#thinking a lot about tattoos because of a commission and like. tattoo sleeves are cool. and skizz is not beating the angel headcanons so

[wasyago]

a quick idea

[rapha3liii]

Abigail, Emily & Haley! (part 1 of my bachelorette art!)

these are just my personal headcanons, mostly in line with my fic! the surnames are just ones I chose myself because I think these gals deserve a little more character :) Image descriptions and in-image text/captions are provided below!

Leah, Penny and Maru are next! (will get to the dudes eventually)

Abigail Mercer:

20 years old attending online university for Anthropology

tall compared to most villagers, even taller than her parents!

nose and bridge piercing done in Zuzu city

hearts drawn on with eyeliner

tattoo of thorned rose

Sam's old denim jacket, she cut the sleeves off with craft scissors

Amethyst gem-set sword commissioned from Marlon, her parents still haven't found it...

Silver bangle gifted from her mother

belly button piercing done by Emily in Sebastians basement, she definitely didn't get an infection from it-

sword tattoo inspired by the first sword she held

usually accompanied by her fathers retired leather satchel, holding her flute case and cool rocks she finds

her fishnets are the only thing shes ever bought from Joja Online and her dad is still mad about it

second hand doc-martins because her parents refused to spend that much on shoes (I don't blame em...)

Emily Larson

26 years old and the towns resident tailor

always wearing contacts!

average height

has helix, ear lobe and vertical eyebrow piercings

Always changing her hairstyle and colour, but blue seems to stick for longer than most!

She regularly attends ren-faires all over the republic

made this miniature cape for Zuzu ren-faire and hasn't stopped wearing it since...

hoop earrings and favourite lipstick given to her by her girlfriend, Sandy!

Wears lots of rings

obsessed with lantern sleeves!

always has her Nazar pendant on!

Acrylic nails are done by her younger sister, Haley!

exclusively wears gold jewellery

hand tailored dress and shirt

shoes are bought from a vintage clothes boutique in Grampleton

always wears her favourite ruffled petticoat under skirts

Haley Larson

18 years old and newly graduated from highschool, now a freelance photographer

shorter (and cuter!) than most

always wearing baby blue eyeshadow

shell necklace gifted to her by Alex, her best friend

cute face mole!

always wearing her grandma's bracelet

always using extra blush and face shimmer!

flowery blouse made by her sister, Emily

loves wearing mini-skirts, shorts and low-waist jeans!

regularly posts her landscape photography to her blog, and even won a local competition once!

her fav pleated skirt

loves swimming and paddleboarding in the sea by the beach!

despite graduating top of her class, she has little interest in academia - but loves art

really wants an ankle tattoo of a sea-shell!

cute strap heels she stole from her sisters wardrobe (Emily still hasn't realised yet)

[Image 1 ID: A digital drawing of Abigail from Stardew Valley holding a sword. She's smiling, with dark lipstick and purple eyeshadow, and has small hearts drawn on her cheeks in eyeliner. She has a bridge, nose and belly button piercing and blue eyes. She's wearing a sleeveless denim vest, with a black tank top underneath and black denim shorts with purple fishnets underneath. She has a tattoo of a rose on her upper right arm and another of a sword on her inner left calf. She has pointed black nails and two bangles on her right wrist. She has black platform boots and has a freckles all over her body. Her hair is a vibrant purple in waves reaching her lower back. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 2 ID: A digital drawing of Emily from Stardew Valley pinching her dress in both hands in a bowing like gesture. The left side of her head is shaved while the right has straight, blue shoulder length hair. She has purple eyeshadow, pink lipstick and brown eyes. She also has gold helix piercings, a gold vertical eyebrow piercing and golden hoops in her lobes. She is smirking and looking to the right. She is wearing a layered red dress with a long pleated skirt. It has a white ruffled petticoat underneath. Under her red dress is a pink shirt with lantern style sleeves. She has a corset on over the dress with golden buttons and a miniature cape in dark red clasped to her shoulders. Two necklaces are hanging from under her shirt collar, one golden chain and the other a pendent of a 'Nazar'. She has long sharp purple acrylic nails and multiple rings on both of her hands. She is wearing dark red heels with button clasped straps. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 3 ID: A digital drawing of Haley from Stardew Valley standing casually, smiling, with a tuft of her hair inbetween her fingers in one hand and blue eyes. She has golden blonde hair in waves just reaching her upper back. She has locks of hair over both of her shoulders. She has light blue eyeshadow and bright pink blush and lipstick, she also has a mole on her face just above her lips to the right. She is wearing a low crop blue blouse with short sleeves and a white lined flower pattern on it. She has pink nails and is wearing a necklace of a blue sea-shell with a golden chain and a bracelet with a golden chain and heart pendent. Her left arm is holding her hair while her right arm is crossed over her chest and resting on her other arm. She is wearing a pink pleated mini-skirt and blue heels with small straps around her ankles. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 4 ID: A digital drawing with the three previously described characters all standing in a line. The order is Abigail to the left, Emily in the middle and Haley to the right. Each character has their in-game character sprite by 'ConcernedApe' on the upper left to them. The artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is overlayed in three different places on the drawing. /. End ID]

This my first time ever writing image descriptions so please tell me how I did! I read some other blogs and advice prior to writing my own but I understand its likely I got some things wrong! Please let me know if I've formatted or written something in a way that makes the descriptions innacessible! Thankyou

[drowninginredink]

Hi ciel! Thank you for tagging me! Anyway I do tag games on my main so I'm responding here instead of on schizosam.

Do you make your bed?

Absolutely not. I have a comforter in a duvet and nothing else, a) because i always kick sheets off anyway, and b) so i never have to make my bed.

What's your favorite number?

47 is pretty good. And 14. 21 is cool. I like things with 7s and 4s.

What is your job?

I am a certified nursing aide in a nursing home. Which, since I work nights, mostly means changing diapers. I really like it. I love getting to see and interact with my patients. I really like that I do stuff with my hands instead of my brain. I appreciate that my job is something that's actually good and necessary. And I really, really like being in a field where i can work nights. It works much better with my natural night owl sleep schedule, i do not get perceived as much which is great when you are trans, and it means that i have a good amount of downtime that i use to write fic.

If you could go back to school, would you?

Eventually I will go to nursing school, but i want to transition first. I'm just not going to be able to handle being back in school until I'm comfortable with my body.

Can you parallel park?

Dude i don't even drive because of schizophrenia. Nooooo

A job you had that would surprise people?

Well given how trans I ended up, it's probably a surprise that I had an internship for Girl Scouts. Not going to say more than that so i don't doxx myself, but yeah, I did 13 years of Girl Scouts... And then ended up a dude.

Do you think aliens are real?

Oh yeah, they've got to be, but I can't say I expect us to find them in my lifetime.

Can you drive a manual car?

Again, do not drive at all because I dissociate too much for it to be safe.

What's your guilty pleasure?

Uh, not to sound pretentious, but I don't feel guilty about the things I like? Uh... I eat too much sugar. I read a lot of non-con and dub-con and incest fanfic. I jerk off a lot. I spend too much time playing a phone game called Township.

Tattoos?

Two. One that's a half-sleeve that i commissioned that's a whole bunch of symbols of me throughout the years that's basically a memorial to my pre-transition self, and then also the VFD tattoo from A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Favorite color?

Red

Favorite type of music?

Well, I listen to indie folk most often, but nothing lights me up like listening to musical theater. Like, you wouldn't know it thaaaaat much from my presence on here, but I am in fact the biggest theater geek you'll meet and it is the interest I can go on about for longest. The history, the craft, the art of revivals... yeah if you ever want a theater opinion, I have it. Also I fucking adore The Pet Shop Boys in the way you can only love whoever was your favorite musical artist when you were 14. Of course, that's entirely reasonable because they're goddamn brilliant.

Do you like puzzles?

Yes. I haven't done a real, honest to god puzzle in forever. I should clear off my table and do one. Note to self. Although yes, I love other puzzles too. I was super addicted to Sudoku for a bit.

Any phobias?

No, not really. There are some topics that I'm weird about because schizophrenia (namely religion) but no actual phobias.

Favorite childhood sport?

Oh I did one thing, and I loved it, and that was dance. I did so much dance. Fuck I miss it. The local community theater is doing Newsies this year and I can't wait to tap dance again.

Do I talk to myself?

YES, and I address myself by name so much, and it is always my deadname. Which I guess is good given that I'm not super out yet, but also it's annoying.

What movies do you adore?

I really don't watch movies because it's very much "yeah okay, but like. I could watch a musical instead." So instead, this is going to be an excuse to list my favorite musicals:

1. Phantom of the Opera. Which is mostly nostalgia. It was the first musical I ever loved. No score will ever hit me quite like that one. God the music is good. And I do think it's a really good case study because though it very much is about style and spectacle and not substance, it is still only works so well because it has such a sophisticated, well-developed theme.

2. Falsettos. I genuinely think it's a perfect musical. I can think of only one flaw with it, and it's that I don't like the jokes about Cordelia being a bad caterer. I think those are hacky. Everything else? Every lyric and melody and character beat? Utterly perfect.

3. Company. Did you know that aromanticism the musical exists, and that it came out in 1970? It is absolutely the story of an alloaro trying to figure out what the hell romance is and why people do it now that they're old enough that having not settled down is weird. And it's got a Sondheim score. Such a fantastic score.

4. 42nd Street. Look. The story does not matter. At all. But it is a phenomenal show for tap dancing, and I'm a dancer at heart. And it's got a score full of 30s songs and I love that old musical theater style. If you ever get the chance to see it in person, I recommend it.

5. Cats. I know why so many people hate Cats. It is dramatic and theatrical and is just a bunch of cats doing numbers introducing themselves with no plot. That's exactly why I love it. It's like drag. Every cat goes in and struts their stuff for a number. I know who I am; that is my shit. The score is fun and the dancing is great.

Anyway all of these have professional recordings made of them, so technically they're all movies. I recommend watching all of them except 42nd Street. I think that particular production of 42nd Street has shitty choreography.

By the way, hey ciel, if you like The Phantom of the Opera and camp disasters, you need to watch Love Never Dies. God, I adore it. Absolutely so bad it is good. Just, bad in the best, most intoxicating, most fascinating way. I love it.

Coffee or tea?

Tea. Coffee is gross. I really like pretty much any kind of tea.

First thing you wanted to be when you grew up?

I genuinely don't remember ever having any idea what I'd want to do when I grew up until at age 9 they made me write an essay about it and I was like "uh... I do a lot of theater so I guess an actor?" But as an actual kid I was always like "there are so many options. I have no idea"

Okay, so, it's long as hell so absolutely no pressure, but if @thewormarchives @ven10 @thetreetzar @cat-boy-tom @70snasagay @closetedangel @roach-in-the-kitchen @thehistoryone and @randosfandos want to do it, hell yeah!

tag game!

thank you for the tag, @according2thelore 🥰

Do you make your bed? i basically live in my bed, so no. i want it cozy and making it makes it un-cozy.

What's your favorite number? 3! or rather, repeating 3s. my mom and i look for repeating 3s out in the wild ever since she heard about some kinda christian number thing relating to angels (idk i don't go there), and it's become a whole Thing. i like that we can share it :)

What is your job? i do translations...! spanish and japanese, mostly. i translated a video game last year too which i'm very proud of!

If you could go back to school, would you? yeah tbh. i hated school for disability reasons, but i really enjoy sitting in lectures and learning things. structured learning is great and super easy so i'd love to return. i'd be the kind of person who would get like 20 masters degrees if college were free.

Can you parallel park? noooo..... i never got that far lmao. i don't have a license and i would like it to stay that way for as long as i can get away with it. peace and love ✨

A job you had that would surprise people? i did an internship with the linguistics department while i was an undergrad where i helped do some menial work for a larger research project the school was conducting? i sucked at it though, lol

Do you think aliens are real? statistically speaking there's basically no way there's NO other life in the universe, so yes i do. i'm even fairly confident there has to be intelligent life outside of humans somewhere out there. i do not have any belief in any kind of alien life form having made contact with earth, though.

Can you drive a manual car? yes, actually. which is apparently shocking to people, considering i don't even have a license lmao

What's your guilty pleasure? i have an addiction to solitaire? i downloaded the app about a year ago but i am on level 329. ok girl get a grip

Tattoos? none yet, but i've had my first tattoo figured out since i was in high school. i just don't want to deal with the cost and care of it (lazy + poor...)

Favorite color? a very warm, light pink! almost peach-colored.

Favorite type of music? folk music :) and by folk i mean like. literally the songs people sang around a campfire 300 years ago. like dúlamán and the irish rover and rolling the woodpile and whatnot. but i also really like more modern folk music (big fan of umm santiano, plumbo, celtic woman, the builders and the butchers, mumford & sons, poor man's poison, the longest johns, stuff like that...) and country music. basically a bunch of genres along that sort of continuum.

Do you like puzzles? puzzles like jigsaw puzzles? i hate them, but once i start doing them i can't stop. logic puzzles or whatever are totally my jam, though. seriously i love them so much. i'm not interested in more hands-on puzzles like blocks and stuff.

Any phobias? nnnnno. i was scared of the ocean (specifically and exclusively trenches inside the ocean) growing up but then i got over that, and i've been working on getting over my fear of bugs so they're not super scary anymore either. i also used to suffer from trypophobia but it really hasn't been much of a problem in recent years. idk what happened there, though.

Favorite childhood sport? olympic-level sleeping? idk i tried a lot of sports at my mother's request when i was a kid, but i didn't like any of them. now i enjoy ice skating, but i live in the deep south where it's 80F nine months out of the year so like. lmfao

Do you talk to yourself? YES it's a generational thing. everyone on my mom's side of the family does it so i just picked it up naturally. i make myself laugh constantly ✨

What movies do you adore? my letterboxd Top Four are: the witch (2015), death becomes her (1992), the phantom of the opera (2004), and showgirls (1995) so it's kind of all over the place. i like movies with either very strong, well written stories or campy dumpster fires—NO in-between. the more artistic a movie is, the more likely i am to enjoy it. some other movies that really stand out to me

la sociedad de la nieve (2023)

late night with the devil (2023)

midsommar (2019)

the love witch (2016)

creep (2014)

mamma mia! (2008)

master and commander (2003)

zoolander (2001)

o brother, where art thou? (2000)

ravenous (1999)

romeo + juliet (1996)

the mountain men (1980)

the devils (1971)

beyond the valley of the dolls (1970)

so you can make of that what you will.

Coffee or tea? i don't actually like either unless you count southern sweet tea? i like chick-fil-a and mcdonald's sweet tea... but i drink almost exclusively water. if i'm feeling fancy, i like lemonade or like... craft root beer specifically. or sarsaparilla?

First thing you wanted to be when you grew up? an architect is the earliest i can remember back to, but i switched my passion project every couple of months and never really settled on anything.

i'm really bad at tagging, but let's go with ummmm... @schizosamwincester, @sam-winchesters-gay-lover, and @aceing-on-the-cake! no pressure though haha

[thisbelongsto-nohbodys]

Dr Sasha Waybright Child Psychologist headcanons

Figured this would be next after Anne. Here’s a few quick things I can think of:

A few of her patients’ parents were classmates she went to school with, because of that she knew exactly what the problem was with a few of them.

When a kid is shy or doesn’t want to talk, she’ll break the tension by telling of her adventures with Grimes, Percy and Braddock. The kids are enraptured and think she’s the coolest person ever.

She had her swords remade by a professional blacksmith that attends renaissance fairs, she also took them up on the offer to upgrade her old armor. Now she shows off her old skills every year and has a ton of fans. Anne and Marcy never knew about this until after they got married to her.

Unable to find someone to remake her beetle guitar except for the stickers she commissioned Marcy to make, Sasha went with the closest she could find and plays music for the kids and solo songs at open mic nights (mostly love songs about her current partner or longing songs for Anne and Marcy).

Mrs. Boonchuy helped make a hand puppet of Grimes for Sasha to use with the kids. A grumpy toad named Grimothy always makes them laugh and open up.

While she’s neutral with her parents and talks with them every once in a while, she became closer to Mr and Mrs Boonchuy as the years went on. As her and Anne’s friendship drifted, she requested that they don’t tell Anne about when she (Sasha) sees them when she goes to their restaurant. Mostly because she knows how hard Anne is working and doesn’t want to distract her or make her feel like she has to stay friends with her. The Boonchuys assure her that Anne misses her and Marcy a lot.

Partners have tried to have Sasha cover up or fix her scar(s) but she refuses and ends up dumping them shortly afterwards. She views them as physical reminders of who she was and who she never wants to be….plus they make her look cool.

She prefers sleeveless shirts but when she’s at work she follows the dress policy and wears long sleeve shirts to cover up all the tattoos she has along her arm. The Eye of Grimes, the Wartwood Rebellion, Toad Tower, her Calamity Gem and various other tattoos both about Amphibia and Earth. She also likes sleeveless shirts cause they allow her to show off her biceps.

Her back still hurts from Darcy’s scythe. Weightlifting gets painful after so much weight but it’s another threshold to overcome for her. The spinal scar tho’ gets a number of stares when she’s wearing a swimsuit at the beach or pool, she doesn’t mind the stares cause it’s a cool scar and story but only Anne and Marcy are allowed to touch it directly.

She still trains with swords and joined the fencing team in college. When Anne and her started sparing again after moving in together they try and keep tally on who wins more…but it usually ends up with them making out due to the romantic tension (Marcy keeps count and so far it’s 37-41 in favor of Sasha).

She tried to have a pink stipe in her hair in high school but her girlfriend at the time thought it looked stupid. Anne however saw this and did a blue stripe to cheer her up (and Marcy a green), the gf broke up with her shortly after but Sasha let the stripe go away naturally.

She and Marcy kept in contact more often as she’d commission her with things the kids she’s helping want. Marcy gives her a discount for this but Sasha tips the rest anyways.

Sasha is banned from the kitchen. No one knows how but things always go wrong when she tries to cook. However she’s been getting lessons from Mr and Mrs Boonchuy and she’s getting better but it’s a good thing they have insurance. She surprises her wives one anniversary with a homemade meal (and the kitchen only partly caught on fire instead of mostly).

Sasha wakes up in cold sweat often due to war memories. She has breathing techniques to help but after rekindling with Anne and Marcy she’s had less nightmares but when she does which ever one that wakes up as well will cuddle with her to calm her down.

She failed her driving test 3 times due to road rage.

Because of her time as Commander of the Wartwood Rebellion, she got really into strategy games. She and Marcy have days long games and she can’t play any games with her patients because she gets too competitive….and crying kids is the opposite of her job.

That’s a few I thought of during lunch break but didn’t have the time to type till now. I’m sure I’ll have more when I make more comics.

[olderthannetfic]

i've never understood what people meant about tattoos looking awful, what's wrong with jk's? is it the design or like the, execution I guess? all I know about 'good' tattoos is from that one post from years ago that explained good tattoos shouldn't look say unsaturated or have colors spilling out of the lines of whatever, and I figured jk's tattoos don't seem to do any of that so they they must not be bad...?

I don't have much of an opinion on jk's sleeve, from the little i've seen i just think it's cool he has it I guess? but tons of people seem to hate it and idgi? and I want to get it less for jk and more bc I want to get tattoos one day too lol

--

There are several ways to evaluate tattoos.

Technical skill at the physical act of tattooing: Are the lines that are supposed to be straight actually straight? Are colors where they should be? Do solid areas look solid? Many bad tattoos fail here, but I don't think that's why people hate JK's.

Long-term feasibility: Was this tattoo designed by someone who understands what will look like absolute shit in 2 years. JK's are fine here, but all those ultra thin loopy line tattoos BTS fans get of album covers are going to look like garbage as the ink spreads. Things with straight lines are even worse. Some body parts are more likely to sag and deform a very precise tattoo too.

Fine arts design skill: Is the overall composition pleasing and balanced? If lines nearly intersect in one place but not another, is that intended to draw the eye or create tension, or is it an error? Do the elements come together to create one coherent artwork consisting of body and tattoos, or is the body a storage space for random shit that does not go together? This is similar to how we tell if a composition of a photo or painting is good.

Frankly, JK's sleeve looks like a hodgepodge shoved together without good layout skills. I'd need clearer photos of it to really nitpick, but even if there are thematic connections, it doesn't seem well designed visually.

And finally, BAD TASTE: Some tattoos are executed fine, but the choice of subject matter is offensive, stupid, or just plain ugly.

JK's hand tattoos look like he drew on his hand with a sharpie. What the fuck kind of junior high bullshit is that? Ugggggggly!

--

For myself, I chose to get a tattoo of a wayang kulit puppet I got as a child. I found a tattoo artist who's also a fine artist and had him do a creative interpretation of the shadow because I wanted a tattoo in black ink only, and I wanted any age-related fuzziness to work with the design instead of against it. I chose a Mexican guy who does a lot of Aztec and Mayan-inspired art because while the specific art traditions are different, there are some commonalities.

Like with commissioning fan art or any other art, pick someone who already works in a style close to what you want.

I chose a size and position I thought made an overall nice composition on my body, wrapping around my left shoulder, and when I get a second one, it will be on my right hip to make my overall body look like one artwork.

There are styles of tattoo I find very beautiful and ones I don't like, just on an aesthetic, artistic level, same as I don't like every painter or cartoonist. Some things I find pretty I still wouldn't get though.

I've been fascinated with irezumi since I was a teen, but the level of color would clash with too many of my outfits, so I would probably not get a tattoo like this myself.

But overall, I do love how beautiful these are as artworks (even aside from being tattoos) and how they turn the entire body into one canvas.

I only like fairly large tattoos, say covering the entire upper arm with one design, and I hate small flash (prefab) designs. I would never get something on me that came out of an artist's back catalogue, and since I'm making a body-level artwork, I want it to be something of a size that shows in the context of looking at my whole body. If it's going on my body permanently, then it will be designed by some combination of me and my artist to my unique specifications.

[hansolmates]

vernon; blossomed (m)

feat. tattoo artist!vern x flower shop fem!reader based on nonnie’s big brain

genre/warnings: flangst, lang, wild generalizations of how tattooing works, gratuitous love for side characters, mild drinking, phineas and ferb references, mild foreplay

word count: 12k

Vernon called you his Rose. 

Not exactly his Rose, because you were definitely not anyone’s property and he wanted to give you nothing but your full autonomy, but it’s because he’s never had the chance to ask for your real name. 

But when he first spotted you in the little lavender and honey colored flower shop across the street, you were tending to the rose bushes at the front entrance. You were cutting roses and you didn’t look utterly graceful, in fact you stabbed yourself more than once with the thorns. He couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed when your co-worker had to hand you a new bandage every minute. 

He decided then that he liked you, even if it’s not wholly sexual or romantic, he liked you. 

Or maybe he just liked the idea of you, the way you’d lounge around in the canopy swing with your boots tucked under the seat, fluffy yellow socks wiggling out in the sun. Sometimes you’d read a book, sometimes for well over an hour. He liked how you soaked up the heat and created your own little world, happily unproductive. 

It was only a seven meter walk from the flower shop to the tattoo parlor, but the view from his front window required zero walking distance and a sure-fire lack of ever bumping into you. 

“Vernie’s got a crush on the Flower Girl,” Yoongi sing-songed, chugging along a box full of random-ass materials that Vernon was supposed to clean in the morning. 

Vernon scowled, and swatted away the older one’s hand when it dived in front of his face. 

Yoongi whistled like he was an old-time animation, singing the day away. “Vernie’s stalking his crush.” 

“I’m not stalking,” Vernon snapped, swiveling around in his rolling chair. “that involves shit like literally following her around,  photography, I dunno, being a weirdo?” 

“You definitely qualify for one of those.” Yoongi replied tartly, and he fought the urge to grin when Vernon finally turned back to the window, only to narrowly miss your form. The swing was now unoccupied, the only thing remnant were your working boots lined up against the entrance. “It’s been what, two weeks? Just ask her out already.” 

“You think I would’ve done that by now if there wasn’t a reason why?“ 

Soooo you were dating someone. Some super tall, super handsome guy would stroll up to the flower shop every morning, coffee in hand. Before you’d take your proffered coffee, he’d pucker his lips for a good-morning kiss in repayment. Vernon looked back to Yoongi, who was staring right back at him and confirming his suspicions that yes he was being a fucking weirdo for paying attention to things like that. 

Yoongi pressed his lips together, puffing his cheeks out in slight irritation. “So you’re stalking a taken girl,” he whistled lowly, “should I regret hiring you?” 

“Not funny.” 

“As repayment for effectively creeping me out,” The older one slipped his hand into his electric yellow windbreaker to twirl Vernon a ring of keys. “You’re closin’ up for tonight.” 

The brunette’s jaw dropped to his lap, and he got up from his spot by the window. “What? What happened to Minghao?” 

“Sick,” Yoongi shrugged. 

Closing up meant that Vernon had to stay until 12AM, at the very least. The area was off a college town and that meant a lot of young lucrative artists would stop by pretty late, hence the closing time. Usually Yoongi and Minghao were the night owls, but tonight Minghao was supposed to fly solo because Yoongi landed a last-minute recording gig. “C’mon, can I at least close early?” Vernon whined, “it’s summer. No one’s here.” 

“What, ya gotta date or something?” Yoongi smirked, swinging the entrance open. Halfway out the door, he added loftily, “don’t forget to water Patricia. It’s been two weeks.” 

The door slammed and Vernon was left alone. He spared a glance at the window, only to see that your boots were now gone from the patio and only one light was on in the shop. Vernon turned to his company for the night, their jade succulent, aptly named Patricia Planty. 

With Patricia Planty watered and a stomach full of Wendy’s nuggets in his body, Vernon busied himself up for a grueling five hours. Thankfully he brought in his laptop, as if he were expecting Yoongi to pull a fast one on him tonight. He drew some random things on his tablet: rockets, stars, the occasional squirrel, and roses. When he was tired of drawing, he’d blast the speakers off the joint and mess around with some of his music programming. When he was tired of doing both, he’d vegetate on the couch and read Reddit articles. 

It was past eleven when the first customer of the night stumbled in. Vernon fought the urge to groan, putting down the pen of his tablet on a particularly intricate constellation. 

“We’re closed!” He yelled through the office door. A white lie, but who would know? 

“Google said you were open until 12!” A voice yelled back, sounding slightly strained. 

Crap. Vernon lowered the volume and pushed away the swivel chair, swinging the office door open. With a rough clear of his throat and hoping not to look like too much of a jerk, he faced his customer, “Welcome to Nu ABO—” 

It was you. Cheeks ruddied, and your eyes glassed with a fresh glaze of tears. Your lower lip worried into a wobbly frown. Vernon’s Reebok’s glued to the concrete of the parlor, effectively stopping him in his tracks. The smell of mulch and a mixture of flowers penetrated his nostrils, but it did nothing to distract the utter hurt etched on your face. 

“Um, hey,”  his voice was gentle, yet unsure. “What are you doing here?” 

You just looked at him, incredulous. Vernon could have sworn he saw your left eyebrow twitch. Of course, you’ve never met him in your entire life, yet Vernon felt like he knew you since the beginning of your summer work. “Gettin’ a tattoo.” You replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, rubbing away a stray tear. 

He didn’t want to say it, but Vernon sighed and reasoned, “But it’s just that, ya kinda look—” 

You brushed past him, going straight into the artist room and plopping on the worn leather chair meant for customers. It was still high up because Vernon was cleaning the underside of the metal, so you had to do a little hop to get on. “I don’t care what kind of design. I looked up your Yelp online and everything looked pretty good.” And you then proceeded to unbutton the top of your blouse. 

“Holy shit,” he bounded over to you, grappling his fingers between your shirt before you could undo the rest of it. His breath was probably hot and heavy, compared to yours which was fresh from the cool summer air. Your faces were so close, closer than he ever fathomed. He didn’t think you two would meet this early in the year, as he was emotionally preparing to visit your flower shop at the end of the month, making up some spiel on how he needed to purchase real roses to replicate a commission. Not now. Now was a spontaneous episode, where he was trying to refasten your shirt and ignore the petal pink lace of your bra baiting his eyes. 

When he sensed that you would in fact, stop taking your shirt off, he backed up. “It’s just that, after eleven we don’t really apply tattoos. We just take consultations.” He tried to sound defeated, rubbing the back of his neck. Again, another lie. But Vernon wasn’t about to ink you on the spot, especially when you looked like this. 

“Is it because I’m upset?” You cried, “because I assure you, I’m in the right mind!” 

He winced, lolling his head back and forth. “That’s debatable.” 

You frowned, “C’mon, I have money. Just do me this one solid.” 

“What? No, you don’t even know what you want!” Vernon was exasperated. Not that he imagined the first time meeting you would be a walk in the park, but at the same time he wasn’t expecting to argue with you. 

"Don’t you want to be part of my spontaneous young life? Give me a tattoo that I’ll think about with my children 30 years from now?” He would laugh if you didn’t look like you were crying a river ten minutes ago. “As long as it’s not a tramp stamp, because I don’t think I can pull that off—" 

"Did you break up with your boyfriend or something?” Vernon blurted out before he could regret it. 

Your face morphed into something Vernon couldn’t understand. Pain, for sure. But a sort of relief knowing that you didn’t have to hide it. “Damn,” you give him a tired smile, “does the whole town know or something?" 

You cried again. This time, Vernon reacted quicker. Pulling out a Wendy’s napkin from his flannel pocket, he proffered it to you. He was thankful you didn’t question whether it was clean or not (it was!) and you proceeded to cover your snot and tears all over it. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" 

You sniffled and blew a particularly large chunk of snot before you shook your head. 

"Do you… want fries?” He gestured to the small table in the room, which had some leftover fries from his combo. “I can heat ‘em up in the microwave." 

Due to the fact that you ran out of tissue room, you rubbed your face with the entirety of your sleeve. You peeked out mid-rub, and replied with a soft, "hell yeah I do." 

His heart twitched. Even betwixt your teary expression, you were so freakin’ cute. He shuffled back to the office, nuking the leftovers in the microwave until they were piping hot. Vernon waited a bit for them to get cool, and fiddled with the music so a soft R&B playlist bounced off the walls. He couldn’t believe you were here. Scratch that, he could, because you were bound to run into him one day due to pure proximity. 

But he didn’t imagine you’d be plopped in his artist room at 11:32, bleary eyed and shoving potatoes in your mouth. 

Vernon busied himself with his phone, and typed a hasty you wouldn’t believe what just happened… to the employee group chat. 

[June 11, 11:33PM]

Bo$$ man: dont tell me u put aluminum in the microwave AGAIN

Hao hao: the chinese mafia came for me, didnt they? good thing I called out 

Jeonghan is a prick: use your resources! sharp items are everywhere :) emergency money is under Patricia’s table

Bernie: tf is wrong w all of you 

Bernie: SHES HEREEEEEE

"M'sorry,” you mumbled with a mouthful of fries, breaking Vernon from his mid-text crisis. He felt his phone buzzing like hell as he shoved it in his pocket, but ignored it for the sake of you. Your previous high of emotions has long worn off, and now you were looking a little embarrassed as you fixed your gaze on the empty container of fries. Your face is blotchy and red, and you’re especially puffy due to the salt you just consumed. “I should go home." 

He didn’t want to be intrusive, but the look on your face showed it was clear that you didn’t want to go home just yet. Drumming his fingers against the metal table, he casually suggested, "Why don’t I do your back?" 

You looked at him like he was crazy. "You still wanna tattoo me? After I cried like an idiot and ate your fries?" 

"You’re not an idiot for being upset. And I offered you my fries.” He pulled out an ink canister, and a thin needle. “This is temporary ink we use to practice, or for customers who wanna test out the look. Lasts one to two weeks. And y'know, it’s a nice distraction." 

You looked skeptical, unsure of his kindness. "Why my back?" 

He shrugged, "It’s the biggest canvas. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to look at it." 

Still, you’re not convinced. There was something strange about him, something almost too sweet. While your schema may be marred by television and movies, the man in front of you didn’t seem like he quite fit into this little shack. He’s full of color, in his eyes and in his stature, his words clean and pure as he tries to soothe your aching heart. And as much as you tried not to check him out, you spotted no tattoos on any viewable part of his body. 

"And it’s kind of cathartic, really.” He watched your lips quirk up in a smile at the word usage. Not only sweet, but probably smart. Your first smile all night. Cheeks effortlessly heated, he continued, “you kinda just let go into the feeling. And it’s always fun to not know what’s been drawn until the very end." 

You’re curious. There’s excitement in your vision as he gestured to the available cot, inviting you. "Alright. Ink me up." 

Vernon grinned, and started preparing the workspace. Handing you a medical gown, he quickly shuffled away to prepare the ink and needles. He didn’t really work with the clients as deeply as this, he was really just a glorified secretary that took care of the consultation. While he washed his hands, he heard the faint rustle of fabric, definitely your shirt and bra. He turned up the temperature of the water, acutely aware of how hot his hands were getting. 

"Um,” your voice is muffled from being pressed up against the cot, your face presumably propped with pillows. “So are you Yoongi?" 

"Nah, I’m Vernon.” He wheeled over a cart full of supplies, the metal clanging against the concrete. “’M usually the guy who wipes the sweat off his brow." 

You hummed your own name in response, resting your cheek in the plushness of the cotton pillow. There’s a number of sounds paired with the R&B in the background. The smack of Vernon putting on gloves, the click of the needles and the slickness of the balm Vernon has applied on your back. His touch was warm, as his palm crescents across your back to soothe the balm into your skin. He then wiped it down with a paper towel until your skin was smooth and dry. 

"Any ideas yet?” He asked, and from the corner of your eye you see him switch out a needle for a new ink pen. 

“Maybe, stars?” Your voice is muffled against the cushions, as you’re hugging them close to your body. “And maybe something inspired by Spiderman? I liked that new one with Miles, he’s a cool one." 

You could hear the smile in his voice, "I liked that one, too." 

You stuff your own smile in your pillow, how embarrassing could it be that this stranger can make you feel better so fast? Mingyu would be groveling if he saw you now, topless, letting a man ink you up in however way he wished. "Will it hurt?" 

He chuckled at that, "Nah. The ink will sit on top and sink in, I barely have to apply any pressure. Just relax." 

Under the discretion of Vernon, who offered you fries and liked Spiderman, you relaxed. The first stroke of the needle and you were a goner. You closed your eyes and let him do his thing, You couldn’t tell what exactly was going on through his mind as he was painting your back, but you could tell his art was rather cacophonous: stiff pokes here and there, smooth strokes, and wide breaths of ink staining your back. The ink melted into your skin, bonding to your cells under Vernon’s careful control. 

It was almost 1AM when he finished. He tapped your back, urging you up. Tired, and slightly dazed, you sat up. You realized a little too late that you’re only wearing a thin hospital gown, the straps having fallen midway through the process. The air was cool against your skin. 

Vernon totally would’ve gotten a complete view of your sideboob if he wasn’t blushing like a maniac and looking away, and you respected that. His arm is punched out, fisting your button down. You hastily snatched it away, and turned around in order to look decent. 

“The ink won’t show up fully for another six hours, so until then let me know how you like it.” 

“Thank you so much,” you smiled gratefully as you do the last button of your blouse, and pulled out your phone. “Do you accept Venmo or Cashapp?” 

“Oh, yeah.” He accepted the proffered device, and put in the necessary charges. 

Once he gave back your phone, you added a sizable tip to the price he typed up. “The time really flew by,” you noted the time on the corner of your phone, 1:07. “It was really, an experience like you said.” 

He shrugged, and threw you an easy smile. “I try.” 

"Can I get a real tattoo from you someday? Y'know, when I’m ready?" 

"Ah, no. I’m not really under the apprenticeship.” He looked bashful when he said it, as if he were caught doing something wrong. “I just work here for the part time money. I do art on the side, though.” 

You had the urge to ask what he doesn’t do on the side, but it was late and you were probably holding up the poor guy for your trivial questions. “Regardless, I’m still thankful it was you that did this for me.” 

In three strides, he opened the small door for you. “My pleasure. Have a good night. Or, morning. Or if you’re one of those people who don’t consider it morning unless it’s light out, then good night?” 

“Good night,” you giggled, “get home safely.” 

“You too.” 

The screen door slammed shut behind you, along with the main door. Your car is parked in the grass patching of the flower shop. You jogged over, and the summer air made you shiver, your back still raw and warm under Vernon’s touch. 

You couldn’t wait until the flower shop closed. 

If Wonwoo noticed that you moved the porch swing relative to the placement of Nu ABO, he hasn’t brought it up. You weren’t spying on Vernon, no. But your skin was starting to itch with curiosity and in your haste to leave last night, you didn’t even ask what he designed on your back. 

“Are you stalking the tattoo guy?” 

Despite the voice being petal soft, you flinched. Assistant Manager Joshua Hong with a bouquet of boat lilies, was accusing you of stalking. His Converse tapped rhythmically against the wood paneling, looking down at you like a guilty child.  

“What?” you floundered, waving around the florist magazine in your hands. “Josh, I’m studying! And the sun was in my face so I moved the swing.” 

“You’re studying,” Joshua flickered his eyes to the run down shack across the road. “The tattoo guy?” 

“I already said I wasn’t!” 

“Then you’re telling me you spent all last night doing that,” he reached over to tug at your starched work collar, “all by yourself?” 

Your hand flew to your neck, as if you were trying to hide Vernon’s hard work. “I just wanna see what he did, all right? And I’m trying to be very patient until closing because if Wonwoo sees me going there,” you jerked a head none-too-gracefully at the direction of the parlor, “he’s gonna tell you-know-who.” 

Joshua frowned, because he already knew. After all, he stayed in the back room with you all last night, wiping away your tears. “Well, whoever did it is truly an artist,” he said genuinely, “it’s beautiful.” 

Joshua finally left you alone, and you suddenly felt emptier than before. Sure, the breakup with Mingyu was conventionally bad, but why were you so conflicted with your feelings? You didn’t want Mingyu to know you were hanging out with other guys, but you wanted to let go of him. Maybe you were trying too hard too fast. 

But Vernon made everything so, so easy. 

No, you are not letting him be a rebound. The inner conflict in your head was giving you a massive headache, you couldn’t tell if the vibes you were feeling last night were because of the recent breakup or just an authentic spark. 

The storm door shuttered boldly, and you jumped. Wonwoo stepped out, and gave you a weird look. “You alright?” 

“Me? Yeah, fine.” You gripped the collar of your shirt and pretended to fasten the buttons. 

He was unconvinced, either that or the pinched look he was sporting was an indicator of a bad day. “Listen, I know things are gonna be weird because my best friend is your, y’know,” he trailed off, painfully trudging through this conversation as easily as trudging through quicksand. “He’s gonna stop by a couple more times during the week, doing me a few errands. So if you wanna take the week off, recalibrate before the the month ends, just let me know. ” 

“Won, please,” you wanted this to end, “we don’t have to talk about this, alright?” 

He awkwardly twirled around his car keys. “Alright.” As simple as that, he threw himself in his sedan and drove off, dirt brushing the pavement. 

You glared at the dust cloud until his car was far from your sights, the mustard color blinding your vision. “Honestly,” you said to yourself, finally hopping off your swing into the direction of the shack, “he thinks I’m five and never experienced heartbreak.” 

“Welcome to Nu ABO!” this voice was different, and you slowed your steps. It doesn’t quite have the husk that Vernon’s voice held, but definitely matched the energy. The boy stepped out, and his eyes sparkled in recognition. “Flower Girll,” he said to himself, and you suddenly felt like you got caught, “I don’t think we’ve met before.” 

"We haven’t,” you replied warily at the pet name, “where’s Vernon?" 

"Oh, he’s around.” The guy waved noncommittally to the air in the room, crouching his head to look down at you. He stuffed his hands in his black overalls, which covered a painfully bright rainbow tye-dye tee. “Curious to see Vern’s ink though. He’s only ever done small stuff.” 

“I thought he wasn’t an apprentice.” 

 He flicked his wrist around to show you a beautiful line of Chinese calligraphy. "Keep the secret between us, ‘kay?” He winked. 

“Minghao, leave her alone.” Vernon stepped out of the small bathroom hidden in the artist room, a white towel behind his neck. You took in his disheveled appearance. His face was red from washing his face, and he wore the same clothes from yesterday. “Hey.” He said. 

“Hi,” you replied, “did you sleep here last night?" 

"Uh, yeah.” Vernon rubbed at his neck again, and stuffed the towel in his backpack. “I usually do the morning and afternoon shifts, I covered for this guy last night,” he jabbed his fist in Minghao’s shoulder, “but still had to do my day shift.” 

“So,” Minghao rocked back and forth in his boots, “why are you here?” 

You suddenly felt self-conscious, and gripped your phone between your two palms. A little part of you was disappointed that Vernon was not alone, but another part of you was relieved. It helped slow down the pace of your feelings (feelings?) that was heading in a direction you were not anticipating. “I wanted to say thank you again for last night.” You coughed, and Minghao grinned wider at your explanation. “And I was wondering if you could take a picture of my back? I haven’t had a chance to look at it.” 

He beamed, and you could tell he was happy that you wanted to document his work. “Oh, of course! I completely forgot last night.” 

Vernon moved to grab your phone, but Minghao swiped a hand in front of him. “Can I take your photo?” He asked you, although the look in his eyes said that you didn’t have much of a choice. 

Your cheeks burned at the sudden intrusion. “Huh?” 

“I mean, have you seen this guy’s Insta?” Minghao scoffed, albeit playfully as Vernon mirrored your flush. 

“What are you talking about?” Vernon exclaimed, thoroughly insulted, “my profile is tastefully abstract.” 

“It looks like it was tastefully done by a three year old.” Minghao pulled out his iPhone, and adjusted the filters. “I’m doing you a favor here, Flower Girl.” 

You looked warily at Vernon, who slumped in defeat, “If you’re going for that e-girl vibe, I guess Hao’s a better photographer.” 

“Better than your pictures coming out blurry.” Minghao shot back, holding the camera to your face. “There’s no light in here,” Minghao glared at the singular window in their tiny studio, the sill decorated with a single jade succulent. “Got any ideas?" 

Vernon shrugged, "You said I have the taste of a three year old, so." 

With Wonwoo gone for the day, you realized that you did have an idea of where you could take a tasteful picture. The thrill excited and terrified you. You only wanted a simple picture to see what it looked like, but Minghao looked as equally as excited to see your ink. Maybe it was the fact that the art was fleeting or that Vernon was really that talented, but it encouraged you to offer the setting up.

"I think our greenhouse has plenty of light,” you gestured out the studio’s only window, which was in perfect view of the flower shop. “We should be closing up soon, so it’s free." 

Minghao nodded approvingly, "We can try." 

And with a hasty "be back @ 4:20!” sign taped on the front door to Nu ABO, the three of them walked across the street to the greenhouse. 

You went in first, nearly bumping into Joshua who was bent over, pot in hand. 

“Hey Josh,” you grabbed the keys from the front desk, “borrowing the greenhouse." 

"Hey Josh,” Minghao and Vernon mimicked, who found it amusing that you just brushed by without an introduction. 

You rolled your eyes, hearing them exchange pleasantries and bro fists. The plexiglass doors to the greenhouse unlocked with a turn of your key, the smell of heat and grassy rain hitting your nostrils. Joshua placed the pot somewhere, following suit as the boys were right behind you. 

“Awesome,” Minghao exhaled, stepping further into the greenhouse. It was a small one, but comfortable enough for a couple patrons to browse around. “I’m gonna move around some plants if that’s okay, I gotta vision.” 

Joshua looked a little frazzled watching Minghao talk to himself and start moving the settings around (“The hydrangeas don’t go there, are you crazy?”) and started helping Minghao move the pots and placements around. You and Vernon hung around the entrance, giggling to yourselves. 

You tried to bump his shoulder, which didn’t even reach his. “So, what’s your Insta handle?” 

He quirked his brows at that, “Why, so you can judge my aesthetic too?” 

“No,” you replied, faking your shock. “I would never insult your taste!” 

With a roll of his eyes he said, “Speaking of taste, since your shift is over and my shift is over,” Vernon rocked back and forth on his feet. “Wanna grab a bite?” 

Something’s fluttering in your stomach, and you stomp it down. It’s an innocent invite, yes. Unfortunately it was not-so-innocent in your twisted mind knowing that you are still fresh from a breakup, yet your backed is marked with Vernon’s work. “You must be tired though,” you tried to reason, “you should get some rest, I don’t wanna bother you.” 

“Not a bother,” he said immediately, “besides, I wanna ask you something.” 

That got you curious. Before you had a chance to ask, Minghao was ushering you over, telling you to stand in front of a bundle of orchids. They’ve bloomed a Canary yellow, encasing you in a golden ring of flowers overlooking the terrace. The new friend has gestured for you to undo your shirt and he turned away in respect. It’s different with an audience and an expectation.  You made haste to undo the buttons of your blouse, then your bra, throwing it aside. You felt the warm, moist air kiss your back, and you heard a low whistle coming from Minghao. 

“Beautiful,” Minghao exhaled, “Vern, you’ve outdone yourself." 

Beautiful. Vernon made you beautiful.

Your body was simmering, and you could do nothing as you let Minghao photograph you. You focused your eyes on a puddle dripping from a faucet in front of you, counting the seconds between each droplet. 

“And, done.” 

You shoved on your clothes, and felt extra awkward as you fumbled to reach for the straps of your bra. You nearly slipped on the puddle as you walked back to the boys, who were busy over Minghao’s shoulder. 

“Super awesome,” Minghao handed you the phone brightly, “so much texture and feeling.” 

The screen showed a halo of foliage that surrounded your bare back, blush orchids kissing the frame with color. Your work shirt bundled under your hips, and fell under your elbows to reveal a city sky. You were breathless, zooming in to capture every detail of the ink. A navy sky, blanketing buildings across your back in a diagonal, splaying from the bottom right to the top left. On the bottom, skyscrapers reaching for the stars. 

If you zoomed in enough, you could tell that the stars were shaped like roses. 

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said thank you in the past two days,” you started, causing Vernon to grin widely. “But thank you, I’ve never felt so beautiful.” 

Vernon scoffed, “I didn’t do anything, I’ve only enhanced your beauty. That’s our shtick.” 

You handed Minghao back your phone and thanked him. He then rushed off, saying he had to stay at the parlor since Yoongi was coming soon. Immediately, Joshua began putting back the plants in their rightful places. You and Vernon followed suit, starting with the smaller ones. 

“So,” Vernon picked up a tray of succulents, “are we still on for dinner?” 

Wide-eyed Joshua crept in-between the foliage, laughably appearing under a series of hanging plants like a madman. “Dinner?” he asked, looking between you two. 

“Yeah man,” Vernon reached to pull Joshua away from the plants, “wanna come?” 

Simultaneously disappointed and relieved, you let out a subconscious exhale. Joshua was coming, which meant that there would be no possibility for feeling weird (or catching feels), being awkward or fighting any oncoming feelings with Vernon. 

"On Thursdays there’s this really good half-off sushi deal by my place. We can take out and eat at my apartment?” Joshua’s kindness was palpable at the offering of his home, and the both of you smiled gratefully.

Not more than two hours later, the three of you are bundled away in Joshua’s two-room, empty boxes of carryout stacked high. The television was playing reruns of Full House, the only source of light in the dim space. 

“Are you gonna go home soon?” Vernon asked, and turned his head to the corner of the room. Joshua is cuddled up in the single couch, tucked in a wearable blanket with the armholes. 

You shrugged, “I dunno. Usually I crash here for sushi nights,” you patted the couch lovingly, “This is my second bed.” 

Vernon chuckled, tucking his feet under his thighs. It made him look impossibly small in comparison to how tall and lanky he actually was.

“So, what did you want to ask me?” 

Vernon looked between his legs, as if he were trying to piece his words together. “Long story short, I got waitlisted at my top graduate school option,” he then pulled up his phone, revealing the picture of your back that was taken that afternoon, “but I was thinking that if I made a portfolio of this kind of art, it would really tip my application over the edge. Originally I was thinking of just sending my usual art, but it just popped in my head today while we were doing it.” He looked up through his eyelashes, wisps of copper looking expectantly at you. “If you’re comfortable with it, would you be my canvas?”  

“Live art,” you surmised, “honestly, I’m honored that you would want me to be a part of something so big. You think I’m that good?” 

No, you weren’t doubting Vernon’s art one bit. The fact that your back would be out on display for a bunch of strangers was unnerving, to say the least. 

“Are you kidding?” Vernon zoomed out of the image, revealing the curve of your back and the generation of life reflected in the greenhouse. “This is wicked. You’re stunning. We’d make a great team!” 

You felt your body heat at the statement. His presence was almost too refreshing, and you wanted to return the favor of helping you out last night. 

“Lucky for you,” you shot a quick text to Wonwoo, “I’ve planned to take this week off.” 

Over the course of the week Vernon wanted to do an artistic timeline of sorts, adding and retouching the already existing ink on your back until the canvas was full. It felt fulfilling, letting yourself become a vessel of success for someone. The following day, Vernon shot you a text revealing his portfolio, and said how excited he was to see you. 

You met in the shack after his shift, and Vernon let you into the office and locked the door. You can hear the rap being played in the artist room where Minghao and Yoongi were working with a client.

The artist was muttering to himself as he invited you to sit at the couch. Something about whether he wanted to start from the “top-down” or “bottom-up.” Instead of contributing to his madness, you turned away from him and started shedding your shirt. Today was a plain cotton shirt, and you shucked it off and balled it in your arms. 

No less than five seconds was Vernon’s hands on your back, and despite the warmth radiating from his fingertips, you couldn’t help but shiver. Vernon had explained that while he did a large portion of your back the first time, there was still room for growth and he wanted your back filled by the end of the week. 

“Do you mind if I,” his hand hovered over your bra. 

You shook your head, and with his thumb and forefinger he flicked off both your bra straps with ease. Your hands flooded themselves in the fabric of your t-shirt, which silently accepted your death grip. 

“Sorry, do you feel weird?” He definitely sensed your lack of vocality, and put one strap back in case. 

“I’m fine,” your voice is light, what else could you say? 

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, and resumed his work. 

You opt to take in the sounds. Minghao laughed about something in the other room, coupled with the zing of the needle. The music pulled to a stop and boomeranged back into a smoother arrangement. 

“I think we’ll start from the bottom-up and build from there,” he then placed his hands around your waist, poking at the dive between your waist and your bottom. 

There’s an unmistakable heat that pooled within you, which caused you to wring your shirt harder. It was going to be a long week. 

By Wednesday, he was in your apartment, working on the sides of your waist. The day after every session, Vernon would take a picture of yesterday’s work and show it to you. A gummy grin would always take over his face, either proud of himself or happy that you loved the new addition. 

Despite the fact that the only thing covering your body was a thin gown medical taken from the shop, every pore of your body felt unbelievably hot. You really shouldn’t be mixing alcohol on a Wednesday night, but Vernon was excited that he was halfway done with the project and it was time to be “poppin’ bottles.” 

You felt a little drowsy as a result of that, but nothing terrible. Like he said, the feeling was cathartic. 

“Aren’t you drunk too?” you murmured into your navy blue whale plush, “what if you accidentally stab me?” 

Vernon laughed, and it shook the couch. You couldn’t see his face as he sat on the floor, getting in the crevices of your skin. He poked at your skin a little harder than usual, as if he were testing the possibility. “That’d still take a lot of strength.” 

“You’d be surprised,” you sighed, “those little sticks florists use to keep the babies upright? Flat as a thumb and I still manage to impale tomatoes with them.” He doesn’t respond to that, and you’re left drowning in your own answer. You wondered if he truly thought you were a crazy tomato-killer, or was concentrated on detailing a particular patch of skin. “Can I tell you a secret?” you blurted, “honestly, I think flowers are beautiful, but I really hate working at the florist. The only reason I’m doing it is because Joshua really needed the help and he knew I wasn’t going to do shit until my city job starts in September.” 

“Huh,” Vernon stopped, resting the heel of his hand on your back. “That’s funny. Explains all the cursing when you’re cutting roses outside.” 

“You’ve watched me outside?” you grinned into your cushion, “creepy much?” 

“Do you wanna know a secret?” Vernon blurted, evading your question with one of his own, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since you came by in May.” 

You tensed, and if Vernon noticed, he didn’t react. He kept on doing his business, marking your back with baby’s breath. It had to be the alcohol talking. If he drank at all, you couldn’t even tell because you couldn’t get up and he was strikingly coherent. All this time, and you didn’t even notice? 

“You don’t have to answer,” he said, as if he knew you were strung speechless. “I just, wanted to say it. We’re cool.” 

And you agreed, pretending to fall asleep. 

Friday was around the corner before you knew it, and Vernon wanted to photograph the final piece where it all started. The greenhouse was devoid of human life at the crack of dawn, unless you counted Joshua who was asleep on the counter because he was the only one with a key that knew of your recent escapades with Vernon. 

Vernon was just as tired as you are, but he was adamant about having the photo taken at dawn, as the first picture was taken in the late day. There was some contrived symbolism attached to it that you didn’t really understand, but you trusted his vision. Besides, your panda eyes wouldn’t be revealed in the photo, so you could master the art of sleeping upright while he took photos. 

“Alright,” Vernon set up his camera. He was dressed in a university zip up and matching sweatpants, like he just rolled out of bed. “Everything’s set up, whenever you’re ready.” 

Likewise with you, and you pulled off your hoodie, not bothering with a bra. Despite the fact that the room was temperature controlled, the cold morning air still managed to worm its way to your bare top. You quickly rubbed down your gooseflesh with your palms.  

You two engaged in a comfortable silence as you tested out your poses and he adjusted his frame. After a couple of practice shots, the air seemed calmer.

“Cold?” Vernon asked casually.

“Anything that isn’t under the sheets of my bed is cold as hell,” you muttered, trailing your fingers delicately across your waist. 

“That’s a nice pose,” Vernon said to himself, “we’re almost done. Then you can go to bed for the rest of your day. Unless you’re down for breakfast?" 

You two still haven’t spoken about his little confession the other day, but in all honesty there was no reason to bring it up. Your lives were going in different directions, and you knew Vernon deserved more than a halfhearted summer fling. 

"I think I’m down for bed and breakfast,” you replied wryly. 

“Smart girl,” Vernon chuckled, “can you change your pose for me? Like, pretend that you’re stretching.” 

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, so you ended up flexing your arms in different directions. 

“No, we’re not doing yoga.” He let his camera swing around his neck as he rushed over to you. The sun was a soft white, the antithesis of golden hour as you two rushed to make the magic happen. He grabbed your arms from behind, twisting the left wris in an unusual angle. 

"Ah, Vernon!” You jerked around to face him, now fully awake. “I’m not a Barbie doll, you can’t just move me like that." 

Vernon doesn’t respond. He let go of you as soon as you screamed, eyes blown wide and pupils a thick black. His stare is frozen to yours, and his hand is in mid-air, a centimeter away from your bare breasts. 

"Oh,” you said, “did I whack you with my boob when I turned?" 

"Yeah, you boobed me.” Vernon looked afraid to stare anywhere but your face. “I’m so sorry." 

"It’s okay,” you bit the inside of your lip, “I don’t mind if you touch me there." 

Now, Vernon looked terrified. 

It’s been a long week. A long, surreal week. You wanted to tell Vernon about your conflicted feelings, you wanted to ask about his little crush, and what on earth did he find appealing about you. You wanted to tell him how much you trusted him with your body, and how you wanted him to do more to you than just ink. 

It’s then, the gaping boy shook himself together. His hands encircled your neck, haloing at the finishing piece of his work, an echelon moon. Vernon’s fingers trailed to cup your face, and you felt your whole body warm in anticipation. Patient, you waited for his carmine eyes to flutter shut, and you smiled, finally closing yours—

"The fuck is this?" 

In an instant, the air was sucked out of you like a blackhole, and Vernon immediately shielded you, throwing his jacket across you like a towel. 

"Mingyu,” you said shakily, clutching the cotton coat tighter around your form. 

It’s then that a no-longer bleary-eyed Joshua stumbled into the greenhouse, seconds too late. 

Mingyu threw down the sack of fertilizer he hauled on his back, black dirt smattering the floor.  “Its been barely a week and you’re fucking someone in the greenhouse, of all places?” Mingyu was angry, plain and simple. “I thought we agreed on a break." 

"You agreed on a break,” your thighs were numb from leaning on them, but Vernon’s hand on your back encouraged you to get on your feet. “I agreed that two years was too long to wait." 

"And who are you?” Mingyu squinted his eyes at Vernon.

“He’s none of your business,” you stepped in front of him, tugging his hoodie  closer around your frame. 

Mingyu’s face fell in realization, and he looked between you two with forlornness that made your stomach churn. “C’mon baby,” your nails embedded themselves in your palm at the jab, “can we go outside and talk about this?” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice was paper thin, but loud enough for Mingyu to hear across the room, “I’d prefer you leave us alone, and do not talk to me ever again.” 

It took all your composure to turn around, and you glared a hole into Vernon’s chest. You felt your body bleed goosebumps around your arms and legs, not out of weather, but out of anxiety. You hugged yourself to shut the prickly feeling down. You heard Joshua do the only helpful thing this morning and it’s his soft utterances that finally pulled Mingyu out of the greenhouse. ,

What’s left is the drip of the hose, and the two of you, unmoved.

Thankful for the silence, you looked up at your companion, who was speechless. Vernon’s lower lip was puckered out slightly, face contorted as if to say I’m sorry, that kinda sucked. The tell-tale signs of emotional overload began to prick at your eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” you wiped your face. Since when did you start crying? “I’m so sorry that I let all of this happen, and I let myself let this happen, and I’m such a mess and I’ve been trying to hide it all this time, but I’m selfish and I just wanted to see what would turn out of it.” 

“What are you apologizing for?” Vernon tried to lighten up the mood, and offered you an easy smile and reached for a hug.

“I’m sorry because I don’t know if I like you or not!” you outburst, and pushed him out of arm’s reach. “I feel so fucking guilty I just got out of a relationship and I can’t tell if I like you or I like your attention, honestly. And it isn’t fair because you’re just so sweet and kind and easy to love. Either way at the end of the summer I’m moving into the city for my full-time job. And I, I, I don’t know!” 

Vernon forced his way into your space, barely a foot apart. He didn’t touch you, but his warmth still emanated from the jacket you were wearing. He didn’t seem upset, then again you were probably upset enough for the both of you. 

“Hey, I offered to do your back because I knew you needed a distraction,” Vernon said softly, “no strings attached, ever. You do you, right? Focus on yourself.” 

You wished he was mean about this. It would’ve made it easier. “What if this is the last time we talk? What if I want to ignore you for the rest of the summer?” you murmured, already knowing you. should enjoy these final moments. 

“We’ll live,” he shrugged, and finally broke the space between you. His lips planted themselves between your forehead, melting away the lines that marred your brows apart, “and we’ll heal.”

The city was daring. The city was unforgiving. 

You tugged your scarf closer around your neck, which constricted your airflow but also prevented any possible windchill from slicing your neck. In your other hand you were hauling a week’s worth of work in a luggage that had once packed your things in August and sent you to this very career path. 

As much as you loved your new life, you wished things would be a little more boundless. The box of your workspace, the box of the elevator, and the box of your goshiwon apartment were starting to feel particularly stifling this weekend. 

It was Friday (or FriYay, as your co-workers dubbed) and that meant a weekend vegging out with a comfort meal and a new movie. There was a Burger King and a Gongcha under your apartment complex, both calling your name. 

Boba and burgers, the perfect way to end a week. 

You munched on your fries as you scanned the Gongcha menu, craving something sweet to contrast with your salty meal. 

It is then a low, sultry whisper sauntered in your direction (in a Gongcha, with children) and you almost choked on your fry. “I would know that back anywhere,” the offender drawled. 

What a strange pick-up line. The paper bag crinkled in your grip, and you turn around to see a familiar perky face in a scarlet Adidas tracksuit. Of all the places, he was here. 

“Hey, Flower Girl.” Minghao greeted, wiggling his fingers in a wave. He was on a tall stool, long legs splayed out and a cup of oolong milk tea hung lazily in his grip. His cup was at least 50% ice, and he was shaking the cup like a rattle every ten seconds.

“Normally, people would start with a simple hello,” you replied wryly, ushering him over to wait with you in line. 

“Normally,” Minghao shrugged, and slipped an arm around your shoulders as if you were long lost friends, “how have you been doing? Planting gardens for the spring?” 

“Please,” you scoffed. To Joshua and Wonwoo’s chagrin, you’ve forgotten a lot since the summer. “I can’t even make a corsage anymore, my brain’s on overload. What about you?” 

It looked like he was waiting for you to ask that. You barely got your order in before he started spitting out his story. “Didn’t you hear?” Obviously you didn’t, and he didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Two letters. RM.” Again, nothing. “The RM? The hottest rapper in Korea? Anyway, he was one of our clients in August—he got a sick design of a koala and an alpaca, cooler than you think—and gave us a massive tip on his Instagram story. We were famous overnight! We were getting crazy clients left and right—fuckin’ Sana wanted a little heart on her sternum, hottest thing.” 

“So you were able to relocate the parlor to the city?” 

“The big push was when Yoongi dropped RM his demo,” he shook his cup furiously, ice clanging, as if he never got tired of this story. “Like, I didn’t even know they were texting! I’ve been running the parlor mostly, I’ve always wanted to live in the city, but RM funded a lot of it and is helping Yoongi make his mix.”

In the back of your head, the question of an aspiring grad student was niggling in your brain, but you pushed it down. “So, if Yoongi’s working on his demo and you’re supposed to be running the parlor, why aren’t you there now?” you asked.

He stared at you as if it were the most obvious choice. “Because I’m here, drinking boba with you.” Minghao then grabbed your finished drink from the employee’s hand, ushering you out the door. “And now you’re going to follow me, because my break was over fifteen minutes ago.” 

“What?” 

“I have your boba,” he’s already out the door, waving your precious beverage like a fish to its line. “Hurry up, now I’m sixteen minutes late!” 

You groaned, lugging your suitcase full of work and now cold french fries back into the freezing weather. The wheels of your suitcase are cracking in exhaustion, mirroring yours. You just wanted your damn milk tea, hot fries, and a Netflix catch-up. What was the point of following Minghao to Nu ABO, when there was no reason to be there other than … 

“Oof!” your face slammed into Minghao’s back. The light was red. “Did Vernon move here too?” 

“Duh, who else would be covering for me?” 

“You’re trying to set me up!” You cried in betrayal, jabbing him in chest with your finger. “Y'know what, I’m just going to get another boba. You keep that.”

You two glared at each other. Minghao looked relentless, ignoring whoever was bumping into him on the streets. His eyes suddenly glinted to your rolling luggage, and he snatched it from your grip, running into the streets. 

“Can’t replace your work, right?” He laughed, forcing you to chase him down the block.

You felt sweat start to develop on your back, contrasting with the icy weather. Your work blazer and pinstripe loafers were not suited for vigorous activity. Minghao has an unfair advantage, being tall and athletic, and you had just finished half a bag of Burger King. Damn him. 

Minghao stopped in front of a sunken in building, with stairs leading downwards to a neon-lit parlor with the name glittering in electric periwinkle font. Flustered, you gasp at the cold air, finally able to stop. Despite having lost your breath ten meters ago, you managed to tell Minghao you’re proud that they have a real parlor. 

Your heart was beating in your ears, and you can’t tell whether it was because you haven’t worked out in months, or because Vernon was behind that door. 

Minghao dumped your luggage behind the reception area, and went straight into the artist room. This new parlor was much bigger, so when Minghao disappeared into a hallway he was out of your sight. You wait around, letting yourself sink into the familiar hip hop playlist. There are pictures littering the walls, all covered with a clean black frame. You see Yoongi and the supposed RM, sporting his koala and alpaca ink (which actually did look sick) and some photos of Minghao’s work, all of his designs being simultaneously colorful and graceful. 

It’s then in the epicenter of this wall is a long black frame that cut across the horizon, seven images of a woman with flowers and stars inking her back. 

Your back. 

“Beautiful, right? I’m sure it takes you back.” Minghao was over your shoulder, flicking his fingers between the photos. “Lots of customers have requested these designs. He never makes them the same way, though.”

Instead of answering, you followed Minghao down the hallway and into the artist room. Vernon had just finished with a client. Poking in head first, you saw him ticking off protocol off a printed list, speaking concisely. The client was listening intently, and you see he has an arm sleeve with peonies. It’s then he noticed Minghao intruding once more, and frowned. 

“Dude, you got milk tea without me?” Vernon said, affronted. 

“Ya didn’t ask.” Minghao vigorously shook the ice in your tea like a baby rattle. 

“You didn’t mention it, therefore I couldn’t have asked.” 

“You’re so smart, Hannie,” he beamed at him like a proud parent complimenting his son, “that’s why he’s going to grad school.” 

You let yourself in fully, and you felt shy as Vernon’s lips parted slightly upon realizing who his second guest was. 

“Hey,” Vernon exhaled, and gave you a small smile. He looked happy, content. As handsome as ever, he ran a gloved hand through his hair, soft curls bouncing as he shifted around the parting. “This is uh, a surprise.” his eyes flickered to Minghao, who held his arms out in a passive shrug. “A good one to end the week.” 

“Hi,” you bit your lip, feeling shy, “so, you decided to get certified and you’re going to grad school? I missed out on a lot.”

“That’s okay, we got time.” Vernon assured, “besides the fact that I got a project due tomorrow morning that I’ve barely started, and then I have a field trip I gotta go to on Sunday—”

Before it could drag on any longer, Minghao hacked out a very loud, and very fake cough. You broke out of the rêve, and muttered a “gimmie that” before snatching your precious bubble tea out of Minghao’s hand. 

Vernon mirrored the cough, more out of embarrassment than annoyance. “Lemme finish up with this client, yeah?” And he jerked his head back to the patient, going on about safety. 

Minghao led you out of the room, whispering a “you’re welcome” in your ear that taunted you for the rest of the night. 

Vernon finished at 5, just like he did back in the little shack at university square. He came out in a 2XL neon green hoodie, leading the client out the door and telling him to “take it easy”. As soon as the client’s gone, he comes over to you. You’re still staring at your pictures, as if you couldn’t believe that you were on display, looking like a tasteful nude model. 

“Hi again,” he said, dusting the imaginary dirt off his pants. 

“Hi,” you replied, feeling tingly at the sound of his voice. Did you really miss him that much? 

"Um, is it cool if I hug you?" 

It certainly has been awhile. You nodded, unsure if you could form a coherent response because you could tell Vernon was blushing and he was being too damn adorable for you to handle. 

Upon permission, he brightened. The warmth of his cotton hoodie enveloped you like the way hot chocolate feels after a cold day. You breathed in his scent, realizing how much you missed the scent of fresh laundry, especially on him. 

"How are you?” He asked casually.

“Uh, m'okay.” You answered softly, “a little cold nowadays." 

He hugged you tighter in response. With one more squeeze he let himself go, but kept you at an arm’s length. "Wanna get dinner?" 

You looked at him funny, "didn’t you say you had a project due tomorrow morning that you haven’t started?" 

Without missing a beat he altered, "Wanna get takeout? I’ll do work and eat while,” his eyes darted to your luggage, “you do work?" 

While you wanted to say that it was Friday (FriYay!) and you weren’t planning to open Pandora’s Box until Sunday night, you obliged and followed him to his place. 

On the way over, Vernon got his well-needed milk tea (and your second round) with two matching cartons of jajangmyeon. You trailed behind him rather than next to him, due to the fact that he was also lugging a Joshua-sized canvas on his back. In fear of being knocked out or ruining his work, you settled for walking a meter apart. 

Vernon lived on the second floor of his complex. You imagined a sizable one-room similar to your goshiwon, but you’re in awe when you see a fully furnished living room and kitchen. You smiled at the singular jade plant decorating the windowsill, one you remembered as Patricia Planty one session months ago. The hardwood was so shiny you could see your reflection in them. Kicking off your shoes, you stumbled over the kitchen countertop, reveling at the onyx granite. 

"I’ve never seen this much granite in my entire life!” You cried, spreading your hands over the cool rock. It was so well polished, you could see your reflection.  He was certainly living the high life this year. 

Vernon shook his head, setting the take out down and pulling out the containers. “It’s RM’s old place. I rent it out with the guys." 

"God, this is ten times better than my place! Your kitchen is bigger than my apartment!" 

He flicked your bowl of jajangmyeon over to your side of the countertop, the sauce and noodles premixed for you. "Eat up, babe.” He stuffed a radish in his mouth, now working to mix his own noodles, “we got a lotta catchin’ up to do." 

Whether it was your hunger or the casual use of the word "babe”, you abandoned the granite for now and did as told. 

An hour later, you’re flipping through their mounted TV, taking full advantage of their Disney+ subscription as Vernon is laying on the floor.  

“I thought you were working,” you chastised, letting yourself sink further into their couch. It was like resting on a big, fluffy marshmallow. You never wanted to leave. 

Vernon is splayed out like a starfish, papers and watercolors spread around him. His large body stood out against the white linoleum floor, his neon green hoodie reflecting on the shiny surface. “I am.” he replied blandly, “I’m waiting for lightning to hit me with a burst of inspiration." 

"Grad school’s biting you in the butt?" 

"Big time." 

Another bout of silence hit the two of you, and it was surprisingly nice. You finally started to notice that Vernon is picking up some art utensils and is doodling something. (He still is on the floor and hasn’t sat up properly, but progress is progress.) 

It felt oddly domestic, but you didn’t mind. There was no need to ask about the past, Kim Mingyu, or any other silly drama you two entrapped yourselves into last summer. What mattered now was the warmth of each other’s presence on this chilly night.

Your eyes are heavy and fighting against the long day, and before you know it, you’re asleep just as Rapunzel escapes Gothel’s tower. 

You haven’t awoken to the morning sun in a long, long time. While the notion sounded awfully depressing (because it was), you really didn’t have much of a choice because the goshiwon was closet sized, and closets had no windows. But today, the sun blasted you, forcing you up. This was accompanied by the the tell-tale sounds of breakfast, which was weird because you only ever ate cold food in your room, because there was zero ventilation. The scent of dark roast muddled your senses, forcing you awake. You twitched at the sudden stench, and snapped your back straight. Were your walls always this pristine white? 

"Didn’t know you were this early in the game, Flower Girl." 

You never went home. While Vernon was long gone and probably off presenting some haphazard art, Minghao and Yoongi (for the first time, in the flesh!) were watching you from their marbled island, while you rubbed the crusties out of your eyes. "Usually, encroaching on a significant other’s apartment is reserved for the 5th or 6th date.” Minghao teased, waving his Nutella toast in your face. 

“Oh, shut up,” you glared at Yoongi, who was slowly chewing on his own toast. There’s was black spark in his eyes, like he’s relishing on whatever has unfolded. “And you, you. I know this is the first time we’ve met and you haven’t said a word. But shut up too. Your thoughts are awfully loud.” 

You’re embarrassed, and you pull up your hands to mediate your fired cheeks. Instead of your palms, you feel worn cotton dabbing at your face. You wiggled your fingers under the neon green hoodie. Vernon put on his clothes for you to wear. You were in a very uncompromising position, and his roommates were reveling every second of it. 

Yoongi shrugged, throwing you a flippant grin. “Whatever you say, Flower Girl.” 

Contact emerged in the form of texts and images. You wondered how Vernon managed to keep things casual in light of how sudden your meeting was, but you relished in the way things fell naturally. 

[February 19, 2:10PM]

Vern: Is this still your number 

Vern: If so, here’s what i submitted for my project

Vern: IMG.934

Vern: if not, pls enjoy this picture of a pink platypus. the medium was watercolor nd if you’re curious, i got the idea from sunsets and phineas and ferb. Enjoy your day

You: hey look, there’s perry

Vern: nice

Vern: wait, this doesn’t confirm if ur u or a stranger

Vern: are u just a perry enthusiast 

Vern: evidence pls

[February 19th, 6:08PM]

You: IMG.48

[February 20th, 12:22AM]

Vern: ooh

Vern: look cute in my hoodie 

You’ve toggled with the idea of just cutting straight through the bush and asking him out the next time you see him in person. A little part of you liked the chase, however. That feeling where you’re tugging between friendship and something more, and you can’t help but feel like you’re fifteen everytime his name popped up in your messages. You self-dubbed it the-honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase. 

[February 27, 5:34PM]

Vern: what are you up to 

You: it’s hour 32. I’ve been under the covers and have survived solely on celery and honey-butter chips. currently binging all netflix comedies. debating on whether to send for help otherwise i may never get up

Vern: that’s the spirit 

By the time two weeks passed, you felt confident enough to ride off the mutually weird text messages and constant contact to meet with him. By then, you’re knees deep in the honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase. You’re languidly floating in that river, hoping you’re not rushing it by agitating the waters. 

[March 8th, 10:10PM]

You: hey

You: you up? 

Vern: nah. mastered the art of sleep textin

You: just wanted to ask if you could help me pick out a tatt that would fit me

You: if you were available. I’ve heard from the mullet-monster that you’re a hot commodity drowning in appts and deadlines

Vern: wait forreal? 

Vern: i can pencil u in. tomorrow night @11? 

You: so soon? What happened to being busy

Vern: not for u. Already have an idea in mind

By the time you arrived Saturday night, Minghao was slapping your back across the door, gabbing on about a “major banger” they were missing uptown. He looked the part, the only person you knew that could fill out an all-studded denim fit. Like a disco ball at a rodeo. He barely said good-bye before he hopped in a Lyft, cheering for freedom. 

You poked your head into the artist room, and saw Vernon playing on his phone. His fist dug into his cheek, carob pupils glazed over. You almost felt bad for wanting his attention this late.

“You usually do the day shift,” you commented quietly, holding up a bag with two milk teas in hand. 

Vernon looked up, illuminating in a half-smile. “Y’know me, always covering. Just for the hour though, this shouldn’t take long since we’re just looking at ideas.” 

He slapped a hand on the client chair. This one was much better than the cot they had in their shack. This one was pure leather and gleamed high quality. You placed your drinks on the countertop and eagerly bounced onto the seat. “Comfy,” you murmured, and wriggled your sneaker-clad feet.

“Good,” there’s a sharp snap from the plastic seal and Vernon is sipping into his milk tea seconds after you put it down. He’s chewing on a particularly large gulp, gnawing on pearls like no one’s business. With his rolling chair, he slid over to you, seamlessly reaching for your wrist. 

If he noticed that you’re wearing a particular neon item, he doesn’t comment. He turned on the overhead lamp, letting a soft white light bathe your form. When he finally spoke, he chanted your name in a sing-song, tapping your wrist in beat. It’s as if he  were envisioning the color blooming on your skin. 

You let him do his thing, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his gallery. You see pictures of his friends, some of his family, and digital art. He scrolled slower at the myriad of images: a colorful orca, lavender constellations, and budding roses. 

You were seeing a lot of flowers nowadays, with the burgeoning of spring and the recent ending of Valentine’s. It’s only now that you notice how apparent the theme is throughout the parlor, particularly in Vernon’s affinity. 

“Why don’t you call me it?” you asked softly, peering over his form to see him mulled over a picture of periwinkle lupines. 

“Huh,” he’s distracted, and has now swiped back to the colorful orca image. 

“Flower Girl,” you uttered, “they call me that, but you don’t.” 

Vernon clicked his phone down, the lupines flicked away. He peered at you through his lashes, the white overhead making his eyes appreciably bright. “Before I knew your name,” he started slow, making faces to himself as if he were debating on whether to tell you, “I’d call you Rose. You were always by the rose bush planted outside the shop.” 

“Avoiding work,” you crinkled your nose, however relished in the endearment, “being named after a rose is too big a compliment.” 

He snorted, “That’s what they said. Hence, Flower Girl was born,” he’s easy about it, but now he’s put his phone down and is rubbing circles in your wrist. You wonder if he felt how clammy your palms were getting from the minute intimacy. 

“You know what flower I’d compare to you?” you asked, “freesias.” 

“And what do those mean?” 

“Thoughtfulness,” the pad of his thumb still lingered on your skin, his grip painfully apparent. “And renewal.” 

“Why renewal?” 

“Because,” you swallowed, “you make me feel renewed. And this time I’m sure it’s because it’s you.” 

Vernon looked like he wanted to smile, trying so very hard not to embarass you whilst you poured your heart out with delicacy. His coral lips were tucked in a thin line, teeth biting at his lower lip. Drop by drop, he was going to accept that dew with as much care as possible. “Only me,” he inquired, pressing into your pulse. 

Your mouth was sand dry.  “Uh-huh.” You exhaled a breath long clutched in your throat, hot air fanning into Vernon’s face. He paid no mind, and (to no avail) was still trying to hold in his smile. “You’re dimples are showing,” you whined, poking the little dip in his cheeks with your free hand. “Use your words.” 

“Like?” he elongated, playing dumb. You supposed you earned his brand of torture, after all, seven months is a long time to make up for. 

“Like how we want the same thing?” you tried. 

“How do you know I want what you want?” he feigned, furrowing his thick brows. Acting could’ve been another career possibility for him, portrayed by the way his eyes were blown with confusion, his mouth parted like a kitten.  

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Forget words!” you broke, nearly shaking from the nerves. 

It’s then that Vernon finally gave you a concrete response. His grip on your wrist was near painful as he eagerly tugged you closer, kissing you. There’s enthusiasm in every action from the way he pulled you closer, large hands melding to cup your cheeks. A little part of you is both breathless and invigorated at the energy stinging the room, and you can barely keep up until Vernon spilled kisses down your neck. 

He threw up the armrest holding him back, tucking his knee between your legs as he lapped you up, kissing you fully. The chair was much too small for the both of you, his large body pressing you further into the cushions. 

He sat up a bit, bumping his head on the lamp. He paid no mind. “By the way, I like you, too.” Vernon puttered cheekily, rubbing his scalp. Just as swiftly, he latches onto your neck and sucks at a sensitive spot. You can feel his teeth showing from the smile in his kisses. His thumbs rubbed lazily over your jaw, enjoying the feel of your soft skin under his rough palms. 

“Really,” you exhaled, relaxing against the headrest as Vernon’s wandering hands traveled lower. “Had no idea.” 

“But I’m happy,” Vernon is fumbly and sweet, mumbling in the crook of your neck while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your sweatpants, “happy you’ve healed, and happy for us.” 

He’s excited, almost too excited. The space between you two was warm, the lamp beating under your skin, awakening something between you two that was left behind that summer. It’s as if winter left him dormant, and you were the fresh flower waiting to be bloomed under his touch.

“Are you always,” you gasped, two fingers already worming their way inside your panties, “talkative at this part?” 

“Not if you wanna talk,” and the ever-zealous Vernon Chwe gets to work, sticking out his tongue in surprise when he finds that you’re already drenched. “Shit, you’re so beautiful,” he holds onto that word dearly, and pressed his forehead against yours, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to hold you like this,” he reached for your delicious bud, and you felt your senses flower into pleasure. 

He makes a noise, low in his throat as he watched you melt against the seat. “I like you like this,” he said thickly, his voice matching the slick sounds emitting from yourself. “Comfy, relaxed. You always looked so stuffy in those work suits,” you feel wholly undeserving of this worship, as he licked a long strip from your collarbone to your neck, “would love to help you chill out a lil’ more.” 

A whine bubbled from the back of your throat, your eyes rolling shamelessly as you feel the pads of his fingers working circles between your folds. “Ah, I’ve—I’ve fantasized about this,” you confessed, “every time you’d ink my back. At one point we just stopped covering myself with those stupidly thin gowns. All you had to do was turn around.” Vernon blinked rapidly, mental pictures ticked like film in his pupils. His hands stuttered across your slick, inserting two fingers between your folds as you continued. His pace was slow, yet purposeful as he made sure you felt him with every thrust. Rings adorned his fingers, and the cool sensation surprised you. You shivered in pleasure. “Mm, I’ve imagined us kinda like this in that little shack, hard against the cot overlooking the shop,” 

“Dirty,” he said, as if recalling the weather. 

“And ah—wondering what kind of tattoos you have,” and in your haze you reached for him, your hand gripping firm at his gunmetal belt buckle. You tucked your fingers between the button of his light wash jeans, palming the telltale signs of something hard, “please? You’ve done too much for me, lemme return the favor.” 

“Not now,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “you can guess my ink on our way home.”

“Wha?“ You’re dazed, feeling warm with affection and drowned in the moment. You feel his fingers, slowly pumping out of its rhythm and resting on your thigh. You groaned at the premature end, his shiny digits resting on your fleece sweats. 

“They’ll kill me, this is new leather,” Vernon said, “and now we can afford security cameras, which are so small even I can’t find them.” 

“Unbelievable,” you laughed. You’re not frustrated, only endeared. 

“Besides, I’d rather have our first time somewhere private. Undisturbed,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, "somewhere where there’s lots of granite." 

You melted, pulling at his collar to pepper kisses on his nose. The mention of coming home to his pretty kitchen was icing on the cake. "You know how much I love your granite." 

(After your granite fantasy was fulfilled, you spent the rest of the weekend huddled in Vernon’s room. You’re living off take out and mutually satisfied with the unhealthy means. When you’re not eating or watching movies, the two of you are drafting your first piece. 

Freesias and pink roses.)

(His tattoo was also very cute.) 

[peachyteabuck]

sick of nothing (carol danvers x reader)

summary: Shitty, shitty bars can still have pretty, pretty bartenders. 

Carol’s got a night off and you work as a bartender while you study to become a statistician. A one-night stand situation.

pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

words: 2,592

trigger warnings: one-night stands, daddy kink, light choking, strap ons, angst if you really squint

notes: this was written for @shay-iamiam ‘s 800 follower writing challenge. my prompt was “i have a name, and it’s not sweetheart” and has been bolded within the fic !!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The walk is about three and a half blocks, the hood of her AIR FORCE hoodie pulled up the whole time as if to dare any pick pocket and low life in the city to test her self-defense abilities. Nobody she passes looks at her for more than half a second, just how she wants it.

In front of her destination is a neon sign that’s nearly dulled - as if too old to support its own brightness anymore. It’s almost hidden among the other, flashier billboards and car lights and God knows what else the civilians in this town use to be seen these days. Regardless, it catches Carol’s eye.

The stairs to the entrance are lit by a green similar to the color outside, the deep shade barely masking the multiple women making out against the wall. Carol makes eye contact with one of them who’s got two attached to each side of her neck. The unnamed woman smirks at Carol, who nods back.

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, the heavy door she has to use all her might to push in order to get through the threshold. There aren’t a lot of people in the run-down bar, it’s much too early for the regulars to be partying. She counts maybe six people, max, along with the three exits.  

Carol spots you across the bar. Across the dirty, grimy bar she flags you down and orders scotch. She doesn’t know exactly what it is, but it was what her papa drank when he was lonely, so it’s what she’ll drink now.

Your pour the dark liquid into a glass with fluid movements, and you push it down the bar to her with equal ease.

“Enjoy,” you tell her, and she nods once before downing it. She watches you intently, tracks your wide grin and fast hands.

You notice her staring but don’t say anything, too busy stuffing your bra with the single dollar bills and wiping down the wettened wood as each patron becomes drunk enough to leave. It’s near the end of your shift, when you’ve got ten minutes left and the next girl comes to pull back her hair and change into her own t-shirt printed with the bar’s logo, that you finally make contact.

“It’s kinda rude to stare,” you tell her without meeting her eyes.

“Oh, but you’re so nice to look at,” the woman, with her shockingly neat blank olive long-sleeved shirt. She’s got blonde hair pulled back tight into a bun at the top of her neck, posture that rivals that of a Renaissance-era French noble.

Military. You note. Most of them don’t bother with the bar you have the misfortune of working at, especially with it being as seedy as it is; filled with degenerates as it is. There are better places to drink, better places to pick up hookers, better places to forget the fact they joined was just to pay for college.

The woman speaks again when you lean against the bar – the first time your feet stopped moving since your shift started. “When are you done here, sweetheart?”

You smile, the shine in your eyes especially evident in the low light. “I have a name, and it’s not sweetheart,” you tell her with a voice playful and light.

“And what is this mysterious name of yours?” she downs the last of her drink as she waits for your reply.

There’s a hesitancy in your voice, an uncertainty that isn’t scared but most definitely is noticeable. “Why don’t you take me on a date and find out?” Another pause. “I’m done here in five. You can meet me out back if you want.”

Carol smiles wide and dope, and tips you a crisp twenty-dollar bill, which she places over the wet ring her empty glass left on the dark, stained wood. “See ya then, darling,” just as she tucks her stool back out of the path of travel for the other customers, she turns back around. “My name’s Carol, by the way.”

As you tap out and grab your bag from the back room, you can’t tell which weighs heavier on your conscience: the biggest tip you’ve ever received (in proportion to the tab) or the fact that you’re about to have sex with a stranger.

Said woman is right where you told you to be, leaning against the brick wall with her hands stuffed in her pockets. Silently, you nod, and she follows you on the route to your apartment. For awhile it’s silent, almost uncomfortably so.

About halfway through the walk, Carol’s the first one to speak. “What are you doing here? In this shitty town?” A pause. “You seem way too smart to be stuck here.”

You shrug your bag closer to you, as if it’ll protect her from whatever hypercritical commentary she’s about to give. “I’m studying to be a statistician, working on saving money so I can start working on my PhD soon.”

Carol laughs a little, and for a moment you prepare to recite the speech you gave your dad when you left home four years ago, your freshman year professor who told you that women can’t do math, it’ll interfere with their natural role as caregivers to the family, your sophomore year boyfriend who you broke up with not only because you figured out you only like women, but also because he was a piece of shit who told you that if a woman wasn’t a stay at home mom she wasn’t worth shit.

But Carol doesn’t mock you, doesn’t chuckle like it’s the strangest thing she’s ever heard.

Still, you’re concerned. “What’re you laughing about?”

“Just never expected anyone so smart would allow someone like me to take them home,” she tells you, honest and sincere. For a moment her cool façade breaks and your heart along with it, but after a few seconds she’s back with that killer smile.

Your conversation remains light the rest of the walk, at one point your fingers intertwining as the silence of the night settles upon you. The action is cute, innocent, directly contrasting what happened the second you reach the inside of your apartment.

Carol’s got you pushed against the inside of your bedroom door, and you can feel each groove and nick in the old wood as she pulls off the horrendous black shirt your boss requires you to wear. The day it was handed to you, you promised yourself you’d burn it the minute you didn’t have to work at that shithole anymore. But, as Carol kisses your collar bone and bites at each square inch of sensitive skin, you wonder how bad it could be if you managed to catch her while wearing it. On impulse your nose wrinkles, thinking about the putrid scent wafting from the fabric, the piss of a thousand racoons settling over the hottest woman you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Luckily, Carol doesn’t notice, because she’s too busy pulling it off of you and catching a glimpse of the tattoos that litter your body. Her lips stop, then, and she takes a moment to look – really look – at them. She traces the normal model – located on your ribs – lightly. “Is that the mathy shit you were talking about?”

You laugh, pulling her in for a kiss. “These are equations that can determine things you only dream of knowing. You know, in World War I-“ You’re cut off with a sharp bite to your breast opposite the ink and one of her hands snaking itself down your pants. “Oh fuck.”

Carol smiles into your skin before throwing you onto the bed, her hair barely moving as she tosses you as if you were pillow rather than a person. You hit the bed with a loud thump, and in the second you take to move your thick blankets that have gathered over you off of your body she’s removed her shirt and is working on unhooking her simple, sweat-stained bra.

Her movements are fevered, her eyes ablaze. It’s the kind of fire you’ve seen in the climax of cheesy animated movies, when the pretty, hopeless protagonist is cornered against some thick free as the big, bad wolf towers over her as spit falls from its jowls. With wide eyes, the careless woman watches and whimpers as what is likely her death-bringer rips the top of her bodice open with a simple swipe of its dirt-coated claws.

The only difference between you and her appears to be her terror, because as Carol crawls over you and sinks her teeth into your jugular all you can do is moan and grab at her back.

“You’re so cute,” she growls into your ear. “Maybe I should fuck you like I’ll break you…” An evil, hungry grin spreads across her face as you shake your head, your nails dragging angry red lines down her muscular back.  “Or, maybe not.”

As she removes her thick, black pants, you notice she’s wearing a worn leather harness she claims she’s had since she first enlisted fit tight to her waist and thighs. The material is soft as your palms occasionally run over the buckles as you reach for her ass. “Please, Carol, please god,” you beg, gasping at she bites at your nipple. “Please just fuck me.”

Carol moves on down your stomach, leaving a trail of bruises in her wake. You can feel her lips spread into a smile into your skin, nipping at your heated flesh as she looks up at you. “Mm, kinda wanna have you ride me instead. You okay with that, baby girl?”

You’re breathless as you respond. “Yes.”

Somehow, in all of your breathless splendor, Carol finds a way you coax you – no, manhandle you so that you’re hovering just above the bright blue cock kept in place by the harness.

“I don’t think that’s military-issue,” you quip. The smirk on your face, though, subsides quickly when she aligns herself with your entrance and bottoms out in a single thrust. All you can do is moan, bracing yourself with one hand on the wall and one on her chest. It’s embarrassing, almost, how good it feels.

The ends of Carol’s mouth slowly spread upward as she watches you fall apart, watches your eyes roll to the back of your head, watches your jaw go slack.

“You like that?” she asks, voice thick with the arousal that comes with pleasing a partner. “You like it when I fuck your pussy this hard?”

All you can do is give her a small squeak and a nod, unable to form such a complicated thing as speech. Carol’s got one hand on your hip to keep you moving, to keep your hips grinding on her cock, while the other rests on your throat with her thumb moving just past your lips.

It doesn’t take any exchange of words for you to understand what she wants from you, and as you take the ridge between the two phalanges you flatten your tongue against the digit.

You soak the calloused skin with your spit, tracing every small detail with your tongue and basking in the glow of giving and receiving pleasure. Soon, though, Carol pulls her thumb away with a loud pop!

You pout, worrying you had done something wrong. But as you feel Carol circling your clit you forget all about your own insecurities.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, almost falling if it weren’t for Carol’s painful grip on your hip. “Oh my God!”

“You gonna come for me baby?” She hisses, voice husky and laced with godly confidence. “You gonna come on daddy’s cock?”

Her saying that word, that title, sends another flood of arousal to your center. “Yes, daddy, I love your cock,” you moan, desperate throw yourself into the pleasure you’re so close to reaching. “Please, please let me come! I wanna come on your thick dick, daddy!”

Carol doesn’t say anything at first, caught stroking her ego with a cocky smirk that somehow makes you even wetter.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Carol nearly purrs. “Come for Daddy.”

She’s got one thumb rubbing at your clit, the other hand palming at your breast. Soon it’s too much, the tight, heated coil in your abdomen gives one last tightening before it unravels – pleasure flooding your blood. As the explosive pleasure begins to subside, Carol carefully flips you onto your back and pulls out of your hypersensitive pussy. As she pulls the toy out of you achingly slow you whimper from sensitivity and the empty feeling inside of you.

Carol moves off of the bed to pull the harness off of you, and in the absence of her body heat you shiver and whine for her to join you back in bed. She gives you a small, pitiful smile before leaning forward to a place a light kiss on your sweaty forehead. “Just give me a second, baby, you need some water.” You mmph, and point her in the direction of your shitty kitchenette.

When she comes back you’re on the precipice of sleep – eyes heavy as she props you up to drink from of the cold tap water. As you empty the glass, she places it onto your bedside table and wraps herself around you – puling the heavy, sex-thick blankets over the two of you. With the warmth of the fabric and her skin, sleep soon claims your consciousness.

It feels like a mere few seconds later when your pupils begin to move behind your eyelids, sparked by something deep in your foolhardy dreams telling you that you feel someone stirring in your room. When your eyes finally crack open, you can see the woman who fucked you into another consciousness last night pulling on her clothes in the dark.

When you click on the lamp, her movements stop like a cockroach freezes under a flashlight. A long, heavy silence ensues.

Carol’s the one to break it. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says – voice small.

The corners of your lips turn up in a similar manner. “It’s okay.”

Another beat passes before the both of you move. Carol continues to dress, and you move to write your landline number and, after a bit of hesitation, your name and address.

The silence continues as she makes her way around your room and collects her things – namely the harness, which she tucks back under her pants, just as before. As she turns around to pull her pants over the leather strap, you move behind her to tuck the old receipt into a back pocket.

When Carol notices your hands on her ass she freezes, but soon welcomes the embrace as you whisper in her ear. “Just…don’t be a stranger, alright?”

She intertwines your fingers and kisses where her skin meets yours. “I’ll try.”

You sigh as Carol steps out of your apartment complex into the pink-covered city. Dawn is just bringing itself upon the horizon, as if the sun is trying to bide you more time together. There are a few moments where your eyes meet, and she gives you a small, sad smile.

“Goodbye,” she says quietly.

You nod, once. Wrapping your robe tighter around you to keep the chills tighter to keep the chills at bay, you wonder why it would be so cool in the thick of summer. As you turn back inside to get ready for class, you try not to think about how it might not be the cold that make you shake.

[glassc0ffin]

Spreading

frankie has a haunted tattoo its pretty neat. another transcript fic

pairing: oc (frankie james)/jonathan sims

words: 2049

warnings: yearning

[CLICK]

FRANKIE JAMES:

Oh, I've missed that tape recorder. I still haven't got one, y'know.

ARCHIVIST:

There are some spares around somewhere, I could try and get one for you. I-If you wanted.

JAMES:

You'd do that? ...What if you get in trouble?

ARCHIVIST:

With what's going on around here, I doubt anyone would notice one missing tape recorder. But, I digress. What are you doing back here? I thought the voices had stopped.

JAMES:

Well… They did, after a while. Thanks for looking into that, by the way. I was a nervous wreck for a good while, there.

ARCHIVIST:

It was no problem. I'm glad you're doing at least a bit better.

[PAUSE]

You are doing better?

JAMES:

I mean, I thought I was. Up until –

ARCHIVIST:

Wait, I-I should –

JAMES:

Oh, yeah, go ahead.

ARCHIVIST:

Statement of Frankie James, radio DJ at Tranzishon Rock, London, regarding?

JAMES:

A tattoo I got recently.

ARCHIVIST:

Recorded direct from subject by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of The Magnus Institute, 5th of October, 2019. Statement begins.

[PAUSE]

A tattoo? Would you mind showing me?

JAMES:

I - Okay, it's a little… Complicated. A couple of days after I saw you the first time, I decided to treat myself, seeing as I felt like shit – Don't worry, I'll show you in a little bit, I just need to explain something first – and I texted my tattooist, Sarah, if she had any appointments soon. She said no, that she was booked up until Christmas, but that she had an apprentice in who could do something quick for me. And I thought, well, I trust Sarah, she wouldn't let some newbie who's never held a tattoo gun before into her studio. That, and I kind of wanted to be a learning experience. There's something about being a living canvas for someone that's a little appealing. 

ARCHIVIST:

[SIGHS] I'm not quite sure I relate, but go on.

JAMES:

She books me in for a session a couple of days later. I had my heart set on a space sleeve, with stars and planets and stuff, and a supernova exploding on my elbow. I had come into a little bit of money recently so instead of doing the responsible thing, like paying my rent, I wanted to spend a ridiculous amount of money on myself. I commissioned a friend to design the sleeve and went to Sarah's with it. 

ARCHIVIST:

It sounds beautiful.

JAMES:

[QUIETLY] I can think of something more beautiful.

ARCHIVIST:

Hmm?

JAMES:

I-Er, nothing, don't worry. [WHISPERED] Shit.

[PAUSE] So, yeah, the tattoo. The newbie, I learned his name was Jimmy, transferred it onto my arm and started work. Funnily enough, we got off on the same foot as you and I.

ARCHIVIST:

Really? How so?

JAMES:

Y'know how I was obsessing over your tape recorder because of how cute and vintage it is? He had an antique tattoo gun he was using on me, paddle-operated and everything, it was really cool! He was as enthusiastic about it as I was, he said that he got it from a fancy vintage place. I can't remember what it was called but he said the bloke running it was called...Salesa? I think? 

ARCHIVIST:

...I see.

JAMES:

Anyway, it hurt a lot more than I was expecting. I just put it down to the gun being old and that was just what people used to have to deal with. I remember thinking I hope that gun's passed some safety checks. I mean, it wasn't rusty or anything, but I didn't want it to just fall apart while it was still stabbing me and fuck up my tattoo. Wait, am I allowed to swear?

ARCHIVIST:

I-It's not against regulations, as such. I'm not going to tell you off, anyway.

JAMES:

Aw, thank you. I'm not really a bleeder when I get tattoos, I have enough now to know what to expect, but with this one, i-it was like I had anemia or something. Every half hour we had to stop so I could eat something or I'd feel like passing out. Eventually, after 3 hours, I hit my limit. I was getting light headed and kind of annoyed, so I told Jimmy I'd be back in a week or so to finish it off. It was only from my elbow and down to my wrist, he hadn't even started on my upper arm yet. 

After that, I went straight back home - I had moved back there since the voices had stopped by then, don't know why they did but I'm thankful anyway - and collapsed onto my bed clutching my arm. It was already hot and swollen, trying to heal already. There was some cling film put over it and bandages. I soaked right through them overnight and onto my bedsheets. The next morning I could barely extend my arm. It was twice the size of the other and just oozing yucky stuff. It probably wasn't the best idea for an open wound, but like everyone does when they have an open wound, I stuck it under the cold tap. It was only then, in the harsh light of my bathroom, that I saw my tattoo properly that morning. 

There was a planet in the blackness of inked space that wasn't there before. I'm sure of it. It's not even in the original design. It was ringed, like Saturn. I even tried rubbing it off my skin but that just made it bleed more. It was way too early in the morning for me to deal with that shit, so I just wrapped it in some new bandages and went out to get food. It was aching the whole time I was out, and when I rolled up my jacket sleeves I saw I had leaked through the bandage again, and through my shirt.

It hurt. It hurt so much. More than any of my other tattoos healing. But again, I just thought it was that old tattoo gun, and because I hadn't protested when Jimmy brought it out, it was my own fault. My own stupid fault that I'd probably have to get my arm amputated because I caught fucking gangrene off an antique tattoo gun. 

I just resigned myself to cleaning it again when I got home. In fact, I ran a bath. And as I took my shirt off I looked in the mirror, and the tattoo had gotten bigger. I swear. We had stopped at the elbow, I promise, but it was at least an inch higher than that before, all the way around my arm. In fact, the new area was sore to touch, as if it had just been tattooed on, where the area at my wrist had already started to scab.

And as another day passed, the tattoo grew, and I cleaned it. And another day. And another. And now I'm here. Again.

ARCHIVIST:

Statement ends. Will you show me? The tattoo I mean?

JAMES:

Ah, sure. [CLOTHES RUSTLING] There. Careful, that part only appeared this morning.

ARCHIVIST:

[GASPS] I-I see what you mean… Frankie, I-I don't think you - uh - needed to take your whole shirt off...Wait a minute.

JAMES:

What? What is it?

ARCHIVIST:

It's on your back as well, here…

JAMES:

[SHARP BREATH INTAKE]

ARCHIVIST:

Sorry! I didn't mean to poke you.

JAMES:

No - you didn't hurt me, it's just - your hands are so cold! [LAUGHS, NERVOUS]

ARCHIVIST:

Jesus...I-It's moving!

JAMES:

WHAT?

ARCHIVIST:

The - That planet is spinning! The stars, they're twinkling as well! 

JAMES:

FUCK, dude, WHAT?

ARCHIVIST:

Frankie, you can't go home like this. Your skin is raw, I don't know how you're dealing with this…

JAMES:

I'm not. Painkillers, mostly. I…try not to think about it. 

ARCHIVIST:

We have some medics here who can help you, we can keep an eye on you, on that tattoo. And track down the man who sold your friend that gun.

JAMES:

I, er, need some stuff from my flat.

ARCHIVIST:

[SOFTLY] If you'd like, I can come with you to help. I doubt you'd be able to lift much with your arm in that state. 

JAMES:

Thank you… Why are you doing this?

ARCHIVIST:

What do you mean?

JAMES:

Well, don't you have assistants and stuff to deal with this crap? You don't do this with every person who gives a statement, right?

ARCHIVIST:

You're right. I don't. [PAUSES] You're different.

JAMES:

I-I am?

ARCHIVIST:

Yes...You're the first person I've ever met who is evidence of their statement, living, breathing, evidence that you weren't lying. And if I'm being honest, it's fascinating. 

JAMES:

[NERVOUS LAUGHTER] Thanks, I think… Can I put my shirt back on now? 

ARCHIVIST:

Oh, yes, o-of course. I can turn around if you want.

JAMES:

What's the point? You've just seen my boobs, seeing them covered isn't really going to make a difference.

ARCHIVIST:

[UNDER HIS BREATH] Good lord. [COUGHS] Yes, quite. Oh, er, recording ends.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST:

Are you feeling any better today?

JAMES:

Not really. Still hurts. Thanks for asking, though.

ARCHIVIST:

I’ll see about getting you some painkillers. Would you mind showing me how far it’s progressed? I need to get it recorded.

JAMES:

Yeah, just… Gimme a second. It’s a little hard to move my arm now.

ARCHIVIST:

I can help. I-If you want.

JAMES:

...Yeah. Yeah, okay. [CLOTHES RUSTLING] Ow!

ARCHIVIST:

Sorry! Sorry. Was that part new?

JAMES:

I think so. It’s all a bit sore.

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, I can see. Your skin is red around the edges of the thing. Hold on, let me put some gloves on. [STRETCHY ELASTIC NOISES]

JAMES:

So you want me to bend over and cough, doc?

ARCHIVIST:

[SNORTS] Stop, I need to be delicate. I can’t do that if you’re giving me the giggles. Oh, let me - [COUGHS] Supplement of Statement #421904, recorded on the 6th of October, 2019, examining the tattoo of Frankie James, given to him from a gun sold by Mikaele Salesa. Statement begins.

JAMES:

Your hands are still deathly cold.

ARCHIVIST:

Sorry about that. Tattoo originally started at the wrist of the subject, and ended at the elbow. Today, approximately one week after the initial application, it has extended over the subjects hand, up his arm, and is currently spilling onto his chest and back. The tattoo is of a galaxy, with a number of planets and stars dotted about. On the subject’s elbow is a supernova exploding.

JAMES:

That part hurt the most.

ARCHIVIST:

I can imagine. Originally, the tattoo only had four planets and six stars, all located on the forearm, but as of today, the number has increased to eight planets and [COUNTING UNDER HIS BREATH] fifteen stars. It also appears to...move...at times, the stars seem to twinkle, and the planets spin on their axis. [BREATHES OUT] Very unusual.

JAMES:

That’s an understatement.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m just going to take some photos, if that’s alright?

JAMES:

Yeah, just get my good side.

ARCHIVIST:

[LAUGHS] You don’t have a bad side. [PAUSE] [CAMERA SHUTTERS 5 TIMES] There. That should be all I need for now. You can pop your shirt back on.

JAMES:

Can I just leave it off? It really hurts and having to peel it off again later to clean it will just hurt even more.

ARCHIVIST:

A-Alright. I’ll see you in a bit, Frankie.

JAMES:

Jon, wait.

ARCHIVIST:

Hmm? What’s wrong?

JAMES:

Nothing, I just… Thanks for helping me bring some stuff over here. You didn’t have to do that.

ARCHIVIST:

I wanted to help. Frankie, when you came in, you looked terrified. I was...very worried for you.

JAMES:

[NERVOUS LAUGHTER] Shit, I thought I was hiding it better. Okay, but, surely everyone that comes in to give a statement is going to be bricking it?

ARCHIVIST:

Well, like I said before, you’re fascinating. [PAUSE] It! It’s fascinating, your tattoo, it’s -

JAMES:

[SNORTS]

ARCHIVIST:

Not to say that you’re not fascinating, I-I- [SIGHS] I should leave, before I make an even bigger fool of myself.

JAMES:

Bye, Jon. You’re not too bad, yourself.

ARCHIVIST:

R-Right. Thanks. Goodbye.

JAMES:

Jon, wait! [PAUSE] And there he goes. I guess I’ll end this myself, then. Shit, I hope I don’t break it somehow. Erm, statement ends?

[shoeboxgoblin]

I'm thinking about Orly’s stat tattoos, or stattoos, if you will, and I wanted to brainstorm tattoo ideas for the boys and Yasha for the following reasons:

Statistical Optimization

Aesthetics

Boredom

Because I felt like it

Anyways my ideas are under the cut

Fjord was the easiest, because he should obviously pick the ruby dust for strength (which would bump his modifier up to +2!) For his design I discovered that there's a commonly used symbol of the Wildmother that’s representative of her as a goddess of the sea. It's a swirly wave often depicted on a seashell. It looks like this:

And I think that it would be dope as hell if Fjord got something like this done. it could represent his gratitude towards the Wildmother or his commitment to her? idk if hes ready for that at this particular point in his journey but i can see it making sense somewhere down the road. Plus the red of the Ruby dust would match the red accents on his armor so you know. Consistent color theming. He'd probably get it like on his bicep because that's both a traditional location for a sailor tat and a location that makes sense for strength enhancing magic.

Second easiest was Yasha. Both her stat line and her design. If she got a tattoo done in Emerald dust, it would boost her dexterity modifier to +3, and give her the AC boost she so desperately needs (they should also get her those sick bracers she commissioned like forever ago) I thought about giving her a wis or cha bonus too because Yikes, but as a barbarian, mechanically dex is gonna matter more than either of those things. the green of the emerald also lends itself to my idea for Yasha’s design: I think she could get either a peacock feather, some flowers, or even both, as a way to honor the important people shes lost. She could get it pretty much anywhere but I think it would look cool like on her collarbone. I really think Yasha would like the opportunity to honor Molly or Zualla in this way.

After that was Caduceus. Caduceus's only uneven stat is his int, which is at a 9. Though I'm pretty sure Taliesin has no interest in raising Caddy's int score, for roleplay reasons, mechanically it would actually help him out a lot, by bumping his religion, nature, and investigation checks up by one, and getting rid of his negative modifier to int saves. so Caduceus could, in theory, bump his int score up to average by choosing the sapphire dust. (He would still be the least intelligent member of the nein, with Yasha and Jester tied for second at 12) if he did choose to do that, conveniently, because of his shaved sides, Cad actually has a lot of real estate on his head, where an int based tattoo would probably be located, and I would picture it as being something like the swirly designs he already has carved into the hair there.

Last was Caleb. Liam O'Brien said that Caleb hates tattoos but my personal enthusiasm for aesthetics and character optimization outweighs that at this particular moment. For Caleb I picked out the fire opal dust that would give him fire resistance. Pricey, but this is a post that exists in hypothetical, so that doesn't matter. I picked this because its thematic, and because Caleb doesn’t have any uneven stats. I've seen lots of art posts where Caleb gets half sleeves to cover up his scars, and I think that might be pretty cool actually. Also I like the idea of Caleb making the conscious choice to reclaim a part of his body that feels like it doesn't quite belong to him, and using that to protect himself and possibly his friends from something he fears. For the design I was really self indulgent and based it on my headcanon that Find Familiar was the first spell Caleb taught himself when he was fresh out of the asylum, and that casting it reminded him that he had agency over his life and his magic. so I decided to give him the Sylvan text of the spell wrapping around his arm in a spiral. Also because I think that would look cool as hell.

Anyways if anyone else has thoughts or ideas I would love to hear them!

[geekinthejeep]

2018, a Retrospective

I think we’ve all separately come to the singular conclusion that 2018 was a weird fucking year, yeah? I’ve been sitting here for about an hour now trying to wrap my head around everything, and it was... A lot. A lot of bad, a lot of good, and a lot of ‘meh that’s life.’

Maybe I’m mostly doing this for my own sanity at this point, but hey, whatevs.

I started the year in a relationship, and I’m ending it in one. The same one. With the Wedding Boy. So that’s a trippy thing I never expected for myself but I’m happy and my family adores him so!!!

I lost the cat who saved my life when I was a lonely, depressed teenager early in the year. That wound is still raw, 9 months on, and I think it probably always will be. By complete coincidence, in that same week, this nerd was put into my arms and it was love at first sight. He’s an utter asshole, but he’s mine. I also got this guy later in the year to give Daisy some company. So in that regard, I am a happy girl surrounded by the fluffiest of friends.

The whole family situation was... weird. I’ve talked about this with my Sam Fam girls before, but it’s one of those exhausting things that kind of defined my year so. My parents are together, but that’s usually about all I can say. About half the time this year, it’s felt like I was the the pseudo-therapist/listening ear keeping them from divorcing. They would never even speak to my brother about the drama that went down between them (precious younger child who is a grown ass adult in his own right can’t know mommy and daddy are fighting), so it was... A lot. It’s a lot of weight to have on your shoulders, and even when things are good, you know it’s just because everything has just been shoved under the rug to worry about later. So that’s a thing.

I got to meet some pretty rockin’ people this year, like Andrew McMahon (who is a total fucking sweetheart) and Jason Momoa (who is also a sweetheart oh my god). AND I discovered a fun new hobby in cosplaying to go along with some of those awesome Comic Con celebrities that I met and now I’m absolutely obsessed with it. I’ve already commissioned my outfit for this coming season!

I had a summer of rebellion as soon as the school year ended and got myself three new piercings and started my tattoo sleeve! (And just emailed my artist about the next piece for it!)

In June, I started back at grad school to get my degree in special education. And it was hell. If I wasn’t in classes, I was working on assignments for classes, or traveling to classes. Literally 90% of my summer was spent cramming a year and a half of classes into six weeks. But I fucking 4.0′d that shit, y’all. Which is saying something, because the start of classes was when my health started to take a significant nosedive into ‘huh this isn’t just anxiety?????’ I was losing weight like crazy (which is cool until it’s concerning), I was exhausted and ache-y literally all of the time, and practically everything I ate was benching me for hours (or whole days!) at a time. And healthcare in my area of New York is shit, so if I could get in somewhere, the doctor would just kind of shrug and say “eh it’s just stress. try eating better.” Turns out it's ulcerative colitis, which fucking sucks a lot and I think my family is trying to pretend we’re all okay, but at least it makes life make sense again.

ANYWAY. In the middle of all of that nonsense, I got my degree in special education (education?), AND got hired in a pretty damn awesome job at a pretty damn awesome school district that pays well. And it’s a lot of work but I’m enjoying myself. I’ve made friends there, and the administrators genuinely respect the work that I’m doing. Plus, I’m not living paycheck to paycheck for the first time in my life so that’s cool.

Then over Christmas I got to go to Universal with my family and we pretended everything was normal and good and it was nice!

Next year, I have two Comic Cons to look forward to with a brand new cosplay, a trip to Disney in the fall with one of my best friends, and with any luck, the opportunity for remission for my illness with some treatment! But for now I’m curled up on my couch on New Year’s Eve because I’m an idiot who forgot that red meat is a no-go with my illness, but I’ve got a cat on my lap and a dog on my feet. So life is pretty okay. <3

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

Prompt #176 - Charlie and Her Brother’s Memory

No prompt. 

I’ve had a bit of writer's block and couldn’t find the words for anything. This was a part of Charlie and Daddy’s Boy but I never wrote it because I didn’t want to tack a massive time jump like this onto the end of that story. But, it was the only words I could find in the past couple weeks and with my 2 year anniversary for clawen coming up on the 9th I felt like I had to post something. 

I’ll be pretty busy all week -- and probably for the next few weeks. I am still trying to find my rhythm from last trimester at Uni. Can’t seem to catch it. 

This prompt is kinda long and set when Charlie is 27. So, I know a lot of you won’t be 100% into reading this but I enjoyed seeing these girls at an older age -- and Ellie’s babies. So, I hope you will too. 

AO3 - Charlie and Elliot Index - Commission 

CHARLIE AND HER BROTHER’S MEMORY

Despite her stance on procreation Charlie Grady couldn’t help but adore the feeling of a baby in her arms. She was too close to her thirties and adamant that her life wasn’t slipping out from under her feet. Too many years passed as her sister graduated college, married the man of her dreams and added another two children to their pre-existing family of three. Elliot progressed in the game of life while Charlie continued to wielded guns in Indonesia. She only came home for family; if it was forced.

At an early age, Charlie’s parents instilled a deep respect for family life that was to be treasured above all else. No matter what was happening, they were there for one another. She broke that cardinal rule by being in another country moving from Indonesia to China and back again when her cause changed.

She was late to a party that happened six-months ago.

Charlie couldn’t put her finger on why she was nervous. Her hands twitched, fingers jumping as she reached into her bag for a cigarette. This was her family home, the place her parents raised her full of heartbreak and joy, memories almost spilling out of the roof. She lingered on the porch, lighting her cigarette and leaning on the banister as she tried to breathe. It had been a year — longer — since she had last come home, running away from responsibility and trying her best to not look back.

She’d missed the birth of her nephew, an event Charlie was happy to avoid until the all clear was granted her father finally insisting that she had to come home before her nieces and nephew were no longer recognisable to her. The last thing Charlie wanted was to be alien to her family members; especially the youngest ones.

Elliot knew she was home without Charlie needing to knock. She hadn’t even moved from the railing, three drags into her cigarette before the front door was pulled open, small blonde stepping through.

‘Hey,’ she always spoke on the same soft register their mother reached at bedtimes weaving in between rooms with books and promises of tomorrow. Little mouse, through and through. Elliot had grown into their mother, minus a few inches on her height, as she remained cool, calm, collected and in control no matter the circumstance. She taught fourth grade, mastering the ability to juggle her own three children and a class of twenty-five nine-year-olds. Charlie held a great respect for her in doing that, just as their mother swallowed her pride on Elliot not teaching High School or mastering quantum physics. It had long since become a reality for Claire Dearing that her daughter’s wouldn’t climb prestigious ladders. Instead, Elliot would do her part to help children learn and Charlie would — well, Charlie played with tigers on her hands and knees forming bonds beyond zoo enclosures, out in the wild to better understand them. She was Jane Goodall and David Attenborough rolled into one dangerous mix Claire struggled to hear about. No doubt, she was proud of her daughters regardless.

Charlie fluttered a smile in her sister’s direction, ignoring the scolding look Elliot passed towards the cigarette. There had been a time where she would have asked for a drag, long before either of them should have known where to get cigarettes, let alone have them in their possession. It was simple rebellion, born when they were young back when Charlie harboured a tattoo no one but Elliot knew about.

There was a baby in Elliot’s arms. Charlie didn’t miss that fact, her eyes drawn to the chubby pink baby clad in a blue striped onesie. She put out her cigarette, dropping it to the deck and stepping on it before kicking it off the side and into the grass. Elliot sighed with disapproval before she handed her son over. ‘I didn’t know you were coming home.’

‘Surprise?’ Charlie shrugged, accepting the heavy bundle of her six-month-old nephew. ‘Hey little buddy, I’m your Aunt Charlie.’ She introduced herself to the inquisitive eyed child, smiling down at his face despite feeling a tear pull apart in her heart. He was so much bigger, heavier, rounder in the cheeks but she saw something in her nephew’s eyes Charlie couldn’t deny. He looked like his dad, so much so, but there was a distant memory trying to grow through his features. ‘He looks like Max.’

She saw her sister drop to the chair on the porch, head in her hands as she sighed heavily. ‘Please don’t say that.’ Elliot grimaced, barely looking up at her sister and her son. Charlie shrugged again. He did. Same blond hair threatening to turn red and their mother’s green eyes. Their brother had been small when he died, barely developed his discerning features forever a mystery but Charlie swore she saw Max Grady in Louis Yates’ face.

‘He’d be twenty-one this year.’ She started, eyes lost in her nephew. Charlie should have been home, escorting her brother from one nightclub to the next as he legally got intoxicated. She should have been able to see him graduate from college or come home from travelling the world. He was supposed to be as grown as they were now, still squatting in their parents house because why would the baby boy want to leave the luxuries of home? Their loving mother would be handing him the moon in having his laundry done. Not that Charlie could remember a time her mother did the laundry beyond putting clothes away a paid cleaner had washed.

‘Stop it, Charlie.’ Elliot pleaded. ‘I don’t want to think about it.’

‘You don’t want to think about your brother?’ Charlie questioned, pushing buttons. She should have come earlier; to visit, to see her nephew immediately after he was born. To be honest, Charlie hid herself away as fast as she could when her sister told her she was pregnant with a third. Elliot elected to not find out the gender until the baby was born but the fact that it was a third child to a Grady woman did not bode well with Charlie and past events. Her aversion got worse when Toby sent her a birth announcement introducing Louis to the family. She stayed away as long as she could before her father told her she needed to make young memories with her nephew. He was six months old, well beyond the SIDS mark and that alone tried to comfort her.

Louis was in perfect health, hadn’t even so much as had the hiccups in his short life. It should have been soothing but Charlie was fearing for the worst. She likely wouldn’t rest on the matter until she was in her grave.

‘I don’t want to think about it because I barely remember him. There’s no use wasting my energy worrying about something that happened twenty-years ago.’ She saw Charlie recoil, something akin to disgust slipping across her face. ‘Louis is not Max. Can we please move on.’

Charlie shuffled her weight, holding the baby in one arm as she reached for the wallet in her back pocket. Expertly she flicked it open and shimmied something out of a sleeve before thrusting it in Elliot’s direction. The picture was old, twenty-years had passed it in the recesses of Charlie’s wallet, edges soft and slightly fraying, the colour faded. It had been folded at one point, crease right down the middle but that didn’t deviate from the subject at hand. Elliot’s heart clenched at the thought of her sister carrying this around for years, clinging on to God knew what in it’s memory.

The picture was simple, the memory blurred for Elliot but warm in hushed whispers and tight hugs with her family. She was only three at the time, unable to recall the picture being taken but there it was regardless. The whole Dearing-Grady family of five. It had been taken in the hospital, likely by their grandmother, Elliot tucked into her mother’s left side, Charlie on her right, Owen curled around them, his cheek pressed to the top of his wife’s head over Elliot’s shoulder. Max was in Charlie’s arms, four sets of eyes on him. It baffled Elliot momentarily as to why Charlie had this picture instead of the professional ones their mother had organised — fortunately — a week or two before Max left them. She spotted it without needing reference of the studio photos. It was all on Charlie. Even if she couldn’t remember it, the love in Charlie’s twenty-year-old expression was unmistakable. She would have laid down her life for that boy immediately if it was a matter of choice. She would have done the same for Elliot. Charlie, despite being absent and forcing aloof on her personality, was fiercely loyal. She had shown her sister that time and time again no matter how hard they fought. It had driven their mother crazy with constant bickering and at dire times, physical fighting only for Charlie or Elliot to turn on her when she tried to discipline one of them for causing an issue.

There was no winning with the Grady girls.

‘Charlie, why do you have this?’ Elliot asked, turning sad blue eyes on her sister. She could feel her heart breaking along with Charlie’s, with their parents at their time of tragedy. Elliot had lived her life knowing someone was following her with every milestone. She was near two years older than him at time of conception and yet everything she did felt like her parents were waiting for someone else to catch up. She tried her best to ignore it but at her highest times of achievement she felt it crawl up her spine. Even though she didn’t remember him and didn’t want to think about him at all; Max had never left Elliot.

Charlie shrugged, lifting her nephew closer to her face as she kissed his forehead before handing him back to her sister. ‘I know I’ve not been home for a while but even I know Mom and Dad started pulling out his pictures again.’ She wasn’t wrong, the studio photos they had taken, the family portrait of all five Dearing-Grady’s had taken place on the mantel piece for the first time. Never had that picture been up on a wall or sitting on a side table. They arrived too late to be cherished. Now, it seemed, old wounds were finally healing Owen and Claire ready to outwardly cherish the small time they had with their son. Louis grizzled in his mother’s arms, Elliot tearing her attention from her sister to assist in soothing him. ‘I stole it from Dad actually.’ Charlie was talking about the picture now back in her hands and she stroked the edges. ‘He had in in his wallet since the day it was taken. He almost had it a whole year before I pinched it. Max’s first birthday was hard on all of us, but I could see Dad panicked a little more than the rest. He lost the picture. I had it, he didn’t know, nor did he ask and I certainly wasn’t surrendering it. All of Max’s other pictures were in the garage or with Nana and I couldn’t just ask for one.’ She could have. They all knew it. Charlie would have been given the moon if it meant cracking the code to her baffling actions. She was moody and unpredictable, she was getting kicked out of school and put on the bench in her sports teams. She upped the anti on physical activity. She stopped swimming, started running until she puked, kept on with baseball but prioritised karate until she hit a few too many kids on purpose and called them weak. She begged her parents for ice skates and a place on the hockey team; rink and field. At eight years old she didn’t stop moving; if she did, Charlie thought she would drown. Her parents strategised it as a way to channel her aggression.

Elliot had been none the wiser, caught in her youth and draped in attention. When Max died, all their parents wanted was the baby that left them. Elliot was the next best replacement, still young and willing for a cuddle. Charlie went through the five stages of grief in an unpredictable order, never reaching acceptance and ending on anger but having passed through depression in her original isolation and denial stage. After a while, she didn’t want to be touched or spoken to; Elliot got all the attention as Charlie icily shrugged her parents away.

They had wondered what they did wrong, why Charlie hated them all the while Charlie thew her first into other people, or slammed them against walls because she didn’t know how to relate anymore. She was broken, always had been and always would. They had their good days, years even but it always came back to this bitter little girl who was screaming inside because she lost her brother.

‘I don’t think he knows I have it.’ Charlie continued, waving the picture at Elliot one last time before she slid it back into her wallet. ‘I want it to remain that way.’ She warned softly, replacing her wallet in her pocket and pulling out another cigarette.

Elliot shook her head, trying hard not to judge her sister’s bad habit as she rocked the baby in her arms, legs crossed, reclined in the porch chair. They’d spent too many summers out there, running in the sprinklers, or racing their bikes up and down the driveway and out onto the street when the coast was clear. It was a given, whenever Elliot turned her head that her mother was sitting on the porch, lemonade in hand, reading a book and watching them over the pages or that their father was tinkering in the garage, door wide open so he could race to their aid. It was almost strange sitting there as adults, knowing, for Elliot, that her two eldest children were inside running their grandparents ragged while she stepped out for fresh air. No one even knew Charlie had ascended on the porch just yet.

‘I just don’t get the use of hanging onto the past, Char. He’s gone. He wasn’t even here for that long.’ It didn’t stop them from avoiding their parents bedroom for weeks or skirting around the subject of baby boys for the rest of their lives.

Charlie turned away from her sister, watching the small flowerbed at her feet dance in a faint breeze. ‘C’mon, Ellie. Dad’s allowed to harbour angst but I’m not?’

‘Dad doesn’t harbour angst.’ Charlie cocked a brow, fingers flicking at her cigarette as she challenged her sister. She caught Elliot in a moment, the younger girl pausing as she cocked her head and bit her lip in thought. There was something there, Charlie knew it. ‘Maybe he still worries.’ Elliot knew he did. Thinking back, she saw how closely he hovered when Louis was born, how he barely left her house and Elliot elected to ignore the behaviour instead of putting it in the basket of ‘odd’.

‘He’s never going to stop. Dad’ll always worry about you, me, Nora, Grace, Louis, Mom and Max, especially Max. He’ll always be concerned that he’ll lose us when it’s his job to keep us safe.’

Elliot kissed her son’s head. ‘It’s not fair that he projects that worry onto us though. From the second I found out I was pregnant with Louis, I felt like all eyes were on me. I not only had to carry to term but I had to make sure he lived.’ Her eyes were on her son, not her sister as she stroked the baby’s chubby cheeks. She felt the weight of her whole family on her shoulders the second she missed her period. It was enough that Elliot agonised over telling her family and when her doctor confirmed it was a boy, Elliot was sick with worry and guilt. She didn’t remember the minute detail’s of Max’s face like Charlie did or the colour of his eyes. Their parents had put his baby pictures up along side hers, Charlie’s and that of their grandbabies but his face seemed foreign beside familiar faces. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t worried their genetic history would make a repeat event.

Charlie called it the Dearing-Grady family curse. Aside from Heather, everyone on both the Dearing side of the family and the Grady’s only had two children; typically of the same gender. Their aunt Karen had boys, so did their Uncle Travis. Their parents had two girls, so did Elliot. When a third baby was tried for it either didn’t happen or once conceived was miscarried. Elliot hated that Charlie would whisper like that, joining the dots at family events and pointing it out to whoever would listen. Elliot caught her one year, Charlie home for the holidays leaning into the shoulder of a friend she brought along, pointing to all the children and asking why each set of adults only settled on two. She was convinced it was the cosmos for some inexplicable reason. Elliot wished she would shut up.

She knew when she confirmed a third pregnancy that everyone would be wishing nothing went wrong. Elliot knew, too, that her father was practically praying for a grandson while simultaneously asking for a third granddaughter. They all knew he wanted someone to fill the Max shaped hole in his life but had grown so accustomed to having it there he didn’t want it to go away. Elliot lived nine months terrified that her body would betray her as her mother hovered close and her father dropped everything for the smallest of things. Her husband didn’t know. She wanted it that way, Elliot couldn’t bear having another person breathing down her neck or reaching out to her with shaking hands. It was Charlie who scared her the most. They had never been close but they were always there for each other. Charlie stopped answering her phone.

Louis was born a week past his due date, happy with his delayed entry into the world. His height and weight were a little over average, his fingers and toes in place. He came home immediately to a house commandeered by her parents who took shifts spending the night and checking on him during the day like Toby or Elliot couldn’t manage. She liked the distraction of having them there, watching her dad play with her daughters like she remembered him playing with her. Their presence was suffocating with the reminder that a baby once died on their watch and they desperately didn’t want it to happen again.

Their visits dropped down and dwindled once he hit the safe mark of three-months-old. They were still around, still required Elliot to come over once a week for dinner, and all round offered to help whenever she needed it. She knew they wouldn’t rest, no matter how old Louis got. There was always going to be a threat on his young life because the cosmos hated them.

‘He’s beautiful, Ellie.’ Charlie offered. ‘He’s gonna be fine.’ She lent back against the porch railing, forearms braced. ‘All your babies are perfectly safe.’ She grinned, foot kicking her bag. There was no doubt that her sister had great kids, funny, kind, smart and loving. Charlie was itching to head inside and see them but Max kept her outside with Elliot.

The front door creaked the same familiar sound their father refused to oil. It was homely, remained as a reminder for their daughters sneaking out. ‘Charlie?’ Their mother’s voice was one of those sounds ingrained into their thoughts, never to be forgotten and distinctly something both girls felt they owned. Heads turned, wide eyes looking at their mother with a silent promise that they weren’t fighting. ‘I didn’t know you were coming home.’ Claire breathed, pulling the front door behind her as she moved for her eldest.

Charlie tried to hide her cigarette just short of dropping it when Claire plucked it from her hands without a word dropping it immediately to the porch and stepping on it. She hugged her daughter with a tight grip, squeezing Charlie’s arms before she stepped back to take her in.

‘Thought a visit was overdue.’ She shrugged, playing nonchalantly despite the warmth that filled her at the sight of her mother. Claire, so far as her daughters were concerned, was never changing. Her hairdresser kept most of the greys out of her red hair and her smile remained genuine in their direction. It had almost become disgusting how close their parents still were, Charlie and Elliot convinced they would never stop cringing when they kissed. ‘Hadn’t met Louis yet … and, um, I can’t quite get a braid right.’ She shrugged, arms rising behind her head to prove her arms were clumsy. Charlie’s smile grew, proper, wide, Charlie's-happy-smile.

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Just know the assembly line you’re about to start the second you walk in there.’

‘The girls are here?’ She asked, unsure if it was just Elliot and Louis or if her nieces actually were inside occupying their parents with pleas for food and games. Claire nodded. Charlie’s grin widened. She knew exactly what kind of hell her father would be in for. Owen would have chosen a different word.

‘You’re a child.’ Elliot told her, chuckling with a gentle smile, telling her sister that her words weren’t malicious.

‘Ew,’ Charlie turned back to Elliot, ‘You’re a grown up’. She poked out her tongue.

She kissed her mother’s cheek, not missing the way Claire still smelled of vanilla, soaking Charlie in memories of tearful hugs and joyful Eskimo kisses. She moved inside like she was coming home from school, reclaiming the space that had missed her in a six hour period, or the weeks she would spend away at college, rolling into months between visits.

‘Aunt Charlie!’ Two little voices screeched, jumping up from the very place on the carpet she had played as a kid. They barrelled into her legs, five-year-old Nora with her Dearing green eyes and the dark hair they all denied knowing where it came from. It was Markus, through and through, but that name wasn’t to be uttered under any roof in relation to Nora, Elliot or Toby. Grace followed her sister, two-years-old with trademark Elliot blonde hair curling on her head as she looked at Charlie with curious brown eyes. She had no doubt the littlest girl didn’t remember her but was following her sister’s excitement for the thrill of it.

Instead of scooping them into her arms, she dropped into a crouch, letting Nora throw her arms around her neck while Grace touched tentative fingers to Charlie’s knee.

‘Hey Gracie, do you remember me?’ She asked, making sure to not touch without permission as Nora squeezed her fiercely, loudly exclaiming that her sister had to remember Aunt Charlie.

‘Charlie’s home!’ Owen boomed from around the corner, practically running into the room with a grin on his face wider than the rising sun. Grace moved for her grandfather, instantly hiding behind his legs as he bent in half, twisting his torso to pick her up. ‘It’s just Char —‘ He promised Grace, bouncing the girl on his hip. ‘— back from her Jane Goodall endeavours.’

‘Back?’ Claire scoffed behind Charlie, Louis on her hip, greedily slobbering on the Mother’s Day necklace Charlie and Elliot picked out when they were little girls. ‘Pretty sure you encouraged her love of the jungle and there’s no way Charlie’s leaving that.’ The eldest winked at her mother, chuckling as she shrugged an apology in her father’s direction. He had been the one to beg her to come home for just a little. ‘She just needs you to braid her hair then she’s on the next flight out.’ Claire teased, squeezing Charlie’s shoulder as Owen deflated with a playful pout.

Nora, at her aunt’s hip, piped up, eyes wide at the mention of braids. Five sets of female eyes were on Owen, three of them hopeful while the others looked on in amusement. ‘What do you say, Grace? Do we braid their hair?’ Owen asked the toddler, jostling the girl as Charlie and Nora looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Grace reminded her aunt too much of Elliot as a girl, quiet and reserved but capable of great destruction. At least it was nice to see a blonde haired child cling to their father for support rather than heading straight for Claire’s skirts. They watched Grace’s face, eyes trying to will her to move as the girl pressed her fist to her mouth in contemplation. It felt like years before she gave a gentle nod.

Nora rushed to the couch, throwing her hands against Charlie’s shoulder to gain momentum before she jumped, letting the cushions bounce around her. ‘I get to go first, don’t I, granddad?’ She turned her grandmother’s eyes on their weak father as Charlie clambered across the room to plop herself in front of the couch.

Charlie tilted her head back until it met the couch cushion beside her niece’s hip. ‘If I tell you where Nan hides all the good chocolate, can I go first?’ Charlie tried to bargain as Claire and Elliot scolded from their place in the doorway and with Louis on the play mat.

‘I don’t hide chocolate.’ Claire tried to defend herself with a pout. It had been years since both girls lived under the same roof, the older woman needing to hide her stash or else hormonal teenagers would get into it.

Owen hummed, putting Grace on her feet as he watched the girl wobble for a second before he looked to his wife. ‘I don’t know, babe. What about that spot —’  She cut him off with a glare. Maybe she was, just a block or two because her gluttonous husband had to watch his weight and also managed to tear through her favourites as if two teenagers were still there to scavenge for sweet things.

Nora easily took the trade, grinning mischievously in her grandmother’s direction as Charlie pinkie promised to deliver the goods. Owen clicked his tongue as he stepped around them, squishing himself beside Nora on the couch and behind Charlie, still sitting on the floor. ‘You don’t happen to have a brush and hair-tie in your back pocket?’ He asked Charlie, hands heavy on her shoulders as Nora volunteered to go find one in her sleepover kit.

For Charlie, it had not felt like she was home until her father leant down and wrapped his arms around her, cheek pressed to her head as he squeezed tight. Charlie wrapped her arms around his refusing to let go. ‘Hey, Charlie Bear.’ Owen kissed her temple, his grey stubble scratching her cheek with all the memories of bed time kisses and late night movies on the couch. His stubble reminded Charlie of listening to her mother shriek with suppressed laughter as their father rubbed his five-o’clock shadow on her face, or the time that Elliot screamed blue murder because he shaved, young mind unable to recognise him.

‘Hey, Daddy Bear.’ She didn’t realise how childish she would feel until the words left her mouth, vulnerable eyes searching the faces in the room for judgement but none came.

‘I have all my girls back.’ Owen grinned past Charlie’s ear, smiling at his wife who was sitting on the floor opposite, playing with their grandson in her lap. She watched him with a quirk on her lips, like they were still new parents, marvelling at their young girls growing up.

Claire grinned, the same sparkle in her eye that was always present when Owen spoke about Charlie or Elliot. ‘You know, I’m surprised she’s in one piece.’ Claire commented and Charlie forced a smile. Her mother didn’t approve of the whole co-living with tigers, Jane Goodall to the big cats thing Charlie had going on. She supported her but didn’t like knowing her daughter was likely to be killed on a feline whim. Charlie didn’t have the energy to fight about it, every time she looked at her mother holding the baby she saw Max over and over, mixed with the depression her parents wore for months. Charlie leant back into her father’s embrace, head turned slightly.

‘He looks like Max.’ She whispered quietly only for Owen to hear as she waited for his face to fall. It didn’t. Owen nodded as a small smile twitched at his lips. He admitted for Charlie’s ears only that he liked that. She knew they would talk later, over a shared beer when Toby showed up for dinner and had the small family started to shuffle out the door. Her mother would head upstairs to have a shower or change her clothes and Charlie would be able to talk.

He let her go when Nora returned, whole toiletries bag in her hand and two apricots, one of which she dropped on Charlie’s lap. Her heart strings pulled, warm and cold as she realised the little girls in that room had no idea when or how these came about. Nora was obsessed with the fruit tree in the backyard, Claire’s garden her favourite place to be when the weather was nice and she had no idea it’s true story. She thanked her niece with a small smile, watching as the girl bit into the fruit while Charlie held her tongue.

Owen started wordlessly, pulling on familiar red hair as he manipulated it between his fingers. He had only started when he stopped, hands still holding her hair in strands as he watched Claire pick up the fussing baby, sick of his sister pulling on his limbs. ‘Give me, Louis.’ Owen offered, Charlie practically hearing her father’s smirk as her mother looked at him in confusion. He was busy. ‘Never too early for a boy to learn how to braid.’ Claire gave in, settling the boy in her husband’s lap as Owen twisted his arms to keep the boy upright whilst still managing to do Charlie’s hair. He had practised at this and even though he hadn’t done it in a while everyone in the room trusted him. ‘And who knows, maybe he’ll drool in Charlie’s hair.’ He chuckled, holding on tight as Charlie tried to yank herself away. His daughter, the girl who lived with tigers, was scared of getting baby drool in her hair and if that wasn’t nearly the best thing Owen had learned about her then he was at a loss.

The group laughed, giggles pulled from Nora as Grace echoed the sound, Elliot grinning at her sister and father in the same motherly expression their mother maintained for two decades. She avoided this like it would give her the plague, scared to come home and face the empty holes of her family but every time she returned, Charlie felt the love bloom from them, filling her with warmth and contentment. She would sleep soundly in a bed for the first time since her nephew was born seeing that he was happy and noisy and full of life, helping her father pull her hair or wiggling in her mother’s lap. She would hold him again later, after dinner when he was sleepy and try to make amends with Max’s memory.

[pvcked]

“ oh, darlin’. ” darby shakes her head and clucks her tongue. “ don’t make me use this stick on something other than the puck. ”  

or, alternatively : ��‘tis i, linc, back at it with my second !!  say hello to darby belle montpellier,  varsity womens’ hockey team captain & songwriter/frontwoman of west ham’s own folk-soul band,  pelagia. !!   hit that read more to learn more about this southern belle .

[   d    a    r    b    y        b    e    l     l     e      ––    M A N I C    P I X I E    D R E A M    G I R L .

✔ ┊❝ ( natalia dyer. 18. she/her &. cisfemale ) rumor around town is that darby belle montpellier was on one of the buses that left for the field trip. they’re the eighteen year old that resides in new ham. over the summer news spread that she prayed to make a deal with the devil to bring her mother and father back to life, but suspects something may have gone amiss when laying out the terms, but who knows if that’s true or not? what we do know is that their friends describe them as saccharine & virtuosic, but who knows when they’re known to be diaphanous & dewy-eyed from time to time.

( &&. general information )

full name: darby belle rose montpellier

nickname(s) or alias: darby belle, darby, dee, belle, db ( by her teammates ), puck ( by her late father only )

preferred name: darby belle. belle’s not a middle name; it’s part of her first! but she won’t correct you! darby’ll do just fine.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: pisces

gender: cisfemale

preferred pronouns: she/her

sexual preference: bisexual

romantic preference: biromantic

home environment: a modest two-story condominium, owned by her older sister, elody mae. they’ve lived in the same condo since moving to west ham in the summer of 2014, following their father’s untimely passing. they originally hail from small-town tennessee, so their condo took a while to acquire the typical connecticut aesthetic. darby belle’s hockey and speed skating trophies are displayed proudly in the front foyer. their kitchen displays elody mae’s art, and features lots of succulents and small-scale flowers. darby’s room doubles as a music space, so her guitar, banjo, and piano line the far wall. a secondhand drumset sits in the corner for when her band convenes there, or when she goes ahead to demo entire songs herself.

current occupation: student, student athlete, musician.

language(s) spoken: english, enough spanish to get by ( acquired from high school classes, but her southern accent kinda bleeds through? so kids in class always kinda smirk when she tries out the speaking exercises  ).

native language: english.

current relationship status: happily in a long term relationship with clark, @wildguard .

( &&. background )

reason behind name: darby belle was named after a beloved family dog who was tragically killed by an automobile the night before she was born. how... quaint. her mother insisted on adding “belle” to match her older sister, elody mae’s, “name flow”. her father never really approved, but he his second army deployment began just before her birth, so her mother went ahead and did it anyway.

birth order: second ( and youngest ). her older sister and current guardian, elody mae, was born 7 years prior.

ethnicity: american. the montpellier family had strong roots in small-town jonesborough, tennessee. people always speculate there’s some french in their bloodline, way back, but they don’t speak it now.

nationality: american.

religion ( tw: death, suicide ): it’s complicated. she was raised christian. went to weekly sermons. sang in the church choir. but after her mother died in the housefire that nearly wiped out the entire family when darby was 6, she began to... question. if god were real, why would he let bad things happen to good people? her father returned from afghanistan in 2007 and seeing him struggle with ptsd despite her persistent prayer contributed to her doubt. he took his own life in march 2014, the day before darby’s 13th birthday. from that point on, her view on religion became pretty tumultuous. believing there’s nothing out there makes her anxious. but believing in a higher power makes her angry. she still struggles to reconcile her relationship with god, and wonders if she’ll ever be able to. moving to west ham offered a new start, and she’d always yearned to get out of jonesborough –– she just never thought losing her father would wind up being the way so-called-god would choose to make it happen.

political views: fairly moderate. can agree with liberals and conservatives on different issues, but mainly toes the midline. maybe a bit more left than right. she’s... not that keen on discussing all of that stuff. she never got to come out to her mother or her father, so it’s all very... touchy.

financial status: comfortable, but by no means as affluent as the rest of west ham. she and her sister live off of their inheritance and their father’s life insurance policy. but elody mae is intent on using it as minimally as possible, so they live modestly. their condo is adorable, and offers just enough space for the two of them, plus occasional guests. they eat well, but smart. elody mae’s income as a local commissioned artist and interior decorator isn’t colossal, but it’s enough to avoid skimming much from the inheritance. that’s the only money they’ve got for darby’s college. but she’s fielding several hockey scholarship offers, so hopefully tuition won’t even be an issue.

hometown: jonesborough, tennessee. yes, she has the accent. you don’t have to tell her it’s adorable –– she already knows.

level of education: high school senior. darby does well in school. she’s no ap student, but she’s got brain cells and knows how to use ‘em. she often chooses to forego studying to create new music, and between pelagia. & the varsity girls hockey team, she doesn’t have much spare time for homework. she’s in a lot of teachers’ good graces, so they let it slide, for the most part. this past year, her grades have slipped a bit –– she’s just got other priorities. catch her drawing music staffs and notes in her biology notes instead of copying down cell structures. scribbling lyrics in the margins of her in-class essays. she’s a dreamer. 

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): natalia dyer. for now, with mid-length brown, curly hair. i’d like there to be a point where she impulse decides to cut and dye it platinum blonde... so maybe we could plot that out, somehow. like a brittany 2007 moment. a nervous break.

height: 5′0. she’s tiny. nobody expected her to be the rumored hockey legend transferring to west ham high her freshman year. but there she was, a zippy right wing on the ice. her speed’s uncanny. her agility’s surreal.

weight: 108 lbs. fuckin’ protect her.

shoe size: 6

figure/build: very, very thin. surprisingly muscular, though. not built like a typical hockey player but boy, does she command the ice. her strength, like... bewilders everyone. recruiters came to see her play this spring and fuckin’ lost their shit. this girl ?!  captain ?!  right wing ?!  does she disintegrate when she’s checked ?!?!

hair colour: light brown.

hair length: down to her shoulders. curly.

eye colour:  aqua blue. 

glasses?: no, but she does own zenni optical glasses for the computer.

skin tone: light, some faint freckles that intensify with sun exposure.

tattoos: none. she’s gotten into actual fist fights on the ice before. but needles? scary stuff. she’ll pass.

piercings: she has her ears pierced, but rarely wears earrings, since they’re prohibited on the ice.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: some burn scars from the housefire that killed her mom in 2007, on the back of her left forearm/wrist and across her stomach. she’s really insecure about them and almost always wears long sleeves because of it. she also has a birthmark shaped like canada on the arch of her left foot. when they were alive and darby was very young, her parents used to joke that god put that mark there because he knew their daughter was going to be a hockey star.

dominant hand: right-handed, hence she plays right wing. but she prefers to cut food with her left.

if painted, what color are their nails?: she keeps her nails very short, and they’re usually painted neutral shades: gray, pink, nude. she’s recently gotten into a forest green phase.

usual style of clothing: long sleeve sweaters, jeans, vans. graphic long-sleeve tees –– she really likes the nature designs on patagonia ones, or cool/eclectic designs. converse. timberlands, leggings, and oversized sweatshirts. denim jackets. in the winter, she’s always bundled up because she runs cold. honestly? she’d sooner wear a hoodie and shorts in the summer than throw on a t-shirt. she does wear short sleeves, but mainly for team workouts and runs.

frequently worn jewelry:  she wears her father’s wedding band around her neck on a thin gold chain, always tucked under whatever top she’s wearing. her sister does the same with her mother’s.

describe their voice, what accent?:  she’s got a very soft voice. light tennessee accent. when she sings, it’s got this delicious rasp and rawness to it. i’ll post a spotify playlist soon with the vibe –– but think molly burch, tomtsu, julien baker, mothers, angel olsen, and you’re on the right track.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?: darby’s laugh sounds kind of like breeze-rustled leaves and cotton-candied skies: light, melodic, buoyant. she speaks quietly, for the most part, but that shouldn’t be mistaken for complacency. she speaks slow, deliberate. her words matter. she’ll speak quicker when she’s mid-laugh, or when she’s intoxicated. when she’s angry, she’s more likely to bite her tongue and stare. her doe-eyes speak leagues. on the ice, her dialogue’s punchy, gutteral. she calls out plays and opposing teams are flabbergasted that such a strong sound can come out of such a small frame. 

describe their scent: vanilla, lavender, eucalyptus. she dabs a few drops of essential oils on instead of perfume. she’ll really only wear a marketed fragrance after practice or games –– and then it’s dolce & gabbana, light blue.

describe their posture: darby holds herself with a silencing kind of grace –– she glides through rooms. her chest is always open, collarbones broad. she has a great deal of strength in her legs and in her stride, but the way she carries herself resonates more like a dancer or figure skater than a hockey player. on the ice, she’s all forward momentum and down-striked strides, whipping around and coming at opponents with a vengeance.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?: no, she never got her license! her sister will typically drop and pick her up from events, or she’ll carpool. in terms of arriving for the trip, she walked across town, since they got into an argument about the letters her father left –– elody mae had them locked away in a bank safebox, and hasn’t let her younger sister read them.

have they ever been arrested?: no. honestly, could anyone arrest this sweet cupcake? her bandmates have gotten busted for shoplifting snacks high before, but darby’s always been able to sweet-talk them out of punishment. too bad they’re not around to steal her pretzel sticks now. not that stealing is necessarily still a crime...

do they have a criminal record?: no. squeaky clean. she respects authority, almost too much. so this new ham situation... it’s going to throw her for a loop.

have they committed any violent crimes?:  not if you don’t count breaking an amherst high girl’s nose during a fist fight on the ice. she called one of her teammates something terrible, so... the bitch had it comin’.

property crimes?: no.

traffic crimes?: no opportunity to! unless west ham suddenly persecutes for jaywalking down empty roads in the wee horus of the morning.

other crimes?: not yet.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: b positive.

date/time of birth: march 18. 1:42pm. the only labor nurse on duty had to put down her bologna sandwich to assist in the birth. on a potato roll!  she complimented darby’s mother at the end: “congrats on the bologna. i mean –– baby.”

place of birth: franklin woods community hospital, jonesborough, tennessee.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: female

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?: no / yes / pain pills. more than she should. shhhhh.

addictions: pretzel sticks. she’s gone days without real meals because she’s just been munchin’ on those things.

allergies: strawberries. peanuts. bees. good luck surviving in new ham, gurl. hope no one poisons ya!

ever broken a bone?: her left clavicle in pee wee hockey, 2005. fractured wrist from getting checked, 2009. right ankle, mid-game pileup, 2015 –– still scored, though! three broken ribs from a particularly gnarly check ( three girls v. one ), 2018.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: insomnia, since her mother’s death. worsened with her father’s passing. i imagine it’ll get worse with her sister disappearing, too. her mild dependency on painkillers.

any medication regularly taken: leftover meds from her injuries. it started with the pills she found in her dad’s medicine cabinet, after his passing. it’s not... bad. yet. it’s harmless.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them:  UNO.  DOS ( her chillin’ with her athlete broskis. )  TRES ( her babysitting ) .  “ honey, you got a big storm comin’. ”

positive traits: tenderhearted, saccharine, strong-willed, musically inclined.

negative traits: diaphanous, dewy-eyed, easily manipulated ( somebody break her ).

likes: underdog succulents: the ugly ones people tend to walk past. late nights spent mixing new tunes. singing along to the radio, rewriting top 40 songs to sound more interesting. performing at small local gigs with pelagia. ; the cacophonous beauty of each soundcheck before doors open. the scrape of metal on freshly smoothed ice. the feel of her favorite hockey stick in her hands. taped fingers. narrowed eyes. confused gasps as she whizzes past bigger players, barely detected. pulling long sweater sleeves over her hands. finger-picking her acoustic guitar. clark beecher. singing stevie nix in the shower obnoxiously loud, just to aggravate her sister. coconut macarons, fresh from the oven. pretzel sticks. blue gatorade. toe-tapping in the locker room between periods, to her pumped up playlist. texting silly pickup lines to her friends. trading cute little jingles for rides around town. petrichor. sunflowers. bees ( from a distance ). worms, insects, dirt. she loves cupping her hands around beetles and showing them around the place like they might stay a while.

dislikes: being cold. birds. crows, specifically –– they ripped a bag of pretzels right out of her hands, once. unsweetened coffee. sore losers. waking up, and the momentary serenity before her life story locks back into place. the smell of smoke. fires. paying $20/month for her father’s inactive cell line –– they have yet to deactivate it. knowing that the last thing she ever said texted him was, “ can you bring a gatorade to the game tomorrow? yellow kind. thx. ” thx. text talk. :-) . smiley faces with noses: only her dad was allowed to use that kind. drew barrymore. short sleeves. high heels. remembering.

strengths: darby belle has the capacity to be compassionate toward anyone. almost to a fault; it’s been exploited before and i doubt those times’ll be the last. great texter. she can channel such wild doses of emotion into her music –– take away the lyrics and you’ve still got such magic. add the words back in, and it’ll do an even better job of wreckin’ ya. she manages to befriend a wide variety of people: because of her band, she’s mixed up with some eclectic folks. her role as varsity captain makes her accessible for most of the school’s athletes. i like to think she’s down with the bros? isn’t afraid to play-fight, mess about. despite all she’s been through, this girl’s got a real knack for life.

weaknesses: yearns for stability, but the world’s kind of delivered that a bit late. prone to rampant reminiscence. sells her soul to her passions, so other obligations fall to the wayside. still can’t figure out snapchat.  will defend her teammates ‘til the cows come home, and that’s gotten her injured on the ice before.  kind of cultivating a dependence on painkillers.  can’t hide when she’s teary-eyed.  can’t hide emotions at all.  when she falls in love, she falls  h a r d .  and when others feel something for her, she often lacks the ability to see it.  short-tempered with her sister.  lets anxieties fester and build up until she lashes out at someone ( usually her sister ) .  stutters when angry, sometimes, so will often avoid the issue or just stay silent about it.  prone to heartbreak.

insecurities:  what if she could have done something to save her mom? her dad? what if this is all some kind of punishment for her religious doubts? is god laughing down at her? does he even exist?  maybe we’re all just living on borrowed time.

fears/phobias:  snakes.  being stung by a bee.  never being loved  /  never having the wherewithal to find it.  not getting a hockey scholarship.  emptying the medicine cabinet.  not being able to call her dad’s cell to hear his voice.  losing elody mae.  losing everyone.

habits:  tapping her fingers on flat surfaces.  skipping meals when she’s stressed.  texting thumbs-up emojis to avoid having to give an actual answer to “ how are you? ” .  masking darker thoughts with game suggestions and silly jokes.  deflection.  wearing her father’s old army tees to bed, and sniffing them each time as if the laundered clothing might still hold onto even just a whiff of his cologne.  falling for the wrong people.  believing.  letting her nail polish chip and chip and chip until all that’s left is a silhouette of pigment.  biting her nails.  midnight runs.  pressing leaves into notebooks to capture moments for which she lacks the words.  over-gifting outside her means, arguing with her sister about it later.

quirks: bites her bottom lip and rolls it between her teeth when she’s thinking.  squints directly at the sun despite being scolded for it for years.  latches on to friends’ arms as if the universe might tug them apart at any moment, and navigating the school parking lot is exhaustively complex –– like she might get lost; like she might lose them.  calling instead of texting.  sniffing peanut butter: she can’t eat it, but she loves how it smells.  sleeping all curled up in a ball, on her left side, with the blankets tugged up tight against her chin.  wearing beanies and baseball caps indoors.  waking up early enough for church each sunday: getting dressed, beginning the walk across town, only to turn back halfway.  running drills at the rink instead of attending lunch hour.  jotting down lyrics on standardized tests.  humming in school stairwells, when she thinks she’s alone.  tapping her locker dial three times with her index finger before putting in her combo. wriggles her nose when she’s trying not to laugh. gaze always, always drifting to the nearest window.  funky patterned socks.  she has a pair with picasso.

hobbies: hockey. guitar, banjo, piano, drums. singing. songwriting. running, weightlifting. elody mae tried to get her into yoga, but her headspace is far too cluttered.  making late-night ice cream runs to the local parlor, because she knows the owner and he’s always ready to give her a free scoop.  

guilty pleasure:  the chainsmokers. they’re shit songwriters, but their songs are vibey –– if you tell anyone she told you this, she’ll hit you with her hockey stick.

desires: to get out of west ham in one piece.  to find some kind of meaning.  to feel something more, or less, or different than what she feels now.

wishes: she could have told her parents who she really is. her father could have seen her bring the west ham womens’ hockey team to the regional finals four years in a row. she wishes she could apologize to her father for not being enough to make him stay.

secrets: she stole her father’s dog tags and told her sister he must have pitched ‘em. she keeps them under her pillow. she’s never felt a love as strong as her songs might suggest. she’s popping pain pills to cope with things besides hockey injuries.

turn ons:  soft smiles. hand holding. shared gummy candies. someone who can watch hockey with her and not get bored. fake wrestling. dimples.  silly face tournaments.

turn offs:  prying.  counting on fingers.  preoccupations with time.  disliking vegetables.  top 40 pop.  people who won’t admit they’re afraid of the dark.

lucky number: 4. ( her jersey number, as per request. what her family used to be. )

pet peeves:  squeaky shoes.  mic feedback.  dull skates.  vanilla shakes that taste like nothing.  crunchy cookies.  stale pretzels.  people who make fun of her laugh ( sometimes she snorts ).

their motto:  “ hockey is figure skating in a war zone. ” –– her father.

( &&. favourites )

food: pretzel sticks. sometimes dipped in chocolate.

drink: water! or yellow gatorade.

fast food restaurant:  she misses bojangles.

flavour: vanilla.

word: perseverance.

colour:  army green.

clothing: though she doesn’t wear it a lot, she loves her hockey jacket. but it comes second to one of her dad’s deep blue sweaters –– it fits her almost comically oversized, and it almost, almost feels like his arms around her.

accessory: her father’s wedding band, secured around her kneck with a thin gold chain. or her hats: she loves beanies and baseball caps.

candle scent: she doesn’t fuck with candles. open flame. but eucalyptus, lavender, and peppermint make for a great diffuser blend.

game: hockey. ( jk, y’all already knew that! )  she gets a kick out of go fish. really!  and pick-up football.

animal:  any kind of insect, especially fireflies.

holiday: new year’s eve. she loves getting to blow party kazoos in everyone’s faces.

weather: breezy, sunny mornings, when the dew’s still clinging to glistening blades of grass.

season: mid-spring, after the rain, but before the blossoms finish opening. it’s beautiful. and she doesn’t have to worry about bees.

book: twenty-thousand leagues under the sea by jules verne. her father used to read it to her at night, chapter by chapter. it inspired her band name: pelagia .  it means the open sea.

artist: elody mae montpellier. she’s biased.

band/group: cigarettes after sex, stevie nix, amy winehouse, the band camino, car seat headrest, lany, daniel caesar, jeremy zucker. the beatles. the beach boys ( her dad loved them ).

song: don’t dream it’s over, crowded house.

movie/film:  the wedding date. she’s a sucker for those stupid rom-coms. the mighty ducks. slap shot.

tv show:  she grew up watching bob ross specials with her sister.

sport: hockey. speed-skating, for a brief time, when she was in elementary school.

possession: her father’s dog tags.  her lucky puck  ( he gave it to her after her first ever hockey game, complete with a heart and smiley face carved into the side ).

number: 4.

person: clark beecher. but she’ll tell you she doesn’t believe in favorites.

( &&. skills )

talents: musicianship. performing. songwriting. agile skating. playmaking. interpretive dancing. making her friends laugh. going cross-eyed for long periods of time. rolling her tongue.

ability to drive a car?: no. not legally. or well.

can they ride a bike?:  no. her parents never taught her. 

do they play any sports?:  hockey.  pick-up football games with her pals.

anything they’re bad at?:  meditating. lying.  makeup –– she doesn’t really wear any.

do they have any combat training? why?:  yes, some self defense moves her father taught her before her first day of middle school.  “ to keep those rotten boys away from ya, puck. ”

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: her mother spilling roasted carrots and potatoes all over the kitchen floor. little darby belle watched from her high chair and laughed. her ma probably made a joke about confetti.

crush: lenny hawthorne, in preschool. the teacher handed out strawberries to the class and he volunteered to be her protector.

email address: heyitsdarby@aim.com

job: ice cream scooper. learn-to-skate instructor.

phone: a trackphone, shared with elody mae.

kiss: kitty hawthorne. seventh grade. because she said lenny wanted to learn if darby was a good kisser before he kissed her himself, and “ same blood means it doesn’t really count. ”  it counted.

love: clark. she gets starry-eyed just thinkin’ about him. her beautiful curly-haired doofus. she’s lucky.

sexual experience: with lenny hawthorne a few weeks after the kiss with his twin sister, kitty. only, throughout the entire time, darby belle caught herself wishing the lips against hers were a bit softer, and still tasted like grape chapstick.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?:  it’s hard to pick one. she never really had a time in which both of parents were there with her, and choosing one? feels wrong. choosing any feels wrong. she likes when they were both alive. all of that time qualifies.

worst childhood memory? (tw: death, suicide) :  2007: waking up to the smell of smoke and a red-orange flickering light in the hallway.  waking up in the hospital to the news her mother didn’t make it. 2014: returning home from the game her father was supposed to bring gatorade to. finding him in their living room, slumped on the floor.

what were they like as a child?:  darby was always bright-eyed and sociable.  she rarely began conversation, but she’d inititate the precursor to it, running up to strangers, beaming at other kids in the park. it took a while for her to learn how to be aggressive on the ice: she didn’t want to be mean! her mother facilitated most of that –– “ your daddy’s a soldier, darby belle, don’t you forget that. ”

any crushes growing up?: a few. she probably would’ve had more, if she’d spent less time on the ice. or thinking about the ice. or using hockey as a way to avoid confronting her demons.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?: frugal, but not inexpensive. a good middle ground.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygenic.

open-minded or close-minded?: open, about most things.

introvert or extrovert?: extrovert, but prone to retreating into her thoughts.

optimistic or pessimistic?: optimistic, outwardly. sometimes it lapses to pessimism, but her natural disposition is peaceful –– so she can be angry and upset and unsettled, but eventually has to find some kind of way to mediate it.

daredevil or cautious?: cautious, to an extent. ( let’s change that. )

logical or emotional?:  emotional.

generous or stingy?:  generous.

polite or rude?: polite to most, even when undeserved. on the ice? she can be a menace.

book smart or street smart?:  street smart. she’s not not book smart, but her intelligence is definitely channeled more through the game and through music.

popular or loner?:  popular. darby’s a crowdpleaser. she ebbs and flows from sphere to sphere without much trouble. she fears being alone, and often prefers to have people around –– watch her struggle with having an empty home... yikes.

leader or follower?: leader. she’s hockey captain, after all. but she is quite impressionable, so others have a large impact on how she leads.

day or night person?:  day. but she’s most creative at night.

cat or dog person?: dog person, 100%. won’t hate on cats, but dogs love more openly. and she was named after a beloved childhood pet of her mother’s, so... maybe there’s some kind of soul connection there.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?:   c l o s e d . and barricaded.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to all. briefly including tinder, at a hockey slumber party freshman year.

if so; name on facebook: darby belle. ( she leaves out her surname, because people never pronounce it right anyway. )

instagram user: officialdarbybelle

snapchat user: puckyouverymuch

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: waiting for you –– tomtsu.  ( but it’s also canon her song... yep i did that. )

makes them sad:  our day will come –– amy winehouse. her mother used to cook to it in the background and serenade the ingredients. ave maria –– her father always used to beg her to sing it at christmas time, at their baby grand.

makes them dance:   blame it on a dream –– vhs collection.  it has vintage vibes. she can swivel her hips to this.

loves the most:  old fashioned –– bruno major.  it makes her cells thrum in the most delightful way.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?: yeah.

are they a virgin?: no.

describe their signature: neat spirals. looks a lot like calligraphy.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?:  she’d be the unlikely underdog to come out on top.

do they travel?: not really. the only travel she’s ever done has been for hockey games and tournaments, or the big move from tennessee to connecticut.

one place they would like to live:  ontario. it looks so calm.

one place they would like to visit:  los angeles.  she feels like she’d fit right in.  and their hockey mojo’s great right now.

celebrity crush: torey krug, bruins defenseman.  & matty healy.  what a dreamboat.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: chapstick, spare stick tape, spearmint breathmints. pictures of her parents, folded up and hidden behind a few miscellaneous receipts.

place(s) your character can always be found:  on the ice.  in her bedroom, making music.  the local coffee shop open mic night.  the grocery store, struggling on her tippy-toes to reach the jumbo bag of munchie mix.  running in the park, or all around town.  playing pick-up games on the school green.

when does your character like to wake up?:  4:45am.  to fit in a morning workout before school.

what’s your character’s morning routine?:  scrunch up her face and pull the blankets tighter, in denial that her alarm’s actually going off. rolling out of bed to switch the buzzer off. stretches. change into running clothes. a few loops around the neighborhood, then outdoor HIIT intervals, weather permitting. shower. throw on a long-sleeve, leggings, and her boots. grab a pop tart for the car ride to school and listen to elody mae scold her about a well-rounded breakfast the whole drive there.

what does your character eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner?:  when elody mae cooks, darby eats well –– lots of pinterest recipes and plant-based meals.  left to her own devices, she reverts to ease: poptarts, protein bars, almonds. sunflower butter and jam sandwiches. she typically skips lunch at school to write, or free skate, or sneak into the weight room with whatever team’s rented it out that period.

how does your character spend their free days?:  jamming with her bandmates or on her own. playing gigs or open mics. going for long runs. hiking, in bee-free zones. goofing off with her pals, road tripping to random landmarks around connecticut.  going on art supply runs with her sister, sometimes helping her set up her booth at the local farmers’ market on saturday mornings.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?:  night run, bodyweight workout. stretches. some songwriting or listening to in-progress tracks. texting her friends. tossing and turning. sometimes falling asleep successfully. sometimes popping a pill or two to make it happen.

what does your character wear to bed?: comfy shorts and a sports bra. she likes to load up on the quilts.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?: her parents.  her father.  if there’s a god.  if there’s really... anything.  lyrics.  her friends.  clark.  she’ll usually text him into the wee hours of the morning, if he’s up.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?:  getting her parents back. unattainable.

on what occasions do they lie?:  almost never. she really can’t do it successfully!

most marked characteristic: her eyes, her stature, her smile. her stupid canada birthmark on her foot.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?:  find some way to compensate for whatever left her dad still wanting –– enough to leave.

how would they like to die?:  happy. she realizes the irony, given her definition of it.

do they snore? nope!

can they curl their tongue?: yes! and she can also do that clover thing.

can they whistle?:  most of the time. it’s kind of a gamble.

** do they believe in the supernatural?:  does she believe in anything? she’ll get back to you on that.  but uh...  she tried to reason with satan to rescue her parents from wherever they wound up after their deaths .... and suspects something might have gone wrong. did she cause this whole trip situation? was this her?  does she believe in all that religious stuff still anyway? uhhhhhhh....... she’ll also get back to you on that, too.

has anyone ever broken their heart?:  she’s been heartbroken, non-romantically. romantically? not yet.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?:  yes. and probably without knowing it.

are they squeamish?:  not at all.  except around bees, or allergens.

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?:  she’s seen people  d e a d .  but never in the act of.

are they a lightweight?:  y e s !!  it’s hilarious.  you wanna know a secret?  do ya??  you sure??  are you positive?  okay, okay.  she’ll take a breath, tryin’ not to giggle too much in between words.  “ one time, in ninth grade, mr. hot sexy math man –– mr. keebler, yeah –– asked me out to dinner. would ya believe that ? ”   she’ll dissolve into a fit of melodic laughter and knock back the rest of her second drink.   yeah.  it be like that.

[kiraelric]

I was tagged by @meiyanaalexia 

Answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people.

the last …

1. drink: Sweet Tea 

2. phone call: My Mom

3. text message: A client for my costume commissions 

4. song you listened to: Something on the radio, I don’t remember what it was.

5. time you cried: last saturday

6. dated someone twice: no

7. kissed someone and regretted it: yes

8. been cheated on: no

9. lost someone special: yes

10. been depressed: Yes (bipolar part of the territory)

11. gotten drunk and thrown up: no

favorite colors

12. to wear - black; blue; green; aqua; cool colors 

13. Aquamarine 

14. All the other shades of blue 

in the last year have you…

15. made new friends: yes

16. fallen out of love: no

17. laughed until you cried: yes 

18. found out someone was talking about you: yes 

19. met someone who changed you: no?

20. found out who your friends are: nope that was years ago 

21. kissed someone on your facebook list: every day 

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: Um... I’d have to count. 

23. do you have any pets: Gino, Pixel and Bella.  (2 cats and A Lovebird) 

24. do you want to change your name: No

25. what did you do for your last birthday: Went and got Sushi with the husband and renewed my driver’s licenses. 

26. what time did you wake up: which time? I took a nap today. 

27. what were you doing at midnight last night: talking to one of my buddies on discord 

28. name something you can’t wait for: YOUMACON 

29. when was the last time you saw your mom: ?? Memorial Day I think 

31. what are you listening to right now: The let’s plays my hubby has playing in the background 

32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: Yup at my last job 

33. something that is getting on your nerves: Not that I can think of 

34. most visited website: tumblr / facebook  

35. hair colour: Green!

36. long or short hair: short (i just cut it all off) 

37. do you have a crush on someone: I’m married 

38. what do you like about yourself:  I’m pretty good at the creative things and I’m pretty positive most of the time. I’ve grown up a lot, I finally feel like an adult now. 

39. piercings: One in my left ear 

40. blood type: B+

41. nickname: Bunny, Bunnifer, BunBun, Bunzuku, Deku, Chibi, Chibs, Kira, Jen, Pen, and insert all the miscellaneous ones from the characters I cosplay. 

42. relationship status:  Married 

43. zodiac: Aquarius. 

44. pronouns: She/her

45. favourite tv show:  ??? I’m a food network addict 

46. tattoos: N/A

47. right or left handed: right

48. surgery:  I had oral surgery for my braces in 11th grade. 

49. piercing: /

50. sport: hockey 

51. vacation: Conventions! 

52. pair of trainers: I gave up on tennis shoes years ago. 

more general

53. eating: currently nothing 

54. drinking: McD’s Sweet Tea 

55. i’m about to: reply to an IzuKatsu thread on discord and play a game on steam 

56. waiting for:  Tomorrow (Anniversary Sushi Date!)

57. want: to be done moving out of our apartment! 

58. get married: already am. It’s our anniversary today! (July 1st) 

59. career: Costume Commissioner / Freelance Artist (livin’ the dream) 

60. hugs or kisses: hugs are a+

61. lips or eyes: eyes because i love color

62. shorter or taller: taller, my husband is much taller than me

63. older or younger: younger, he is also younger than me 

64. nice arms or nice stomach: nice arms, the hubby - he has them. Even more so in his baku cosplay with the sleeves on -Mmmm- 

65. hook up or relationship: relationship - again Married. 

66. troublemaker or hesitant: kinda both?

67. kissed a stranger: Yup! For cosplay pictures 

68. drank hard liquor: I don’t drink at all - so no

69. lost glasses/contact lenses: I lose my stupid glasses all the time 

70. turned someone down: Yeah 

71. sex on the first date: Nope

72. broken someone’s heart: I’m sure I have 

73. had your heart broken: Yup

74. been arrested: No

75. cried when someone died: Yup

76. fallen for a friend: Yup. My Hubby is my best friend. 

do you believe in …

77. yourself: Yes

78. miracles: Yes 

79. love at first sight: Yes

80. santa claus: leave the magic for the kids!

81. kiss on the first date: to each their own. 

82. angels: yes 

other

83. current best friend’s name: Daniel 

84. eye colour: Hazel 

85. favourite movie: The Lion King 

i tag: No one. Who ever wants to do this! Go forth and do the thing! 

Repost don’t reblog! 

[lightningclawedsky-official]

Late Night Ramblings

Going to bed but here are my final thoughts before I pass out

I really wanna get into sculpting- the first thing I wanna do Is make a mask that’s basically Deuce’s Swan Song mask. I know Deuce is a big ass most of the time but I do have a lot of respect for the guy admittedly- he tries his hardest to talk with his fans as much as possible. Lots of his music is good too, and he IS a bit inspiring admittedly, of course, far from ideal, but IMO he really shows that sometimes you gotta grin and bear what people think and say with you and just keep being you, no matter what you did in the past.

Danny’s mask would be fun to sculpt too, but I really wanna do this mask design I spent like 3 hours on lol. Its this 3-part stitched mask, yellow and green. Theres teeth and blood. I like teeth and blood. If I knew how, I’d love to sculpt a spring loaded jaw for the mask too. That’d be awesome, y’know, just opening your mouth and closing it while having some cool mask with it. I don’t know where I’d buy the springs. I also don’t know how to put it together... Fuck I don’t even know where I can buy decent straps for a mask, since I cant really stand the feeling on twine or elastic strings. Supplies is expensive either way- I’d have to buy 4lbs apoxie sculpt to be be safe, some tools, a strap or two, paint, sanding blocks... Its a lot.

I would love to style my hair to be like LightningClaw’s lol. Bright pink/red color, yellow streaks, hair hiding an eye. It’d be cool, but I dont have thick enough hair nor do I have the patience to wait for hair to grow back after I cut it, because I KNOW if I do cut it like LC’s, I’ll probably get bored of it.

Speaking of LC- his old design was a mess lmao. It was basically one of my other characters, Karasu, but with his signature bright ass hair, and then his yellow bangs. What a mess lol. Its also fun to see how far LC has come as a character. Before he was an edgy warriors FOC. The regular insane murderer edition (like 90% of other warriors FOCs lol.) Now he has his own comic that deals with serious issues while also having an adventreous twist with greek gods.

Tattoo’s. Tat’s are rad as fuck man. I want so many tattoos but its like putting a permanent sticker on your body and I’m not sure I can actually commit to that. Though, on the back on my neck, I plan to get LIGHTNINGCLAW written on it. LC means a lot to me and without him I don’t think I’d be where I am now, as a person, artist, and  a writer. Knuckle tats that say SHIT and FUCK would be ideal too lol but I think my family wouldn’t approve of those. t least I’m not doing drugs I guess. Could be worse. Tattoo sleeves are amazing too omg. I just really love tats and wouldn’t mind becoming a tattoo artist, but of course my dad and mom are like “that isn’t where the money is that isnt an ideal job think of the consequences if you mess up on someones body are you willing to commit to tattoos yourself blah blah blah.” Just let me figure things out. Let me try different jobs to see where I end up. I don’t want to follow any roads you two may want me to go to. I’m not going to be a doctor, nor a teacher, nor any overly common jobs. I don’t want to go into the sciences either. Thats not interesting for me. I want to go to a hands on job that I can have fun at.

Hollywood Undead is a good band and I want a new single already. Deuce is a good singer and I want that album already because Bad Attitude is the SHIT. Its awesome. I want Linkin Park to not be pop realllly badly when they drop that album- I didn’t like Heavy in the slighest. I wonder when FOb will release a song tho lol. I like music.

I’m happy to have met and known a lot of people over the years, and so many have stuck with me. I can’t believe I started on wattpad and I’m actually slowly getting somewhere. I can make commissions now, albeit it takes a bit before I can and I do a lot of trades in between, but the more art you do, the more you really get “out there” and really expand your horizons. Even then, just generally being nice to people can get you places because you ahve friendships in those places. Its nice. I’m thankful.

On the flipside, there was some people shos ultimate goal is to ruin my life, it seems. This one kid, his name is Avery, he’s an ass. I don’t get why you gotta talk shit about my back and make my life hell with you “friends” when its more like a posse or a mob. Its because of people like you I felt so lonely most of my years. Whatever rumours you and your shitgang of minions said about me completely stained me as a person and I don’t even know what you said. Say shit to my face so I can punch it back into your mouth you stale fruitcake. If I took a shot everytime someone said I wasn’t like how you or your friends said I was, and that I was actually *gasp* NICE; I’d have fucking alchohol poisoning and need to get my stomach pumped out. Its happened way too much and I swear, when I graduate, I’m gonna meet you somewhere and punch your face so hard your grandchildren (though I doub’t you’ll have any with a personality like yours) will be able to feel it. I don’t know why you think you are entited to treat someone like shit but its all for the wrong reasons you fuckwad.

[serialoddities-blog]

DO ALL OF THEM

THANK U FOR TAKING INTEREST IN MY BORING SELF. HERE U GO

Daniel: Talk about how and when you discovered your favorite band.I don’t think I have one band in particular that’s my favourite... And I never remember anything, lmao. I assume I get a lot of my music off of random playlists on the internet and from the radio.

Romain: Talk about your favorite restaurant and the first time you went there. It’s called “The Garden” and it’s the cutest little thing. I went there in my first year of university because it was the only vegan restaurant I could find in my area, lmao.

Esteban: Talk about your favorite ways to relax. Sitting on my ass and surfing the internet, mostly. I also love to do crazy makeup looks, it’s basically like painting, lmao. Taking walks is fun, too. 

Lewis: Talk about a location (your hometown, favorite vacation spot, etc.) that means a lot to you. My hometown means a lot to me, I feel safest and happiest when I’m there because it’s so familiar. Goderich and Sauble Beach are also really meaningful places to me. Just a lot of memories.

Daniil: Talk about a time a friend betrayed your trust. Lmaooo yeah I can think of one but they ain’t my friend anymore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Carlos: Talk about someone you look up to. Is it bad to say I can’t think of anyone in particular immediately? I dunno, I don’t think you should ever idealize someone too much. My friends are all super cool people, though. 

Kevin: Talk about your tattoos and the meanings behind them, or what tattoos you plan to get in the future. I absolutely love tattoos and I think sleeve tattoos are so pretty. I have all of them planned out, lmao. 

Nico: Talk about the qualities that are most important for your future partner to have, or your favorite qualities in your current partner. Anyway my love life is currently a wreck soooooooo I’ll just answer this as if I’m thinking of a future partner. :^) I think it’s super important to communicate, and to establish what is and isn’t okay with boundaries and so on. It makes things less confusing and awkward. A sense of humour is nice. And I’m a sucker for romance.

Hulk: Talk about what you like most about yourself (physically and/or personality). I’ve been told that I’m a good listener and am fair and impartial when it comes to debates, which I like. I know I try to help people out as much as I can. And appearance-wise,,,,, idk, my eyes are okay. I have a dimple which is neat.

Max: Talk about your biggest achievement. Honestly just making it this far in life, lmao. I know I give myself a hard time but I’ve made it to a new city on my own and am living independently.

Sergio: Talk about a time you overcame a huge obstacle. I can’t even think of anything for this question.

Jenson: Talk about your most memorable birthday. I don’t really celebrate my birthday in any sort of way so I can’t say. For my 20th I just kinda chilled and went to the mall.

Fernando: Talk about your biggest pet peeves. I absolutely hate when people are rude to service workers. It really annoys me when the older generation talks shit about the current/future generation, being completely lacking in any sense of self-awareness. I also hate when people eat loudly. I COULD GO ON,

Pascal: Talk about something you're passionate about and take pride in. I really love doing my own makeup and I think it’d be so much fun to take it somewhere as a career (though I have no plans). I absolutely love doodling too, though it’s only something I do in my spare time or when I’m commissioned.

Kimi: Talk about your favorite alcoholic beverage. When I go out to bars I almost always order a rum and Coke because it’s safe and I know every place ever will have it. But my favourite is probably Dirty Shirleys (alcohol Shirley Temples). 

Rio: Talk about religion (your personal beliefs, general thoughts, etc.) I think religion can be a very good thing. It can motivate people, it can give them a sense of purpose and happiness. But it can also be a very bad thing. It can be used to manipulate and control. I am a huge advocate for freedom of speech so I think that people can do what they want. That being said, I really hold no personal beliefs and I’m not a particularly religious person. Whatever floats your boat!!!!

Nasr: Talk about your favorite movie and the first time you saw it. One of my favourite movies is “Clue”. I think the first time I watched it was in my sister’s apartment when I was a kid.

Marcus: Talk about your family (blood related and/or very close friends). My family is a big ol’ heckin’ mess, just like me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My close friends are rad, tho.

Massa: Talk about your current plans for your future. I just want to focus on my jobs and make as much money as possible. I honestly don’t know if academia is for me and university is kicking my ass so I want a safety net in case I decide to take a different path in life. But at this point I’m just winging it, lmfao.

Jolyon: Talk about your biggest fear. Ending up alone. Dying. Childbirth. They’re probably self explanatory tbh.

Valtteri: Talk about your pets, or what pets you want in the future. I have a 5 month-old domestic shorthair kitten named Moxie. She’s an absolute demon but she keeps me busy. I actually got her from my ex-boyfriend, whose roommate was fostering her after someone found a box of kittens abandoned in a parking lot.

Sebastian: Talk about what you wanted to be when you grew up when you were a child. Lmao I wanted to grow up to be a dog. I don’t know. I think child me had the right idea.

[scarletjedi]

do alllllll of them!

oh gdi pop - cut for length

1:Is there a boy/girl in your life?

My lovely wife :D

2:Think of the last person who hurt you; do you forgive them?

define “hurt” - physically? Of course! I twas an accident and she’s 3. non-physically? yeah, I do.  

3:What do you think of when you hear the word “meow?”

Oh, no, where did you pee!?! (Our cat has been stress-marking)

4:What’s something you really want right now?

Someone else to bring the boxes from my office up to the attic

5:Are you afraid of falling in love?

Already there, luv. It was never the *love* that scared me. 

6:Do you like the beach?

I do! I like to swim, and I’m not bothered by the wildlife. I’m less fond of heat/no shade, but those are manageable. I like the “shore” even better - boardwalk food!

7:Have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?

Yep! Mostly in college, though my wife and I have napped together on the couch a few times. 

8:What’s the background on your cell?

The lock screen is Gimli face-palming from CAA, drawn by the lovely @kooriicolada. My home screen is Legolas laughing from the same pic. 

9:Name the last four beds you were sat on?

Um? I sat on my bed here, my bed at my mother’s house, the bed in the hotel room from my cousin’s wedding, aaaand...my mom’s bed, probably? 

10:Do you like your phone?

I do, mostly. It’s an iPhone 6 and still working, though I should get a new case for it. 

11:Honestly, are things going the way you planned?

I honestly thought I’d be making more money/have a full-time career (thanks for that, economy), but I *did* think I’d be with my forever someone so--yes and no?

12:Who was the last person whose phone number you added to your contacts?

Ha! My cousin on Christmas eve. I laugh because I remembered that! 

13:Would you rather have a poodle or a Rottweiler?

Rottweiler. 

14:Which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain?

Emotional. 

15:Would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum?

Depends on the season. 

16:Are you tired?

At the moment or in general? 

17:How long have you known your 1st phone contact?

12 years. (You do mean “speed dial” yes?)

18:Are they a relative?

Technically? I married her. 

19:Would you ever consider getting back together with any of your exes?

No. We all ended for very good reasons. 

20:When did you last talk to the last person you shared a kiss with?

In person? 5 hours ago. 

21:If you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today?

I’d marry her again in a heartbeat. 

22:Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Of course :D

23:How many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now?

0! Because I am working. 

24:Is there a certain quote you live by?

Make Good Art. - Neil Gaiman

25:What’s on your mind?

That I have far too much shit in my office. 

26:Do you have any tattoos?

I have a half sleeve of a dragon against a nebula. The nebula is in color. The dragon is not. 

27:What is your favorite color?

It changes. I’m partial to red at the moment, but it’s also been blue and lie green. 

28:Next time you will kiss someone on the lips?

When she gets home tonight. 

29:Who are you texting?

My wife and my best friend. 

30:Think to the last person you kissed, have you ever kissed them on a couch?

Yes. I don’t think these questions are made for married couples. 

31:Have you ever had the feeling something bad was going to happen and you were right?

Yep. All the time. My favorite are the “So and so is dead” phone calls that I get--I can tell from the ring. 

32:Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

yep. 

33:Do you think anyone has feelings for you?

I’d hope it’s my wife

34:Has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes?

I hear it all the time. I believe it from my wife. 

35:Say the last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you?

that depends entirely on the context of the situation. 

36:Were you single on Valentines Day?

Nope

37:Are you friends with the last person you kissed?

Yep

38:What do your friends call you?

my name, usually. It’s short, and hard to make nicknames from. Or “SJ” or “Jedi” or occasionally “Scarlet” 

39:Has anyone upset you in the last week?

Yep. 

40:Have you ever cried over a text?

Not really? 

41:Where’s your last bruise located?

My leg, I think.  

42:What is it from?

I walked into the coffee table.

43:Last time you wanted to be away from somewhere really bad?

Christmas

44:Who was the last person you were on the phone with?

My mom. 

45:Do you have a favourite pair of shoes?

I’ve a pair of black doc marten boots that I wear nearly every day. They’re the same boots Ray Kowalski wears in Due South. Yeah. I’m that nerd. 

46:Do you wear hats if your having a bad hair day?

Not really. I can’t keep track of them. 

47:Would you ever go bald if it was the style?

Sure. I’ve near-buzzed my hair before. I liked it. 

48:Do you make supper for your family?

I tend to bake rather than cook, and my wife cooks rather than baking. But yeah, we’ve made dinner for the family. 

49:Does your bedroom have a door?

Yep

50:Top 3 web-pages?

By visit? Tumblr, ao3, and youtube

51:Do you know anyone who hates shopping?

*raises hand* Though I hate it less than I used to. 

52:Does anything on your body hurt?

My head. I think i’ve got a weird stress headache thing going on. 

53:Are goodbyes hard for you?

Depends on the situation. I’m a rip off the band-aid sort of person. 

54:What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?

Coffee. The answer is always coffee. 

55:How is your hair?

Fine, how are you? 

(I need a haircut, but it’s short on my left and longer on my right--say 2 inches vs 6 inches? and my natural blonde)

56:What do you usually do first in the morning?

check my phone. 

57:Do you think two people can last forever?

yeah, i do. 

58:Think back to January 2007, were you single?

Ha! yes! I was. My wife and I started dating that March. (though, to be fair, we were the friends who were practically dating but not officially at that point). 

59:Green or purple grapes?

yes. 

60:When’s the next time you will give someone a BIG hug?

When she gets home from work.

61:Do you wish you were somewhere else right now?

Scotland was lovely. 

62:When will be the next time you text someone?

Probably when I’m done with this meme. 

63:Where will you be 5 hours from now?

sitting on my couch watching tv (or possibly while my wife plays Skyrim), and writing in my notebook. 

64:What were you doing at 8 this morning.

sleeping. 

65:This time last year, can you remember who you liked?

My wife?

66:Is there one person in your life that can always make you smile?

My wife. 

67:Did you kiss or hug anyone today?

My wife. I’m sensing a pattern. 

68:What was your last thought before you went to bed last night?

I was thinking about @fialleril‘s double agent vader stuff, particularly the post-vader parts. I’m in love with that AU. 

69:Have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

*looks at stack of rejection letters* Yep. 

70:How many windows are open on your computer?

Browser windows? 1. (11 tabs, tho) 8 total (pages, word, and itunes)

71:How many fingers do you have?

10. 

72:What is your ringtone?

the bobs burgers theme. My mother has the godfather theme. 

73:How old will you be in 5 months?

31. my birthday is St Patrck’s Day. 

74:Where is your Mum right now?

I’m not sure. 5 on a Wednesday? Probably at Ruby Tuesday with my stepfather and their friends for dinner before they go to bingo. 

75:Why aren’t you with the person you were first in love with or almost in love?

I am. I may have dated before her, but I fell in love with her. 

76:Have you held hands with somebody in the past three days?

yep. my wife. 

77:Are you friends with the people you were friends with two years ago?

yep! I’ve only added friends since then. 

78:Do you remember who you had a crush on in year 7?

what’s that in American? 6th grade? I don’t think I had one, yet. Unless you count, like, Luke Skywalker. real people didn’t interest me until 7th grade. 

79:Is there anyone you know with the name Mike?

several. I’m related to a few of them. 

80:Have you ever fallen asleep in someones arms?

yep. the wife. 

81:How many people have you liked in the past three months?

...i’m not even gonna say it. 

82:Has anyone seen you in your underwear in the last 3 days?

*stares at camera like on the office*

83:Will you talk to the person you like tonight?

*Stares at Camera like Ben Wyatt*

84:You’re drunk and yelling at hot guys/girls out of your car window, you’re with?

I’m not doing that? 

85:If your BF/GF was into drugs would you care?

Oh yes. 

86:What was the most eventful thing that happened last time you went to see a movie?

I SAW ROGUE ONE. That’s an event in and of itself. 

87:Who was your last received call from?

My mom. Unless you count my wife calling so I could find my phone.

88:If someone gave you $1,000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you?

It says something about how little money I have that I considered it. COME ON GUYS! COMMISSION ME! I NEED TO PAY OFF MY CREDIT CARD BEFORE MY JOB ENDS.

89:What is something you wish you had more of?

Money and Time. 

90:Have you ever trusted someone too much?

Yep. My consolation is he was terrible in bed. 

91:Do you sleep with your window open?

yep. 

92:Do you get along with girls?

I do! I don’t understand a lot of hyper-femininity (In that, I think its too much work for me/I’m not practiced at it), but I’m cool with them being into it as long as they don’t look down at my boots. 

93:Are you keeping a secret from someone who needs to know the truth?

Not that I can think of. 

94:Does sex mean love?

No, but I’m inclined towards liking it better that way. 

95:You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem?

Only if I haven’t eaten recently/there isn’t a bathroom. But you mean sexy stuff, don’t you? You saucy minx!

96:Have you ever kissed anyone with a lip ring?

No, but if I play my cards right, my wife might get to (I’ve been thinking about it, but it depends entirely on my job situation). 

97:Did you sleep alone this week?

nope. 

98:Everybody has somebody that makes them happy, do you?

I do!

99:Do you believe in love at first sight?

I don’t think so--i think love, real love, is based on trust. But! I do believe in that moment of “oh, it’s you!” with someone you’ve never met before, and I do believe in soul mates. 

100:Who was the last person that you pinky promise?

Ahh....*shrug* probably the one friend I have from elementary school. We kept that up through college. 

I HOPE YOUR HAPPY POP! I TAG YOU BACK! ANSWER ALL THE QUESTIONS YOU HAVEN”T YET!