips, do you mean that….you’re going to go in person and be a host on the show?

MC: Pretty much….

Some time ago, I did a variety show about a certain European town called “Cloud Tourism”.

The reason it’s called “Cloud Tourism” is because I’ve never been to this small town before. I only got a preliminary understanding of the traditional customs there through a novel.

Out of an abundance of interest, I consulted a lot of relevant sources and finally released a program with the concept of “seeing words as faces”.

Originally it was just an experiment inspired by an idea that didn’t really make any big splashes in China.

Unexpectedly, an internet celebrity from the small town recommended this program on his personal blog which led to it becoming popular very quickly.

Kiro: Oh….slowly but surely, I figured it out. Not only has this show received great praise, the local TV station also sincerely invited you to come and do some interviews. Even in the form of a reality show, I must say that Miss Chips is amazing!

MC: ......

MC: I think you understand it pretty clearly but some parts are exaggerated….

Kiro: Congratulations, MC!~

Kiro: If I wasn’t shooting abroad, I would definitely take you there to celebrate! But we can celebrate like we did before….

MC: Wait! Wait a minute! I haven’t decided whether to go or not yet….

Kiro: This is a great opportunity to promote the company. Why are you so hesitant?

MC: Although I have previous experience, this would be my first time shooting as the host….

MC: What if I’m too nervous in front of the camera? It’ll affect the shoot.

Kiro: Miss Chips.

On the screen, Kiro sat upright and pushed his glasses up that were nonexistent.

Kiro: It seems that you’ve forgotten that there’s an experienced acting teacher right in front of you.

MC: Pff….I would like to ask Mr. Kiro how I can act natural in front of the camera.

Kiro: It is very simple. Step one is to do the warm-up exercises in advance. Your shoulders should also be really relaxed. Then imagine the camera as a friend who can’t speak and has big eyes….

A few minutes later, Kiro was still “teaching” very professional acting techniques on the phone screen.

Kiro: Hello, MC, are you still listening?

MC: Um….I don’t think I can do this.

His bright eyes suddenly crinkled upwards, hiding a triumphant smile.

Kiro: I’m just teasing you. In fact, you only need to remember the first few steps.

MC: But I’m worried that if I get nervous, I’ll forget those first few steps. I hope that I can become Kiro that day!

Kiro curled his lips up again when he heard those words.

Kiro: Then close your eyes and hypnotize yourself….

Kiro: “I am the superstar Kiro!”

[Second Part]

At five o’clock in the morning in the dressing room at the local TV station.

I tilted my head to face the makeup artist and held back yet another yawn.

The makeup artist whispered a few words to the accompanying translator and then left the dressing room.

Translator: Miss MC, the makeup artist has finished your makeup. The director will be here shortly. You can rest for a while.

I nodded gratefully. This country’s language is one that I’m not familiar with so the TV station specifically hired an interpreter.

As soon as I closed my eyes, I felt my phone vibrate.

Kiro: MC, are you still in makeup?

MC: Just finished. Are you ready to start work too?

Kiro: I’ve already been working for an hour.

MC: Why so early? It’s only five o’clock where you are!

Kiro: Don’t worry, I’m used to this kind of shooting routine.

Although I’ve known before that Kiro started almost every filming session in the morning, this was the first time experiencing it for myself. It’s hard work getting up early and putting on makeup.

What’s more, he often works overtime to catch up on his other stuff and rarely has enough time to rest.

MC: Then you must take time to rest!

Kiro: It’s okay. If I’m tired, I just close my eyes and think of Miss Chips’ smile.

Kiro seemed to take a deep breath on the other end.

Kiro: Hmm~ Charging is complete!

I seemed to see him being content and I couldn’t help being amused by him.

Kiro: By the way, what is your shooting schedule today?

MC: It’s sightseeing shooting. The director arranged to take me to several local attractions and I can also choose places of interest.

MC: The first stop on the agenda is to explore the shop on the pedestrian street.

Kiro: Great! I heard from the crew that there is a famous cake shop on the pedestrian street of that small town. I will send you the address.

Kiro: Only by filling up your stomach and replenishing your energy can you be in the best state!

(Cut to the street)

MC: Well….

I watched my stiff expression and rigid body in the video replay. I couldn’t help but curl my toes and pick at the ground.

Director: Take it easy, alright?

I nodded slowly.

The director looked at me with sympathy and discussed some things with the translator for a while.

Translator: The director wants to know if you have anything you want to do. He suggested that if we start with one of your interests first, you’ll get into the right state of mind faster.

MC: Well, there is one place….

I almost immediately thought of the cake shop that Kiro had mentioned.

(Cut to cake shop)

Because of how early it was in the morning when we arrived at this cake shop called “Flipped”, the first batch of pastries had just come out of the oven.

I was standing in front of the shop window outside the store while the director was preparing for shooting and I made adjustments for myself.

Shoulders down, jaw relaxed, a smile appeared on my face. I recalled the formula Kiro taught me.

Close your eyes. Look into your heart.

“I’m the “not afraid of anything” Kiro!”

A burst of mellow sweetness lingered wantonly in the air. I opened my eyes and focused on the window again.

A pair of bright and familiar smiling eyes appeared in the window. The owner of these smiling eyes waved to me.

I felt my heart jump out of my chest.

Kiro: Hello, Miss Chips~

Looking at the two intersecting faces on the window glass, I finally couldn’t help but smile.

Oops, I really did become Kiro.

[Third Part]

I didn’t expect Kiro to have secretly been planning to see me on set. I was pleasantly surprised and realized that I was deceived by him during the morning call.

I made a “follow me” gesture to him through the glass.

(Cut to alleyway)

In the alleyway next to the cake shop, I wiped away the shock in my heart and checked, again and again, to make sure that no one else had followed us.

Kiro: Don’t worry, MC. Almost all the folks in this small town will have no idea who I am. And….

He pointed proudly to the sunglasses on his nose.

Kiro: I also came prepared.

I looked around and around and deliberately put on a face of worry.

MC: Why are you here? Weren’t you filming in another country?

Kiro: Actually, I don’t have any shooting arrangements today. It only takes an hour and a half to fly to this country from the shooting location. And it only takes two hours to take the train from the town’s airport.

MC: No matter how easy you make it sound, that was no easy journey….

MC: And with this time off, you should be resting in the hotel.

He pulled down his sunglasses aggrievedly.

Kiro: But I really wanted to visit you at work for once, and give you encouragement at your side, just like what you did for me last time.

Kiro: And more importantly, I really missed you….

(Here’s a cute little clip of this dialogue uploaded by @cheri-translates !)

MC: Kiro….

All of my pretentious arrogance dissipated in an instant and I was about to reach out and hug him. But, he crossed his arms in front of him.

Kiro: But speaking of shooting, I just observed it secretly and your performance does have some small flaws.

Kiro: Your expressions are small and stiff, your movements are rigid and tiny, and your eye contact flutters from time to time….

Kiro: Also, you can walk without looking at the camera…. If I look at the camera while walking, [robot noises] don’t I look like a robot?

The more he talked about it, the more he assumed the coach position. He made a great show of it too.

I was so embarrassed that I nodded my head to accept the criticism with shame.

Kiro: Hahahaha--I’ll stop teasing you.

He leaned over and squished my cheek and curled his lips again.

Kiro: Although, I can see that you are a bit nervous. I’m used to seeing your confident working style as a producer on set….

Kiro: It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this nervous. You can do it, love! *Did my own interpretation of what he said here cause I had no clue what Google was trying to say lol.*

He opened his arms and the morning sun fell on his shoulders.

Kiro: Come on, Miss Chips.

Kiro: Thank you for your hard work. For that, you get a rechargeable hug from Kiro.

I nodded my head hard and as soon as I took a step of joy, the director poked his head out of the alley.

Director: Stand by, sweety!

I slammed the brakes and took out my phone, pretending to take a call. I shook my head slightly at Kiro.

He immediately showed me an aggrieved expression and I gave him a wink.

MC: It’s okay, I’ve already learned a recharging trick from Teacher Kiro.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, sketching a picture of bright, smiling eyes on the pitch-black canvas.

When I opened my eyes, those smiling eyes gradually merged with Kiro’s in front of me.

MC: Charging is complete~

(Cut to inside cake shop)

Under the guidance of Kiro, “the super professional”, I calmed down and tried to get into the shooting state.

However, in order to not affect my shooting state, Kiro pretended to be a stranger and waited silently near the shooting location.

When I don’t know which dessert to choose, he would raise his voice and give me a hint.

With pastry crumbs hanging on the corner of my mouth, he pointed at the corner of his mouth and winked at me until I understood what he meant.

During the filming, there were children running around noisily, so he used the tablecloth on the table to do some tricks to attract their attention.

Perhaps because of his “invisible” companionship, I really became more natural before I knew it.

Translator: The shooting in the store is OK! The director said that we are going to shoot some scenes on the pedestrian street next. Miss MC just needs to walk around the street casually.

After checking the route with the director in the cake shop, I realized that the table where Kiro was sitting was empty.

(Cut to the street)

I walked out of the cake shop and looked around but did not find him.

Without giving me too much time to think, the director shouted to start behind the camera.

I tried to walk the streets with peace of mind but my eyes subconsciously looked for Kiro.

Although the sun is shining in the early spring, there is still a bit of a chill in the air that has just warmed up.

Inexplicably, my heart is a little empty.

There was hustle and bustle on the other side of the street and my gaze followed the prestige in the center surrounded by a group of local children. The familiar blonde hair was dazzling and shining.

Kiro was holding a few yellow balloons in his hand with the children cheering around him as if he had helped them stop the balloons from flying away.

He squatted down and handed them the balloons one by one.

As if he could feel my gaze, he turned around and gave me an unreserved smile.

The empty part of my heart instantly filled up at this moment.

I retracted my gaze and found that the director was gesturing at me to continue walking. I quickly continued to walk.

When I pretended to spontaneously look to the other side of the road, I found Kiro with his hands in his pockets walking at the same pace as me.

Although separated by the road, he walked with me in such a special way.

The approaching noon sunshine finally had the temperature as spring.

[Fourth Part]

The shooting had finally come to an end before dusk came.

But Kiro disappeared when I was filming the last scenic spot.

As soon as I had finished work, I took out my phone to check it and found that Kiro had sent me two text messages half an hour ago.

Kiro: MC, I will have filming tomorrow so I have to rush to take the last train.

Kiro: Also, you performed well. I know my MC is the best.

I hurriedly called Kiro but the call informed me that his phone was turned off.

I took a look at the time and it was about 20 minutes away from the shooting location to the train station in town.

Maybe Kiro has boarded the return train and even arrived at the airport….

However, before I could think rationally, I didn’t hesitate to reach out and stop a taxi.

(Cut to the train station)

Due to the small population of the town, the train station at dusk is deserted.

I couldn’t understand the local language on the big screen at the station so I stood on tiptoe and looking into the waiting area in the hall.

Benches in the waiting area, a window for manual ticket purchases, on both sides of the platform, beside the vending machine.

Kiro wasn’t there.

My shoulders drooped in disappointment and I walked slowly towards the station gate.

The setting sun gives off the last bit of its light and the half-curved dome clouds shroud half the station hall in the shadows.

A slender figure stepped out of the shadow and looked at the phone in his hand, his face was as disappointed and lonely as mine.

The sunset gradually kept coming down for another minute but it just happened to pass through the windows around the station, covering the entire lobby with a layer of gold.

I looked at the young man illuminated by the golden light and couldn’t help but shout.

MC: Kiro!!!

He raised his head with a surprised expression.

Kiro: MC?

I waved at him frantically and ran in his direction.

He regained his senses after a brief moment of disbelief and then opened his arms wide like everytime he hugs me.

The moment his breath came to my face, my heart was filled with contentment.

Kiro put a hand around my waist tightly, lowered his head, and rubbed my forehead.

Kiro: Why are you here?

MC: I remembered that I borrowed something from you today, so I ran to pay you back.

Kiro: What’s that?

I tightened my arms around his neck.

MC: Isn’t this for you?

His breathing seemed to be slightly stagnant. He slid his hand on my waist to my hair.

Kiro: Then I’ll gladly take it.

MC: I….

He bowed his head slightly, and put the words that I was eager to confide in between his lips.

Trains in foreign towns are always prone to delays. Thanks to this, Kiro has been at the station until now so we now have the opportunity to be alone outside of our schedules.

As soon as the setting sun fell, the stars scrambled to fill the sky.

We were dressed in starlight, sitting side-by-side on the benches outside of the station, waiting for the late train.

Kiro: How was the last scenic shoot? Did it go well?

MC: OK! But when I was eating a snack, I poured all the ingredients inside by accident.

MC: But in fact, you’re just supposed to pick a flavour and eat it as a dip. The director laughed and shouted “CUT”....

Kiro: Pff….hahahahaha! Fortunately, I wasn’t there or I would’ve been laughing even louder!

MC: And there was….

I counted all the interesting things about today’s shooting, and laughed happily with Kiro.

Kiro: I’m glad I was able to come to the shoot today. Otherwise, I would have missed so many interesting things about MC.

MC: Kiro, do you feel that our current conversations seem to have the roles reversed?

MC: I used to visit you at your shoots, and you talked with me about all the interesting things that happened during them.

MC: Today, we “swapped” identities, and I feel a little delicate.

Kiro: Can I interview the delicate mood of Miss Chips?

He held his hand out to me as if he were holding a microphone and placed it in front of my mouth.

MC: Well, when I was shooting before, I could always feel your gaze. I felt it a lot today.

MC: It turned out to be difficult to stop myself from gazing back.

MC: Obviously, I saw you all day, but I had to hold back from looking at you.

MC: Obviously, you are by my side, but I have to resist the urge to hug you….

My cheeks were slightly hot and I avoided Kiro’s gaze. I lifted my head to look at the stars in the sky when I heard a “click”.

I turned my head and found that Kiro was taking pictures of me with his phone, the power bank that I had given him was still hanging from it.

MC: !

I took a look at the phone in his hand and saw the picture.

MC: It’s ugly! Delete it quickly!

Kiro: How is it ugly? The most natural MC is obviously the most lovely MC!

MC: I’m not letting you keep the power bank to charge your phone as revenge. Delete it quickly!

I struggled to snatch the phone from him, only to find that all the pictures he had taken today were of me.

I randomly clicked on a picture Kiro had taken of me eating a grilled sausage with an exaggerated expression, with me nervously facing the table in the background.

MC: You little….!

I glared at him angrily then clicked on other photos.

I frowned and watched the replay. I was stubbornly asking for another shot and I looked at him in the distance.

Kiro: Miss Chips….

He prolonged the ending, slowly coming closer to me.

Kiro: Don’t delete them. They’re all my precious memories of you. I want to keep them.

MC: No wonder your phone is out of power. You took too many photos!

He heard the relaxation in my tone and happily took the phone from me.

Kiro: Is this really too much? Compared to all of the photos of me on your phone, this is nothing out of the ordinary.

I blushed and tried to retort.

MC: Well, that’s because you are Kiro!

Kiro: But to me, you are MC.

He said this in a sincere tone.

Kiro: Just like you said, I also felt MC’s unusual mood today.

Kiro: I was worried whether you would be thirsty after talking for so long. And worried that you’d be tired after shooting for so long.

Kiro: You did well. I'm proud of you.

Kiro: The most important is….

He slowly came closer to me. I was the only thing in the reflection of his eyes.

Kiro: Although the scenery of this small town is beautiful, your shooting content is also very rich.

Kiro: But just like this moment….

Kiro: Under the starry sky, I can only see you.

Kiro: You are the unique star in my world.

[END]

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mr love game #mr love kiro #mlqc kiro #date translation #mlqc spoilers #zhou qiluo #AAAAAAAAAA #HE IS SO PRECIOUS #I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!!!!#WHY ISN'T HE REAL?!?!?!#周棋洛

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ladynightmare913 · 4 years ago

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Ink Bloom

Greetings and welcome to the prologue of Ink Bloom!

This is an original story inspired by Asian folklore and Jellyfish! Since this month is Mermay, I wanted to write something about mermaids, but I just didn’t have a clue as to what to do until it hit me like a tidal wave and I knew I had to bring this to life in writing! As always, I would like to say a special thank you to my best friend Olivia (@asunshinepuff ) for joining me in writing this spectacular world onto paper!

For the readers who enjoy Red Rose, Blood Moon, don’t worry I will still be writing chapters and I hope you will enjoy this story as well!

This story only has original characters created by Olivia and myself. For those who want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask to me or Olivia on her blog. If you have any questions, theories, or curiosities about any of our characters or how the story will progress, send them to the ask box!

Now without further adieu, let's dive into this new adventure!

Prologue: For Elodie

The rough waves crashed against the shoreline, the wind howled through the trees, and deep beneath the waves, the fish swam for shelter in the coral and anemones. The sea picked up stranded fish and drifting debris in their massive wake.

One wave managed to pull the largest creature in the reef. A creature with a long serpentine body covered in shimmering deep indigo scales, four long powerful limbs with sharp talons at the end, a mane of bright pink frills, like a jellyfish, joined to a long pink snout with a mouth full of sharp pearl white fangs, a pair of glowing indigo eyes and a crown of deep indigo horns that looked like branches of coral. It tried to escape the pull, but even a creature as strong as them could not overcome the powerful pull of the whirlpool-like waves.

The waves rolled the large creature, and crashed against the rocky shore, knocking it unconscious.

The ocean storm took its course, and the people who weathered through it all rushed to the beach to collect the fish and seaweed left behind. The tide pools with many stranded creatures.

A man with medium-length brown hair, light brown eyes, and light skin were among the people who adjourned at the poolside. He was dressed in a seafoam blue t-shirt, with a black long sleeve shirt beneath it, simple jeans, and black tennis shoes.

The man walked back and forth between the pools of water and the shoreline, carefully returning those stranded creatures that were still living back to their homes. The fact that his shoes were now soaked through hardly was a concern for him. As he walked back up the rocky shores, much further than expected from the rest, he spotted something shiny in the corner of his eye.

There inside a large tidepool, was a tiny very frilly snake with tiny horns. The man had never seen a species of coral snakes like this before, as most were banded with colorful stripes or spots, and never containing frills. Slowly crouching down as he reaches the small animal, he tilts his head in observation, he sees a long gash along the left side of its body, and it is unconscious.

How strange, the man muses to himself, he has never seen a creature quite like this before. It must be a species native to the island. He reaches out both hands and scoops his hands underneath to not startle the creature back to consciousness. Lifting the snake in his arms, he stands once more and walks along the shoreline- avoiding the rest of the crowd to avoid confrontation of questions and took it back to his hotel room. There he can safely treat the creature’s wounds, and return them to the sea. Even if he was curious about it and wanted to study it further.

It’s what Elodie would have wanted him to do.

It didn’t take the man long to treat the wound, and placed the little creature in a decent-sized saltwater fish tank, that he had cleared out the fish earlier, and left it to sleep and rest. He watched the creature for a long while, before returning to his desk, drawing a quick sketch of the little creature as it slept.

It was hours later, nearing midnight when the creature finally awoke, very startled by its small tank and in a strange place. The man noticed the creature was awake when it started splashing against the walls of the tank to escape.

“Hey, hey easy!”

He rose from his desk and reached the tank, the creature backed up against the walls and hissed. The man chuckled with a curious tilt of his head.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The creature didn’t seem assured but stopped hissing. The man hummed.

“Maybe you are a snake.”

It seemed like it was glaring at him.

“A very pretty and intelligent snake.”

The man reached for a cooler left by the tank, opening it, he used a tong to pick a large sardine from a Tupperware, then opened the lid of the creature’s tank.

“You must be hungry.”

The frilly snake didn’t move, instead opting to hiss at the offered food.

“It’s not poison, it’s food.” The man huffed.

The creature blinked skeptically. The man stared at it in amazement.

“A snake that can blink?” He watched it for a long while, but the creature did nothing further. With a sigh, he looked at the sardine. “Do you not eat fish?”

When the man looked away, the creature then lunged for the fish, ripping from the tongs and swallowing it whole.

The man stared in awe and mild horror. “Alright, you do eat fish.”

The creature, curled tightly around itself, its eyes gleaming. The man deemed, at least to him, the creature to be smug. The man shook his head in amusement.

“Once you're fully recovered, I’ll return you back to the ocean.” The man vowed, and the creature seemed to believe him.

The man kept the creature for three days, changed the dressing on its wound, and kept it well fed. One of his colleagues visited his room and was shocked at the sight of the strange animal.

“What is it?” His colleague asked.

The man simply shrugged, “I don’t know, it might be a species of sea snake.”

His colleague was a tall man with blonde hair and grey eyes looked to the man. “You haven’t taken samples?”

“It’s injured.”

“True, I guess you can take a sample once you take it back to your lab.”

The man shook his head as the creature looked at both men, cocking its head adorably. In their short time together, the man had learned that the creature can breathe both in and out of the water, it can escape its tank, it has four tiny limbs, and it lets out a light chirp that sounds almost like a cat purring when it’s content with its meal.

“I’m not taking it back to California, I’m returning it back to the sea.”

His colleague frowned. “Are you serious? This could be a new species! You could become famous.”

“I don’t care about that, and besides I already promised.”

“To who?” His friend sighed in exasperation.

“Elodie.” Was the man's response.

“You could name the species Elodie.”

The man glared at his colleague who stayed silent for the rest of his stay, which wasn’t long. The following day, the man deemed the creature healthy and strong enough to be returned back into the wild.

The man returned to the same beach where he had found the creature. Opening the lid of the large cooler, he lays it on its side and backs away. The creature hesitantly walked out, and at the sight of the blue waves, it ran towards it but abruptly stopped, turning to look back at the human.

The man smiled as the creature cocked its head to the side, giving him a tentative chirp.

“Go.”

And that was all the creature needed before it continued on its path back home. And the man followed the strange creature’s example and returned to his home back in California.

Two years later, on the shores of California, the full moon reflected across the blue ocean, tourists and visitors had long returned home to sleep, when a tall Asian woman walked out from the ocean to the sandy shoreline. The woman was dressed in a long traditional Chinese-styled pink dress, with a dark indigo outer robe and matching flats. She had pale skin, long silky ink blue hair, bright pink lips, and glowing indigo eyes.

Indigo eyes caught the sight of an aquarium resting upon the rocky cliffside. She smiled.

#Original Story #Original Characters #Our story #Our ocs #Ladynightmare ocs #asunshinepuff ocs #Cw brief mention of wounds #Magic #Asian Folklore #Jellyfish #Elodie #Mystery Man #Mystery Woman #Frilly four legged snake?#Large Serpentine Creature

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beholdme · 3 years ago

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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 19

Chapters: 19/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18]

"It’s skew.”

“Come and straighten it, then.”

“I’m spotting, you’re hanging.”

Gerry growls at him. Jon looks rather pleased about it.

Martin, who doesn’t want Gerry to hit their infuriating lover with a hammer, goes over to where he’s hanging the massive painting and tilts it minutely to the left. “Better?”

“Perfect!” Jon pronounces, clapping his hands.

Through some sort of witchcraft, the artist has hung the painting in such a position that it emulates where a window would be in a traditional room. It opens up the space in such a way that it seems less like a store room, and far more like a creative space that someone would actually enjoy spending time in.

The lightning helps too, warm light filtering from the ceiling and corner lamps, and LCD strips illuminating the bookshelves from inside.

All in all, considering this was a utilitarian storage space just a few weeks ago, it seems like a downright miracle.

The three of them lean back against Jon's desk, free of clutter for the first and only time in its life. The bookshelves are empty, and except for his new painting, so are the walls.

The piano occupies one wall, and Gerry hopes to hear it being played often.

Jon reaches out and takes Gerry's hand, drawing them close together affectionately. "How long have you been planning for us to move in?"

"Well, I wasn't planning, per se. Only considering the possibility." Gerry smirks confidently. "I know we're all a little bizarre, but this is the course of most relationships, and we could only spend so much time sleeping over before paying for three flats became superfluous."

"Besides," Martin continues for him. "There's no harm in planning for something you hope will happen eventually. Especially when your new flatmates will be this wildly good looking."

He gestures to himself dramatically, doing a small turn in place. Gerry and Jon laugh with him happily, until he stumbles back into Gerry's side, where he gets wrapped up under an arm.

"So do you like your new space, Jon?" Gerry cuddles around him, twisting the three of them into an odd sort of snuggle pretzel.

"I absolutely adore it." Jon utters happily, sighing in contentment as they all lean there together.

***

At the end of June, Jon hands over his keys and the three of them officially live together.

There's still a lot of settling to be done, even though they've been moving in together for almost six weeks by that point. The boxes are unpacked, but they still need to make it a comfortable home for all of them, a certainty that comes only with time.

Martin and Jon both love their studies, a matching pair that look and feel completely opposite.

Martin opts for a small bedroom, keeping the bed from his old flat, his painting hung opposite. He finds an antique writing desk at a charity store, and installs it for writing poetry or working on his laptop in the evenings.

He adorns the walls with pictures and posters, and random pieces of poetry and music that he loves.

It's a cozy space that he adores, even though he opts to sleep in the master bedroom almost always. The option makes him feel like he has his own breathing room, even if he rarely needs it.

Jon's is more of a true study, with a large desk taking up the majority of the space. His walls are lined with shelves, and he promptly fills them with books and knickknacks. The odd collection includes first edition classics, next to mass market paperbacks and music books, with non-fiction nature and animal books scattered throughout. These are interwoven with seashells, tiny mechanical statues and several flowers preserved in resin, gifts from Martin throughout their relationship.

On the wall above the piano, he hangs framed photos of his parents, himself with Gerry as a teen, and all three of them together as adults. The photo he once took of Martin, Gerry and Tim hangs right in the centre, all his favorite humans in one frame. He hangs the sketch of him and Martin in the park from when they were all courting, as well as the others he has stolen from Gerry over time.

Gerry embraces the chaos and upheaval as if it's all he ever wanted, and really, it is. A home, with the people he loves, noisy and frenetic, loving and comfortable.

In the middle of July, he quits his job at the bar in the middle of a shift, with very little contemplation or preamble.

He smiles at his lovers radiantly when he comes through the door several hours early to find them watching a movie.

"What happened?" Martin queries, clear concern lining his expressive face.

"I quit." Gerry flops down between them, snuggling down immediately.

"But why?" Presses a sleepy Jon, trying to hide a yawn behind his hand.

Gerry shrugs. "I got the job because I was bored, essentially. I wanted to interact with interesting people and I didn't know anyone in London anymore. But tonight I realized how badly I wanted to be right here, with you two." He smiles at them, trying to explain without conveying too many of his sappy emotions. "l honestly couldn't think of one reason to be working at midnight on a Saturday, instead of at home, or out on a date, or literally anything else we could be doing together. So I quit."

"Oh Gerry." Jon whispers, both of them carefully tuned to his moods, regardless of his attempts at seeming unconcerned.

"I don't feel the need to fill my time and chase inspiration anymore. I just want to be with you. Both of you." He kisses first Martin's hand, then Jon's, grinning at them all the way.

"I love you. I'm happy you're home." Jon whispers to him, sleepy and content.

Martin hums an agreement, squeezing his hand and smiling down at him lovingly.

They watch their movie and then go to bed all together, and Gerry knows he's made the best choice of his life.

***

Gerry finds himself with an odd amount of time on his hands while his partners go to work during the day, like normal people.

He decides to take on several art commissions from clients he's actually interested in working for, which thrills Gertrude. He doesn't think it entirely makes up for his boyfriend hitting Peter Lukas in the middle of a showcase, but it's a start.

He also indulges himself and buys a new tattoo machine.

He's not really interested in taking clients again, but… well, he wants it and so he gets it. If it's only to use on himself or the occasional visitor, then that's fine by him.

"You have everything you need to give tattoos now, right?" Martin asks him one early morning.

Gerry is still mostly asleep, clutching a cup of tea and petting Saturn where he perches on his lap. He blinks at Martin, confused.

"I think so. I mean, I haven't used my machine yet, but there's really only one way to test it out." Gerry tilts his head curiously, sunlight glittering in his hair, dyed back to its original black. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you want to give me one?" Martin grins at him a bit shyly.

Gerry sits up straight, instantly wide awake. "Yes. So much."

Martin laughs warmly. "You have the same look on your face that Luna gets when we take out the catnip toys."

Uncaring about how eager he might look, Gerry shoos Saturn to go over and kneel by Martin. "I would be honored to have your tattoo virginity. Do you want me to draw something?"

"Yes," Martin tells him with a grin, "that's exactly what I want. A Gerry Delano original, right on my skin."

"What do you want it to be?" Gerry's teal eyes are bright and slightly manic, and Martin glories in the sensation of producing a new reaction in his lover.

"It's entirely up to you." He responds, pressing a firm kiss to Gerry's mouth. "I want to see what makes you think of me."

"Oh, I like it." He declares, jumping up and going off to find a sketchbook.

Martin sips his tea and smiles to himself, very pleased indeed.

***

"You're just going to let him give you whatever he wants to?" Jon blanches when Martin tells him.

"Relax Jon, it's Gerry, not some evil mastermind. He'll draw something I like. And if I don't, it's not hard, I just tell him no."

Jon, who rather considers that Gerry is an evil mastermind, does not look convinced. "But…"

"Hush, love." Martin tells him firmly.

Gerry, drawing under the window nearby, takes no notice of them. He has a focused frown on his face as he concentrates on the careful lines appearing on his page.

Martin considers it a rare pleasure to just watch him draw, and tries to guess what might be forming on the page before him.

He completely trusts that Gerry knows him exactly well enough to draw him the perfect tattoo. And then he can have his own piece of Gerry, inked right into his skin.

When he sits back down with Jon and Martin a little later, he has a smudge of charcoal above his eyebrow, and Martin gently rubs it away before Gerry has a chance to start talking. He blushes quite uncharacteristically, and Martin knows it means he's been swirling in the frantic rush of his own creativity.

"So I have a proposal for you." Gerry starts, body humming with excitement. "A tattoo in two parts, if you will."

"Yeah?" Martin encourages him, just as interested.

Gerry collects Martin's hand in both of his own, running a thumb over a spot on his wrist. It's the same place that Jon has his own tattoo, which immediately makes Martin pleased. "A small crescent moon, right here. The placement to match with Jon, the symbol for Luna."

Gerry pushes a scrap of paper forward, an elegant crescent moon filling space.

"For the other…" Gerry turns over the larger page, handing it to Martin.

There's an immeasurable beat of silence as Martin contemplates the design before him. A set of waxing and waning moons, connected by a series of dots, lines and more dots making a background of geometric shapes.

He… feels it. He understands now, what Jon had meant, when he described seeing the inspiration for his own tattoo for the first time. It's a representation of some inner part of himself, normally hidden from the world, but carefully unearthed for his lovers, over the course of many months and endless intimacy.

"Martin?" Gerry entreats, leaning minutely closer to him.

"I love it." He whispers, pulling the goth over to kiss him fiercely. They tangle together pleasantly, for several moments, everything else falling away as they get absorbed in each other.

"Not that anyone asked me, but I like it as well." Jon informs them pertly.

"Your opinion is as important to us as ever, baby." Gerry replies, grinning proudly. He turns back to Martin. "Where do you want it?"

Martin considers for a moment, before getting up and pulling off his shirt and jumper, leaving himself bare from the waist up. He still feels a small pang of shyness to be naked in any way, but confidence born of time and perspective drown most of it away now.

He and Gerry stand facing each other. Martin lifts the other man's hand, placing it on his sternum, over his softly pounding heart.

"Right here?" Gerry asks, voice soft.

"Right here." Martin affirms.

***

In the end, Gerry takes them over to Melanie's tattoo shop to work on Martin. He lists a number of reasons, but really, he finds a certain amount of comfort working under the stark lights and amid the buzzing of other machines.

They do the small tattoo first, and Martin sits for it exceptionally well.

Before Gerry starts the sternum piece, an endeavor of several hours, Georgie arrives and drags Jon off to drink coffee and catch up in a nearby coffee shop. Melanie goes into the next room to take another client, and Gerry and Martin are left alone together.

"Ready, love?" Gerry asks as he finishes placing the stencil, bisecting his chest.

"I'm nervous," Martin confesses softly.

Gerry doesn't move his gloved hands, not wanting to contaminate them, but he does press their foreheads together gently, taking a moment to sooth Martin with his companionship.

"Do you want to take a break? You can just sit with the stencil for a while." Gerry leans forward and places a swift kiss on Martin's nose, before retreating from his personal space.

"No, I'm ready." He smiles, biting his lip a little. "I just- I feel like this is a big moment, you know?"

"It is. You're embracing who you really are." Gerry runs a finger along one of Martin's chest scars, considering. "You're choosing to love yourself instead of just tolerating him."

"How can you always tell?" Martin whispers the words, voice heavy with emotion. "How can you put things into words like that, so simply."

"I know you. You think I don't see when you avoid looking in the mirror. You hope I don't notice that you used to hate being naked, even with Jon and I." Gerry pauses, tripping Martin's head up with the tip of a finger, minimizing contact still. "But I see you, Martin. I love you just the way you are. And I want you to love yourself just the same. I'll tell you everyday, show you constantly, if I need to."

Martin is crying for real now, tears streaming down his face. Gerry abandons his sterility, pulling Martin into his arms. He rocks his lover gently, and they are just together for a moment, no need to rush, no distractions. Just them, and the comfort they find in each other.

"I love you too." Martin tells him simply, when they pull apart.

"Good," Gerry grins, kissing him thoroughly, the taste of salty tears on his lips. He stands, pulling off his ruined gloves and going to wash his hands again.

Martin takes a sip of the tea Jon made him before he left, smiling because Jon always makes it with a little more sugar than he allows himself. "I'm ready."

When Jon returns, they're just finished up, the last few moments of buzzing filling the air. He watches them together, artist and canvas, and loves them fiercely.

"How was coffee with Georgie?" Martin queries, taking his offered hand.

Jon relays the details as Gerry finishes, and then cleans up.

Jon and Gerry stand on either side of Martin in the mirror as he looks at it for the first time. Martin nods wildly, when Jon asks if he likes it, and they hug him from either side as he sheds a few more tears.

Jon had once thought that tattoos seemed very boring in comparison to Gerry's normal work, but seeing the design come alive on Martin's skin, full of feeling and depth, he can't help but think of it as the best thing his lover has ever done. Gerry can't help but agree.

"Let's go to the park!" Martin exclaims as they leave, after saying their goodbyes to Georgie and Melanie.

"The park?" Jon asks, laughing. "It's so windy."

"I don't care, I want to feed the ducks and eat ice cream with my boyfriends." He insists, giddy with happiness and adrenaline.

"Okay, but you're picking the flavours this time." Gerry says, taking one of Martin's hands. Jon takes the other.

"Deal."

***

Jon and Gerry find themselves watching Martin once again feed ducks as they sit beneath a tree, more than a year after the very first time.

"Why don't we come to the park more often?" Jon asks from where he reclines between Gerry's long legs.

His arms snake around his waist, and Jon feels very content and comfortable, despite the cutting wind.

"Because," Gerry kisses under an ear softly, "we live in England and it rains more than 100 days a year."

"He looks so happy here." They watch as Martin stoops to offer a piece of bread to a curious toddler. The child is inordinately pleased, and her mother watches on gratefully from nearby as they feed the rowdy birds together.

"Are you happy?" Gerry asks him, unexpectedly serious. "With your life, with me?"

"Gerry! Of course I'm happy with you." Jon sits up, turning in the tangle of Gerry's limbs to face him.

"I'm only checking on you." He runs a gentle finger down Jon's face, then cups his cheek affectionately. "I know how much stress work puts you under and I hate that for you."

Jon looks away from his intent gaze, fiddling with his fingers nervously. "Well, yeah. My job sucks. The worst part is, I love being a librarian! Being surrounded by books, helping people choose something to read or guiding them with their research. But that's so little of my job now, and Elias just finds new and interesting ways to put pressure on me. But I'm not qualified and I know I probably won't get another job in a library, especially not without a glowing recommendation from Elias-"

"And we both know that's never going to happen." Gerry finishes for him.

Jon nods and they just sit together a moment. Gerry lifts one of his hands and kisses each of his fingers and then his palm, until Jon blushes and smiles at him.

"I know you think it's annoying, so you keep your feelings about work inside, a lot of the time. I don't want you to do that anymore, okay? If you have a terrible job, then we all carry that."

"But-"

"Nope, no buts. We are all partners. That means more then dinner dates and living together and sex."

"And punching rich fuckers who hurt our Martin."

Gerry laughs, still reveling in Jon's unexpected protectiveness- and the violent manifestation of it. "Yes, that too. There will be other jobs, for all of us, probably. But our relationship, the three of us. We're forever."

"Like those tattoos that you gave Martin today?" Jon asks, pert glint in his eye.

"Yes, much like that." He smirks brazenly back. "And the one I gave you, and the ones I've given myself, over the years."

Gerry continues, squeezing Jon's hand, "I know that the idea of not being able to provide for yourself scares you, but we're in this together now. You don't have to cling to a job that you hate in case you're left without one at all."

"I-" Jon looks away, uncomfortable to be so well understood. Gerry stits with him, energy easy between them, just holding his hand, loving and supportive.

"I have been considering, that is, maybe becoming a school teacher." The confession is halting, and he offers it with a small shy smile.

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Gerry responds, gentle encouragement colouring his voice.

"I would probably have to go back to school for a year. Get a post-grad in Education. I wouldn't be working for most of that time, and my savings will only go so far, even without having to pay rent." Jon whispers, as if the words will be any less offensive to him if they are quiet.

"You know I can float you, especially for just a year. And Martin too."

"It just doesn't seem fair to burden you with that."

"It's not a burden, it's a part of life. You think you're so old, that you should be settled, but you're barely 30, Jon. You still have time to make new life choices occasionally, and the point of being in a relationship is that you let us support you every now and then." Gerry is earnest and focused, and Jon can't help but believe him, long fingers cupping his face and teal eyes holding his gaze.

Martin arrives then, plonking down next to Jon and giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"What are we talking about then? Such serious faces."

Gerry nudges Jon, who haltingly offers Martin the same idea he told Gerry.

“Oh, I think that’s a great idea.” He says, eyes alight. “Like, high schoolers, right?”

“Yes, of course. Anyone under 10 is an alien and I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

They laugh at him, their contentment surrounding him warmly.

"You don't have to quit right away." Martin offers. "There are plenty of part time degree programs, and you have to apply first. It all takes time."

"You seem pretty clued up about it." Jon observes, narrowing his eyes at Martin suspiciously.

"Well, if you must know. I've been thinking about getting a business degree."

"Oh my God! Martin, how is this the first we're hearing about this?" Gerry demands, sitting up straight.

"I didn't want it to be a thing until I was sure, and the move was over." He confesses, "It's gonna take a lot of my free time and I wanted to discuss that with you both carefully."

"I'm gonna be living with two thirty year old students." Gerry mutters, shocked. He leans back against the tree again, running his fingers through his long hair.

"I haven't agreed yet-" Jon starts.

Martin speaks up at the same time. "You could get a degree too. We could all be students together."

"No, but thanks anyway." Gerry shudders, grimacing. He perks right back up. "I'll be your sexy study partner though."

"Gerard!" Jon cries, scandalised.

Gerry shakes his head. "As if I've never felt you up while you were trying to study for a test."

"Exactly!" Even Jon struggles to keep up his prim expression at that, and they tumble into pleasant laughter together.

"So," Martin hazards, "are we gonna do this?"

"Well, if you're going to. I suppose we should both get it done at the same time." Jon responds, still hesitant but clearly warming to the idea. "You're really okay with this, Gerry?"

Gerry beams at them both, a soft, special look in his eyes. "I'm more than okay with anything you want to do with your lives. In case you haven't noticed, I'm really very fond of you both."

Jon leans forward in the circle of Gerry's legs, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss, before turning back to lay against his chest.

Martin shifts around to lean into his side, and Gerry tucks one arm around him, the other around Jon. Jon reaches out to take one of Martin's hands, and the three of them sit wrapped up together.

As ever, their own mutual magnetism draws them forever closer and closer, binding them to one another in an inexplicable tangle of love and affection.

"Do you think it will always be like this, between us?" Martin whispers gently, as the sun begins to set and the landscape sets ablaze before them.

"Probably not," Jon responds, voice warm and content. "Life will keep shifting like a tide, and we'll move with it, but the great thing about us is- we're moored together. Nothing can keep us apart, because what we have is stronger than whatever shifts and eddies might try to take us away."

"The gravity between us is fiercer than any storm, any disaster that might try to shake us." Gerry picks up Jon's train of thought, pulling them both minutely closer.

"Good," Martin says simply, fiercely in love and the happiest he's ever felt.

They watch the sun as it drops below the horizon, sometimes quiet and occasionally sharing some errant thought or another.

They eat ice cream on the way home, holding hands and laughing.

It's warm, and soft and peaceful.

And they're all, finally, home.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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managodess · 4 years ago

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Title: First Impressions Fandom: Original (AU setting) Characters: Felyx and Maya (Felyx belongs to AnonMS on Gaiaonline, Maya is my OC) Words: 1.9k Rating: E Prompt: Person A is at college, has some free time, finds a quiet spot to curl up and take a nap. When they wake, they find Person B, an art student, drawing them (without asking permission first). You choose where it goes from there.

Prompt by @otpprompts can be found here

Note: This was written in 2015 but I still think it’s cute and noticed I never posted it here.

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

As the minute hand drew onto the 45-minute mark, the teacher in the front of their little class of twenty people glanced up, casting the group a smile.

“That’s it for today then. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me now or come to my office later. And don’t forget, your portfolios are due at the end of the semester.”

It was only just November, which meant that Maya had until March, but nonetheless, her teacher’s words were a reminder that she should probably get started. The requirement was showing off different traditional media and while there were some that came to her more easily – she loved working with watercolors more than anything – there were others she still had to practice with to feel more confident.

And so, casting a short glance outside and shuddering lightly at the sight of the pale grey sky that looked like incoming snow, she headed into the library, bag over her shoulder, sketchbook under her arm. She might as well start practicing some pencil sketches now; she could refine some with charcoal, colored pencils, or just shade them otherwise. Maybe she’d find some inspiration.

As she had expected, it was quiet, something that she always found rather soothing about being here. Soft footsteps announced presence her as she made her way to a table in the back of the study room, settling down and trying to make as little noise as possible. She retrieved a small leather case, which held different pencils, pens and other general sketching supplies, then moved her sketchbook onto her lap, vivid blue eyes trailing around the room for something that might make her hands itch to sketch.

When they had nearly come full circle, she noticed a figure, huddled into a corner, head tilted back a little. Even with the dark strands falling partially into his face, she could make out his features.

‘Wow… he looks really good.’

Absently, the brunette bit her lip, leaning forward a bit in her seat as her fingers moved through the pages until she found one that was still empty.

She had hoped to find inspiration, but really, it seemed as if inspiration had found her instead.

Her normally light brown braids were dangling against the paper, which explained the blotches of color in them considering her preferred medium.

Slender fingers on small hands drew the pencil over the page in her sketchbook with trained movements. A gesture first, getting down the general shape of the figure in front of her, vague, guidelines. Then, details, fleshing out his pose and body, the slight tug of fabric in parts of his attire that hinted towards him being at least somewhat muscular. His hands, which looked a little roughened, as if he worked with them often, one of them dangling limply just past his knee, the other propping up his face just above his nose.

And finally, her gaze wandered to his face, biting down on her bottom lip harder as she focused on this. The angular line of his jaw, the slight tilt of his lips, the serenity of his expression.

Just as she was sketching in more detail for his hair, she noticed a shift, more than the simple tremble of breathing.

Dark, reddish eyes were looking at her and she could feel her pale face heat up, eyes widening in shock. For a moment, he seemed confused, still in a state of waking and she took her chance, tearing the sketch from her book and thrusting it against his chest.

“Wha-…”

“I’msosorryherekeepit.”

Her words came out in one breath before she hastily grabbed her things, clutching her sketchbook closer and rushing out of the library in a half panic.

The male seemed to need another few seconds to fully wake, hands shifting to grab the paper that had been forced onto him and glancing down, surprised to see himself caught on it, in soft, elegant lines thinly sketched with a pencil.

While he hadn’t remembered all aspects the strange girl’s appearance, a few things had stuck. Blue eyes and specks of color in her hair, her braids mostly. Then that look of shock, but she had run out before he had been able to fully commit her face to memory.

This wouldn’t do…

He let out a small sigh, stretching carefully, joints cracking as they slipped back into their proper places. He moved the picture into one of his textbooks, placing it gingerly between the pages so it wouldn’t get crumpled.

His mind had immediately jumped to the one person he was sure would be able to tell him more about the mysterious artist.

He just had to find her.

There were a few places she would spend her time outside of class, but the problem was that he never quite knew when she was or wasn’t in class and truthfully, waiting until the weekend, when he would definitely see her, seemed too far away right now.

Reaching into the front pocket of his dark jeans, he retrieved his phone, fingers quickly moving across the keys on screen before sending off a message.

He didn’t have to wait long to notice a familiar, dark-haired woman enter the library and make her way towards him. Her hair gave off a blue shimmer against the light and violet eyes, no doubt contacts, stood out against her porcelain skin.

Felyx wasn’t surprised to see her draw some looks from other students in the library, who glanced up from whatever they were doing a little too long, but either she didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You called?”

Her lips curled into a small, though curious smile and she sat down on the table, legs crossed over the edge of the table.

“Here.”

He handed her the sketch, brow furrowed slightly. “You study art… any idea who made this?”

The female’s eyes scanned across the pencil lines, then moved back up to meet his red ones. “I’d recognize those lines anywhere. That looks like one of Maya’s sketches. She specializes in watercolors… Is that… wow.”

“I’m guessing she was sketching me while I was asleep because she left me with this and ran away when I woke up.”

Mosune laughed, a soft, melodic sound.

“I don’t think she was expecting you to wake up. Anyway, we have class together again on Thursday. So that’s three days from now. Room 104, in the back building. Class ends at noon; the teacher always finishes on time. You should be able to catch her then.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.” She smiled at him and got to her feet again elegantly. “I’ll see you soon. You owe me.”

“I know.” He cast her a smirk and watched her leave before sinking back down against the wall, in the same spot he’d slept in. His eyes trailed over the sketch, taking in every little detail. It was amazing how well she had captured him… and he hadn’t even noticed her watching him.

For the rest of the day and the entire next day, Maya found herself glancing around a lot more often, as if worried that the male might be waiting for her somewhere. To what? Complain that she had stalked him?

God… she must have seemed like such a creep.

But by the time Thursday came, she had pushed the event to the back of her mind, focused on other things. Their morning class was a practical one, working with acrylics on canvas.

She chose an easel next to a familiar face, smiling at the girl with the violet eyes.

“Hey Mosune.”

“Hi.”

The other smiled right back at her, pinning her raven hair up in a bun.

“Any idea what they want us to paint today?”

“A still life or something.” Maya frowned ever so slightly. “Seems a bit boring, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure today’s gonna end up less boring than you think.” Mosune replied, smiling back at her.

Throughout their painting assignment, the two continued to talk, until finally, the teacher ended their class, giving them time to clean their workspaces and palettes.

It was noon by the time they made their way out of the classroom and Maya found herself greeted by the familiar but unexpected sight of the boy she’d drawn in the library a few days ago. He was moving fast towards her too, holding a frame in his hands and handing it to her as he approached.

“Here. You should keep this, it’s really good.” He cast her a small smirk and she felt the familiar warmth threaten to creep into her cheeks.

“T-thanks.”

She took the frame, holding it so the picture was concealed from view by a few classmates curiously moving past the two of them. Mosune seemed almost amused by this exchange, Maya noticed.

“Maybe I’ll see you soon.” And with that, he took his leave, leaving behind a somewhat confused brunette and her amused friend.

“Is that the guy you mentioned? Looks like he even framed it for you.”

Maya nodded, head lowering a bit to hide her burning cheeks.

“God this is so embarrassing.” She muttered under her breath. “Don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Of course not.” Mosune promised, smiling, and drawing an arm around her friend’s shoulder.

The moment she got home; Maya hung the framed picture up on the wall of her dorm.

But it wasn’t until nearly two weeks later that a completely random event brought her to pay more attention to it than usual.

Distracted from trying to find something, she tripped over her bag, bumping heavily against the wall. The impact knocked the frame down and it shattered, leaving the sketch to slip beneath her bed. She crawled down to get it and when she did, she noticed something on the back of it.

“Is that…”

A phone number.

So that was why he had spoken about hoping to see her again.

Once she had cleaned up, she retrieved her phone, quickly typing in a message to the not quite so unknown number.

“Hi! Looks like you hid this a bit better than you probably thought. I’d love to meet up, maybe for coffee? The girl with the sketchbook.”

Her attention shifted back to the sketch and a thought formed in her mind as she spread it carefully onto her desk across a layer of newspaper, grabbing her watercolors.

Without even having to think, her hands drew across the paper, adding color to the pencil lines, even without having to see him. His face was ingrained in the back of her head.

It took her about two hours to finish the sketch and only then did she check her phone to see that he had replied.

“Sure!

How does tomorrow afternoon sound? I’ll meet you at the Corner Cup?”

She sent him a quick answer, setting the time at 2 PM, then laid the picture down to dry. Time couldn’t pass fast enough and by the time the next day had arrived, Maya was more excited than she dared to admit.

As her fingers nimbly worked to put the familiar two braids into her hair, her eyes moved back to the now finished painting. She would take it with her, give it to him. And hopefully, he would accept it. A small, tiny voice in her head muttered about how it was a shame; that the painting would look amazing in her portfolio, but she silenced it. No, this would be better.

#my writing #otp prompts #original writing #original fiction #writers on tumblr #felyxmaya #octp

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alice-in-gingerland · 4 years ago

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Axel/Roxas - Beauty and the Beast

So, I’ve been out of the writing game for roughly ten years, since university killed my spirit. But lately I’ve had this idea playing around in my head and wanted to see if I could still write. So I am slowly writing my Akuroku retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Posting the first chapter draft of chapter one here and hope people can give some feedback and maybe some ideas. Let’s see what happens!

________________________________________________________________

Namine sighed heavily, torn between slamming her face into her palms or shouting at the ragtag team in front of her.

‘You literally could have just taken a horse each!’

Sora raised his eyebrows in confusion, a cookie still raised partially to his lips.

‘But we only had one rope between the three of us.’

‘Plus, dwarves are too short to ride a full sized horse alone,’ added Riku, gesturing to a nodding Kairi.

‘You didn’t even need a rope once Kairi’s character subdued them,’ Namine exclaimed.

Kairi giggled at her sister’s obvious exasperation but chose not to let it go just yet, ‘but you can’t control a horse like that, it’s not realistic.’

The whole group were beginning to laugh at the absurdness of the situation, even Riku was trembling slightly, trying to hold back his amusement at the normally calm dungeon master who was turning vaguely pink with frustration.

‘Why do you guys always have to make big events out of tiny situations, we’ll never get to the main parts of the quest if you keep doing this.’ She slammed the book in front of her closed with an air of finality, causing Sora to pout.

‘Ah Nams, you never let us mess around, that’s half the fun of DnD!’

Riku tilted back in his chair to check the clock on the kitchen wall, ‘to be fair, it’s getting pretty late. We should probably finish up and head home.’

‘Let's make camp for the night, I’ll tie up the horses. We’re only a few kilometres from the town so will be good to rest up in case there’s a fight,’ said Sora, his eyes darting over the colourful map that covered the majority of the dining room table they sat at.

Namine rubbed her forehead tiredly before beginning to carefully pack away her books and pens.

Sora was decidedly less careful, using his forearm to sweep his dice, notebook and other odds and ends into a waiting cardboard box, causing Riku to wince.

‘Before we head home, what’s the plan for Halloween this weekend,’ Kairi queried. She stretched out her back to loosen her muscles after a few hours being confined to the table, her russet hair almost tickling the small of her back. Namine tapped one of her colouring pens against her dusky pink lips, debating how she would like to spend one of her favourite holidays of the year.

Riku snorted, still leaning back dangerously in his chair and obviously in no hurry to assist with the clean up. ‘Aren’t we getting a bit too old to be trick or treating?’

Sora stuck his tongue out at the older boy, following up with a nudge to his chair. Riku’s azure eyes widened in panic as he struggled to stop from toppling backwards; he managed to right himself and gave Sora a victorious smirk.

‘Just because you turn fifteen soon doesn’t mean the rest of us have to stop enjoying ourselves,’ retorted Kairi, swiftly linking her arm through Sora’s.

The young brunette posed thoughtfully as he lent into his best friends supporting frame.

‘He does have a point though, maybe we could do something a bit more, I dunno, exciting this year?’

Namine’s brow dipped in concern, knowing from experience what Sora meant by exciting. Kairi nudged Sora with her hip.

‘By exciting, I think you mean dangerous…’

The boy glanced to his right, a mock hurt expression crossing his face, ‘ well it doesn’t have to be anything bad, just maybe something scary. You know, to frighten Mr All Grown Up.’

Namine clapped her hands together in excitement, startling the three other teens who turned to her in puzzlement. The young girl’s features were alight with excitement, her usual cornflower blue eyes darkened with intent.

‘I think we should go to the old Wildwood House.’

Sora and Kairi almost bounced in excitement. Sneaking into the old Wildwood House had been a tradition for the teenage population in their town for at least the past two decades. The old manor house had been empty for over one hundred years, allowing multiple rumours to circulate regarding why no one had bought it; tales varying from gruesome murders to alien abduction. It didn’t help that the house sat imposingly upon the tallest hill in the area, surrounded by a dense pine wood that was often enveloped in thick mist due to the multiple hot springs the territory was known for.

Namine beamed at her sister and Sora’s reactions as she began to twirl her ash blonde hair between her finger tips; her usual habit when dreaming up artistic ideas.

‘I’ve wanted to go for a while, apparently the architecture is untouched and even the original furniture and furnishings are unblemished - a paused moment in time. I really want to take some photos and maybe make a few quick sketches, but it’s way too creepy to go alone.’

The petite girl turned her pleading gaze upon Riku, who swiftly noticed all three of his friends were staring at him, silently pleading for his agreement.

‘Well if you three pansies think you’re up for it, why not,’ he shrugged, hooked his arms behind his head nonchalantly.

Sora grabbed Kairi’s hand, which she noticed was trembling slightly.

‘Oh my god Kairi, I can’t wait! Did you hear that the whole family was murdered up there by a wild axeman, and the ghosts still haunt the woods because they are buried in the floorboard.’

Kairi scoffed and argued, ‘don’t be stupid, they would have found the bodies. Everyone knows they made some kind of deal with the fairies for an immortal life and were transported to the faerie plain, they only return once a year to steal souls for the fairies.’

‘I heard that the man who lived there sold his soul to a fire demon for eternal beauty and power,’ retorted Namine. Riku let out a snicker and flicked a stray dice at the blonde. ‘Honestly, that’s the plot from Howl’s Moving Castle, you muppet.’

The youngest girl blushed and the four teenagers continued to bicker until they were interrupted by heavy footfalls and genial masculine voice.

‘Nah, the owner made a wish with a genie to be immortal, but it didn’t pan out quite the way he planned.’

Two young men appeared at the bottom of the stairs, one with a mischievous grin and pushed back dirty blonde hair, the other with an almost cherubic face; almost identical to Sora except obviously older with golden blonde styled locks, instead of a brown unkempt birdnest the younger brother liked to sport.

Roxas pondered for a moment, nudging his friend out of the way so he could grab a crisp from the bowl on the table, ‘that’s not it either, it was a djinn. He was so set on looking for power that he was possessed by a travelling djinn.’ He popped the crisp into his mouth and almost immediately winced, ‘what is wrong with you guys, prawn cocktail, really!’ Roxas grimaced and wiped his fingers on his little brother’s shirt.

Sora visibly bristled, shoving his brother away from the group.

‘What are you two doing down here, go away!’

‘Snacks of course,’ Hayner countered, grabbing a handful of prawn cocktail crisps and winking in Namine’s direction. Riku narrowed his eyes and tugged the younger girl to his side; he didn’t mind Roxas, but his flirtatious friend could often be a little too forward with Kairi and Namine. The girls never seemed to mind, but Riku knew that Hayner was less than innocent and not very faithful at that. He had overheard arguments between the two older boys regarding Hayner’s treatment of women for at least two years. He’d never mention it to Sora but he had accidentally walked in on the pair of them locked in an extremely heated embrace once. The memory of their tongues and roaming hands made him nauseous and caused a shudder to ripple through his body. Hayner obviously didn’t care whose pants he was getting into as long as he was getting satisfaction from them.

Deciding he’d annoyed his brother and company enough, Roxas gestured for his friend to follow him into the adjoining kitchen.

‘Come on, let the kids play.’

Hayner gave a brief wave and grin before accompanying Roxas into the kitchen and closing the door behind them.

‘Ah, that takes me back.’

Roxas raised an eyebrow in question whilst grabbing two cans of fizzy from the fridge, passing one to the other boy. Hayner gratefully accepted the can, popping it open with a satisfying hiss and taking a large gulp before answering, ‘you know, when you, me, Pence and Ollette used to come round here and play a bit of dungeons and dragons.’

Roxas rested his hip against the sideboard, his gaze turning pensive for a moment.

‘Yeah, back before it was cool,’ he laughed, ‘also before we discovered the lure of alcohol.’

Hayner slid forward and lightly caressed Roxas’s forearm, his voice taking on a heated tone ‘before we discovered other things as well.’

Roxas’s eyes flashed with annoyance and he gently but firmly brushed away the offending appendage. ‘Aren’t you seeing that guy Seifer.’

He moved away from his promiscuous friend, putting a bit of distance between them before taking a sip of his drink. Fooling around with Hayner has always been fun, but he worried it was a distraction from him finding a real and meaningful relationship; something Roxas was starting to desire more than simply sexual gratification. He wanted dedication and passion, and was perfectly aware Hayner was not capable of fulfilling those needs. He also wasn’t keen on accidentally becoming ‘the other man’ when his friend inevitably forgot he was in a monogamous relationship.

‘I was only teasing,’ Hayner said, not looking as chagrined as Roxas believed he should be feeling.

“Anyway, me and Seifer aren’t exactly exclusive,’ he continued, picking at the side of his can, ‘pretty sure he’s crashing with Fuu and there’s no way those two are platonic.’

Sensing his friend's discomfort Roxas replied, ‘you don’t know that, you know better than I do that he fights with his Dad on the regular. He probably just needed a safe place to stay and him and Fuu have been mates since primary school.’

A small smile flit across Hayner’s face as he glanced up.

“You’re probably right, always are.’

Roxas gave the taller boy a shove and the two chuckled quietly.

Sounds of giggling and shuffling trickled under the kitchen door as the pair relaxed into an amicable silence.

“Do you remember when we went up to the Wildwood House,” Roxas murmured.

Hayner shifted, leaning back on his tanned arms, ‘yeah, it was creepy man, but only because it was old and dark and we were thirteen.’

Roxas frowned, “what about the figure I saw, and that burning fire?’

Hayner snorted and replied, ‘dude, you freaked out at a curtain, and some group who went up before us must have lit a candle to scare the next visitors. Just don’t say anything to the kids; Sora will get all hyped up then they’ll all be disappointed when it’s just an empty old house.’

Yanking open a cupboard door, Hayner extracted a bag of bacon rasher crisps and a packet of party ring biscuits and gathered them under his arm.

“Come on mate, got your fav biscuits, let’s go destroy strangers on Rocket League.’

The muscular blonde elbowed open the door and strode away, leaving Roxas to his vague memories of a slim cloaked figure reaching out to him with a palm of smokeless flames.

#akuroku #axel #roxas #kingdom hearts #beauty and the beast #teen #hayner #namine and kairi are sisters #djinn #axel and roxas #fanfiction

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omgjasminesimone · 6 years ago

Text

Tattoo

Bryce x MC

Summary: Bryce thinks Casey needs a permanent reminder of how great she is.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1800

“We definitely didn’t need two orders of loaded fries. We could have shared one.” Bryce comments as he and Casey take a seat at the Shake Shack counter.

“Speak for yourself. I can definitely eat all of these.” Casey responds, tossing a fry into her mouth.

He glances at her while he slowly chews on a fry. “You’re not going to eat all of those. Not after all that pasta we had for dinner.”

“That was hours ago. We did a lot of dancing at the club. I’ve worked up an appetite.” Casey retorts.

He gives her a heated glance, admiring how good she looks in her tight black lowcut dress. “You’ll really work up an appetite later when we get back to my place.” He smirks as she blushes.

She tosses another fry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “These fries are fantastic. I might get another order before we leave.”

“You will not. You’re not even going to finish that one.” Bryce insists, smothering his own fries with ketchup.

“Want to bet?” Casey asks, her competitive side coming out.

Bryce smiles, he’s competitive too. “Why don’t we make it more interesting?” He proposes. Casey raises a brow, silently urging him to continue. “Whoever finishes their fries first wins.”

“And what does the winner get?” Casey questions.

Bryce’s smile widens, twisting his stool away from the window to fully face the other doctor. He gestures to the 24-hour tattoo shop across the street with a tilt of his head. “Winner gets to pick a tattoo for the loser.”

Casey’s eyes widen slightly. Usually, the winner just gets a kiss. But her pride refuses to allow her to back down. Besides, she gives Bryce’s lean but muscular frame a quick glance, she thinks she can take him.

“You’re on Lahela.” She cracks her neck, taking a sip of water to prepare. “Maybe I’ll add a tear drop tattoo to your pretty face when I win.”

Bryce smiles at her again, causing her stomach to flutter a little. She tries to squash down the feeling, she definitely doesn’t need stomach flutters if she’s going to out eat him.

“Since I’m bigger than you, it’s only fair for you to add some of your fries to my pile.” He offers.

Casey glares. “I don’t need any kind of head start. I’m going to beat you fair and square.” Plus, he ate way more pasta. And all the bread sticks. There’s no way he can have the abs she knows are under his loose black button up and eat like this. She’s got him.

“Don’t say later that I didn’t offer.” Bryce insists, turning away from Casey and facing his fries. “Ready?”

Casey nods.

“Go!”

They both start shoving fries in their mouths. About halfway through the fries, Casey is full. He’s right, they could have shared an order like he originally proposed at the counter. She’s not going to tell him that though, shoving more fries into her mouth and forcing herself to chew.

Casey takes a glance over to her handsome date, eyes widening when she sees he’s about ¾ of the way done with his fries. He is starting to slow down though, taking a break to sip on his coke, looking a little queasy. She has to speed up, she can still win this.

She finishes more fries, now down to about ¼ remaining. Bryce slams his hands down on the counter. “Done.” He announces smugly, turning to look at her.

Casey frowns, swallowing what’s in her mouth and pushing the rest of her fries away from her, not wanting to eat fries ever again. Bryce smirks, cheekily tossing some of her fries into his mouth and chewing loudly. She glares, but it just makes him laugh.

He hops up off his stool, offering her his hand as she stands as well. She takes his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I think visible tattoos are against Edenbrook policy.” Casey informs him as they walk out of Shake Shack.

“Don’t worry. I won’t put a tattoo on your forehead.” Bryce promises, tugging her towards the tattoo shop when the crosswalk flashes green.

A bell chimes when he opens the door, the sounds of a tattoo needle making Casey’s grip on his fingers tighten as she gets nervous. He squeezes her hand reassuringly, taking a seat on a couch in the waiting area and pulling her into his lap.

He grabs a binder off the small table in front of the couch, leafing through photos of tattoos. Casey glances at the photos, not seeing anything she would permanently want on her body. Casey doesn’t have any tattoos. When she was younger, she considered getting one. But ultimately decided against it when she shadowed at her first hospital and noticed none of the doctors had visible tattoos.

Bryce kisses her neck, then her cheek, and then gently turns her head so he can kiss her lips. “Relax, you’re so stiff. You don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.”

“No, a bet’s a bet. Just don’t put something terrible on me. Or your name.”

Bryce smiles softly, kissing her again and lightly tugging on one of her dark curls. “I don’t have to put my name on you to let everyone know you’re mine. That’s what the hickies on your inner thighs are for.” Bryce chuckles as Casey blushes, turning her head away from him and looking at the designs again.

He glances through a few more pages before tossing the binder back on the table, tapping her thigh to inform her to get off his lap. “I’ve decided.” He proclaims, walking over to the tattoo shop receptionist. He leans forward, smiling at the girl charmingly as he speaks softly to her. Casey can’t make out what he’s saying. He hands the girl his credit card before heading back to Casey, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you going to tell me what I’m getting?”

Bryce smiles. “It’s a surprise.”

Casey exhales irritably, feeling impatient. “Have you ever wanted a tattoo?” She asks to pass the time. She knows he doesn’t currently have any. She’s seen every inch of him since they’ve been casually hooking up for months. Lately, things have felt more serious. They’re going out on more actual dates now. She’s stopped seeing Rafael. And she hasn’t asked, but she thinks Bryce isn’t seeing anyone else either. But they’re still not official. She’s not sure how to bring it up, or if it’s really what she wants.

“I’ve always wanted a traditional Hawaiian tribal tattoo. A whole sleeve. My uncles have their whole chests done, both sleeves.” Bryce answers.

“What stopped you?” Casey asks, turning her head up from his shoulder to look at him.

His jaw clenches, and he looks like he might not tell her. “My father.” He finally says. “He’s one of those indigenous Hawaiians who rejects his own culture. Who looks down on his own people.” Bryce shakes his head. “But now I just have hospital policy to worry about. As an intern, probably wouldn’t be great for me to show up with a full sleeve. But when I’m a world-famous surgical attending who’s untouchable, I’m definitely getting one.” He states confidently.

Casey smiles, kissing his jaw. “World-famous?” She parrots.

Bryce smiles. “Of course, you know I have magic hands.” Casey rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling fondly. “What about you Valentine? Any cultural tattoos you’ve always wanted?”

She shrugs. “Well, as you know I’m a lot of stuff. A little Scottish, which is where Valentine comes from, but mostly Latina and Black. I wouldn’t know which culture to honor with a tattoo.”

He kisses her tan forehead, looking into her brown eyes. “You could get several, to honor all of them.”

“Let’s see how I do with this one first before I get three more.”

“Casey Valentine?” The heavily tattooed receptionist calls out.

Casey and Bryce stand. “It’s showtime.” Bryce says with a charming smile, gripping her hand and tugging her through the bead partition and into a room with several tattoo chairs and artists.

Casey winces as a teenager cries out as the tattoo needle digs into her shoulder. Bryce squeezes her hand once more. “Sure you don’t want to back down? I promise not to think any less of you.” He assures.

She hops into the tattoo chair. “I’m not a punk Lahela.” She insists. “Where am I getting tattooed?” She questions.

“It’s going to be somewhere you can cover up.” He promises.

“Like where? My ass?” She asks.

“No, your ass is perfect just the way it is.” He winks at her. “I was thinking…..lower hip” His fingers trail over her hip, leaving a fiery trail even though he’s touching her through her clothes. “Upper rib” His fingers trail to the 2nd option, tickling her a little. “Or….ankle.” He takes a seat in a plastic chair beside her, tugging her left leg toward him and kissing the inside of her ankle. “You can pick.”

She thinks it over. The tattoo artist arrives, putting on his gloves. “Of these places, where will a tattoo be the least painful? Hip, ribs, or ankle?” Casey asks him.

“Definitely ankle.” The tattoo artist responds.

“Ankle it is.” Casey decides.

“What are you getting?” He asks.

Casey gestures to Bryce. “Ask him. I lost a bet.”

Bryce and the tattoo artist converse quietly, Bryce drawing up a rough sketch of what he has in mind. Casey drums her fingers nervously against the leather chair, in disbelief that she’s actually going through with this. But she trusts Bryce, knows he wouldn’t put anything heinous on her body. She takes a deep breath, telling herself to relax.

Bryce grips her hand as the tattoo artist turns on the tattoo needle. “I’m right here Casey.” She nods, closing her eyes as the needle digs into her skin. It’s actually not that bad, and it’s over in mere minutes.

She opens her eyes. “That’s it?”

The tattoo artist nods. Casey sits up, glancing at her ankle and her mystery tattoo.

It’s a small shooting star. She looks up to Bryce. He smiles at her. “I wanted something you can look at and remember how great you are Casey. Something that will inspire confidence, which you should exude because you’re amazing. You’re a shooting star. Don’t ever forget it.”

Casey smiles, gripping his hair and bringing his lips to her’s.

“Do I get to pick a tattoo for you now?” She questions when she pulls away just barely, speaking against his lips.

“Not until you finally win a bet. You’re 0 for 8 now.” Bryce responds.

Casey laughs. “You know, a gentleman would let me win once in a while.”

“I am many things Valentine, but a gentleman is not one of them.”

…

taglist: @octobereighth @sibella-plays-choices @hazah @akrenich @lovehugsandcandy @professorortegasstudent

#open heart #choices fanfiction #choices #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #playchoices #bryce lahela

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caveartfair · 7 years ago

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6 Art-Historical Poses You Should Know

Try to recreate the pose of Michelangelo’s David (1501–04) or Botticelli’s Birth of Venus (c. 1486). Or recline on a chaise-longue to mimic Édouard Manet’s Olympia (1863). You’ll find that these gestures can feel quite different than they look—and that some of art history’s most famous poses are altogether impossible to reenact.

Yet, regardless of their anatomical accuracy, certain classic poses are assumed again and again by the figures of Western art history. According to this visual vocabulary, the placement of an arm or a leg can transform an anonymous figure into an emperor, a goddess, or even an eternal soul. Below you’ll find six of art history’s most popular gestures, along with the stories behind this ancient body language.

Composite

Nebamun hunting in the marshes, fragment of a scene from the tomb-chapel of Nebamun, Late 18th Dynasty-around 1350 BC. British Museum

The ancient Egyptians represented the body in an impossible twist, combining multiple perspectives into a single stance. In this composite pose, used in reliefs, stelae, and wall paintings, the torso faces forward, while the head, hips, and legs are shown completely in profile. And even though the figure’s face looks out to the side, its single, almond-shaped eye stares directly at the viewer.

Why contort the body this way? One reason is practical. Noses and feet are easier to draw from the side, while eyes and shoulders are easier to draw straight-on. Go ahead and try it—you’ll find that this is one of the simplest poses to copy on paper, even though it’s among the hardest to recreate with your body.

But these contortions also had spiritual implications. The ancient Egyptians believed that souls needed earthly homes, such as sculpted sarcophagi or painted portraits, to survive after death. Designed to convey this sense of eternal life, the composite pose presents figures as unwavering, motionless, and altogether timeless.

Contrapposto

David, 1501-1504. Michelangelo Buonarroti Galleria dell'Accademia

Compton Contrapposto, 2016. Genevieve Gaignard Shulamit Nazarian

While the composite pose portrayed eternal stillness, the Greek-invented contrapposto (or counterpose) captured the body in motion. Figures in contrapposto appear to be caught in the middle of taking a step. They lean all of their body weight on one leg (sometimes called the “engaged” leg), while their other, more relaxed leg bends at the knee. The torso, shoulders, and head tilt away from the straightened leg, activating the body in a dynamic twist.

Contrapposto could fool viewers into thinking that a hunk of marble or a stretch of canvas was a living, breathing human being—and this sense of effortless naturalism captivated the Greeks. Once you know the pose, you’ll spot it everywhere, from Renaissance masterpieces like Michelangelo’s David to the contemporary photographer Genevieve Gaignard’s Compton Contrapposto (2016).

But while contrapposto might look natural, it surely doesn’t feel natural. To prove this, the conceptual artist Bruce Nauman tried to remain in this historical pose while moving through a narrow passageway in his 60-minute video performance Walk with Contrapposto (1968). The result? An awkward, constricting limp—far from the effortlessness the Greeks intended.

Adlocutio

Augustus of Primaporta, perhaps a copy of a bronze statue of ca. 20 B.C., Early 1st century. Musei Vaticani, Rome

Napoleon at the Great St. Bernard, 1801. Jacques-Louis David Belvedere Museum

If you stand in contrapposto, lift your right arm, and raise your index finger, you’ve made it into the adlocutio (or orator’s) pose. In art history, this commanding stance is reserved mostly for leaders, especially those addressing their troops during battle.

The ancient Roman sculpture Augustus of Primaporta (1st century A.D.) remains the most famous example of the adlocutio—though many artists have continued to employ this pose since. When the Neoclassical master Jacques-Louis David painted Napoleon at the Great St. Bernard (1801), he lifted the French leader’s right arm to echo that of the iconic Augustus. Gilbert Stuart did the same when capturing George Washington (1796), and most depictions of Chairman Mao feature this gesture as well.

But why do these leaders raise their right arms (rather than the left)? In Western art traditions, the right side of the body is symbolically linked to righteousness and divinity. For example, paintings of the Last Judgement will feature the blessed rising to heaven on Christ’s right side, while the damned fall on his left. In early marriage portraits, men stood to the right of their wives to signal their elevated status in the union. Accordingly, the raised right arms of Augustus, Napoleon, Washington, and Mao link their power to the heavens and pay homage to the great leaders of the past.

Pudica

Aphrodite of Knidos, Greco-Roman variant on the original marble of ca. 350 B.C., . Praxiteles Glyptothek, Munich

Venus, 1490s. Sandro Botticelli "Botticelli Reimagined" at Victoria & Albert Museum, London

The Expulsion from Paradise, ca. 1427. Masaccio Brancacci Chapel, Florence

Praxiteles’s Aphrodite of Knidos (4th century B.C.) is considered to be the first monumental sculpture of a naked woman in Western art. (Men, on the other hand, had already been unclothed in sculptures for over 300 years.)

For this pioneering subject matter, Praxiteles needed to invent a new pose—along with a narrative to justify his figure’s unprecedented nudity. Standing in contrapposto, Praxiteles’s Aphrodite notices a stranger intruding on her bath. In the original, the goddess recoils, rushing to cover her pubis with one hand and grabbing her garment with the other. (Today, surviving copies of Aphrodite appear exposed, as her marble arms have not survived.)

This pudica (or modest) pose quickly became standard iconography for women in art, heralded for its eroticism. By covering themselves, women in the pudica pose have tantalized viewers, drawing attention to their sexuality. And while the posture has been adopted by countless artists—including Botticelli, Rembrandt van Rijn, and Pablo Picasso—it’s easy to forget the troubling narrative at its core: the gesture of a woman protecting her body from unwanted advances.

Serpentine

On a winter day in 1506, the Hellenistic Greek masterpiece Laocoön and His Sons (c. 40–30 B.C.) was discovered in a Roman vineyard. Before the piece was fully unearthed, Michelangelo had already rushed to the scene, anxious to study and sketch the ancient marble figures.

The sculpture was a revelation, filled with dramatic contortions previously unseen in Western art. Instead of a slight twist, Laocoön’s entire body completely spiraled on its central axis—his lower limbs pushing in one direction and his torso spinning the other way. This serpentine pose (or figura serpentinata, in Italian) transfixed Michelangelo, and many of his later sculptures and paintings mimic Laocoön’s coiling body.

Serpentine poses are arresting, sensuous, and almost always unnatural. (Few would twist their body in opposite directions by choice.) This exaggerated tension appealed to Mannerist and Baroque artists like Agnolo Bronzino and Gian Lorenzo Bernini, respectively, who wanted to imbue their images with movement, rather than naturalism. For many, Laocoön had cast a shadow over the standard contrapposto, showing that bodies could express much more emotional drama than the effect of a single step.

Odalisque

DO WOMEN STILL HAVE TO BE NAKED TO GET INTO THE MET. MUSEUM?, 2012. Guerrilla Girls "Guerrilla Girls: Is it even worse in Europe?" at Whitechapel Gallery, London (2016-2017)

Four years after the discovery of Laocoön, another art-historical convention emerged. In 1510, the Renaissance painter Giorgione (perhaps with a little help from his pupil Titian) painted the first reclining female nude. Following the pudica pose, Giorgione’s Sleeping Venus (1508–10) covers her sex with one hand while sleeping atop some drapery in a picturesque landscape. The erotic display, designed to please its male viewers, was only admissible because it featured a goddess, rather than a “real” woman.

During the 18th century, colonial expansion exposed artists to Eastern cultures—and many painters became fixated on the subject of the Ottoman harem. Instead of depicting Venus, artists like Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres and Eugène Delacroix began to paint the odalisque (or harem chambermaid) in a similarly suggestive, reclining pose. Though she wasn’t a goddess, the odalisque was still considered “other” enough to sexualize the figure without reproach.

With Olympia, Manet became the first known artist to place a modern white woman in this pose—and shocked audiences. Olympia doesn’t lie passively with her eyes closed, but rather looks directly at viewers, confronting their gaze.

And though the painting was revolutionary, Olympia also added to the long list of artworks by male artists featuring nude women in this pose. In 1989, the Guerilla Girls famously drew attention to this trend by creating a poster of an odalisque with the provocation: “Do women have to be naked to get into the Met Museum?”

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

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studiobowesart · 7 years ago

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Figure Drawing: Repeating What You Should Already Know

-By Arnie Fenner

I think a simple truism about being an artist is that, regardless of stature or status, regardless of the number of years spent sitting at the table, easel, or monitor, regardless of degrees from universities or from the School of Hard Knocks...you're always something of a student. And always will be.

As an artist, you're never (or should never be) entirely satisfied with "where you're at" and, essentially, are always practicing—striving—to get better at the craft. Every doodle, every scribble or sketch is part of the process, part of being an artist. It doesn't stop: you're always experimenting and exploring and observing and thinking. You're always trying to learn or master techniques; you're always studying color and composition and light and gestures and character and, above all, anatomy. Regardless of personal style or career direction, the ability to draw a convincing human figure is truly the core of being an artist. Continuing to practice at it helps artists maintain their visual and spatial abilities: it's almost a form of calisthenics of skills. Every time the model moves their arm or tilts their head, every time they change their pose, there is something new to see, to understand, and to learn.

And, because drawing the figure is fundamental, successfully communicating with and connecting to an audience as a creator—whether the approach is realistic, distorted, cartoonish, or abstract, whether the subjects are people or animals or monsters or landscapes—rests firmly on that foundation. It is the beginning for anything you want to do artistically. As Donato said in his post last year on MC, "I find that life drawing is an important way to reconnect with the main subject in much of my work, that of the human figure. The varied forms of expression and the enlightened discovers which occur while drawing helps to fuel my imagination and inform my eye as to what is possible for shape design within characters."

Above: A figure drawing by Andrew Loomis.

Above left: A late-1950s drawing by Frank Frazetta. Above right: Drawing by Willy Pogany.

A highlight of Spectrum Fantastic Art Live has been the late-night figure drawing party (with several nude models) generously sponsored by Kansas City's The Illustration Academy. Even with pizza (graciously provided by the Aladdin Hotel) and a cash bar, it is a surprisingly serious party; there's relatively little chatter and what there is tends to be in whispers. The focus is on drawing, on getting the most out of the opportunity. I've heard that some have been somewhat intimidated by the intensity of the room, but I've also heard that others were absolutely giddy to be sitting and sketching next to—and getting feedback from—Justin Sweet or Donato or Iain McCaig or Android Jones or Mark English.

Above: John English conducting a figure drawing class during The

Illustration Academy's 2017 Summer Workshop. Photo by Timmy Trabon.

Starting clockwise above left: George Pratt, Bill Sienkiewicz, Mark English, Jeffrey Alan Love.

Figure drawing classes, led and critiqued by the teachers, are an important part of

The Illustration Academy's annual workshops. At the conclusion, the instructors' originals

(like the samples shown above) are given to the students via a raffle.

Drawing from life whenever possible should be high on any artist's list—and, of course, the knowledge obtained through the process is applicable to everything you do, whether you work digitally or in traditional media. I talk often about The Illustration Academy because I know them well (they're local, after all), respect the hell out of what they do, have had the opportunity to sit in on their workshops, and have spent time with their instructors over the years. They're devoted to not only helping artists improve their skills but also in helping them achieve their professional goals. Besides actively emphasizing figure drawing in their curriculum—and hosting drawing events as they have at SFAL as a part of their outreach mission—the Academy hires models and sponsors semi-regular sessions open to all artists at the Interurban Art House (in one of KC's suburbs) throughout the year. Watching IA's Facebook page is a good way for people to stay abreast of dates. Naturally, there are similar gatherings all over (like the Sketch Nights at the Society of Illustrators in New York every Tuesday and Thursday) and it shouldn't be a surprise that I encourage everyone to take advantage of these opportunities whenever and wherever they're offered. (The social and networking aspects of such gatherings are extremely important to career growth as well.)

Above: George Pratt (on the right) oversees the give-away of the instructors'

figure drawings to students. As an aside, let me talk about George for a moment:

A renowned comics artist, illustrator, and Fine Artist, his graphic novel

Enemy Ace: War Idyl has been translated into nine languages and for a time was

required reading at West Point. Besides teaching at the Illustration Academy,

George has taught at Pratt and the SVA and is currently an instructor at the Ringling College

of Art and Design. The IA's Summer Workshop lasts five weeks (students can sign up for

one or all) and features a different group of instructors each week: George and John English

teach during all five. And, yes, there are on-line classes available, too. Anyway, readers

can learn a bit more about The Illustration Academy and other great workshop

opportunities in my "Summer School" post some weeks back.

Depending on location, finances, or other circumstances, I know it can be difficult-to-impossible for some to take part in a figure drawing get-together...but that doesn't mean you can't still practice. Use family members or friends as models and if even that doesn't work out, you might recall that I've previously pointed out various video resources via YouTube that you can use at your own time, pace, and convenience. Like this:

youtube

Jon Foster says, "Students will ask me, 'When do I know it all? When does it get easier?' And I tell them: Never. It never gets easier. You have to work to make a career and work to maintain it."

So the Word of the Day is...well, the same as it is everyday: Draw! Or better, the three Words of the Day are: Draw The Figure!

from Muddy Colors http://ift.tt/2w5JupI

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nyeusigrube-haven · 5 years ago

Text

All Just Glass: excerpts

(originally posted in 2004)

Prologue I 1981

That idiot. If he appeared and disappeared one more time, she was going to strangle him.

As nonsensical as that idea seemed, since he didn’t need to breathe. But she was annoyed.

11:48. She should have been out of here by now, but this vampire was playing havoc with her self-control. Or the faint apparition of willpower she mistakenly liked to call "self-control."

Abruptly, a hand was resting on her right forearm, not tight enough to restrain yet, though the potential was there. The other half of the pair snaked around her to proffer a calla lily.

"A gift, for the most beautiful woman here," he offered.

She shook his grip off, turning, and finally the admirer who had been stalking her to- who had invited her to this bash, actually- stood before her.

"You’re late," she said. "You were supposed to-"

He hushed her, a finger over her lips, and she was shocked enough that she actually stopped talking. When he had invited her, he had promised to show up by ten; here it was almost the Devil’s Hour.

"I was here," he teased. "I never said I would introduce myself."

She glared. 11:50, the clock read. She really needed to get out of here; midnight was not a fond time for her at these parties.

"Would you care to dance?" the vampire offered.

"First I want to know your name." He had been following her around, playing merry hell with her hunting trips, and flirting for months now. From small gifts left in absurd places, to poetry called down from darkened rooftops as she stalked her prey, to odd moments where chocolate cake would appear beside her bed while she slept, he had attempted to court her.

Her! He was a vampire, infatuated with a hunter.

And finally he had invited her here.

And she had come. And she had been here for hours, mingling and playing nice, and hadn’t killed anything yet.

"Jerome," he answered. "Now would you like to dance?"

The music had surged into a slow song, ethereal and falsely peaceful.

They danced. Jerome was a fine dancer. More than fine.

11:57. His gaze followed hers to the clock. "How about a walk outside?" he suggested. A walk outside, while Devil’s Hour fell inside.

"Outside" included an Oriental garden, lush and beautiful. Jerome kept an arm around her shoulders as they walked, and she couldn’t tell if he was being friendly or trying to keep her from reaching the knife on the back of her neck.

"You know I have a fiancée," she said, wondering about this handsome vampire and how mad he truly was.

"The honorable Fredrick," he answered lightly. "He’s human, you know. No good for you at all."

She shook her head.

"You know what I am." She knew he did. But she needed to hear him say it.

"Of course." He sighed. Inside, a clock struck midnight.

"This is traditionally when you try to drink my blood, and I kill you," she said, wondering whether Jerome had plans to that effect. That was certainly what was going on inside- save for the second part. Most of the guests had no idea what their hosts were until the moment when the fangs were shown. Yet there was no screaming. There never was. She had seen enough vampires with their prey to know that the prey rarely fought. More often, it swooned.

"I don’t like tradition," Jerome answered. He stopped, facing her in the darkness. "How about we say this is the moment when I kiss you." He tilted her face up as he spoke. "And you kiss me back?"

They did. The clock had stopped striking when his lips met hers; she wrapped arms around his neck.

Jerome’s skin was warm as any human’s. She had never understood that.

His kiss trailed from her lips to her throat. She wrapped fingers around the handle of the knife on her left wrist, waiting for the bite.

He lifted his head, and she leaned against him, relaxing. "You are too tempting," he said, his voice shaky.

She could see through the window another couple, like Jerome and herself, the man’s lips at the woman’s throat. Only he had bitten. The woman’s fingers were twined in his hair, her body slack, supported by his embrace.

"What does it feel like?" She had never been in a position to know.

Jerome knew what she was asking. "If you don’t fight..." He shook his head. "It’s not something that can be described. It feels good. Really good." He took a breath, something that was completely unnecessary; it was one of those odd traits some vampires had, a habit left over from human time when emotions were expressed through breathing. "That’s why so many people are willing," he added. "And if the vamp can roll your mind, even better. You're a thousand miles away, floating in paradise in an instant."

She knew about those people, humans who willingly attended these bashes with the hope that some vampire would take their blood.

"Could you?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically tentative.

Jerome looked surprised. "Only if you let me."

She had known that. He wasn’t the strongest of his kind, and the defenses in her mind were powerful.

It was tempting. When would she possibly get this opportunity again?

She tilted her head back, brushing silky blonde hair from her throat. Jerome met the invitation instantly, his lips hovering over the pulse for a moment. He whispered, "Sweetheart," an endearment that seemed out of place, breath cool on her skin, and then she felt the press of fangs. She consciously lowered the walls in her mind, and then...

As he had said, there were no words. A million caresses. A flow of warm water. A sweet lethargy like the warm fuzzy stage just before sleep.

However it was described, when he lifted his head again, she wanted more. She tried to pull him back down and he laughed.

"I think you would be very cross with me if I took too much," Jerome said.

She settled for the next best thing, rising on her toes to try to meet his lips, but again he pushed her back.

"Not unless you want to taste your own blood," he warned her.

Not like she had never tasted it before.

Prologue II

The sunlight formed millions of rainbows as it fell through the thick, carved glass window. Millions of glass facets, etched to resemble a forest of ice, decorated the eight panes.

"Sarah." The sharp sound of her older sister’s voice snapped Sarah back to what they were doing.

Adianna had looked up from the book she had been studying, and now brushed from her face fine, silver-blond hair that had only begun to darken to the deep honey color it would later become.

"Okay, I’m bored," sighed another girl at the table, also blond, named Gabriel. Gabriel Arun, one of the oldest of their group at eleven years, lifted eyes the color of lightening storms to glance at the clock. "Do I really have to do this?"

"Yep," answered Michael solemnly. He still had a bit of a French accent, which Sarah loved the sound of. The Andre family had only moved back to the US a year ago, to join Michael’s great aunt’s side of the family, which included Gabriel.

"Just read." That commandment came from Zachary Vida, Sarah’s first cousin. Zachary was Gabriel’s age, but had none of her impatience.

"I think if I stare at this book for another minute, I might have to break something," Sarah lamented.

"Sarah!"

She hunched over as she heard her mother’s stern voice behind her. Dominique had entered the kitchen.

"Sorry, Mother." Her mother did not approve of familiar greetings; Sarah could not imagine how Dominique would react to hear one of her daughters say the word "Mommy" or- "Has Father come home yet?" she asked hopefully, as her thoughts reminded her.

He had been gone for a week now, a long time. And if he was gone more than one night, he always called. He never went away for this long without calling to talk to Sarah.

"He hasn’t called," Dominique answered coolly. She did not sound worried about the man she had married.

"I’m worried about him," Sarah confided. "Can’t Monica or someone-"

The wrong person to confide to, unfortunately. Before Sarah could suggest that one of the other witches might be able to help track the human man down, Dominique interrupted, "It doesn’t matter. Study, Sarah."

She returned to her book, and studied. Dominique took Gabriel and Zachary into the next room, and the sound of Gabriel’s fierce kia’s soon filled the area as she practiced. Zachary was more quiet, though occasionally he would correct Gabriel or apologize to Dominique about a mistake.

They were allowed to fight. The older kids got to practice combat, and everyone else got to stay here, studying page after page of history and laws.

Michael put a hand over Sarah’s as she shut the book and leaned her head on the table.

"We’ll get a chance later," he whispered, careful not to let Dominique hear them talking. "Come on. We’ve only got another fifteen minutes, then we can take a break. Then I’ll fight you."

She smiled slightly. Michael and Gabriel were from the Arun line. That meant they did not need to memorize the pages of Vida laws, and they did not need to practice the iron control that Sarah, Adianna and Zachary were having drilled into them by Dominique.

They still needed to know the histories, though. Sarah had read these books so many times, she had come to know many of the creatures described within. She could recognize a lot of them on sight. Generations of genealogy were drilled into her.

That was the point of the books, the journals as Dominique called them. One contained the Vida ancestry, back until nearly five thousand years BC.Another contained the tedious lists of their prey, which Dominique had mostly gathered, based on sketches and descriptions written by witches long dead. All the creatures that the list named were vampires. With their sprawling, ever growing numbers, their black eyes and the bloodlust that drove them, they were slowly hunted by Sarah and her kin. Since long before the books were started, there had been Vida witches, defenders of humanity Sarah liked to think.

Michael’s line, the Arun line, was much younger. Its roots were a mystery; it was only known that they healed faster and were stronger than any other witch. And of course, the Arun line had fewer rules.

Adianna was studying those rules right now, poring over the faded, black script of Brina D'Bergitta Arun, who had lived in the late sixteen hundreds. She had recorded all the laws and some of the history of the lines of witches- ten pages of her tight handwriting covered the complex sets of Vida laws.

A sensation like ice down her spine caused Sarah to stand and look up towards the door, outside which she could sense... something. For a moment it had felt like vampire, but now that was gone. Michael was looking at her, puzzled, and Adianna was also watching the doorway.

"Sarah-"

"None of them would be stupid enough to attack one of us here," Sarah interrupted her sister, as her natural curiosity led her to investigate. The aura felt almost human, familiar, but still somewhat wrong.

She opened the door, but could not immediately comprehend what her eyes saw. Two feet, in dark sneakers. Dark pants. A hand, with a simple white-gold wedding band on one finger. Fair hair.

Her knees collapsed from under her, and she found her left hand on the shoulder of the victim, in the blood. The blood...

So red it seemed to make all other color fade. Once she had recognized it, the rest of the picture became all too clear. Though blood had turned the surface crimson and burgundy, she could recognize him.

His skin was the color of chalk. The bones of his arms bent in strange locations, and cuts were visible on his wrists. The blood had spilt from shallow knife wounds, which marred his shoulders, face and stomach. The unbroken skin of his arms showed bloody lips.

She felt her breath coming faster, the beginning of a scream that might never end building in her throat. She sensed Dominique behind her, a cool and controlled presence, and finally her gaze snapped up. Without conscious intent, she met the eyes of the two vampires which had brought her father here. They were standing on the porch of a house across the street, licking bloody lips, one male and one female.

"Sarah-"

She only realized she had stood when Dominique grabbed her shoulder. She glanced back at her mother, then across the street again. Seeing the hunters move towards them, the villains had disappeared into the air.

"Sarah, come inside," Dominique said, her tone as gentle as Sarah had ever heard it. "Zachary, could you give me a hand?"

In shock perhaps, she backed into the house. With some help from Zachary, Dominique lifted her husband’s body and brought it inside. Adianna called one of the other witches to say what had happened.

Dead. The word finally made its way into Sarah’s conscious mind. Her father, dead. Her mother and her sister, both treating this as ordinary. Zachary, calmly helping Dominique place the body some place where the neighbors would not see it. Michael had turned away, and was leaning against a wall. Gabriel’s eyes lingered on the blood for a moment, then she snapped her gaze away and left the room.

All so quiet, so controlled.

"How can you be so calm?" Sarah asked Zachary, as Dominique spoke on the phone to Zachary's older sister. His mother and father had both been taken by these creatures. How could he stand there so calmly?

"How else should I be?" he asked, almost emotionless. Not with shock, but with control, with that damnable Vida control that Dominique preached.

Why the control? She ranted silently. Why can’t I scream and cry, when the man who I call father is dead?

Instinctively, she reached out to the first thing she could find, the water glass Zachary had been drinking from, and threw it with all her strength at his feet. The glass shattered, and Zachary’s eyes widened for a moment. "Sarah, calm down," he ordered softly. "There’s no reason to-"

"How can you say that?" This time she threw one of the ancient, precious books, nearly hitting Dominique in the back. "There’s no reason for me to be furious? How can you not be? They just..." Her breath caught, but she continued in a violent whisper. "They murdered my father. How can you not care? Adianna, how-"

"I care," Adianna answered, her voice tight. She put a hand on her sister’s shoulder, and took a breath to control herself. "I care, but crying isn’t going to help anything. This is why we hunt- to stop things like this."

"Then why isn’t it working?" At the blank looks she received from everyone else in the room, she demanded, "We’ve been hunting them for thousands of years, and every year there are more pages in the book. There are more people dead. There are more hunters dead. There are more..." She raised her bloodied left hand. "More of this. More blood spilt out of spite and hatred and-" She slammed that fist into the window she had been daydreaming about earlier. She was young, but she had been trained as a hunter, and she was not a human child. She had never been a child. The glass was thick, and as it shattered she felt it slice into her skin, but she welcomed the sensation.

Softly, she hissed, "See that? That’s what we make out of everything we do. It’s all illusion. There’s no rainbow there." Enjoying the destructive chaos, enjoying letting out the anger, she shattered a second pane. "It’s all-" A third one, obliterating the moon. "Just-" A fourth, wiping out the oak trees that had hung over the pond. Pain shot up her arm, but she ignored it, as any Vida child was taught to do.

Ignore the pain, continue. Let it cut, ignore the blood, continue.

Chapter 1

"Sarah. Sarah, wake up."

The frantic voice dragged her abruptly from the world of sleep, and she soon found herself clinging to whoever had woken her.

She had nearly forgotten. She had nearly made herself forget what had happened, where all the hatred stemmed from. Not the old, dusty books of Vida ancestors who had been wronged, but that one incident.

The vampires who had caught her father had broken his arms, then chained him to a wall by his wrists. It had taken him three days to die, with them bleeding him a little each day.

Her mother had been furious at Sarah’s actions, though Dominique would never admit to the emotion. She had chastised Sarah for her "irrational loss of control," then set the four bones Sarah had broken in her hand.

There had been no more outbursts since. Her control had grown as icy as her mothers’.

You never react. Just like you never shout out in pain, and never cry, even when you make enemies of your friends.

Nikolas had said that to her once. Nikolas, who had hunted her down for harming his family. Nikolas, who had finally taught her how to forgive.

Nikolas, she realized, to who she was clinging as if he was the last line to shore.

She pulled away, awkward. She had needed someone to hold her as the memories washed over her, so raw even ten years later, but she had not expected that someone to be Nikolas.

"Are you all right?" he asked, letting her slip away.

She nodded once, trying to drag around herself whatever part of her composure still existed. She stood, shivering not from cold but from scores of memories she would just as soon forget.

Like a black and white photograph, Nikolas had a beauty and- as she had only recently learned- an innocence that made him seem as if he might be an angel. His hair was pure, moonless black; usually he wore it back, which only served to accent eyes the same impossible jet, but now it fell around his shoulders. The black was set against his fair skin, so pale it seemed almost white by contrast. He knew no deceit, and as he had told her many times, he never lied. His world was as clearly defined as black and white.

She was too tired, and romanticizing. If Nikolas was angel, he had fallen long ago. Within that sense of black and white was a clear line between friend and foe, and she remembered what it had been like on the wrong side of that line.

"Just a nightmare... but thank you," she added reluctantly.

Nikolas shook his head softly, but did not argue with her. Instead, he explained, "Kristopher went to SingleEarth. He didn’t want to leave you, but we decided it would be best to let Caryn know what was going on. I would have gone..." Nikolas trailed off with a shrug. He would never be allowed within five hundred yards of SingleEarth.

Caryn Smoke was another witch, about Sarah’s age, from a line of healers. SingleEarth was a peaceful establishment for all creatures, human and non, witch and vampire, who wanted to learn to live together without fighting. Nikolas had been barred from the building long ago.

Sarah sighed heavily, wrapping her arms around herself as if cold. She wanted Kristopher to be home.

Kristopher was Nikolas’s twin brother, physically identical save for a scar on the left side of his chest, where a knife wielded by one of Sarah’s ancestors had nearly struck his heart more than a hundred years ago.

They were similar like moonlight and starshine. Both brothers were fiercely loyal to their friends and kin, and powerful enough to be effective protectors even in the world of the night. However, where Nikolas saw the world in black and white, Christopher could see a thousands shades of gray. Where Nikolas could give a straight answer of yes or no, Christopher could give a thousand reasons for either. Nikolas could be either angel or demon, while Christopher frequently seemed far more human.

Christopher had been the one to show Sarah how human vampires could be, after seventeen years when she had been taught that they were simply monsters who should be destroyed from the earth.

"When did he leave?" Sarah asked, trying to shake off the last remnants of her dreams. None of Dominique’s lectures or books had been able to teach her hatred more effectively than that scene had.

Nikolas glanced to a clock that hung on the wall, a piece of modern artwork that gave Sarah a headache whenever she tried to read it. "About five minutes ago." Looking back to Sarah, he asked gently, "What was the dream about?"

She shook her head, turning away. "Nothing."

He pressed, "Bad memories?" Her gaze whipped back to him, a sharp remark on the tip of her tongue, until Nikolas hastily explained, "I didn’t read your mind, Sarah. You know I wouldn’t do that. Our kind doesn’t create dreams- when we sleep, we can only remember. What kind of memory can leave the indomitable Sarah Vida shaken?"

If he wanted to know, she would tell him. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and bluntly described, "I was seven years old when my father died. He was killed by a pair of vampires, who trapped him and tortured him for three days before they killed him." She saw Nikolas flinch away from her tone, but he held her gaze. "I found the body, nearly fell over it."

For a moment she had to pause, then she pulled her anger back around her. "I was furious, and punched a window. I broke four of the bones in my left hand, hitting it, and sliced myself open." Her voice softened as she continued, as she remembered her mother’s reaction. She held up her hand, showing the tear-shaped scar that still remained. "This would have healed, but my mother bound my magic for a week, so I would feel every injury I had given myself. She didn’t care that her husband was dead, but she was furious that her daughter had lost control."

She flexed the hand against phantom pain as she remembered. "She had me practice fighting, even against the older kids. A Daughter of Vida needs to be able to continue, to fight on, even when she can hardly breathe past the pain. I was seven years old."

Nikolas looked pained, and she saw his hand close and open as he checked the impulse to reach out to her. Nikolas learned quickly; he knew she would only pull away.

Her voice soft, slow, she added softly, "They had cut into his arms, his shoulders and wrists, just to hurt him more. That’s where all the blood came from."

This time Nikolas leaned heavily back against the wall, closing his eyes with a whispered curse. His voice was pained, and she knew why.

The scars now on her arms had mostly been made by Nikolas, cut into her skin with a switchblade. They were his symbol- his and his brother’s. Most humans who wore them were proud of the marks, and those same marks were a silent warning to any vampire who might think of harming those humans.

Nikolas had marked Sarah when they had still been enemies. She had still been a vampire hunter, and had just before told Kristopher to leave her alone or she would kill him. Nikolas did not react well to people threatening his brother.

The tense moment was broken as someone knocked on the door. "Sarah?"

In the two seconds it took her to reach towards and open the door, Sarah had wiped the pained emotions from her expression. The action was natural, a habit- it was frequently more difficult to show emotion than to hide it.

"Kristopher."

He kissed her gently on the forehead, and then pulled her forward to catch her lips. "I’m sorry. I thought I would get back before you woke up."

She shrugged, not wanting to share the whole story. "I’m wasn’t human to begin with- I’m not as weak as I would have been."

She had been changed less than twenty-four hours ago, and most fledglings her age slept from sunrise to sunset, but according to the abstract black and white clock on the wall it was only one in the afternoon. Usually she slept later, and she could feel tiredness sucking her down even now, but she was grateful that Nikolas had woken her from that painful memory.

Nikolas did not tell his brother why she had woken, and Sarah was grateful for his discretion. If Kristopher asked, Nikolas would answer- he hid nothing from his brother- but Kristopher did not ask. He was intelligent enough to know that something had happened, because if Sarah had just woken naturally Nikolas would not have come to her, but he also understood that if she wanted him to know, she would tell him.

Kristopher nodded in the direction of a suitcase left in the hallway, just beyond the still open door. "Caryn packed that for you. She took them from your old room before your mother could destroy them, but hadn’t had a chance to get them to you."

The outfit she was wearing had been borrowed from one of many humans who lived half in and half out of the vampiric world, protected by Nikolas and Kristopher.

Sarah nodded again, grateful, as she slipped away from Kristopher. "Thanks."

"Sarah?" Kristopher caught her arm when she turned to fetch the bag Caryn had thoughtfully packed. "Have you decided yet what you’re going to do?"

She paused a moment, then answered truthfully, "I don’t know."

She had places to go if she wanted to. SingleEarth would take her, and even Dominique would hesitate to hunt her down in that establishment. Kristopher and Nikolas’s sister, Nissa, would take her in and teach her how to live without killing. Yet she was drawn to Kristopher’s offer of shelter, safety and companionship.

Except that she didn’t want to be protected- not by Kristopher, not by SingleEarth, not by Nissa. She was used to standing on her own.

So why was she still here? Kristopher had offered to her a place to sleep for the day, and she had accepted, exhausted and confused and needing to delay the decision for a while.

She just... didn’t know. She had been a hunter all her life; she had lived to kill vampires, and now found herself one of them.

She didn’t know where she could go from there.

Chapter 2

Adianna Vida was on the verge of breakdown. Complete emotional meltdown. She knew it; everyone knew it.

Not a scratch. She examined herself in the mirror. After that fight, she should have been hurt, but as always she was unscathed but for rumpled clothing and tangled hair.

She took a deep breath. Control. Control.

Dear goddess.

She pulled a brush through her hair as if to avenge a wrong committed against her.

She had seen him in SingleEarth. The vampire’s image was still clear in her mind. The image of his lips at Sarah’s throat would never fade. She had overheard enough of the conversation with Caryn to know that Sarah was "alive" still.

Not Sarah. Just one of them.

"What is wrong with you?" The voice was cool, full of disapproval.

Adianna turned to face her mother, forcing her expression to be calm. "I’m sorry, Dominique. I ran into some trouble on my way home from SingleEarth."

That much was true. The exact trouble had been a pair of vampires, determined to end her existence as a threat to them.

"What did SingleEarth have to say?" Dominique asked.

Dominique had sent Adianna to SingleEarth to ask about Sarah’s whereabouts. Luckily, Caryn had not known when Adianna had spoken to her where the witch-turned-vampire was, or even that she had been turned vampire.

Then the leech had shown up.

"They didn’t know anything about her."

Dominique knew that Sarah had disappeared one night. She knew that the vampires had tried to bloodbond her, an action that could kill any Vida. But Dominique did not accept "probably" for an answer. She wanted the body.

She wanted to make sure her youngest daughter was not exactly what she was.

"Track her down, Adianna," Dominique ordered. "I don’t care how long it takes."

Track her down.

She didn’t want to kill Sarah. "I will."

And she would, because she had received the order, and to defy it could get her disowned. Adianna and her cousin, Zachary, were the last pureblooded witches in their line; that line could not be allowed to die.

For a moment, Dominique looked tired. Her sapphire Vida-blue eyes looked much older than her not-quite forty years. And in that moment, Adia remembered that Dominique had married and had her first child when she was even younger than Adia was now.

So young. Sarah’s age.

Dominique never spoke about her childhood, not with her daughters anyway. To them she only spoke of duty and control. Had she ever been more open with her husband, before he had died? Had she ever been softer than the stone she was now?

"And if you find her, and she’s been turned into one of those... creatures," Dominique sighed, "put a knife in her heart."

Adianna swallowed thickly. "I will."

--- END ---

#nyeusigrube #tdos #the den of shadows #ajg #all just glass #sarah #sarah vida #nikolas #kristopher #adianna #dominique #clips/scenes

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