#what else am i supposed to scribble to get back in the Art Zone

[underwaterrazzledazzle]

Anyone else think about what this bitch was doing while talking to jack in the fort

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 5

“Under the Knife” - Part 5

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Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,100-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Talks of Murder, Violence, Emotions, Cursing. Let me know if I missed anything! 

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy​ @a-person-unlabled

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As much as you didn’t want to have this meeting with Crawford, you knew that you had to. You had to fill in not only Jack but Hannibal as well on where you were when it came to motive, suspects, and connections. The car ride back to the office was silent as you struggled to focus on case-related thoughts as opposed to the fact that your brother and Hannibal thought you needed backup. 

It wasn’t until you parked in your normal spot at headquarters that you felt yourself slip. 

Do they really not believe in me that much? Will, I can understand. He was wary about me joining from the start. But Hannibal? He was so supportive at dinner. He said that I was ‘wonderful and valuable.’ Why would he say that if he was just going to be watching over me and double-checking my work? I--

While Will seemed to not let his emotions come up often, you were the opposite. You were very empathetic and even though you had spent many years working on getting a better handle on them, you couldn’t help with your emotions got the best of you.

You managed to make it to your office before the angry tears started to spill. 

There were two soft knocks on your office door. You quickly scrambled to wipe your face with the inside of your shirt and grab a few papers that you planned on showing Jack in an effort to look okay. 

“Come on in.” You spoke just loud enough to be heard through the door, hoping it was just a student or delivery and wouldn’t have to turn around and face them. You heard the door slowly creak open a little, Hannibal peeked in.

“Everything alright, (Y/N)?” You let out a single harsh exhale in disbelief.  You kept your back facing him as you picked up a few more relevant papers to add to the growing pile in your arm.

“As alright as they can be.” You cursed internally as you felt the shakiness in your voice betray you. A normal person wouldn’t pick up on it, but you were sure Hannibal had.

“I understand you may not want to talk about this, but I think--” You quickly turn around and cut him off, really not in the mood to hear whatever explanation he has right now for his or Will’s behavior.

“I think Crawford is waiting for us. I would like to get this meeting over with and then go home so I can have an actual meal today. So how about we start moving?” You were sure he noticed the extreme lack of eye contact and the stuffiness in your nose making your voice slightly nasal. You were ready for him to ask about your wellbeing again.

Instead, you saw him nod once and held out his hands. 

“Well then, let's not keep him waiting. May I?” You gladly handed your stack of papers over to him while you picked out one more file and unhooked your bag from the back of your desk chair, in hopes that you could leave right after this session with Crawford. 

~~~~~~~~

“So what we have so far is that Dr. Pencalt was a neurologist with no obvious ties to Dr. Everet, Chasten, or Loreit other than the fact that they all live relatively close to one another. We also now have a potential height range and the small detail that he is left-handed.”

Hannibal hadn’t even shut the door to Jack’s office behind the two of you yet before Jack started talking. He wasn’t even facing you two, instead, he was looking at the board of evidence that now had a few pictures of tonight’s scene on it. Hannibal placed your papers on the desk in front of you as you made your way to a seat. You felt yourself zoning out because of how tired you were. Not only from the lack of sleep, but now your eyes were slightly stinging thanks to the tears that had slipped in your office moments ago. 

While you knew what Jack was saying, you felt yourself zoning out even more. It wasn’t new information and you were so spent. You hadn’t realized how far into your mind you were drifting until you felt a shoe tap against yours, jolting you back into reality. Hannibal had seen the minuscule fade in your eyes as you stared at the stack of papers. He knew Jack wouldn’t handle it well, so he did his best to help you.

You tuned back in as Jack started to turn to now face you two. 

"Dr. Lecter, do you think that this killer sees the spouses as nothing special, or are we missing something involving them?"

"I believe they were merely obstacles that our killer has to get through. (Y/N) said it best. These spouses are nothing more than 'trash that is taken care of.'"

You hated to admit that it hurt that Jack had to verify with Dr. Lecter on your findings. But it was a bit nice to know that Hannibal was on your side despite what your brain was told you back in your office. 

Jack then looked to you, his face not showing the indignation you were sure was bubbling inside him.

“What else you got?”

Slightly rubbing a bit of pain from your eyes, you looked in your notebook, trying to figure out what else to say. You saw a scribble and then reached to your pile of papers on Jack’s desk to try to find the specific ones you were looking for. 

“Well, I started to go through and find all of the doctors that work in any medical field within a 50-mile radius. I then tried to narrow it down by eliminating all of the females.”

“Why disregard females?”

“Because unless one of these female doctors is Wonder Woman, I don’t think any of them would be able to physically disable men like Dr. Chasten, who was a rather large man, by themselves.” Jack just nods his head in agreement and you keep your slowly derailing train of thought going.

“I uh-- I haven’t been able to do anything else with this list because we only just found this dominant hand and a good height range an hour ago. And I’ll be able to narrow down that height range even more when I get the angle of the incision point back from Beverly or Jimmy. But it's at least a start to what we’re looking for. ” 

You look up from your suspect list as you slide it to Jack on the other side of the desk, only to find him looking at you, expecting more. Reaching for your notebook, you fumble through your scrawlings again, trying to find any information that would please him. Hannibal watched your interaction and decided to step in.

“May I ask something?” 

“As long as it's not about my personal life.” You still had your eyes scanning your notebook as you responded. 

“It isn’t.” You looked up from your notes, saw that he was serious, and nod for him to continue. “Why did the bedding stand out to you, (Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“At the crime scene, you said that ‘the sheets are flat.’ What significance does that have?”

“Right. Um… Because it's odd.” Jack confusingly looks from you to Hannibal, who is his normal stoic self but still curious. You see that the two men don’t see what you do, so you pull out the crime scene photos from all of the cases that show the dead doctors in their beds.

“Because the killer fixed them before meticulously placing the various parts of Dr. Pencalt out. He didn’t do that for any of the other ones. And, I also noticed that Dr. Pencalt’s eyes were left open, unlike the others who have their’s closed. It's the first time we’ve seen either of these things.”

“It is also the first time he’s killed in one room, then moved the victim to the bed.” Hannibal chimed in.

“Yes! Exactly. But, the bed still would have been messy from Dr. Pencalt’s rushed exit to the bathroom to try and get his gun. Which means that our killer wanted this ‘sculpture’ of his to be nicer looking than his previous ones.” 

“Why?” Crawford could see what you were saying, be he needed more.

 “I-I’m not sure yet.” 

You looked down at your notebook in slight shame. So when Jack raised his voice and hit his hand on his desk in frustration, you couldn’t help but jump in your seat a bit, causing Hannibal to stiffen slightly. He had a watchful eye on you as he let Jack speak.

“Dammit, (Y/N)! This is why I brought you on. You’re supposed to be able to get inside this maniac’s brain and lead us to him. You’re implying that our killer gift-wrapped a victim at a scene that we have seen now four different times. So I’m gonna ask again: Why is this one so special?”

 “May--Maybe he has some sort of emotional attachment to this vic. O-or maybe this is about his ego and he knows we were now taking this- him seriously. So he wanted to show us a new mosaic that he was proud of, like a child showing their parents a shitty piece of macaroni art that they think is a masterpiece. Or maybe it’s none of these ideas and it’s something completely out of left field that I haven’t figured out. The point is: I don’t know yet, Jack!” 

You didn’t expect yourself to burst like that. But the mix of your personal feelings about Hannibal and your brother, your lack of rest, and Crawford’s accusatory tone had set you off. You focused on fiddling with your ring to try to reign yourself back in and attempt to clock out for the night.

While you tried to breathe for a few seconds, the men just stared. Hannibal was observing you, making sure you were okay enough that he wouldn’t have to physically assist you. Jack on the other hand was silent out of surprise. The two of them had seen Will at his most stressed, but they’d never seen you like this. Jack wasn’t sure how to proceed until you spoke again, much calmer and quieter than a moment ago.

“I need more evidence. We can sit here and spout out theories all night. But without details from whatever the techs got tonight, nothing can stick. So when the gang in the lab has results of any kind or we get more information from the autopsies, then I can reexamine everything I have and get a better idea of what the hell we’re looking for. For now, I’m exhausted, I’m hungry, and need a shower.”

“Are you quitting this case?” Your gaze shot from your hands in front of you to Crawford’s incredulous face; Now worried that he thought you were unfit for this job.

“No. Absolutely not. I want this asshole caught. I-- I just need to rest. I’ve been going almost non-stop since I signed those papers and took the files home. Hannibal can even vouch for me that I was immediately engrossed in this case the moment I got home. I promise that I will be more productive when I can get a sandwich and a few hours of sleep in me.”

You tried to keep your features calm, but you couldn’t help the slight sound of pleading in your voice. You knew you were right and that you just needed a small break. You felt the small sting of disheartened tears fighting their way back into your already sore eyes, hoping that Hannibal didn’t pick up on them. Jack looked to Hannibal for confirmation, getting a silent nod from him. Crawford slowly nodded his head in understanding.

“You’re right. Go home. We will pick this up tomorrow.” 

He motioned to the door. You thanked him and tried to stand up and calmly walk out without showing that one of those irritating tears had slid down your cheek as you turned away from Jack. Hannibal had gotten up and opened the door for you, but before you could pass through the threshold, Jack spoke up. 

“If you do think of anything, write it down and tell me first thing tomorrow.” You just nod and continue out the door, trying to make it to your car before you let yourself cry anymore. Hannibal was going to follow and ensure your safety as he usually did, but Jack stopped him.

“Not you, Dr. Lecter. I need to speak with you about a few things in private. Shouldn’t take long.” Hannibal nodded as he saw you quickly turn the corner towards the elevators. He shut the door and settled back in his seat at Crawford’s desk.

“I take it (Y/N) didn’t like the idea of you being on this case now too?”

“No. I suspect she thinks that Will and I don’t believe in her ability to handle this intense of a case as well as keep herself afloat. I’ve tried to get her to open up about it, but I fear that it may be too soon to bring it up.”

“Do you think she will be able to stay afloat?”

“I do. (Y/N) is a brilliant individual who’s empathic intuitions match those of her brother. That in addition to her curiosity for the abnormal, and desire for justice make her an ideal candidate for this position. However, I believe that she needs time to process everything that has happened over the course of her first 3 days here. She has only dealt with high-profile cases like this one after they have been solved. She’s never been in an active case of this caliber. She is bound to get overwhelmed and think that she isn’t good enough during this first week. I suspect that she will bounce back soon enough.”

Jack wasn’t sure what exactly he was trying to ask, but Hannibal saw the look of confusion on his face and continued.

“(Y/N) thinks that because she hasn’t found anything substantial yet and another body has been found, that she is not good at what she does. When in reality, she is right, we are at a standstill until we get more evidence.” 

At first Crawford wasn’t sure about having Hannibal ride in the backseat through this case. But now he was thankful. Through Hannibal’s understanding of your life outside of the FBI, he was able to remind Jack that you were human and could only do so much without a breather. Something he had failed to remember with Will at times..

Jack stood up and got his jacket that was hanging on the back of his desk chair, stretching a bit as he stood up. Hannibal stood as well, anticipating a dismissal.

“I see. Well, I think we should follow (Y/N)’s example and take the rest of the night to let things settle in. Start fresh tomorrow morning. Our’s killer’s timer is reset; We got less than two weeks to catch this lunatic.” 

~~~~~~~~

You were more than glad to get your keys in your door and finally be able to let your guard down. Your stomach growled as you turned the handle, thinking about the leftover pizza you had in your fridge. Before you could step too far into your apartment, you felt your shoe shift as you stepped on a piece of paper. You thought nothing of it, assuming it was a paper from one of your files that had fallen out, and plopped it on your counter, too focused on getting food heated up and getting out of your work clothes to read over it right now. 

After a quick shower to get the grime of today off of you, you popped some pizza in the microwave and got dressed in your pajamas. As you took the plate out, your eyes settled on the piece of paper that was on the counter. You set down your dinner and walked over to pick it up. One side was blank but the other was a printed out screenshot of an article from the awful tabloid, Tattle Crime. 

“The Virginia Scalpel Strikes Again! - A Deeper Look into the Work of a Killer and the Minds that the FBI Hired to Help Find Him.”

“Why were Dr. Pencalt and his wife targeted by the Scalpel? We still don’t know his motive, but the FBI brought on another member to their team in order to try and help answer some of our dying questions. (Y/N) Graham works within the Behavioral Science Unit at the FBI, but has never worked an active major case before this one. Which may be why we also saw Dr. Hannibal Lecter at the crime scene. We believe that she is shadowing him, learning how to run with the big dogs. The duo could be an almost unstoppable psychological force in the utility belt of Jack Crawford.

Much like her brother Will Graham, who we have talked about on this site before--”

You rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed sigh, not believing the shit you were seeing right now. Not only did Freddie just do the basic research on Dr. Pencalt that anyone could do from a simple google search, but then she had the gall to try to discredit your position on the team. All because she was new and Hannibal was at the crime scene with you.

You couldn’t read another demeaning word tonight. 

I was shadowing Hannibal?! That’s some misogynistic crap! I don’t even want to know what she has to say when it comes to comparing me to Will. This is a new low for Hannibal or Will. Going to a TC article as a fear tactic to try to get me to resign? Not today, boys. 

You were going to text them and call them out on their bullshit, but decided against it; not having the energy to deal with any more human interaction unless it was absolutely necessary. So you shoved the print-out into your work notebook and tossed it back in your work back, ignoring it until tomorrow.

For now? Pizza, wine, and a good comedy special were calling your name.

[tkemeaway]

Operation We-Would-Make-a-Great-Mocha

Summary: Bucky and you spend your work days pairing your costumers up. Modern AU.

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: For @buckyofthemyscira, Merry late Christmas and Happy New Year! May 2020 be all you want it to be✨, I hope you enjoy this lil gift😋.

Thanks to @bucky-smiles​ for organizing this Secret Santa thingy and for being patient, you’re awesome💕.

The gif’s a lil sexy but there’s no sexy times in this fic!

Warnings: Fluff? Pining? A lot of clichés and bad pick up lines. Bickering and stuff. Maybe a couple newbie mistakes because this is my first time writing. Bear with me pls!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mornings were boring, but what else could you expect from a wrong placed Starbucks? The investors overestimated the interest of locals in overpriced coffee. Something about urbanizing the area, attracting more people and eventually creating a central, more commercial zone. That happened a year ago and the reason the shop was still up and functioning was mainly the horde of teenagers coming in the afternoons after school to have a taste of the “city life”. The mornings however, the mornings were a complete different story. There were two regulars, a large black coffee with a muffin at seven thirty and a hot chocolate at nine, and from time to time some clueless visitant who had gotten lost in the nameless streets of the maze-like town and came across the isolated, kind of hidden, coffee shop.

That Monday morning in particular there was a surprising amount of five people in the shop, three being costumers. Black Large had arrived half an hour later than her usual time and Hot Chocolate had apparently decided to start his day earlier than he was accustomed to, both of them taking quite a while to finish their orders. An occurrence that has turned into an usual one after the first time Black Large seemingly slept through her alarms and entered the coffee shop in a hurry to fetch her order and throw some cash on the counter at the same time Hot Chocolate was enjoying some polite small talk with the barista while waiting for his order to be made. An amazing moment happened then when, just like in the romcoms, they glanced at each other casually but their eyes glued to the other’s and for a moment it was just the two of them, until his order was placed in the counter and the world began to turn again. It was fun for the two baristas to watch how, since that day, they started coming to the shop with a bounce to their step, their gaze more alert and the tables they chose to sit in more close to the other’s each day. Fun. Yeah. At least at first.

“Oh my god, this is ridiculous, that was the fifth time in 20 minutes that they smiled at each other!” She told him as she put her hands in the air, making him chuckle. “This is not funny Buck, we gotta help this poor souls!”.

“Remember what happened the last time you helped some poor souls get together?” Bucky crossed his arms and she huffed.

“That’s not fair, how was I supposed to know? They seemed so in love!”

“He took her money and ran away!”

“Okay, okay, not my best work, but I introduced Steve to Peggy and they’re doing amazing. Besides, we know these two, doesn’t she work with your mom? And I’m sure I saw him in that big Christmas party last year. There’s no way either of them is that bad.” She argued and gave him puppy eyes. “Prithee help me help them?”

She knew the answer way before he made up his mind. That’s how it would always go between them. If he was being difficult, she would tell him that nothing happened in that goddamned town and that he was denying her the tiniest amount of fun she could gather from her boring life, that she could be doing drugs and riding motorcycles but she just wanted to be her selfless self and help someone to find love, and he would then comply to whatever she was asking of him. She would think it was because her amazing persuasion skills and excellent arguments, for she was blind to the loving look and affectionate smile she would receive from her coworker.

“Wow there, doll, no need to go shakespearean on me. I’ll do it, but the beers are on you tonight, I’mma need some alcohol after helping you chase away the only two regulars of this fucking place with your plotting.” 

She squealed, took his hand in hers and squished it against her heart, “I like you so so much, do you know that?” He gave her a pained smile that she didn’t notice because she was already scheming. “I’m thinking maybe we can put a message in her muffin and say it’s from him?”

He rose an eyebrow playfully. “Do you know how to letter with icing?”

“No, but I do have an amazing, handsome, crafty coworker who does.” 

————

“I’m soy into you.”

“You are just the way I like my coffee. Tall, dark and strong.”

“Bean thinking about you a latte.” 

“Affogato? Afforgeto where I am when I look at you.”

“Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number, so caramel me maybe?”

“That wouldn’t even fit in there! And it has a sexual innuendo that I’m not sure she would appreciate much.” He said with an amused smile.

“But it’s genius!” She punched his arm as he laughed. “You’re awful at brainstorming.”

“I just don’t know why you’re putting so much effort into this, you don’t even know these people!” He questioned jokingly, and it was just for the sake of it, because he loved how stubborn she could be when she wanted something, and he knew he would do anything he could to help her get whatever she ever wanted.

“I’m projecting onto them the kind of corny as fuck romance my life is lacking.” She deadpanned and then chuckled. “Look, if I can’t have a love story with my guy then I’m gonna help them have theirs.”

Bucky’s heart clenched at her statement but he still joked. “You mean all it would take to win you over would be to throw a lame pick up line at you?” That earned him a glare from her. “You know, someday you’ll have to tell me who this guy you’re always mentioning is,” and he actually, desperately wanted to know who the fuck was this man that had everything he wanted and didn’t do anything about it. Y/N had casually mentioned him a couple times but when Bucky asked about it, she just said that the guy was way out of her league and that she wouldn’t do anything about it anyways so there was no reason to reveal his identity. 

It was Tuesday morning and that meant matchmaking time for Bucky and Y/N. It was six thirty and there weren’t any clients to serve as it was expected. She was sitting on the counter with a notebook in her lap while she chewed on a pen pensively, unaware to the effect this little action had on Bucky, who was leaning on his elbows by her side. They were using a notebook to draw a representation of the chocolate muffin that was destined to get the missive across, and trying to find the perfect line to catch the attention of Black Large without it being creepy. It needed to be precise, flirty but appropriate and the correct amount of funny. Bucky seriously doubted that a cheesy pick up line would attract the very professional looking woman, but Y/N was certain that she had to have a playful side to her in between all that business attire, and she was sure that the soft personality and cheery attitude of Hot Chocolate was the perfect combination to bring it out. All of this was on Y/N’s mind when it came to her.

“I got it!” She screeched and jumped off of the counter to scribble something on the paper that she then held in front of her for Bucky to see. There it was, in the middle of the wonky lined muffin. He left his position on the counter to fully face her and stared blankly at the words for a couple seconds only to immediately double over with laughter.

“We would make a great mocha together? Really?”

“I don’t know what you laughing at, this is honestly the finest piece of art my brain ever produced.” She rolled her eyes at him. “You just don’t get it, it’s because she orders a coffee and he has th—”

“Oh no, I do get it.” He continued to laugh and she gave him an offended look, so he put his hands up in surrender. “Okay fine, seeing that you’re the Cupid here and I’m merely one of your arrows, I’m gonna trust your oh so ever magnificent wisdom in the love field. But you owe me for this, specially if it fails and they sue us or something.”

“They can try,” she scoffed, “but since you don’t trust my amazing plan at all let’s make this into a bet, shall we?” She looked at him mischievously while crossing her arms. “If it works, and it will, you have to take my morning shift this Friday. If not, then you win.”

“What do I win exactly? When I win.” He leaned on the counter again and smirked at her. “And please define ‘works’ in this context. I’d feel lucky if she doesn’t start screaming at him or walks out immediately but I don’t think that’d be enough to call you a winner, doll.”

“If you win, you can choose whatever you want, and that’s if they don’t at least exchange numbers.” She extended her hand to him. “You in?”

He shook her hand and sighed, “I am.”

“Amazing! Operation Mocha-Love is on! To the cave!”

————

“Explain to me why is it me who has to do the delivery again?” Bucky asked her.

It was eight in the morning already and it wasn’t long before the subjects arrived. The Glorious Cupid’s Arrow (code for the muffin) was sitting on the back counter behind the display racks where the coffee was made. It was your normal chocolate muffin, except it had the words ‘We would make a great mocha together’ written in small cursive.

Y/N stopped sweeping the floor and leaned on the broomstick with her head over her hands. “You have to buy us a little time in case Hot Chocolate decides he doesn’t want to come early today. If he’s not here when we give her the muffin she will smell the distinct smell of bullshit don’t you think?”

“I get that, but why me?” He suddenly stopped wiping the counter and looked at her. “And what did you just call him?”

“Hot Chocolate? Codename for Carl, because he orders a... well, a hot chocolate? You know?” She hesitated but smiled when she saw that Bucky was grinning at her and continued sweeping. “And about her, I don’t think she likes me that much since the first time she came here and I gave her a cold coffee by accident.”

“She as in... Black Coffee?” He guessed.

“Large Black.” She chuckled.

“Nice, and what’s my codename?”

“Right now and for the sake of this mission you're Icing Arrow and I’m obviously Cupid.” He laughed and they went silent for a while as they finished their tasks.

“By the way, I know what my reward’s gonna be once this fails miserably.” She looked up at him from her new place behind the counter and rose her eyebrow inquisitively. “I want you to tell me who the guy you like is.”

She huffed in annoyance but before she could reply to his request, the sound of someone entering the shop broke her focus on him and put the plan in motion. Her eyes went wide and she silently hurried him to take position, as he was sat at the table in front of her. She got excited and Bucky even started to feel a little nervous. Though surprisingly, it wasn’t who they were expecting to arrive. Carl walked to the counter where Bucky was waiting for him already and ordered his usual, then sat in the table at the center of the place when Y/N handed him his chocolate, just beside Large Black’s table. 

Before Bucky had the time to comment on how this was perfect timing, the second subject came in through the doors and started walking towards an awaiting Bucky. Y/N could barely contain her enthusiasm while Bucky told the woman, Amanda, Large Black, that he had a special muffin for her as requested by the only other person present in the shop. Her resolution faltered when Amanda furrowed her brow but it came back stronger when a goofy grin slowly made its appearance in her face as she read the inscription in the sweet treat. She subtly did a victory dance when Amanda went to sit with Carl at his table.

————

Bucky showed up for Y/N’s shift on Friday with a defeated look on his face and dragging his feet. This was his sleeping in day. He worked Fridays in the evening, when no one came by, not even the teens, seeing they were getting ready to go out since it was Friday’s night after all. The cherry on top, he couldn’t even see Y/N like every other day working the early hours because he was covering her shift. With the silence that the morning and the solitude allowed, he indulged in the comfort of daydreaming about her. His coworker. His friend. His everything-but-what-he-wanted-her-to-be. 

He kind of disliked her at first. She was clumsy, loud, and didn’t have any boundaries whatsoever. She treated him as a friend since she started working there, a month after him, and his shy reserved self didn’t trust that kind of behaviour coming from a stranger. She would punch him in the arm when laughing at something, call him all sorts of nicknames and rely information on him that he wasn’t sure what to do with (why in hell would he want to know that she could recite all the words to the Kanye West classic Gold Digger or that she could tie her shoelaces in 3 seconds?). 

But she slowly grew on him. Her weird impressions and the way she quoted The Simpsons on a daily basis, how she started working in a coffee shop despite the fact that she hated the smell of it just to prove a point still incomprehensible to him, her temporary fixations on stupid things like pairing two strangers together or the Star Wars franchise (which she made Bucky watch with her in one sitting).

He fell for her in between days of playing Alphabet Categories and nights of drunken karaoke. 

They were friends. She was in love with someone else. There wasn’t much to it and Bucky didn’t like to sulk in it, so he just thought about what it would be like to kiss her. To be the reason she had a dreamy look on her face. To wake up with her and to hug her whenever he wanted and kiss her when she was funny like he always wanted to. He thought about this often, and that was what he was doing when Amanda entered the shop followed by, much to his surprise, Carl himself.

“Hi buddy,” he greeted Bucky once they reached the counter, “where’s your partner in crime today? Tricking some other pair of fools maybe?”

Bucky’s eyes went wide and he started apologizing, “I’m sorry sir, we meant no harm and...” but he trailed off when he noticed how Amanda was containing her laughter while intertwining her arm with Carl��s. “Wait, you two are— it worked?”

“Let’s say it did.” The woman smiled at Bucky knowingly and took out her wallet to put some cash on the counter. “Charge me our usuals, add a muffin to his and let me return the favour, please tell her you like her.”

Bucky just stared at her dumbfounded and she chuckled, but Carl was the one to continue. “You think you’re the only ones with eyes?” Bucky kept silence now worried about Y/N not being as oblivious as he thought. The man in front of him caught that. “She doesn’t know. A two way street apparently... I think we’ll leave you to it and you can bring us our food when you’re ready.”

And with that, they walked to their table.

————

It was Saturday. Y/N walked into the shop to see a nervous Bucky fidgeting in his seat at one of the tables. 

“Sup dork.” He jumped from his seat and stood in front of her. “Wow there, everything alright? You seem a little off.”

“All good, doll. Want some breakfast?” He was already walking behind the counter while she took her backpack and jacket off. “I put extra work into this one, you’re gonna love it, made it myself.”

She scowled but didn’t say anything. She came out of the employees closet with the apron on and leaned on the counter with her elbows supporting her. “Well hit me with it then.”

Y/N saw Bucky falter a little, but he still placed the dessert in front of her and watched her closely while she examined the piece of food.

It was a muffin. A big as fuck muffin, clearly homemade to make the long phrase written on top of it fit, apparently by Bucky, and Y/N’s breath got caught in her throat when she read the words of a beautiful pink color. She thought it was either a joke or maybe another Cupid’s Arrow to light the way of some other lost idiots to love. Though when she looked up at Bucky, the look of utter adoration and hope on his stupidly, impossibly blue eyes left no doubt in her mind. However, she kept her expression as blank as possible. He was desperate already, wondering if he should have said something instead, if he should talk now, but she interrupted his thoughts by saying “You know, it doesn’t work if you already have my number and we’ve known each other for almost a year. I guess it’s fair to tell you who I fancy.”  And, before she could actually see his heart breaking, she brought him closer to her by his shirt and kissed him with the counter between them.

————

“You know, you didn’t actually say anything.” She told him while keeping her eyes in the frapuccino she was occupying her hands with.

It was funny, like watching Large Black and Hot Chocolate pining after the other for weeks, how the largest amount of clients in months decided to come to the wrong placed Starbucks just when Bucky was finally able to taste the lips of the woman he wanted for so long. Even before he had time to properly react, the door opened and a procession of seemingly still drunk gals and pals walked in the shop. This happened from time to time, when hungover people would walk in after a busy night to the only coffee shop open so early on a Saturday.

Bucky smiled and turned her around by her hips to face him. “I like you.”

“How much?” And even if he didn’t expect her to ask him to marry her, he wasn’t expecting that answer either. But then she saw the cheeky grin on her face and cackled. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She bit her lip to keep her smile from showing.

He laughed and kissed her cheek. “I like you a latte.”

She kissed him again, conveying her answer with the fervency of her lips and the desperation of her hands in his hair. Bucky brought her even closer to him by her waist and slightly bit her lower lip to gain more access to her and— someone clearing their throat from behind the counter. “Do you mind not making out over my cup?” Said the man with an annoyed tone.

They went back to finishing the last orders with big smiles and hearts aching to embrace the other. “Can you pass the coffee and sugar?” She asked from behind him and Bucky dropped the cup he was working on when she walked to him and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Because you just made me cream in my pants with that kiss.”

[danetobelieve]

End Of The Mime || Simon and Winston

Getting sent down to the morgue normally wasn’t so bad, they got to see Cece and Dr Kavanagh. But this time when Winston had left the station their mime had been sat in it’s cell. It was in the same place it had been since Roland had someone put them in there. It had not said anything. Yet there was something about the stillness, the malevolence in the silence, it sent a shiver down Winston’s spine even thinking about it. They didn’t know why but they got the feeling that leaving the station was a mistake. But they couldn’t exactly say no and it was getting late, they’d be going home soon. Walking down the corridors of the morgue, they headed towards Cece’s office, spotting the Janitor they paused to greet them. “Hey, Simon right?” they said tucking the stack of files they were carrying somewhat haphazardly under a single arm and sticking out a hand for the customary handshake, “I’m Winston, I don’t think we’ve properly met, I’m an intern at the station.” 

He wasn’t sure why he was there - Simon supposed he felt the residual filth from helping Dr. Kavanagh recently with her escaped beetle problem and he wasn’t one to simply let things sit, especially if he could make an area look better than when he arrived. The work was tedious but that worked in his favour most of the time and he found himself zoning out slightly when he caught a scent and he glanced up just in time to see a young individual approach him with papers and an extended arm for a handshake. “Er... hi, Winston,” He nodded politely, returning their handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Now he knew where he recognised the scent - he remembered faint traces of it when he’d walk through the station for one reason or another. Now he knew who it belonged to; that would make it easier for him in the long run, he thought. “What brings you to the morgue this fine… evening? Afternoon?” He glanced down at his wrist as if there was a watch there - there wasn’t. Right. “I lost track of time.” He shook his head. “Anyway, what brings you here?”

Raising an eyebrow gently Winston was pleased to find that they weren’t the only person who was slightly awkward, they weren’t sure that would contribute for the most conducive conversation however, but they were nothing if not persistent. “I think we actually met at Kaden’s birthday party, very briefly though, you were doing shots with the rest of the gang from the station…?” it was a tenuous link and Winston had drunk a lot that evening, their memory might not be what it once was of that evening. “I have some files and samples for Cece and Dr Kavanagh.” They shifted their load of files and samples to both hands and gestured at it with their chin to indicate that they actually had something with them, as if that weren’t obvious given the haphazard state it was in. “I think it’s stuff that came in a bit later today and they wanted them to have them for whenever they were able to work their way through them.” Normally they just let themselves into the offices and dropped them there, but this was a nice change of pace. Simon blinked stupidly for a moment; they met at Kaden’s party? He was sure Winston wasn’t lying but he had met so many people that night and most of them WERE drunk enough that the faces and smells blurred together. He must’ve accidentally prioritized his memories of that awkward night incorrectly. “Ah, sorry,” He apologised with a nervous chuckle. “I totally forgot about… well, most of what happened that night.” He glanced down at the papers as Winston explained their reason for being there. “Well, that’s kind of you,” He replied, his smile going from nervous to gentle. “Could you use my assistance in any way?” He asked. “I can hold a door open or something.”

“Don’t worry, I had a lot to drink too, most of that night is a blur, not that that is a bad thing, I am not the biggest fan of mimes if I’m being truthful.” Winston hated the town’s weird obsession and the fact that there was obviously some supernatural involvement at foot. Raising an eyebrow, Winston smiled gratefully at Simon. “Thanks that would actually be really helpful, trying to open doors with the toes of my converse is harder than it looks.” They wiggled the end of their left foot as if to illustrate. “I’ve got to go to Cece’s office first, most of this stuff is for her but I’ll double check there’s nothing for Dr Kavanagh.” Winston headed off, they knew that Simon must know the way too and there was no point waiting. Indeed, Simon had become very familiar with the layout of the morgue over the past couple weeks, making sure to absorb every detail he could and cleaning locations he didn’t think he would have had to. He followed Winston as the latter led the way to Bishop’s office after setting his mop aside, trying to remember when he specifically met Winston at the party but getting caught up with the ‘mime’ comment. “I’m not, either,” He agreed. “Before I came here, I had a respect for the art itself but the mimes here are just… I don’t know but there’s something off about them.” He tried to explain, though not very well. “Either way, that party was a little awkward. I don’t think Kaden liked it.” He recalled both Kaden’s evident displeasure and Regan’s comments that seemed to support his line of thought.

“Honestly, before now I never really gave mimes much thought. They weren’t really anything I ever particularly had cause to consider until now.” Winston wasn’t pleased with their continued exposure to the mimes either. “But yeah, that party was not my favourite thing that I’ve ever been to and I do not think that I would ever bother going back. It wasn’t exactly something that I enjoyed.” They had never thought that anyone would be able to make mimes behave in that way. Heading down the hallway, Winston turned and nodded towards Cece’s office. “If you wouldn’t mind doing the honours,” they said with a smile, “then hopefully we can get out of here.” The small talk benefited them and it didn’t take long at all for the duo to reach Cece’s office wherein Simon gave a small nod and turned the knob, pulling it open and holding it much like a guard, playfully stiff and straight-backed. “After you, my good person.” He said in a much more exaggeratedly British accent. “I shall remain here until your quest is complete.” He wasn’t even sure why he was being so cordial - maybe he was just in a good mood or he felt more comfortable in the morgue given his past profession. It helped that it was just him and Winston. Maybe the moon had something to do with it. Whatever the reason, he felt as though he should’ve apologised to the other for his goofiness but… naaah. 

Slipping into the office, Winston flashed Simon a bright smile and set a large portion of the files down onto Cece’s desk, quickly sifting through them, they rearranged everything neatly and scribbled a quick note for when she returned to work the next day. “I’ve just got to put these in Doctor Kavanagh’s office and we should be good to go,” Winston slipped away for a moment, placing the few files that the coroner would need for the next’s days work on her desk in a neat pile with a much neater note. They were just about convinced that they were done for the day and were headed out into the hall when they spotted it. Black and white stripes, a dark beret, even the mime’s glasses had stripes and worst of all it looked exactly like Winston. “Oh, fuck.” They practically shouted the phrase, their surprise so great, but the mime didn’t say a word, turning silently and making eye contact with Winston and grinning the widest smile it possibly could. Simon was patient though his gaze followed his temporary companion as the latter set the papers down on their respective desks. This was a nice, easy-- Then he heard Winston curse and he peered out from around the door he was holding open and before him was… Winston. But it wasn’t. It LOOKED like Winston but… mime-fied. How did it get in? How had he not heard it? And why was it smiling? “Uhhhh Winston?” He asked, confusion evident in his soft tone. “Whhho is that?” He released his grip on the door, letting it swing shut as he edged closer to the intern, keeping his eyes on whatever that was on the other side of the hall.

Simon was between Winston and this mime. That meant that if the mime stayed true to form then it was possible that it would probably try and kill Simon before doing the same thing to Winston. “I don’t actually know who or what that thing is, all I can tell you is that it is a murderous mime clone of me and it seems fairly hell bent on trying to kill me.” They looked from the mime to Simon and then back to the mime who seemed to be miming the sharpening of a knife? Weird. Winston hated every second of this. “Either way, they’re not a nice mime, so if you could get away from it just a little quicker this would be great.” Please don’t use magic until Simon was safely with Winston. Please don’t use magic. How quickly the environment could shift from casual to tense as Simon indeed found himself between Winston the friendly intern and Winston the intimidating mime and he wasn’t sure he liked this turn of events. This was bad; intuition told him that if this mime was anything like the ones he had encountered already, it probably had whatever was pumping through Winston’s blood, whether human or something else. “Don’t gotta tell me twice, kid,” the older man quickened his pace as he found himself backing up but it didn’t seem to be quite fast enough as the mime suddenly made a motion that looked like a lunge and swung an arm like pitching a ball and a ball it was - a ball of FIRE that quickly seemed to spiral like a curved baseball before smacking into the wall next to Simon. The latter yelped instinctively and jumped like a cat seeing a cucumber and like the coward he was, scrambled around and subsequently behind Winston. “You guys know magic?” He asked, having this be the first time the possibility was presented to him in his reality.

They used magic. Of course mime Winston had decided that now was the time to show their hand. At least this time Winston was ready for the fireball that they hurled in Winston’s new friends direction. They took a breath as they saw the inferno flicker to life in their mime copies fingers, the bright orange flames licking it’s fingers before it wound it’s arm back and hurled it through the still air of the morgue. Winston accessed the chaos, the energy, the writhing void in their stomach that they felt when they reached for magic. The energy surged through them as they forced a small barrier in front of Winston. The fireball ricocheted off into the wall, leaving a dark scorch mark on the white paint. “Yeah, I don’t exactly go around telling people,” Winston replied as they felt the energy from their exertion drain from their body, but they were ready for that, they’d come prepared. They literally didn’t have the stamina to take themselves but neither did their mime, so they had come prepared. “Listen, I can’t beat this on my own, can you help me?” they stepped forward and used the barrier to bat another ball of fire away. It took a few seconds but Simon always had the ability to act and react quickly and he glanced around for a weapon. His first thought was his handy-dandy mop buuut that was on the other side of the hall so he glanced at his hands, the hands that turned into sharp claws when he was desperately afraid or-- well, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t known them to appear otherwise yet so maybe that was the only emotion that called them. He’d have said he was scared at that moment but somehow, knowing that Winston could perform magic and he was proficient at running away since he knew the entire layout of the morgue, he supposed he wasn’t that scared. It might’ve also had to do with the time of lunar cycle… He shook his head. “Yeah of course, what do you need me to do?” He asked, ready to do whatever was asked of him.

As the mime kept eye contact with Winston and seemed to be preparing another explosion of magic that would go in their direction, Winston scrabbled through their backpack. For months they had been working on this. Pulling out a small metallic disk, it was maybe five inches wide with a slight ridge which had wires tightly wrapped around it. The theory behind it, a careful blend of technology, alchemy and enchanting. This had been their project for months now. They had designed it from scratch, hand engraved the various runes, spent hours enchanting everything and they’d even designed the power source by hand. It was ingenious really, a small gyroscopic system that had self maintaining motion which powered itself. Tossing the disk to Simon, Winston heard it clatter to the floor but they weren’t worried, they’d designed it to take some serious hits. “Press the button please and then maybe stand back.” Winston watched as the mime allowed a wave of magical force to erupt in Winston’s direction but they used their magic to quell it, feeling sweat pour down their face as they exerted their effort here. Tried as Simon might’ve to catch the disc, he fumbled with it last second and winced as it hit the floor. He hastily swiped it up as though he did that on purpose and examined it curiously as Winston described what to do with it; he was thankful for the instruction ‘cuz he ain’t never seen a frisbee like that before. It… wasn’t a frisbee, his wires were just crossing inappropriately again. Probably because he was lowkey worried about this fight and how much of a pain it would be to clean up. “Button, got it.” He announced and carefully but firmly pressed the button with a spidery finger. Speaking of spiders, when he pressed the button, out started to unwind four spider-like mechanical limbs from the disk and he mixed dropping and placing it to the ground, indeed taking a step back as the spider-disc fell to the floor and started to zip forward. “Whoa, what’s that do?” He found himself asking as the little mechanical creature advanced to the mime.

Hearing the whir that denoted the small bot turning on, Winston couldn’t help but feel a thrill that they had actually started and appeared to be working for the most part. It was weird, Winston could almost feel it as it scuttled along the tiled floors of the morgue. It zipped away from Simon. “Thanks dude,” Winston said as the mime seemed to completely miss Winston and pulled back another fire ball hurling it at Winston violently. They barely managed to get a shield up in the way, and when they did the fire crushed through it forcefully, it enveloped Winston and knocked them back gasping for air, they lay there, practically on top of Simon’s feet, hoping and praying that they would have done their job well enough. “Ugh, I really am not good at this magic shit.” They grunted as they tried to get back up, but collapsed under their own exhaustion. Simon instinctively crouched over Winston as the latter fell at his feet as if he could protect them from any further damage. He would’ve made a light, sarcastic comment about how a magician wasn’t very good at magic but he was certainly not one to talk in an ‘I can do magic’ sense OR an ‘I can control my own stuff’ sense so he settled with a “Hey, you did a great job!” Unfortunately for either of them, the mime wasn’t ready to give up despite how tired it was becoming and it seemed to forgo using magic - if it was anything like Winston, it was probably close to its limit on magic, too - and decided to pull out a… knife. Okay, old fashioned but okay and it started to rush the two. Simon noted where the spider was and decided to clash with the mime head-on, only just now feeling his nails elongate slightly as he found himself in actual danger this time. He was scared but more than that - he was fired up, actually feeling like he might’ve been helping someone else this time. The two rammed into each other and though Simon twisted his torso around at the last second to avoid the first stab wound, the mime swung broadly and sliced into his arm. The smell of blood was quick to find Simon and that just seemed to make him feel… stronger. It was hard to explain. Sharp claws reacted by grabbing and sinking into the mime’s arm that held the knife, extending his arm as far out as it would go to create space. His other hand on the mime’s parallel shoulder to keep them from getting too close to each other, he noticed that the mime’s other hand was drawing back for what he presumed was one more magic attack. “Nnn dammit,” He cursed.

Delirious with exhaustion, Winston swallowed back a mouthful of blood that had filled their mouth when they hit the floor of the morgue. They watched as Simon rushed to protect them. They would’ve uttered some complaint, some reason for Simon to stay out of it so that someone else didn’t get hurt trying to help Winston, but they were too slow and they were grappling. Winston saw the knife flash, they saw magic gathering in their own hand, although it was the gloved hand of a mime. Swallowing once more, they used the last of their magic to drive the spider onwards. It scuttled up the wall, pausing in wait for Simon and mime-Winston to come close enough and then as the mime prepared to hurl more magic Simon’s way. The spider detached from the wall, it’s four wire legs proving that it wasn’t really a spider, but the legs enveloped the chest of the mime. It did its job, positioning itself on Mime-Winston’s back, placing the contact pad over where the heart was and emitting a powerful electric pulse. Fortunately it wasn’t touching Simon otherwise Winston would’ve probably killed their new janitor friend. Mime Winston looked shocked, silently raised a hand to their lips before dissolving into a black and white cloud of smoke. Winston watched the bot clatter to the ground, wire legs without any power as it smoked there and Winston did their best not to pass the fuck out. One moment, Simon was in a locked position with the mime, ready to take a fireball to the face and the next, it all but disappeared, dissolved into a cloud of black and white. Simon fell forward and caught himself lightly as the spider clacked onto the floor after shocking the hell out of the mime. The older man let out a heavy exhale but didn’t let himself remain there longer than a few seconds before he turned and scrabbled over to where he’d left Winston. “Hey hey hey,” He said with an even tone, his breathing betraying his otherwise mild temperament. Without really thinking, he placed his hands under Winston’s back and the knees of their legs respectively and picked them up gently. “You alright? Stay with me, I’ll take you to the doctor, okay?” He asked, turning on a heel and stooping just long enough to swipe up the little machine in a fluid motion as he walked with a purpose in his stride. “You did really good,” He said with a smile. “That little spider is incredible. YOU were incredible.”

[spacedust-art]

What advice would you give someone who’s never drawn before but really wants to learn. I really admire your art so I was wondering if you had any tips. I’m a beginner beginner, I don’t know even the basics. Are there tutorials I should watch, materials I should have? How do I find my style, and am I too old to start learning?

You are NEVER too old to start learning! A theres a common misconception about materials, a lot of people tend to think that they can be better with fancy art supplies but this is not true. You can use something as simple as a regular pencil or a ballpoint pen, and I’ve seen some pretty amazing things done with both!

#1 rule: this is an activity meant for fun, if you ever feel overwhelmed, take a break! just beginning, everything can seem super overwhelming, i had no idea where to begin. Try not to worry about perfection, that’s what gets to people’s heads and then they stress, don’t you worry! Don’t afraid to be messy and scribbly. Don’t force yourself to draw, it’s not fun, take a step back, take a breather and come back to it when you feel better about it.

Developing a style is something that kinda just comes naturally. It’s as natural as your handwriting, everyone has different handwriting just like artists have different styles. If you want to change your style, take a step out of your comport zone, experiment with things. Take it one step at a time, you could start off practicing eyes, then you could move on to noses or mouths, and so on.

Something that I’ve found that really helps is tracing. Whenever I’m having a hard time drawing something/someone, I trace over pictures and I use the traced image as a reference, it really helps to get a good understanding of how everything is supposed to look. Use references whenever you can, they’re very important! But never trace something and try to pass it off as your own.

Use simple shapes, simplify a sketch as much as you can, you can add on details later. You could even start with a stick figure and go from there.

Something else you could do is watch others draw. Search up drawing videos on YouTube, you can learn a lot of helpful techniques from other artists!

I hope this is helpful, I’m so glad you like my art, thank you so much!! :D 💕

[snake-house]

Tsukiyama Shuu X Muse!Reader - inspire.

Fashion Designer! Tsukiyama Shuu x Muse! Reader warnings: none really her/she pronouns used for reader when you see '--' it means some time has passed i use gender-neutral pronouns for kana btw OuO *this is a total au, everyone is human and alive and not dead ok, i just want them to be happy ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д<)*ﾟﾟ･｡ _____ When you applied for the ad, this was not what you expected. All the ad said was 'Muse', and since you were a model you were used to posing for artists and art classes, both nude and clothed, this was definitely different. I mean, that was what first came to your mind at the title, 'Muse Wanted'. 

You did make sure you googled this 'Shuu Tsukiyama' before emailing in with your resume to know what you were getting yourself into. Apparently, he was a very well-known fashion designer. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Tsukiyama will see you now."   You started following them down a long hallway past wall-less offices, looking into the windows as you passed by. "Just a tips for you before you go in there," They spoke, "Mr. Tsukiyama is rather flamboyant so don't be surprised, also he works well if you answer all his questions honestly. You will probably get the job, you are the only one who has inquired about the ad, so please don't even show up wearing brown and black, the man will surely have an aneurysm. Don't be shy, always keep your back straight, slouching annoys him, but that shouldn't be a problem with your background. Always wear heels, and you should be good. I read your resume, so I don't think you'll have a problem, but it is policy that I should tell you that you'll be asked to change in front of people." They gave you a bright smile, "Good luck, my name is Kanae von Rosewald by the way." Kanae opened the door, to you assumed, Mr. Tsukiyama's office and motioned for you to enter. "Mr. Tsukiyama, [Full Name] is here." And shut to door after you stepped into the office. Your eyes met a large room that was surprisingly organized despite everything going on. The large drawing table had scraps of fabrics thrown over the top, sketches piled on top of each other but seemed to go together. The desk also had different pieces of clothing, obviously prototypes by some of the frayed stitching. The man you assumed was 'Mr. Tsukiyama' was fiddling with a mannequin, pinning and unpinning a purple patterned fabric. You felt sorry for that mannequin. He turned towards you as you approached, giving you a once over before beaming, "Oh cherie you are gorgeous, you are perfect for the job!" You were different from what he expected when you emailed Kanae your resume, but it was a good different. You had a new face for the modeling world, and that was a very very good thing. "Uh, Thank you," You spoke. "Alright, you came just in time, strip and try this on." The man threw a silk-embroidered mermaid gown at you, that was surprisingly light you noticed when you caught the dress. "Um, Mr. Tsukiyama?" He gave you his attention when you said his name, "I still don't understand the job, Kanae didn't really give me a full explanation, you said you needed a 'muse' in the ad." You held the gown lightly, your fingers dancing over the expensive fabric. The taller man ran a hand through his hair and gave you a bright smile, "I'll give you the simplest terms of what is expected for you from this job!" He proclaimed, throwing his hands in the air now standing a mere two feet in front of you, looking down his nose at you, "I need you, Miss [Full Name] to simply wear anything I ask of you and inspire me, to be my muse!" His voice came off in a very sing-song tone, putting his hands on his hips, "Also down along the line I may ask you to attend events for my fashion lines with me and or walk in a few shows, that sort of thing." "So a living mannequin that can 'inspire' you?" You reworded. "Precisely! Now hurry and change." Doing just as your new boss said, you placed your bag on the floor by his desk, slipping off your shoes as well, and started taking off your clothes. You did this all the time, well, you were naked multiple time in front of people, but you rarely undressed in front of someone, but it didn't bother you. Plus Mr. Tsukiyama was looking for something on his desk. As you undressed, you folded your clothes and set them on top of your shoes and bag, "Mr. Tsukiyama? Do you want me bra or no bra?" You were now only in your underwear, holding up the dress, surprised that it actually looked your size. "No bra, it will ruin the construction of the dress to wear one." He said simply, grabbing a sketchbook and waiting for you to put on the garment. Nodding, you took of your bra and dropped down with your other clothes and stepped into the dress. Pulling it up, it was a little snug around your hips, but nothing to restrict your movements. Without having to be asked, Mr. Tsukiyama came over to zip up the back, "My, you look amazing in my dress, but who doesn't?" he laughed and went back behind his desk to retrieve a pair of black pumps. Right, you needed to wear heals. "I'm sorry, I was only told today before you saw me that I needed to wear heels." You apologized, taking the heels and slipping into them, using his arm for balance. When you were finished, he disregarded your comment with a hand apparently not worried about it and went to his desk and grabbed a sketchbook and sat down on top of his desk and looked over you. You smoothed down the silk over your stomach, the texture the elaborate embroidered pattern a nice touch you thought. His pencil scribbled a few things before crossing his legs and arms at you, "You have wide hips for a model, oui?" "That's correct." You agreed, he had a mirror by his drawing table, which you walked over to look at yourself. It really was a gorgeous gown, and it didn't look half bad on you, "How am I supposed to inspire you?" You inquired, turning back to face him only to see his head was down as his pencil flew across the paper. "You just walking around is fine," He spoke up, "You can look around, just getting a feel in my gown is good enough for me today." You did just as he suggested. You looked over his work on his drawing table, getting a better view, he was quite talented you remarked. The mannequin he was fiddling with when you walked in was the next thing you investigated. The purple fabric was a silk print, you had a feeling he like expensive fabric. "Do you mind if I talk while you sketch?" You asked, rubbing the purple silk between your fingers. "Not at all, please do actually!" He beamed, looking over at you, not surprised at your interest in the fabric since it has been his new obsession. "Ok, thank you." You paused for a moment before asking, "So what are you planning to do with this?" You looked over at him and held up a piece that wasn't pinned to the mannequin. Shuu looked up for a moment before going back to sketching, "I'm not too sure, I just fell in love with the pattern and color and just knew I had to make something out of it, even if it doesn't make it into my collection!" He chimed, hopping off the desk to join you by the mannequin, "But, what was intriguing me was starting a line of lingerie highlighting the color or pattern." You nodded, gazing over at him when he came over, "I think it's a good idea, it's new for you right? You do mainly gowns and high fashion, so personally I think it's a good idea. I've always admired designers and artists who step out of their comfort zones every once in a while." Shuu rubbed his chin and thought over your words, smiling as he spoke, "I appreciate the input, I'll certainly take them into consideration." He replied, "Now walk with me, I want to introduce you to the rest of my staff." The flamboyant man led you around his work place, introducing you to the designers and interns who worked beneath him, as well as the other secretary, Ken Kaneki, who you thought was definitely the glue to Tsukiyama at times. But all in all, everyone was very nice to you, and you thought it was actually going to be pleasant working as a 'muse' here. -- As the days working for Shuu progressed, you slowly adjusted to him and his style of work. You noticed he worked in bursts of effort, being broken up by frequent breaks to talk to you normally or to walk around the place. There was also the fact he had a weird attraction towards Kaneki, which you later learned from Kaneki himself that Shuu tried to make him his muse after he started working as a secretary, but obviously refused. It was odd really, how easy it was to adapt to the man. You usually didn't hang around people of his personality type, but here you were, being a muse and rather close friend to one. Shuu sometimes would have you accompany him to his boutiques around the place, even having to fly to New York with him for two days. It was exhausting, but a fun little adventure for you. And the pay was sickeningly well. You haven't been paid this much for any job you've ever done in you life. You are being paid so well by Tsukiyama that two months after working for him, you were able to move yourself into a bigger and nicer apartment that actually allowed you to have pets. Now you didn't have to keep you cat a secret. Life was starting to lighten up for you, and be something you liked waking up to. You enjoyed talking with Shuu, and everyone else of course, but especially him. It was kind of an attachment. He would make you strip and try on different clothing pieces every day, and wearing such expensive clothing and having real conversations with an equally expensive man was amazing. You didn't have many friends up until this point in your life. "[Name]?" Shuu called you from your thoughts, "Are you ok? You seem a little spaced today." He commented in a worried tone. You smiled at him and shook your head, "I'm fine, thank you, just a little stuck in the clouds lately, so nothing bad." You replied, standing up from where you sat in one of the chairs in his office. Today you were wearing one of his prototype wedding gowns, trying to create more wedding gowns to form a collection. It had lace sleeves and a high neck, contradicting the key-hole back of the dress that poofed out into a ball gown. It was a very princess-type dress. Shuu had also made sure you had your hair pinned out of your face today, "Are you sure? We can call it a day if you're unwell or just need a break. In three, almost four months, you've never had a sick day so I wouldn't hold it against you." Though it was scarring you how concerned he was for you, you brushed it off with another convincing half-smile, "Shuu," You hardly referred to him with his first name, "If I needed a break, I would let you know." You paused before playfully adding, "Do you need a break Mr. Tsukiyama?" The said man chuckled in front of you and set aside his sketchbook, "How about we go out for lunch?" He asked. "Sure, should I change? Or would you like me to show off your beautiful design Mr. Tsukiyama?" Tsukiyama knew there was something still on your mind, but since you were slowly starting to return to your same self, he would let you work through it until you wanted to tell him, if you wanted, "You can change if you'd like." He stood, "I'm going to go see if Kaneki or Kanae would like to join us." With that, he slipped out of his office. You changed out of the gown easily and changed into your clothes that were folded on his desk. You found Tsukiyama by the front desk talking with Kanae, who smiled as you approached. "Glad you are ready cherié!" Shuu beamed as you walked over, "Kanae isn't going to come with us, but we do have to pick them up something on the way back. But Kaneki is coming, and now we just have to wait for him." You nodded. "Alright, sounds good." Soon enough, the dark-haired boy arrived and the three of you headed out to some Italian bistro that Shuu said he's been 'dying' to try. Kaneki whispered he probably saw it on his was to work this morning. The bistro was only three blocks away, so you decided to walk. But as you guys chatted on your way to lunch, you started getting cat-called at. "Hey, nice ass sweetheart." A construction worked called out to you. You gritted your teeth before replying in a sickly sweet voice, "Why thank you asshole, why don't you shut the fuck up." Neither Shuu nor Kaneki have heard you curse before, so they were stunned for a moment, "Why don't you keep it on your pants before you embarrass yourself." You were going to flip him off as well, but you decided against it, thinking that would be a little too much. "Fucking bitch, just take the damn compliment." He seethed, but you didn't care. You were about to go off again, but Shuu surprised you by stopping you and speaking up himself, "I would appreciate it if you didn't talk to my girlfriend that way or you'll have a lawsuit on your doorstep tomorrow that you won't want to pay." It seemed like the man must have recognized Shuu from tv or something, because he paled and instantly apologized and went back to whatever he was doing. The three of you started walking to the restaurant, and didn't speak until you were seated. "I didn't know you were so well spoken [Name]." Kaneki complimented as he sipped his tea. You smiled, "Thank you, I've had my fair share of cat-calls in my days, so I have to have a defense ready." You looked over at Shuu, "And thank you for your help as well too Shuu." Shuu smiled at you, a nice smile actually, not one of those fake smiles he gave the press, "It's no problem [Name], anything for you, I don't ever want to hear someone talk to you like that ever again, so I will make it my mission to protect you!" He beamed, making you and Kaneki giggle at the claim. "I appreciate that, thank you, but really," You brushed some of your bangs out of your face, "It's not the first time, and it certainly will not be the last time so unless you plan to accompany me everywhere, you mission for protecting me may be a loss." Kaneki glanced at Shuu, you noticed the look and narrowed your eyes at the designer, something was up. 

"Well [Name] I guess you'll just really have to become my girlfriend so I can protect you properly." Shuu replied smoothly, holding his chin in his hand as he stared at you from across the table. 

Sure it wasn't the most romantic way you've been asked out before, but you've never blushed harder in your life. 

You averted your eyes and covered your mouth with you hand in effort to hid the blush, but you knew it was a loss. 

"Ah Tsukiyama, that's very nice of you!" Kaneki beamed, trying to help you out, but was failing. 

"R-Right..." You mumbled. 

"So [Name], what do you say? Will you inspire me outside of work and be my muse for every aspect of my life?" He asked, you could see the sparkle in his eye he got when an idea would hit him during your sketching sessions. 

Behind your hand you were grinning madly, it really was so sweet, "I would love to," Shuu beamed at you, "But I kind of really need this job, so if you can get me a new job, then I'll say yes." You tried to bargain. 

"Why would you need a new job?" Kaneki asked, genuinely confused by your statement. 

You sighed, "Because of if and when the media gets ahold of this and finds out that the internationally known designer Shuu Tsukiyama is dating one of his employees, they'll have a field day. And I couldn't do that to Mr. Tsukiyama." You explained. 

You expected Shuu to understand where you were coming from, but he just scoffed, "Then move in with me," He leaned towards you, "If it's financial reasons behind the publicity reasons, you can move in with me and I'll buy you everything you want, and you can still be my muse." 

He must have been feeling like this towards you for a while, because he was willing to bribe you into dating him. 

There was a not-so heavy silence in the air. 

"You'd do that for me?" You whispered. 

"Of course I would! In a heartbeat." Shuu assured you, and though Kaneki felt like the third wheel, he felt honored to witness something so sweet. 

You let yourself smile as you nodded, "Ok." It was short and simple, but everything Tsukiyama needed to hear. 

"Great! Call your landlord tomorrow, you'll move in as soon as possible." Shuu cheered and grasped your hands to place a dozen kiss on the backs, making you laugh. 

"Alright I'll do that, but I have a cat too, I hope that's ok." You commented. 

"Oui, perfectly fine with me." He said in the midst of his flurry of kisses. 

And to think you were astonished by finding your life wonderful for once by having people around you that you cared about. 

They cared more about you too than you originally thought. 

It gave you more hope to life because it seemed it was more amazing than meets the eye.

[ifnotlovethenwhatff-blog]

Chapter 16

ARIELLE

“Dodgers.”

My head shot up at the sound of my name being called ending my five minute spew of doodles. Mr. Zawada spoke was holding up my portfolio bag while simultaneously scribbling in his notebook. Quickly I strutted over to his station to retrieve my portfolio bag.

“Nice work.” He muttered, giving his infamous look of satisfaction.

I mustered up a quick smile before heading back to my table. Nikki was already leaning over on her elbows with her eyebrows going in opposite directions, waiting for me to sit down. Nikki is this the pink haired girl who always compliments me on my outfits and provides me with snacks since she realized I was pregnant. She kept my secret on the hush and for that I'm cool with her talking my ear off from time to time.

“What was all the smiling about? What you do to get on his good side?” Nikki teased taking my folder out of my hands and setting it behind our chairs.

Easing down into the seat I leant back for some back support and unbuttoned my flannel.

“I didn't do anything. I have a man Nik, you know that.” Shaking my head to her stupid ass assumption I watched my classmates one by one take back their portfolios from Zawada.

“You know I'm just messing with you. But question...why are we getting our portfolios back so soon? It's not even April yet and we still have a shit ton weeks until the class is over.” Nikki said, getting up from the table just as she finished talking.

I waited for her to sit back down so I could answer her question.

“I don't know. Maybe he wanted to give us our assignments back sooner than he planned.” I shrugged heavily.

Being six months pregnant and still going to class is beyond all of the expectations I set for myself. I didn't think I had it in me to continue with my half hour commute to class and sitting on these bar stools for three and a half hours. I'm still doing it and I'm so proud of myself. I always feared I would fall pregnant when I least expected and that is exactly what happened.

Nonetheless my life is still continuing the same as it always has with work, school, the constant bills and stress. I have an amazing support system behind me to make this journey all the more worth it.

Kamil and I have been living in our new place for about two weeks now and I love it. I love the large amount of space we now have, I love the kitchen and the floors and damn near everything in the apartment. Kamil shocked the hell out of me with the apartment of my dreams. He made one of my wishes come true and surprised me big time.

The only room that we haven't finished putting money into is the baby’s room. To be real, we haven't put forth the effort into shopping for furniture but the time has come for us to get off our asses. I'm not expecting any handouts for this project and neither is Kam. This is our child and it's our responsibility to get whatever we want and need for our baby. The only task I've got covered is finding three paint samples I like for my boy’s room.

My family and friends know me well so they know not to bombard me with blue colored baby gifts. I don't hate the color blue, I actually love it but I don't agree with that traditional color for a baby boy. I haven't shown anyone the samples I picked out because I want it to be a surprise mainly to Kamil. We agreed that I can pick out the color for the baby’s room and he can handle everything else.

By contract we aren't supposed to repaint any of the walls in our apartment but I worked an agreement with the leasing office. I'm allowed to paint one wall of my choice because I have a baby on the way. The stars just so happened to line up perfectly being that the woman who helped Kam get the place was pregnant herself. I wasn't around for the process of viewing the unit we now live in but I did get to meet her later on. She and I had something to bond over many times and I couldn't be happier with our deal.

“Girl get up..class is over.” I heard a faint voice speak close by.

Looking to my right I saw Nikki placing my portfolio bag on the table and setting my small backpack on top of it.

“I zoned out.” I mumbled, rising from my chair and grabbing Kam’s jacket. With my bag on my shoulder, the jacket across my forearm and my art bag in hand I'm all set. Nikki led the way out of class and the into the hallway.

“You got plans this afternoon?” I asked Nik, following her out to the courtyard.

“Well I have a appointment with my dick of a boss in a couple of hours so I think you know what I'll be doing.” Nikki’s aura has flipped to something dark and angry in just one sentence.

“Nikki if you hate your job so much, quit and find a better one. There are so many places you could work instead that piece of shit you call a studio. You've got skills and you should be working in a place where your talent is appreciated just as badly as your presence.” Maybe I'll motivate this girl to make a big change in her life or maybe I won't. Either way the choice is up to her and she's got to live with whatever path she travels down.  

“Yeah that's easy for you to say, you have a stable income. I'm an artist and at 24 I can't afford to be jobless even for a week. With all of the bullshit I have going on back home I have to support myself, by myself. I can't go back home. I'm not like the other kids that have family to go back to.” The sadness and desperation to be understood in Nikki’s voice made it hard for me not to get emotional.

We reached Nikki’s car and while she put her things inside I waited on the grass. I feel so much empathy for men and women like Nikki. The girl is an amazing artist and there's really nothing she can't do so I don't know what's holding her back from changing her place of employment.

Nikki took my art bag from me and set in the backseat of her car, waving me over to the passenger side.

“I'll give you a lift over to your car.” She smiled.

The short drive towards the front entrance of campus Nik and I talked about everything girls usually do. Boys, sex, fashion, clothes, food, more sex, and even a little music. Nikki is the only person I've felt comfortable socializing with on school property. My natural quiet personality hinders my desire to meet new people and quickly call people my friends. But with Nikki being a Scorpio just like I am, we clicked with no problem.

She's more of a wild one than I am but that's what makes our conversations so interesting. We both bring something different to the table and that's the best part. Nikki pulled up right beside my car and got out to give me a hand. I went and got the engine started while Nik loaded my backseat with my belongings.

“Thanks for the lift. I almost forgot I parked so far away from the building.” I chuckled giving off a shrug.

“How in the hell do you have the strength to walk that far being so pregnant? Superwoman much?” Nikki’s joke brought out a fit of giggles and a hiccup from me.

“Nah I just want to get as much exercise as I can before my body starts to hurt too much. I'm not ready for the sleepless night, the achy feet, and whatever else a full term pregnancy brings.” Smacking my lips I gave Nikki a slight hug and slid into my car.

“You must be getting ready to drive us to see daddy aren't you?” Looking at how close my belly was to the steering wheel made my eyes grow large. I'm really big and it's freaking me out a bit.

Slipping my hand between the seat and the door I moved my seat back from the steering wheel some. The space I now have is enough to get me around to where I need to go.

I've been driving around aimlessly just wasting gas trying to figure out what I want to do. The mall sounded like a good idea to do a little shopping for myself and the baby. Getting my toenails repolished and a full on foot scrub sounded great too. I just can't make up my damn mind!

Just as another idea of fun came to my mind my phone started ringing off the hook. Answering the call I switched to speaker and continued my drive.

“I know you're out of class girl, where are you?” Kamil quizzed.

“I've been out driving while my hunger rises to new levels. What are you?” I retorted quickly.

“At home..waiting for you. I don't have to go into work tonight and I want to spend time with you. I got something you can eat on.” Kamil's sexual innuendo earned him the opposite of a sarcastic remark. I'm down for some alone time with my man which will be an even bigger surprise for him.

The further along I've come, sex has been the farthest from the last thing on my mind. Kam's tried to spice up our sex life on multiple occasions and I can only recall two times where my hormones overrode my energy levels. I feel bad about neglecting him and especially since he hasn't brought up the conversation. I know he's hurt. I feel it in my gut but I never intended for our sex life to become so bland. Tonight is going to change all of that! From here on out pregnant and afterwards I vow not to deny my love the intimacy he's earned.

“I'm already on my way.” I mustered up a smooth response to which turned into phone sex. This is new too. I'm not the type to just talk about sex as if I can't have it. I'm also not the send a man nudes type either. Since I hit puberty I've prided myself in not being an overly sexual girl.

In high school, Kamil would always tell me how different I was and how one day the right nigga would come into my life. And you know what? Kam was right. He was that nigga to naturally bring out another side of me I always knew I possessed but didn't care to show off.

“We'll hurry your sexy ass up...I’ve been waiting.”

Kamil's voice is drenched in sexual tension might I admit. He sounds exactly the way I want him to. Not to mention that I can feel his energy through the phone. I know it sounds a little crazy but my guy feelings have always been on point. There has yet to be a moment in time where my instincts led me astray. I carried on our phone call for a little while longer until I couldn't take anymore teasing. I hung up and put all my focus into getting home safely.

Driving through the community gates I made my way to our building’s parking garage. My mind is only focused on one thing so I'm not even going to bother with bringing my portfolio up tonight. Killing the engine I reached behind me to grab my little bag to head up.

The second I stepped out of the car I saw a red box sitting next to the elevator. There's no one else around and my curiosity is peaked as to who's box this is. I went over to the elevator and bent over to see my name written across the top in small print.

“Oh boy.” I chucked softly. With the box in my free hand I got into the elevator and rode up to the fourth floor. The doors opened up after a couple of stops and there standing across from me was my roommate.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, stepping out into the hall and holding the small box in between us.

“I see you got my present.”

That's all he said as he led me down the hall. Kamil was unusually quiet for someone who just talked my ear off about how much he can't wait to see me

“Kam why are you being so quiet? What's going on?” I mumbled, following behind him and shutting the front door behind us. Because these apartments are newly renovated neither of us ever have to manually lock the door. These locks are similar to the kind that hotels and resorts have installed in their doors.

Kamil freed my hands of my belongings, set them on the couch and escorted me down the hall.

“Kami-”

“Shh, don't talk yet. Just relax and let me follow through with what I've got set up.” He ordered in a nonaggressive tone. I was taken into the bathroom where there were candles and a bubble bath waiting. There wasn't any music playing but he does have some kind of video playing. I can make out the sound of water and nothing else. Also, the room smells like almond oil and mint leaves which has become such a nausea reliever as pregnant woman.

“Almonds and mint. You didn't forget.” I smiled taking in the sight of the bathroom. Tapping the side of my belly I felt a tear slide down my cheek and over my chin.

Kam kissed my cheek and began undressing me while I stood still in shock at what I'm looking at. The gesture is so minuscule but it means so much to me. We need this night and I'm praying we both end up satisfied and a little closer again.

“How could I forget your favorite scent? I know you like I know the hair growth on my balls.” Kam laughed obnoxiously in my ear.

“You're a damn fool but I love you so damn much. Thank you for tonight. I need this..you need this..we need this. And look I want to apologize for neglecting our sex life. I never want you to feel like I don't want you because that's far from the truth. I've just become so caught up in trying to stay healthy and to keep working. I love you baby and I have missed you so much.”

We shared a tender and tension filled kiss which helped to speed up the process of getting this night started. Kamil and I undressed each other a bit faster than a snail’s pace to savor every second of phase one.

“Mm mm mm.” He groaned deeply. Kam softly placed a hand on my back, rubbing my skin with the pads of his fingers.

“What?” I smiled.  

“You still smell like you did this morning. How is that possible? You don't sweat do you?” He asked me.

Shaking my head I walked over to the tub and lifted my leg to step inside. Kamil came up behind me and swiftly picked me up off the floor. Next thing I know he's stepping into our tub with me in his arms. After the lower half of our bodies were submerged in hot water I let out my long withheld breath.

“First of all, I do sweat. Second, thank you for the compliment. And lastly, where did that strength come from Incredible Hulk?”

Kam tipped his head back and began roaring with laughter. I too joined in on the laughter. This feeling I have right now is feeding my soul with something I never had before. I feel strong, loved and so fucking happy.

“What? I'm serious. I need some answers.” Calming myself down I leant back on his chest and took my hair out of its bun. Shuffling my curls around with my fingers I looked around for my cup.

When I laid eyes on my big plastic cup I filled it up with water and poured it over my frizzy hair. I kept going until Kamil helped me out.

“I've always been strong Elle. And being with you and going through the ups and downs that I have had only added to that strength. You want me to wash it for you?” He offered, reaching for my co-wash.

“Thank you.” Sitting up further I held onto my knees and stared at the ceiling as Kam worked through my curls. As a word replacement Kamil gave me a gentle scalp massage.

Moans and groans of every pitch are escaping my mouth and filling the room. It feels amazing to be catered to in such a loving way. Like I just cannot shake this boy. I love him so much and every emotion he makes me feel. Even when I'm super pissed and want to drown him in a tub, I can't let him go. We've been waiting so long for this and I don't plan on letting go anytime soon.

KAMIL

When I tell you I'm dumbfounded by how this night has gone, believe me I am. Tonight is on my list of favorites of how well the sex was. I didn't want to put much thought into getting my nut off but I was wrong. I thought Arielle would be more into sex being that pregnant women tend to be very horny. She is very in tune with her body and she seems to be proud of the way it looks. Hell, I'm proud to see my lady carry our baby within her own body and still keep a smile on her face.

Turning over to check the time I fell out at how late it is. It's three in the morning and here I am just looking around at my environment..at my home in awe. I know this is real life but as of now I feel like it’s all a dream. Losing Arielle forever is my absolute fear and times such as this one allows that paranoia to creep in. Life with her just seems too good to be true at times and it scares the shit out of me.

Leaning down to kiss on Elle’s exposed shoulder blade, I felt her barely shift from my action.

I paused for a moment to see if she would wake up or at least roll over to face me.  When I made a second move to wake up Elle, I watched her turn over on her back and stare up at me with one eye.

“What?” She mumbled, hardly opening her mouth to be loud.

“Hey..how you doing?” I smiled, kissing all over her face and neck.

Arielle knew she couldn’t fight the giggles that were coming out of her mouth a mile a minute.

“Okay..okay! What do you want? Why are you up right now?” She asked, sitting up and stretching her arms.

“I was thinking and I got lonely. Can I ask you something Arielle?”

Arielle whipped her head around quickly and all to cut her eyes at me. “Spit it out Shanon.”

“Are you still attracted to me in a sexual context? We’ve had the bare minimum of intimacy since November. I’m not trying to start a fight or nothing but we used to fuck on a regular basis and now you don’t seem as interested in sex as you used to. Is it me..is it us?”

Breathing sharply Arielle reached across me to grab my shirt and cover herself with. She scooted back to support her back using the headboard. I took it upon myself to lay across her lap, gently gripping her thigh.

“Kam..a lot has changed from before we broke up. A lot of the personality I used to possess has been altered because of our breakup. Now that we’re together once again and preparing to become a family..my old feelings are slowly coming back. I’ve always loved you so don’t ask me if I do. I am sorry for making you feel unwanted just because I’m pregnant because that is not the case. I’ve been so caught up in trying to make it through each day with as little stress as possible that I began straining our relationship as a couple. I promise to make this up to you in every way my tiny mom brain can think of.”

[portjacksonpressgallery]

In Conversation: Stephanie Jane Rampton

Quiescence 3rd – 27th March, 2017

In the Romantic tradition, Stephanie Jane Rampton’s etchings explore the emotional resonances between the self and the natural world. Charting new territory in this exploration, Quiescence introduces landscapes and grand scales previously unseen in Rampton’s prints. The energy, passion and time exerted by the artist in the creation of this body of work are visible in every intricate detail. Talking to Rampton it becomes apparent that this physical process of printmaking and technical development is therapeutic for her – a retreat from the outside world that is as tranquil as the landscapes she toils to depict. The title of the exhibition Quiescence is as much about its creation, as its final state. This strong relationship between process and print has resulted in a body of work that undeniably positions the viewer inside Rampton’s world, engulfing them in their still, peaceful environments.

–

Quiescence is your latest solo exhibition here at Port Jackson Press, can you tell us more about the show and the ideas behind it?

The word Quiescence means a state of quietness, tranquillity and being at rest. This resonates with both my subject matter and state of mind when I am making prints. I also very rarely make reference in any of my work to humans or anything man made… it’s about me, or the viewer, alone and immersed in the landscape and experiencing the solitude to observe small details.

You’ve said that this exhibition challenged you to step outside your comfort zone. How is this body of work different to what you’ve created in the past?

On a recent drive, looking out the window, I realised I wasn’t focusing on the view as a whole, but on the textures and details and I realised that’s what I wanted to explore more in my work. Quiescence explores subject matter, like water and rocky terrain, that I’ve not really used in my work… that I’ve avoided doing! Coast especially shows the different landscapes that came from this urge to investigate new textures. The work is also bigger – the scale allowed me to try to capture these new landscapes and textures, and also lets the viewer explore the variety of details in them.

Something else that’s new for you is mentoring. How have you found this experience?

I’m astonished that anybody trusts me! But really, it’s always an honour when somebody sees in you something to offer. In terms of my own practice I really had to think back to basics and give order to things that I usually do without thinking. In terms of ‘basics’ it’s so interesting to see how somebody uses the same techniques –ones you’ve taught them! – in such different ways.

You’ve collaborated with other artists like Danielle Creenaune and you mentor young artists. Are there any other elements in your practice that give you pause from the ‘isolation of the artist’?

There is a really strong community of printmakers on Instagram. On my own Instagram page I post loads of things from unfinished work, to process shots… and other printmakers do the same. From that there’s a great back and forth between, well, strangers really – asking questions, giving support and advise. It’s really great. I’ve made friends with printmakers around the world and I still get to be in my own tranquil art-making bubble.

How do you approach making new work?

I do all sorts of things, really, but my sketchbook is always my go-to to hash out new ideas or find inspiration. Songs, poetry, things I see and hear I put in my sketch book and often I look back on something scribbled in a corner and it inspires me. I’m inspired by a lot of the late Romantic poets, so it could be a line from Wordsworth… but it could be a Billy Bragg lyric. Any words or lines that speak to me, really. Sometimes looking back on them they match up with a landscape in my head inspire me recreate it through the lens of those words, or it could just be as simple as giving a title to a work or exhibition. Quiescence was a word I found in the margins of my sketchbook.

I also draw a lot and tack a lot of test prints into my sketchbook with details about the process, like time the plate spent in acid. I do a lot of that sort of documentation when I’m exploring new techniques, like with this exhibition. For Coast I probably made eight different test plates and they’re all in my sketch book with notes about what I did for each one.

I see printmaking as a reflective practice; I’m constantly learning and evaluating what I do, in terms of both subject matter and technique. My sketchbook is a point of inspiration, but it’s also my technical manual. Over Christmas I went overseas and it went missing with my checked-in luggage. I was beside myself! Thankfully it showed up!

What is it about printmaking in particular that resonates with your practice?

There’s a history and spontaneity to the process that is quite romantic. There’s not a lot about the techniques of printmaking that has changed over the centuries. Printmakers are doing the same things that Rembrandt did, just to a different end. Besides the artist’s vision, there are also variables that can change the result of a print, like if the acid has been recently changed, or if it’s a hot or cold day. It’s like alchemy, the right ingredients coming together just so.

…Like how you use your sketchbook?

Yes, I suppose that’s my history and alchemy too!

And finally, how would you describe your art to somebody who had never seen it?

Traditional. In the romantic traditions of poetry and place.

  Laura Kirkham, 2017

  Quiescence runs from 4th – 28th March at Port Jackson Press Gallery, Collingwood.

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In Conversation: Stephanie Jane Rampton

[lovelettersfromthebarn-blog]

January 31, 1988

Chicago--Gabriel is staying with friends. Also, a correction--he is twenty-nine (don’t know where I saw that he was twenty-three). What he calls the Mega Bowl in his letter was Super Bowl XXII, which was between the Broncos and the Redskins, if you care to know. The Redskins won 42-10. I think he gets the name wrong on purpose to demonstrate how little he actually cares for the sport. This is written on five pages of yellow legal pad, front and back. He has cramped handwriting that can be hard to read. As usual, all names are changed.

Dear Nell,

And so...

I’ll share a day with you: up 7:30-ish (it being a Sunday), as the cat crept up and began its morning ritual of poking at my head, trying to furrow under the many covers. Up, to a gentle laziness, breaking fast, meandering through a couple of imposing chapters of Ezekiel over ham and eggs. Then after Kevin was also up, some mutual purusing (sic) of the bulky Sunday paper, listening to a lovely “Sleepy Hollow” radio show--soft music, mostly acoustic. A quiet pace, unbidden. In fact, not a morning for church per se, but for seizing that quietness, journalling, making lists, setting goals for the new month, reflecting on the month now past. Long cups of tea, tardy bathrobing, the morning easing by softly.

Wrote letters, cleaned house, made some tapes for a friend, went to market (stepping out on a gorgeous day) for a bit, played some piano. Then, with Kevin, took the el train into town to see a film-- Rosa Luxemborg (sic), true history of a German revolutionary. Quite gripping. On the el train back, we engaged in some talk of ideology and social transformation. Walking into the house (Louise is away for a weekend retreat), Chris, supposed to be studying, was watching the first quarter of the Mega Bowl, or whatever it is, on our flickering little black-and-white, the cord antennae of which is attached to the nearby lamp shade to fend off nasty video ghosts and lazy horizontal hold. Well, the three men being in a somewhat bachelor-ish mode, we threw together a dinner of grilled cheese-and-mushroom sandwiches, popcorn, and apples. (Don’t tell Louise.) And, alas, we sat down to a little bit of the Mega Bowl.

I believe the Mega Bowl is still underway. I’m back up in my tiny room and intend to spend the rest of the night here. With this yellow legal pad. To connect life to life; to evoke something of the heart; to--I don’t know--be vibrantly alive. To be with you, through a yellow pad, a pen, sundry scribbles. You know the story. You try, too.

That quietness. It pervades the night like it did the morning, only the darkness adds a heaviness. The body’s a touch fatigued. The cat comes to curl up next to me on the bed. I scratch her a bit under her cat chin. Her eyes squeeze closed in contentment.

Connecting life to life. So, that’s my day. You aren’t part of it, yet you are. Via yellow legal pad and all that.

“Must write Nell a letter.” Of course. But what to write? Nothing is simply said, and no words are final or sufficient. It’s not as simple, for instance, as “responding” to your letter. It’s more plying the art of indirect presence, you tried to be present to me: now I try to do the same for you.

(By the way, if my calculations are correct, I am twenty-nine. Just a kid. As usual, I tried to downplay my birthday, but the community, kindly, contrary to my motions, refused.)

I’ll try this: what your letter did to me. Startled me, but only very briefly. Distressed me greatly in many ways. Spoke of hat which I had long wondered about but was never intrepid enough to inquire about--namely, your relation with Jonah. The whole move to Hughesville (city name changed) came at a time of profound crisis and immense faith that it was all worth the needed effort. And off you went. Much had been shared specifically about that crisis, but deprived of the circumstance of nearness, it was harder to share, communicate, ask--that vast question: How is your marriage going? What has become of that enormous wounded, yearning passion? Such questions can only be asked in presence, and for the most part I was reduced to observing, surmising, reading between the lines--and trusting. I detected a fragile peace, but all along I was nervous how much that could be trusted. I saw you embarking on new missions: mothering, church nurturance, peace work, creativity. Flickers of great passion in it all. So I had a nervous faith--somehow the whole calculus was working out. I prayed--often, deeply. I perceived good fruit. But all the while, there was that unaccustomed distance which skewered any perception.

And now, you share the painful truth: “The spiritual dimension in my relationship with Jonah is the weak link...the danger zone.” Telling words. The assumption therein is that, yes, there is fruit, there is a larger vocation, pattern,meaning; and as you say, there is the possibility of balancing the various aspects of life--other commitments, relationships--into compensation, something finally whole and working; yes, with its fragility, but also it (sic) goodness.

But, as you say, the threat that this weak link is the keystone, and the occasions of “ending up in shambles” because such a vital connection, a crucial synapse, fails. So you vacillate between energetic effort and rude awareness of an intractable situation.

And you seek to recollect, to remember--which is to say, put it all together, seize anew the moments of an all encompassing passion.

You know something, Nell, your letter was extremely clear and coherent, your words direct and pointed. More often than not, your words are pointing to meanings they can only partly contain. What does this clarity imply? That you are well in touch with your situation? That you are well in tune with your feelings?

I know how cavernous is that pain in your marriage, so of course it is frightening to me to see it opened so blatantly. You do not convey a desperation; nor do you exude resignation. (Your PPPS’s and note/gift to (the charity group he founded) were all laced with “Jonah and I...”--intimation of some kind of functioning partnership. It doesn’t seem you are forcing these,...)

Your letter-- what really are you writing? Connecting with me seems part of your working through the situation with Jonah (though I want to believe it also stands on its own as a sharing between us). The point is the passion, aliveness. And so, as it is lacking, you go to a source where it was fital and flowing--our relationship (arghh! hos can that word not seem hackneyed?) And the letter is very erotic--oh, how fun!--that is, the connectedness of eros, what you keep implying is the physical/spiritual bonding.One could condescendingly read your letter as a mother lode of Freudian brewings, but I think your sense of the spiritual/sexual is honest and true. Crossly, you are sexually frustrated--but you are also spiritually frustrated; and both of these, inseparably, are part of your soul’s passion. In fact, you are experiencing a fragmentation in them. So you speak to me of marriage--by which you mean nothing else but passion recollected, whole, flowing freely and fully. You have intuited the possibility, in us--and at a time of great yearning, you evoke it, share it--vicariously live it in imagination and communication.

And even all you are saying about us is partial, just evocations. And even they butt up against the irony you mention: if it weren’t for Jonah, you and I might not have met. So our love somehow serves--even while it threatens and confuses--the love between you and Jonah. You say you think you know what this means, but it isn’t easy. I’m not so sure I know what it even means.

All of this--observing, trying to comprehend, listening. But now, let me share. In reading your letter, I had this terrible sensation that I have not known passion in a long time. My soul has grown a bit crust. Oh, my life goes well, I try to be faithful, good fruit is borne amid the typical cycles of emotional turbulence; there’s growth, occasional energy and excitement, a slow-stirring sadness beneath it all--but even that isn’t passion, joy.

With you, I felt passion. That January before I left for Africa, when we spent much time together, being rather naked (!) and tremendously honest. That is really the last time my soul was stirred, that I felt alive. 

A rudimentary autobiography would highlight the subsequent “Catastrophe” as the pivotal experience--and it certainly was. I detest the simplicity of that--that a failed love could wreak such havoc. That human eros ravaged could so utterly poison spiritual joy. Yuck.

Of course, it’s not that simple. There is something else--mere circumstance on which I impose no significance; namely, that I haven’t met any one like you since Ch’ville. That no friendship or love here is as deep and true and trying and marvellous and brimming with the tangible fabric of alive-ness. Could it be that an inner deadness prevents me from probing the depths of relationships here? Partially, I’m sure. Is it some intangible kairos in life that comes and goes--and may or may not come again?

Ed note. Kairos is a theological term meaning the right or opportune moment. Also, did you notice Gabriel uses more double L’s than is typical in American English? My mother does that. So does Nell. I think it’s the result of Catholic school upbringing, where British spelling was taught.

I don’t know. But I do know that your letter made me aware more vividly how much I am lacking. You touched a deep, long-neglected current--and very directly, since the current is much bound up in our history together.

Does this mean I ought to write you a love letter? In saying that, the painful stirring--it’s been so long, I don’t think I could write a love letter. Is it, or sex or whatever, in the riding-a-bike category--never forgotten, easily recalled? I’m not so sure. The frightening thing is, it’s not just a love letter but loving itself that I feel terribly rusty and arthritic at.

(Quick footnote here: I wrote some great love letters to M. (no idea who this person is, he only uses the initial) They’ve long since decomposed at the bottom of a West Africa outhouse. Meanwhile, I hear she is engaged...)

(A memory: I first shared with you my great trepidations about possible problems with M. She had written some disturbing things that hinted of separation. As we drove in your Chevelle (sigh) up that big hill whose name I have forgotten, you said how you couldn’t believe she could do that, how anyone could...that meant a lot to me.)

Should I even try to write a love letter? Would that be therapeutic for me? Helpful or harmful for you? It doesn’t really matter what we call it--the point is, yes, I acknowledge all you share, I understand, I too feel those things.You have made me want to write a love letter, and that is a great gift. You have made me want to feel passion. For you and for life--even,egad, for me.

You seem to be sharing your feelings in part as a kind of final release--as if to say, there, it’s out and shared, now I can more clearly work out things here, and Gabriel and I can be clearer in our love for each other. Perhaps that is what I should respect. There’s also something a bit frightening--that the fantasy, mutually indulged (and I do at my end!), lets out energies that require more discipline to best channel; that we become more susceptible to vulnerability. That the clarity also creates more unclarity. Or is that silly? Is it a child’s game of “What If” that takes itself too seriously? I would be less nervous if you had more stability and direction in your relationship with Jonah.

For instance, I always think of visiting you. But your letter, obviously, quickened that desire, for many reasons: because you are indirectly soliciting my attention to your current struggle and my help in your sorting it out; because you’ve evoked my sense of wanting to love well and carefully, and in no other relationship have I felt so good about my ability to love/care as ours, because you are affirming my current path, and I want to share more about it with you,...

There are other “becauses”--more murky, less trustworthy. would we help each other to both recollect the past and keep moving ahead in our respective futures? Would we be able to care-fully heal each other’s broken passion? Or would the delicate balance be thrown off of Gabriel/Nell vs. Jonah/Nell?

I ask all this well aware of my own current vulnerabilities, including loneliness and the subsequent “orphanhood” of my sexuality/spirituality. Could I trust myself not to confuse personal neediness with love? Or should I take the risk of feeling passion again--if it might be both healing and appropriate?

How do I best care for your marriage? I suppose I could string out all sorts of feelings, fantasies, and whatnot. Maybe it’s best to just assert my great prayerful concern for you in the “danger-zone” time in your marriage, and ask in what ways I can carefully help, support, listen. And I will be grateful that in risking, you’ve rekindled something in me long since dormant.

Sometimes the thought of us married is more than I can bear to consider, too. This is probably some kind of love letter, though you probably would have liked something mushier. Maybe next time.

And by the way, I have this intuition that sexual intimacy with you would be magnificent,...

Is there heaven to await?...

Is twenty-nine young? I can’t tell.

Is it like riding a bike? (Sex, that is--you pick it up again pretty easily...?)

By the way, you’ve set a high standard already for the 1988 “Letter of the Year”--it’s going to be tough for anyone to beat...kiss me! (No bribing the judges!) So maybe that was Nell’s handwriting on the first letter? Certainly didn’t look like it. It was even in a different type of pen ink.

Love--of course,

G

Here’s a link to the film he went to see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosa_Luxemburg_(film)