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miraculouscontent · 3 years

Text

(miraculous asks)

Anonymous said:

Oh My Gosh!!!! I was just thinking about Party Crasher and man I hate how they had Ladybug get captured for the men to save! It's a continuous thing you see in media: strong heroic woman gets put in peril so that the men can shine. I didn't even realize it until you said it! I get that it was probably meant to be a "role reversal" of Chat always getting kidnapped or brainwashed for Ladybug to save, but the fact that this is the "guys' episode" it read like "well damn, we can't have the guys be strong if a girl is in the way; let's have the girl get captured so the boys can prove their worth by rescuing her!".

At least in Sandboy, Ladybug was still competent and came up with the plans, but this?! It makes me sick, and it's all too easy to fall into these traps; even Kim Possible did it! In my magical girl story, the heroine does get put in a magical coma and require someone to bail her out, but it's her female friends AND her boyfriend who save her, so it's not just a girl being weakened so a boy can be powerful, especially since said boy actually does a minority of the work required to save her; the focus is on the female characters so it's her girl friends who do most of it. I still ended up scrapping that side plot anyway, and do you know why? Because regardless of who saved her, I still didn't want my female protagonist to be put in distress at all due to the unfortunate implications! Needing help in a fight? Sure. But outright being captured or kidnapped? Nah fam.

I was honestly thinking about that when the first episode came out. Like, they could’ve just had Marinette NOT SHOW UP in time so the guys take care of things, which at least gives more of a message that Paris wouldn’t go to hell just because Ladybug is a little late or something.

And yeah, the “boys squad episode so gotta toss the girl out” is... sigh.

Anonymous said:

I think the writers were trying to show Chat angsting to show his regret instead of an actual apology. Still doesn't explain why Aeon didn't bring up her death afterwards. Did Olympia delete that from her memory banks?

I guess? :|

I don’t know why Chat can’t just apologize without fishing or trying to earn sympathy. Like JUST SAY YOU’RE SORRY, DAMMIT.

Anonymous said:

If you haven't read Maribat, then you won't regret it. I am not in the DC universe but I started reading it and WOW. Literally every single time Marinette is a badass queen and gets her complete revenge and is actually happy! Even if you absolutely love Lukanette (which I have nothing against) you should totally try it.

Appreciate the comment, but I find it hard to ship other Marinette ships outside of Lukanette. Ivanette is a very loose exception and it’s not like I ship it hard or anything.

Anonymous said:

Despite not being a Lukanette shipper I love you. Why? Because you amazing, so right in literally everything and I love you <33

gkdfjgfdngjkfdg thank you

bat-anon said:

The NY Special made it so that Max is literally the only Black/Brown kid that doesn’t exist to make Love Square happen and that just makes me hate it even more.

I wish you didn’t make me have this realization because I hate it.

At least Delmar existed in the New York special???? I guess???? I dunno, I’m trying here, I don’t recall him doing anything love square centric.

Anonymous said:

I honestly don't mind Alix's outfit as Bunnix! I feel like it fits her, plus she's an adult so its not much of a problem, not saying it can't be improved however. I DO have issues with the designs for the underage girls outfits however....those are very sus

Yeah, the problem I take with Bunnyx’s is that it’s a bodysuit. If there was just more definition, like having actual boots, I wouldn’t complain as much.

Anonymous said:

I actually just really like the idea of the new bee being a genuinely nice person who becomes friends with Marinette. Not exactly close friends (since I like the idea of friendly working relationships without actual personal stakes in them). I also enjoy the idea of the new bee having some small animosity for Chat Noir- just because their personalities aren't the greatest mix. I also think that it would make sense for the miraculous of subjection to be at odds with the miraculous of destruction

Full agreement but we know how much the writers are resistant to have characters go against Chat.

Anonymous said:

Not gonna lie the scene where the girl squad gets akumatized almost makes it seem like they got akumatized on purpose, similar to Manon in Puppeteer 2(although she was a little kid who was probably just imagining she could enact revenge). And why can't they have a uniformed design, like they're a team but wear different colors, similar to the Sailor Senshi(like, Alya's the leader and wears orange, Rose wears pink, Alix wears green, Juleka wears purple, and Mylene wears yellow). It's so boring.

Mood.

Not to mention that WE ARE SO TIRED OF THEM GETTING AKUMATIZED INTO THE SAME AKUMA.

AT LEAST PALETTE SWAP THEM.

Anonymous said:

Relating to the Didn't Need Burrows and Treatment of Marinette bingo cards, have you considered making one for whenever the show fails at girl power? It could say things like "sexualized frames of teenage girls" "boy tells girl what to do" "girls don't get to keep Miraculouses", and "girls are forced to apologize whenever a situation goes wrong". And in the center, it could say "Don't show this to your daughter!"! Lol! What do you think?

lol I feel like I have enough cards, otherwise I would.

Anonymous said:

I saw another post that talked about Miraculous New York, and they theorized that it was rewritten to focus more on Marinette and Adrien in order to get viewers invested in the Love Square again after more people started to lose faith in the ship. Do you think that's a possibility?

I think so. The whole special comes off as trying to reassure love square shippers because of how hard it goes for him. I cut out Marinette’s crushing and it cuts like 18% from the episode, meaning it’s even worse than Season 3 (15%).

Anonymous said:

Maybe the point of the [break-up episodes] is meant to discourage people from shipping Lukanette and Adrigami too?

Spoiler alert: didn’t work.

Anonymous said:

Are we not gonna talk about how in one ask, somebody legit said "(long dreamy sigh) Viperion"? Like same.

RIGHT????

Same.

Anonymous said:

Ml fandom: I hate how Ladybug keeps secrets from Chat Noir! He sacrifices himself for her all the time and she never appreciates him for it! He has EVERY right to get mad at her!!

ML Fandom when Chat Noir does the same thing in the special: ....Wow Ladybug was way to harsh on Chat Noir!! She doesn’t appreciate him at all!! Shes so mean to him!

i hate it

Anonymous said:

Idk if it's just me, but a majority of the fandom is split in two; it's never one or the other "MARINETTE SUCKS AND IS A HORRIBLE PERSON GUARDIAN MARY SUE WHO SEXUALLY HARRASSES" or "ADRIEN SUCKS HE WAS NEVER ON MARINETTES SIDE" but im personally on the latter, but not to that extreme. i hate videos bashing marinette and then never acknowledge adriens faults

Yeah, the fandom gets more divided as time goes on because of the writers trying to increase the drama/tension.

Anonymous said:

I am PERSONALLY offended they gave Luka the snake miraculous. Snakes have such a negative connotation. A lot of people insult Lila by calling her a SNAKE. And now those ML writers DARE insult the best character in ML?! HOW DARE THEY!?????

I adore Viperion but I agree that I first heard he was getting snake and was like, “BUT MY BOI???”

It gets awkward too because other animals like the pig have negative connotations, like how Daizzi basically means “idiot/stupid” and they’re giving it to the freaking blond character, really???

Anonymous said:

I think that Ivanette would be even better if Marinette was plus-sized character.

I see why you’d think that. I just disagree because then it turns the ship into “let’s pair the heavyset characters together because they heavyset.”

Anonymous asked:

On the topic of romance failures and general series salt, my main issue right now is how the series puts so much focus on romantic relationships while failing to consider other levels of relationship or what they affect.

On the L² front I can completely buy Marinette being in love with Adrien. Most of the time she genuinely wants him to be happy and is ready to take a step back for him, however much it hurts. But in terms of romantic love? It. Is. A. Crush! But if we step back from the formula, what is there left between them? Their civilian relationship is held together by a “comedy” of errors and without that there is surprisingly little left. Well, besides two “best friends” desperately trying to make it happen because somehow they lost their individual characters and instead of being friends became matchmakers?

I too like Luka and Marinette together. Their relationship is pretty nice to see and all. But sometimes it feels like it happens in a dimension of its own, like the writers want to make the endgame clear in that the “sideships” can be easily cut out of the big “how they got together”-recaps. I especially miss reactions from and interactions with Juleka. She is Luka’s sister, Marinette’s friend, and IIRC someone aware of if not even a bit player in the great shipping game. She is in a prime position to step up and bring progress on all fronts: She can talk with Luka. She can either give Marinette helpful pointers or go “All in or nothing”, i.e. trying to make Marinette get her Adrien-feelings in order as she does not want her brother to get less than Marinette’s full heart. Similarly, she can counteract “friendly acts” and stop humiliating situations from escalating, or she herself can escalate them in the “All or Nothing”-scenario. Yet she remains basically a background character who gets little attention from the camera and almost no “non-focus identity”

As for Kagami, I may be too biased. *Any* positive Kagami/Marinette relationship is to me what Lukanette is to you. So naturally I have lots of opinions when it comes to her role ;) But can I just say that Adrien/Kagami is the weirdest ship for me? They have a few cute scenes and I think if they’d spend a lot more time together, they’d do each other good but I don’t know how they work. “No Hesitation” Kagami would lob Adrien’s head straight off with all his…everything. If we are meant to take Adrien’s love for LB seriously (and I guess we have to because how in the name of sanity is any form of the stated endgame gonna work otherwise???), how does Kagami fit into that picture as a girl who can hardly express emotions while Adrien is the definition of a guy who can not stop flirting or goes for all kinds of romantic gestures? Sometimes it feels more like a “social fit” and “Mommy/Daddy approves” kind of deal which is quite the shame! Normally I like these kind of relationships in fictions but they need a solid underlining or good development. One they haven’t and one the series has not been giving to anyone so far.

Yeah, the whole thing with the love square versus side ships ends up feeling extremely forced. Keeping Luka away and forcing Adrien into Lukanette episode are the biggest giveaways, basically a big fat sign that says, “We know Marinette would forget that Adrien exists if she hung around Luka for more than five minutes.”

AND YEAH, KAGAMI WOULDN’T PUT UP WITH ADRIEN’S GARBAGE. I liked Adrimi but it’s definitely more flawed than Lukanette.

Anonymous said:

Watched your opinion on the New York special and I agree with you. It was mediocre at best. It could have been something nice, like if they added Kagami and Luka, for example, so that we can get a bit of development from the new couples on season 4, so that it doesn’t feel rushed when they start dating on season 4. It could also be a good opportunity to see the other temporary heroes one last time, since Marinette technically has the miracle box.

They could have had an epic fight with the American Superheroes, maybe even giving the bee miraculous temporally to Aeon or Jess so that we didn’t need to see their awful and uncreative superheroes designs. It would have been nice if they made something more useful other than being characters that believe that Adrien and Marinette are “Meant to be”, like, we already got a ton of these already, couldn’t we get someone who didn’t feel something about this ship? It has so much wasted potential that I don’t even know how to start. Do you agree with anything I said?

I agree, yes. They could’ve easily thrown Luka/Kagami into the mix (or had Marinette/Adrien stay behind while flipping perspectives or something; flawed but they could make it work).

Anonymous said:

I'm rereading ladybugout and wow... the moment of silence after "chat deserves that kiss" gets me every time. Everyone stopping and just staring because wow he really just said that

Me whenever Chat Noir opens his mouth in the show.

Anonymous said:

I saw the Backwarder post you just talked about and yes, it is so totally ridiculous. They forgot another thing, though. Miraculous isn't just about comedy, action, and romance, it's about embarrassing Marinette. And the fact that almost everyone in the comments was acting like the medicine scene at the end was funny was just stupid and saddening to hear or read about, because it shows how people have been conditioned to hate and rally against Marinette without even realizing it. Granted, there was one lady who said it reminded her of her husband, so I guess that's okay(but all it means is that Adrien will be Marinette's--aka "his lady's"--husband like eeerrrgh!). And there was one person who said they liked that Juleka's advice because "If you're friend isn't willing to commit crimes for your happiness, is she even your friend?". But everyone else liked the ending. And I don't get the person who said we got "Subtle progression with Adrien and Marinette". We're right where we started.

Weeeeell, I understand the “comedy, action, romance” comment because all of those basically boil down to embarrassing Marinette or invalidating her. Comedy and romance goes without saying while action involves her dealing with Chat “Nice Guy” Noir.

Anonymous said:

Is it just me, or does Snow White's "Red Shoes" form look a lot like Marinette. I know, I know, Marinette is Chinese and Red Shoes is Korean, but they still look strikingly similar. They're bodies are really similar, too, but that might just be because animation tends to use eerily similar body types for its female characters on a whole. It's sad and it makes me think of how cute Marinette would be if she was fat. I also think Snow White was cuter than Red Shoes but that's kind of the point.

I think it’s the body type thing but that’s just a guess since I didn’t immediately make the connection.

I agree that Snow White is cuter.

Anonymous said:

Am I the only one who's never liked "destined to fail" characters? Basically this is when characters aren't allowed to be good at/succeed at something or else the whole universe will somehow fall apart. Think of how in The Amazing World of Gumball, if Richard gets a job, the world will be in complete and utter chaos. So he's better off as a lazy, bumbling dad. In Phineas and Ferb, Candace is always trying to rat out her younger brothers but if she gives up or succeeds something bad will happen.

TV Tropes put it the best: "Not only is she not allowed to succeed, but she's also not allowed to stop trying!"(conveniently under the Cosmic Plaything trope). I just don't like it because it shows that the writers just want to lead them on with the promise of success then snatch it away at the last minute. And now we're back at Miraculous Ladybug, where Marinette is humiliated every time she doesn't sign a gift that's for Adrien, and yet when she does, everyone in Paris DIES. Except for...HIM.

you: *mentions Candace*

me: [a million awful flashbacks]

Also, yeah, it’s so hard to watch, especially in “Chat Blanc” because it’s like, “Oh, you want to give a gift to a boy and you dArEd to use your powers for it? Congrats, but everyone else is DEAD and you can hang out with him as much as you want! You’re welcome!”

Anonymous said:

I think it’d become a “faintest idea blackout card”rather than a bingo.

(referring to my “Faintest Idea” card)

We’re getting there.

darkmoonravewolf said:

I hate that everything on that list could happen and very likely will

(referring to “Didn’t Need Burrow”)

Yeah, and it makes me sad :’)

Anonymous said:

That’s be real here. Miraculous ladybug is not a show about Marinette; Miraculous Ladybug is a show about Adrien. Adrien is the real main character.

Notice that when they focused on Adrien in “Lies,” they only cut back to Marinette (IN A SCENE THAT CAN’T EXIST) to have her fawn over him.

Anonymous said:

Is it just me or are Lady Noire's eyes huge? Maybe it's just the green but they seem way bigger than Marinette's

I’m not sure, but considering Rena’s facial structure being different from Alya’s, it wouldn’t surprise me.

asexual-individual said:

With what you've said about Adrien lacking a reason to exist outside of development for Marinette and Gabriel, I have to wonder how different the show would be if Chat Noir's identity was also kept from the audience. Adrien would still be there as himself, but he only gets as much focus as Alya, and Chat Noir's identity is treated as a mystery (a Tuxedo Mask type mystery, but a mystery all the same).

I see what you mean but it might cause Adrien+Chat’s screentime to feel excessive once the reveal happens, because suddenly their screentime gets combined and it’s like, “oh wow so the combined screentime is his then.”

Anonymous said:

I know that the kwami's really only exist so we can hear our protagonists' thoughts outloud (like what the Coraline movie did with adding Wybie to the story). But honestly, what's the point in having magical gods in the jewelry if you're not going to do anything with them?

Marketing with “cute” side characters.

guisendisguise said:

It's funny, originally, I had shipped Marichat in the sense that Chat and Mari start hanging out and both fall in love with the other's supposedly less perfect, more real selves. Then Luka was introduced and I ended up putting both lukanette and marichat at the same level. Then S3 hit and killed any love I had for Marichat. The writers themselves killed the Love Square for me. At this point, it's very clear they are living in a delusion where the Love Square could ever work narratively without Deus ex Machina or Deus Lo Vult (God wills it). Basically, they've gone past scraping the bottom of the writing skills barrel and are now shoulder deep in the hole they dug thru the bottom of said barrel. I'd like to point out that the bottom of the barrel is writing poop and now they're digging thru the useless plastic landfill the barrel was sitting on top of

Uggggh, yeah. Any appreciation I could’ve had for Marichat died in “Weredad.” I already didn’t like Adrien/Chat and then “Weredad” just showed his complete lack of... well, ANYTHING.

cosmostellar said:

Honestly feels like MLBs writers are going based off the "JUST IMAGINE EVERY POC CHARACTER YOU'RE WRITING AS WHITE" instead of, yknow, fleshing them out while developing them also in the context of their cultures and giving them these little things that the audiences who belong to the same minority can identify with. I don't mean "have Marinette walk in qipao 24/7" bcs thats just... bad on its own but man, /some/ casual acknowledgments of her culture would be nice.

Reading the sentence “JUST IMAGINE EVERY POC CHARACTER YOU'RE WRITING AS WHITE” physically hurts me.

Anonymous said:

Ok, I've always thought that Chloe was robbed of redemption (they held it in front of us, but then jerked it away while Astruc says, "She's irredeemable! We thought she was redeemable, but she wasn't :)!" What are your thoughts! Also, I just recently found your blog and I really like it :)

Thank you!

But I have no sympathy for bully characters, so I didn’t want Chloe redeemed. Maybe I’m still bitter about my own bullying experience, but I just wasn’t here for Marinette being forced to forgive Chloe, which is basically what they did until they backpedaled.

The time spent on her was wasted though and that I can agree on.

Anonymous said:

Me: Writes a 1k rant about how the tweet makes no sense as the "mistake" is about motivation and not the critical plot. Also me: Remembers that in MLB the plot always comes back to the romance. Finally me: Wonders why he got involved with the series post-S3 when all the red flags were already everywhere.

Mistakes were made.

Anonymous said:

I'm semi-catching up on miraculous, and- is it my impression, or does Kagami rebel against her mother more in few episodes she's in (even though her mother's influences on her seem to be stronger in general), than Adrien in the entire show? I /know/ that I don't want to see Adrien free himself from his father w/ the desperation I want to see Kagami free herself from her mother and realize that the standards she's held up to are unhealthy and too strong.

Yeah, I’m way more invested in Kagami than Adrien.

Anonymous said:

Am I the only one confused about whether the staff stopped caring and half-asses the series or cares too much and over-produces the hell out of it?

Nah. It really feels like they secretly hate the love square so they have to keep forcing it.

Anonymous said:

ngl I haven't watched any new episodes since Chameleon and I've been getting all that Miraculous News via tumblr to avoid that Marinette Brand Second Hand Embarrassment™

Understandable.

Anonymous said:

If they aired the 6th one first WHAT WHAT HAPPENED TO LEAD UP TO THIS???? WE ARE ON SEASON FOUR WITH TWO SPEICALS, GETTING A THIRD, AND ANY DEVELOPMENT WE HAD HAS GONE BACKWARDS, SUCKED, OR STATUS QUO YO-ED AWAY!!!!! HOW THE HECK DO WE GET ADRIENETTE FROM FOUR SEASONS OF NOTHING?????? I USED TO FANGIRL AT THIS NOW I AM TERRIFIED.

Answer: We don’t get Adrienette. We get forced love square and rushed/fake “development” of it while being constantly confused as episodes air out of order.

Anonymous said:

im sorry But adrienette has been suck in this limbo of one sidedness for 3 seasons. neither of them have become closer, neither of them have confided in one another, but somehow people still ship it? at least luka was able to make a move on marinette lol adrien still repeats the same boring “shes just a friend” line. adrienette is a really boring ship.

lol don’t apologize, you’re absolutely right.

nahte123456 said:

Very minor bit of salt to throw to the pile, but can this show just decide on how strong Miraculous holders are? Yes it's a cartoon and not the focus but in the Furious Fu episode we literally get Ladybug dodging lighting and then Su who seems mostly human and is at least slower then Fu was outspeeding her. It's distracting trying to figure out what is and isn't a serious threat in this show.

The deciding factor in the strength of the miraculous holders is “whatever works for the plot.”

Anonymous said:

At this point the only thing I'm excited for concerning Miraculous Ladybug is when it gets a reboot in like, a decade with actually competent writers

Best case scenario is that Zag goes bankrupt and Disney/Netflix picks up the series and gives it to competent people.

Problem is that the love square has been ruined so badly for me that even a “good” version of it wouldn’t be something I’d be into, but still.

Anonymous said:

Honestly, the problem with having all of Marinette's mistakes result in huge disasters (ex. Feast), is that is gives off the impression that teenagers aren't allowed to make mistakes. This show clearly doesn't like giving second chances to the protagonist, so why would life give one to you? Am I right, kids?

Exactly.

Marinette makes mistakes and suddenly the world is ending.

Anonymous said:

If your gonna watch the show, at least pirate the episodes so the writers dont get your support

Don’t worry, I have no interest in financially supporting the show.

Anonymous said:

ml in a nutshell: wasted potential, then giving themselves more potential, only to turn the rest of it into a dumpster fire

Yup, that’s it.

Anonymous said:

u know, when My Little Pony, Sofia The First, and fanfiction carries out character development, respect, romance, and the main plot better than the original show, especially when the shows mentioned above are aimed more at little girls and the original show is aimed at slightly older audiences... somethings wrong

*sigh*

And then it’s like--people will excuse the show because “it’s a kids’ show” and then I’m just “okay then, why are there actually good kids’ show?”

If shows get a pass for being for children then all childrens’ shows should just not try and be garbage since the standard is so low.

Anonymous said:

ive seen some cool fic ideas/concepts/reviews that made me think: ml could use so much more looking into how a character thinks in some situations. one fic i read had alya in chameleon (i know its been forever since the ep came out but hey) not question lila cus she thought: "hey, lb wouldnt befriend a bad person" w and added a plot line of lila making her think lb was cobsidering replacing rena rougue. like, just a few lines to make them seem better pls?

YES. Like, show us characters’ perspectives and why they’re rolling with the facts that they’re rolling with, otherwise they just end up looking like jerks.

We sort of got it in “Ikari Gozen” with Kagami but of course it was just to make Marinette look bad.

Anonymous said:

You know I’m honestly considering making reviews of this show and if I do I could create hour long rants about the show just from that mans twitter.

Yeaaaaaah, once you had in the Twitter stuff, it just becomes, “okay so this is going to add another hour or two then.”

Anonymous said:

Okay one thing that bothers me is how plain marinette's suits are despite being a DESIGNER. Her multimouse suit it just blocks of color and her ladynoir suit is just grey with green lines. I think the lines are supposed to represent actually clothes. Like the limes on the calves are supposed to make it look like boots but why not actually GIVE her boots. (Right, because she has to have a skintight suit unlike the boys who get some layers.)

THE SHEER DISRESPECT OF HAVING THE FASHION DESIGNER WEAR SUCH A PLAIN SUIT.

It also goes to show who really designs here, like oh, interesting, the girls get skin-tight simplistic bodysuits and the boys gets all the cool stuff--

Anonymous said:

I heard some people in my class saying they watched Miraculous Ladybug for the first time, and they were saying how good it was, and I was like: 'Oh you poor fools. You have NO idea what it's truly like.'

You know what they say: ignorance is bliss.

bat-anon said:

Isn’t it INTERESTING how in Frozer, Luka understands that Marinette is torn between her crushes and continues to support her even though he knows she probably won’t chose him, and in the exact same episode Chat Noir refuses to help save the city because Ladybug told him AGAIN that she wasn’t romantically interested in him? HMMM 🤔😑

dbfgjbdfjkgf

I’M REMINDED OF “FELIX” WHERE IT’S LIKE--THEY WERE CLEARLY TRYING TO SHOW HOW MUCH “BETTER” CHAT NOIR IS THAN FELIX, BUT LUKA WAS THE RESPECTFUL ONE.

Anonymous said:

You know what I want to see? An evil kwami, like they just want to commit crimes. No moral high grounds, just chaotic evil.

That’d be amazing just because I wouldn’t be able to take them seriously.

Anonymous said:

Watching S1 and S3 episodes back to back, it feels like reading salt fics at times, especially in regards to the L². Like, Marinette was happy about weird plans, she both needed and wanted the final push, and most of the time there was at least something coming out of it. Nowadays it just makes her sad, Alya and the girls act *against* her, and we get shipping for shipping's sake.

That’s a good point. The shift from Seasons 1 to 2 to 3 is rather noticeable.

Anonymous said:

I hate how Adrien's busy schedule seems to only matter when it's used to make Marinette feel bad, but the second Marinette has a bit more to do, it somehow has a negative effect on not only her, but also everyone/everything she cares about, like, what's up with that??

I’m reminded of “Lies” here and I hate it. :|

Anonymous said:

Honestly, the way the show treats teenage girls is horse ass. The show treats the teenage girls of this show as if they're stupid, naive, emotional, clumsy, and need a boy to tell them what opinions to have. Marinette is always treated like the show's punching bag and blamed for everything that goes wrong because she's "emotional" or "obsessed with Adrien", Chloe could've been redeemed but the writers would rather keep her a brain-dead Alpha Bitch Valley Girl(even though Gabriel and Felix, the latter of whom is a teenage boy introduced in one episode, get to be treated as redeemable, despite the things they do being far, far worse), and Lila is a conniving, self-absorbed fox.

And even though Kagami seems better, she's still roped into the "girls catfight over an oblivious guy" cliche and so far, all of her akumatizations have been because of Adrien. Whenever Marinette tries to move on from Adrien the other characters tell her what's good for her and steer her in the "right" direction because she apparently can't think for herself, and the writers LOVE to use the girl squad to tell us who Marinette should be with, because they apparently know better than she does.

Plus the show loves to treat all the girls as the same, making them all either fight over Adrien or be obsessed with shipping, as if teenage girls are all one assimilating, homogenized group(also when they treat Marinette as if she's "just as bad as Chloe", rinse and repeat for the other ladies.). Honestly, the show feels like it was written by those types of people who think "teenage girls are the worst" so they make them all mood-swingy, obsessive, showoffs, emotional, and downright clingy.

Plus the way Thomas Astruc talks about the female characters on Twitter is even worse, and only serves to make this more evident: he claims Marinette "has poor control over her emotions"(all the while calling Adrien "perfect"), that Chloe was racist in Kung Food "because she's stupid"(so rather than having that scene serve as a lesson on respecting other's cultures, he just did it to pick on Chloe and make her look "stupid"), that she's incapable of being redeemed, that Lila's unlikable but Gabriel and Felix aren't(even though he claimed Felix was a terrible character and a "cliche", that's not what the show says my guy), and other such nonsense.

Other Twitter users have also called out Miraculous Ladybug and its stereotypical treatment of teenage girls. The only shows I've ever seen do this worse are those pretentious "darker" Magical Girl "deconstructions" aimed at grown men such as Madoka Magica and Yuki Yuna, as well as most shonen/seinen shows such as Naruto and Death Note, which says a lot. Honestly, whenever I feel like watching a show with empowering and respectful depictions of teenage girls that treats them as bright and intelligent and actually unique from one another, I just watch Equestria Girls, Liv and Maddie, LoliRock, ANT Farm, Moesha, PreCure, or Sailor Moon. Because the way the show acts towards them is deplorable, absolutely deplorable.

Yes to all of the above. Almost all of the girls are involved in love affairs in some way, the two teenage girls are irredeemable while Felix got a sympathetic backstory right away (Chloe took forever to get hers which is a failure), and Marinette is flawed because she’s “too emotional” (a misogynistic stereotype).

Anonymous said:

Hi, I'm the anon who got upset at the lady who made the "Miraculous Ladybug is a Mess" rant, and yes, thank you zodiacspirit17 for liking and agreeing with my rant! I'm glad someone else saw that video! And ugh, Marinette learning to love Chat Noir? Really? I don't remember that line but I also don't want to go back and revisit it to make sure so I'll take your word for it. Ew. That was actually one of the things I hated about the Glaciator scene. Chat was supposedly comforting Marinette by taking her to the rooftop where he planned Ladybug's date, and yet only Marinette finds out about Chat's crush on Ladybug and comforts him on that(while rethinking her feelings), while all Chat knows is that Marinette's heart was also broken. He never asks who it is, or tries to help her get over her crush even if he doesn't know it's coincidentally him.

I know it's because of the "love square" but it's unfair that only Chat's love problems are directly addressed. Come to think of it, the reason Chat took Marinette to the rooftop...I know he was doing it in-universe to help her instead of intruding on her personal feelings(which might have also been why he didn't ask her who her crush was, he was probably thinking along the lines of "we don't have to talk about it right now, we can just have fun!"), but meta-wise, since we know she's Ladybug, the writers were probably trying to tell her "See? This is what you could've been doing, but you missed it. Shame on you!" That's a huge issue I have with the show: characters will do things in-universe to help Marinette, but the show has a different motive in mind. Compare to how Tikki gave actual advice to Marinette in Puppeteer 2, but the writers intended that for the statue scene so they could embarrass her in front of Adrien and the thousands of eyes watching the show(except we're not laughing.). Even if characters do support her, the writer is using them as props for her ritualized humiliation. And yet Luka is the problem somehow.

If Marinette needs to learn how to love Chat Noir, then it should at least be balanced out by Adrien learning to Marinette. I'm sick of this double standard that "girls need to learn to accept boys who like them but guys can do what they want". Another thing she said was that "Marinette needs to learn to define herself outside of who she's crushing on." NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. You see, unlike Adrien, Marinette HAS a life outside of who she's crushing on: she has school, she has Kitty Section, she has her "girl squad", she has her parents, she has her outside family, she babysits Alya's and Nino's siblings, and she has OH YEAH HER FASHION DESIGNING! I didn't even count being a superhero since Adrien does that, too. She has so many things to do outside of Adrien, and yet the fact that she makes gifts for Adrien or dreams about Adrien or wants to have kids with Adrien somehow makes her nothing but an "Adrien fangirl"?

First of all, she's the bloody protagonist?! That's such a "Real Women Don't Wear Dresses" argument, that she can't have her own life AND be in love at the same time! And somehow her crushing on Luka also means her life revolves around him, too! But Adrien's life doesn't revolve around Ladybug even though he doesn't really have anything going for him in his ordinary life? Outside of being rich, hot, white, and male, that is? What are his interests and hobbies, besides what Gabriel lets him do to pass the time? He doesn't even like modeling! And the Agreste plot is more about Gabriel, Emilie, and Nathalie than it is about him.

And what about his friendship with Nino? He didn't even care that Nino was getting strung along by Lila with the others! What about his friendship with Chloe that also waxes and wanes? Granted, Chloe's not a GOOD person, which that lady acknowledged, but she at least tried to change and has more development than him, the writers just won't let her change. I hate when people come for Marinette for doing literally anything when the show won't let her have agency and progress. It's so unfair of her and I wish they could see that. These double standards are driving me insane and they're sexist(maybe even a little bit racist, too), and it hurts even more when a woman's doing those things.

(I had to cut off some of this ask because I didn’t get all of it, so I cut it off at the point where it still seemed like a full ask.)

I FEEL THE “GLACIATOR” THING SO BAD. It hurts even worse when you realize that “Frozer” has to take place after “Glaciator,” so Chat Noir heard that Marinette has love problems and then ignored it to ask her for advice about his own love problems later on. The total lack of insensitivity???

Also, the idea that Marinette’s life would revolve around her crush on Luka is stupid. It’s the exact opposite, in fact.

Meanwhile, Adrien has so little going for him and the “interesting” parts of him involve who he’s connected to or what his father has forced him into.

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 3 years

Text

Stars

Dannymay, 12,021 Human Era

Danny floated lazily on his back, a bag full of white and grey rocks orbiting him while he admired the lunar surface. It was going to be hard for anything short of crafting the rocks into something to top Wulf’s teachings letting him portal up to the moon whenever he wanted, barely tethered by its weak gravity and able to traverse it without disturbing the dust unless he picked up a rock. From his vantage point, the stars above and about were uncountable, and if he didn’t know better he’d say there was no end to them. His appearance had changed, even, from the silk-lined, spike studded, leather jacket that Sam and Tuck all but shoved onto him when it became clear that he’d be fighting ghosts regularly to a suit resembling the uniforms of NASA astronauts, black, white, green, and covered in silver stars.

Grinning to himself, Danny took off toward the Oceanus Procellarum, a camera he and Tuck had built recording the longest video he’d ever taken when a chill that dwarfed the cold of space ran down his spine and rose from his lungs and throat to his lips, blue vapor drifting in front of his face. There was a ghost, on the moon, and the idea of a hostile ghost following him up to space was so beyond aggravating that Danny’s hair ignited, his fangs sharp, the knuckles of his gloves sharpening into hardpoints, and his aura flaring up like a beacon of green and blue. Opening a portal to deposit his bag of moon rocks in his closet, Danny launched himself where he felt the other ghost’s presence, the logic that a ghost whose aura he couldn’t see but still feel on the moon’s surface, in one of her craters even, abandoned at the moment. That thought process is, of course, slammed into him the moment Danny sees exactly what it is that he’s sensed.

Their body was a slowly slithering mass of the purest darkness that could not be called something so bright as black, with violets and blues and colors that could not be seen, only experienced, dancing within them like ink within water, blue and red and green stars twinkling between the stretches of void, moving fast enough for Danny to know there even was movement of them, but slow enough to be mesmerized by the sight of it. Their face was a theatrical mask, bone white with red behind the eyes and a curve of a smile to mark the mouth, and from the void behind the mask curled horns of dark and beautiful amethyst and sapphire and onyx, somehow occupying the same space and curving in every which way. It was, frankly, impossible to make out all the details or to measure quite how massive the form of Nocturne was as he relaxed upon the surface of the moon’s ocean of storms. In all his conflicts, no ghost had ever made him feel quite so small simply by laying back, impossibly huge.

“My, my, ” he said, voice coming from the back of Danny’s head rather than the lack of air around him, even if their lips still moved to shape the words. “ Is that Danny Phantom in the flesh, not simply dreaming so big that you’ve learned to astral project without my guidance? Have you decided to make your fantasy reality and join me here?” They lifted part of their body and when Danny focused he saw the silhouette of a hand.

Danny had many questions, but the first one that came out of his gawking mouth as he rose to meet the giant’s face was, ”How did you get so big? Been munching on the muses of artists? Oh stars, are artistic muses actual spirits? Can you eat them?” While Danny usually appreciated a good laugh, that was when he said something as a joke, not asked a very good question. Nocturne’s laughter swept over him like a tidal wave of endearment and amusement.

“Ah, that’s right, you met me through a smaller emanation, didn’t you? I assure you, child, I’ve been this size for ages. Also, I do not consume muses, though whether that is because they do not exist in such a form that I could or because that would be an unsustainable form of sustenance, I shall leave you to consider. While the dreams of artists like you are rather vivid, the occasional idealist and average joe is good for diversity in palette. After all, each mind has such capacity for imaginative dreams.”

“Emanation?”

“A thin slice of myself sent down to help you sleep at my brother’s request. ” Danny scratched his head at that and Nocturne laughed again. “ The little game of hero and villain was delightful fun, though… you didn’t think that the ghost Master of Dreams needed helmets and machinery to harvest the energy of good dreams, did you?” Danny folded his arms with a pout that Nocturne couldn’t possibly have been able to make out when he was so small comparatively, and yet they chuckled anyway, shifting into what Danny was going to call a sitting position.

“So you aren’t going to leave everyone asleep forever?”

They frowned. “Of course not, you can’t dream forever. It isn’t healthy and leads to stagnation and, eugh, nightmares. Those the Fright Knight can have, whensoever he gets himself free from his imprisonment. ” Danny sighed, relaxing all over, and did his best not to flinch when Nocturne scooped him up in a claw talon tendril wing fin hand. “ Come to listen?”

Danny looked around and spread his arms slowly. “In the silent vacuum of space? To what?”

“My dear boy, can you not hear the star song? ” Nocturne tilted his head and their eyes locked for a long, headache inducing minute. “ No one has taught you how to percieve the spaces that layer upon themselves to form the world you know, have they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I do have a headcahe now, so that’s great. What, the world is like origami and everything is singing underneath the top layer?”

“An apt comparison, yes, ” Nocturne said. “ Your liminal state of being considered, perhaps it would be simpler to show you, than to make you work your way through new senses. After all, what’s a dream without a bit of fantastical ease?”

Danny flew back a few paces, though he was still in Nocturne’s palm. “Is it safe for you to do that? I don’t wanna go forgetting how to be a living human being just to hear a song.” Nocturne huffed, puffing up like a bird in mild offense.

“Child, the mind is my domain, I know perfectly well what I am doing. You are not the first liminal whose mind I have touched, nor I imagine shall you be the last. But, if you do not care to hear the song that the earth, the moon and the stars sing…”

“I never said I don’t! I just, wanted to be sure.” Danny rubbed the back of his head before floating a bit higher. “Alright, alright what do I do?”

“Relax, little one. Imagine a door, it can be any door you like, between your mind and those minds around you. ” Danny closed his eyes, taking a superfluous breath that came up empty, his body relaxing slowly with each breath. He pictured a door, a hexagonal door to a space station. “ Very good, ” Nocturne said, and Danny felt his chest puff up with something like pride before he felt and heard a knock knock on the door in his mind. “ Now all you have to do is let me in.”

There was a moment where in Danny considered simply not letting Nocturne into his mind. After all, Danny would probably figure this out himself if he tried. It was a tempting idea, probably even the smartest idea when dealing with a being who had attacked him, even if they claimed it was a game. Still, the opportunity to experience space in a way that no one else could was a far bigger temptation, and so Danny turned the knob on the door to his mind and opened it up slowly.

There is the brush of Nocturne against the door and Danny both has himself drawn out and the universe slipped in and when he opens his eyes and his ears he cannot help but to let his mouth fall open as well. He can hear the voices of the endless universe singing under his feet. The hearts of stars singing deep beneath the lunar soil. Lost to the blooming nebulas staining the dark sky with color, miles upon miles of light and rivers of fire and the promise of something new. Danny can almost hear the words and language they speak; something so close, so distant, something he has never known -- but they ring with such magnificent, terrible truth that he thinks, maybe he has always known them. Maybe they have always lived inside him, alongside the bones. These melodies, these words, that burn with such ferocious clarity that if he just spoke them aloud then the far would become near and he could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky and cradle them in his hands or be cradled in their stellar flares.

The heavy elements known to those dull terrestrial creatures he began life as could only enter the universe with the death of a star, a fact that Danny knew very well, but it was one thing to know something on an academic level, and another to see and hear the voices of the ghosts left behind by those ancient stars, their magnificent fire shining from within every atom of the earth and the moon and the planets around him, harmonizing and rising into something yet more in the song of the Earth and her seas and forests and sky. Danny listens to the moon, and he knows that if he were to sing that song he could reach out to any body of water on Earth and pull it to him and him to it, and his call would be answered. That if he simply moved his lips and sang the words of the stars, he could call upon their fire, their gravity, could reach out to them and leave the chains of gravity rooting him to the Earth. It would be so easy to explore the universe, to leave and join the chorus of the stars and see all that one with an eternity at their hands could see.

Yet there was another song, this one smaller, softer, but no less wonderful song that wove around and within him, and listening to it brought to his mind yet more little songs, faint as the step of an ant against the dirt but still beautiful in all their own ways. He couldn’t go, not yet. Not without them. And so, Danny turned back to Nocturne and beamed up at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course, child. We may stop whenever you wish.” Danny nodded and rose up to circle around Nocturne, drinking in the sight of the universe, so that he could attempt - and fail and attempt again and again - to show his friends what he now experienced with paint and brush and pen. He had to return to Earth, but for now, he had the stars.

#Danny Phantom #Dannymay 2021 #Danny Fenton #Nocturne #Stars #Rexy Writes #fanfiction #fanfic

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 61 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet opened up, Alaska chickened out, and Courtney finally had her date with Bianca.

This Chapter: Trixie widens his search for Aiden’s replacement, and Courtney gets a taste of the good life.

***

Courtney doodled absentmindedly on her notepad during Miss Fame’s Monday conference call. She was getting an update from the company that ran her European stores, and discussing the upcoming marketing plan with Alyssa. Courtney knew that she was only there in case Miss Fame wanted to add anyone to the line; since Ivy and Laganja were both on the call, she didn’t really need to be paying attention. She probably should’ve been anyway, but this was a case where a little negligence would be forgiven.

Which was good, because she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering, daydreaming about how wonderful the weekend had been with Bianca. Adore had come over on Sunday for dinner, after which Courtney almost went home, but Bianca pulled her in for an embrace and insisted that she stay another night. When she’d worried about not having any appropriate work clothes, Bianca promised to find her something from her own closet, even excited at the notion of styling her for the office.

At first, Courtney was a bit concerned about whether the thigh-high black boots were too hookerish, but Bianca was adamant that they were fashion - and she should know, right? At least her luxurious knit dress was in Fame’s approved color palette, so she was pretty sure she wouldn’t get scolded like the time she dared to wear a lime green top.

She looked down at her notebook, realizing that it was absolutely covered in hearts, and quickly flipped the page, embarrassed.

She clicked on her mouse, waking up the computer to check her emails. If she was gonna space out, she may as well make at least a halfhearted attempt at productivity. She saw that there were a few unread DMs and clicked on the window.

ROXY: Package here for you

ROXY: A big-ass box from Neiman Marcus

ROXY: From the Marie Claire messenger again

ROXY: You gonna tell me who you’re dating over there now?

COURTNEY: LOL, sorry. It’s brand new, I don’t think we’re ready to go public

ROXY: Bitch it’s just me, I can keep a secret

COURTNEY: Since when?????

ROXY: Since always!!

COURTNEY: On Friday, you told me that Jaida is getting IVF and Alyssa’s son is in rehab again

ROXY: Yeah and yet you tell me NOTHING

COURTNEY: LOL. Okay well when we’re telling people, I’ll tell you first. Deal?

ROXY: WHATEVER

ROXY: Another major delivery came for Fame’s asst from MC today

SHANNEL: OMG. BDR just came into Nina’s office in the weirdest mood. She was all smiley and she approved this dumb spread that Nina’s been pitching for 3 months.

ROXY: 21 year old pussy is good for the soul

SHANNEL: APPARENTLY

The second she could get up, Courtney raced to reception to grab the package, wondering what it could be. They’d put together a bunch of outfits with the stylist this weekend, most of which were still at Bianca’s--except for her ensemble for the party tomorrow, which was hanging in a garment bag on the coat rack, partially covered by Courtney’s jacket so as not to be too conspicuous.

When Roxy said “a big-ass box,” she wasn’t lying. Courtney’s eyes widened as she spotted the box, quickly taking it back to her own office, peeking inside while Fame was occupied with Raja. She pulled out the note first.

Stay warm. XX, B PS Don’t worry, the fur is faux

Extra curious now, Courtney reached into the box, lifting the tissue paper to see what was inside and finally just pulling it out--a beautiful, full-length, raspberry-colored winter coat with a fur-trimmed hood. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head as the utter extravagance of it all.

COURTNEY: OMG Bianca!

BIANCA: Do you like it?

COURTNEY: It’s beautiful! But it’s way too much. You’re spoiling me.

BIANCA: Get used to it ;)

Courtney smiled to herself, hiding the box under the table and standing to try on the coat, positively glowing with happiness. She glanced at herself in the mirror that Fame kept by the door for “last looks,” and saw that it fit her perfectly, even across her narrow shoulders, almost as if it was tailored to her body. Which...now that she thought about it, the stylist on Saturday had taken her measurements, so maybe it was.

Just then, the door to Fame’s office opened and Raja stepped out. Courtney whirled around, a guilty expression on her face.

“Oh are...are you done? I was, um...just going to get Miss Fame another coffee.”

“Yeah, we’re done for now, you should probably stick around. Nice coat,” Raja said, brushing past her on her way out. “I’ll be back at 2 to finish. Make sure she’s fed.”

“Okay, thank-” Courtney began, finishing with “-you,” just as Raja breezed from the room.

Courtney slowly removed her new coat, hanging it carefully on the rack before heading into Miss Fame’s office to ask what she wanted for lunch.

***

Bob closed the door to Trixie’s office behind him, making a beeline towards the coffee machine. It was mid afternoon, and while there still was a bit of a home stretch to go before the holiday break, the tough decisions ahead were out of his hands.

“All I’m saying Chachki,” Jovan smiled, the man leaning against the wall. He was wearing orange trumpet pants and a blue fuzzy sweater. “Is that I can totally bedazzle your crutches.”

“What an amazing offer,” Violet drawled, her tone completely dry.

“Hey guys!” Bob grinned, sliding in next to Maxwell, his boyfriend handing the cup he had just poured. “What are we talking about?”

“The Christmas Party,” Maxwell smiled, looking up at Bob who gave him a quick peck. He was wearing a pink shirt, the cotton stretched across his chest, the khakis he wore all year looking delicious on his pert little ass.

“Right!” Bob took a sip. The Galactica Christmas Party was one of the biggest fashion events in December, Miss Fame always going all out. Bob had heard rumors around town that there’d be gigantic ice sculptures, but Roxy had told him she had seen order confirmations for a forest of Christmas trees.

Some called him and Roxy the office gossip sluts, and if the name fit, Bob wasn’t going to complain.

“I haven’t decided what I’m wearing yet.” Violet was sitting on a chair, her curled hair fastened with a golden clip, her skirt just above her knees. “This is the first time I’m not going as Fame’s assistant and I don’t have to match her or blend into the background.”

That made sense, Bob really noticing how Violet’s wardrobe had shifted from the uptight prissy bitch who had first entered their floor, more color and sharp cuts showing up in Violet’s clothes as she got to express herself more and more.

“But since there’s a good chance she’ll actually look at me since I’m going with Sutan, I have to stay on theme without being flashy or cheap or one of the million other things she refuses to accept.”

“The bedazzling offer still stands,” Jovan smiled, taking the last bite of his afternoon muffin, and Violet rolled her eyes.

“How did you two meet anyway?” Maxwell took a sip of his coffee. “You and Sutan I mean.”

Bob perked up immediately, his stomach doing a happy flip.

“Oh?” Violet looked surprised, like she genuinely hadn’t expected them to be interested. “You want to hear about that?”

“Yes!” Bob grinned. “Yes yes yes yes.”

He and Maxwell had been discussing how to get Violet to spill the dirt the entire week, and now, the chance was finally here.

“Well.” Violet paused, tapping her fingers on the table, like she was trying to decide if she should share, and Bob was about to burst with curiosity.

“Spill it!”

“He bought me a drink at the Vogue Fashion Fund, and asked me on a date a few days later.”

Bob waited for a beat, but Violet was simply smiling.

“What?! That’s it?!”

Of all the things Bob had imagined, this was by far the most disappointing answer.

“Pretty much.” Violet shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee with a glint in her eyes.

***

IVY: okay so you know i hate gossip

ROXY: Oh yeah me too gurl

IVY: lol

IVY: No really

ROXY: Yeah yeah whatcha got?

IVY: The dress Courtney’s wearing today?

ROXY: Oh yeah, she’s really upping her game

IVY: Well...it’s familiar…

ROXY: Oh yeah?

IVY: I asked Laganja to run some photos. Here’s BDR at last year’s Monsoon Foundation Charity Luncheon

[Picture: Bianca wearing the dress]

ROXY: BITCH!!!!!!!!111

***

“So yeah, these are the ones I like...what do you think?” Trixie asked, chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek. “I really need to find someone that Fame will love, she was so annoyed at the last batch.”

As Pearl picked up one of the portfolios to glance through it, she couldn’t help but notice how rough her friend looked, like he hadn’t slept in a week. He probably hadn’t, she realized, the tension in the apartment so thick you could cut it with a knife. She’d been trying to give them both space, but maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

“So, um…” She looked through the first portfolio and then picked up the next one, pausing on pages she found interesting. “Is everything okay? How are you?”

“Uhh…” Trixie scratched his head, then finally said, “It’s been a hard week.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay,” Trixie sighed. “We’ve got our- She’s got an appointment with a doctor tomorrow. So I guess, after that, we’ll know for sure.”

“Right.”

He didn’t seem to want to talk about it any more, so Pearl dropped the subject for the moment. She pointed to one of the photos, a stunning blue piece with dramatic shoulders, exactly the type of shapes to which Fame was generally drawn.

“This is amazing.”

“Yeah, right? She seems super talented, although I worry that she’s only been out of school for less than a year. A little green, a little…” Trixie sighed again, “Over-confident sounds mean, but…over-confident.”

“Have you spoken to all of them yet?”

“Yeah, Rita checked all their references and I had Skype interviews with all the top candidates this morning. We’re trying to move quickly, I really need to get the ball rolling before we shut down for the holidays. And with the added bonus of getting them a visa...it could be a mess. Anyway, these are the very best, but I don’t want to put them in front of Fame unless they’re actually gonna impress her.”

“Uh huh. One question though…”

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for another sociopath, or are we moving in a new direction?” Pearl asked, a teasing smirk on her face.

“You’re hilarious,” Trixie deadpanned.

“I know.” Pearl tapped on the folder, saying, “I think this one is special. There’s a lot of range, and new ideas, but very classic and chic at the same time.”

***

“Ho...ly shit…” Bianca said, the door to her town car open, watching Courtney twirl in her new coat, then open it to give her a peek at the sexy sequined mini-dress underneath. Bianca pulled her into the car, giggling, a hand immediately sliding up her bare thigh.

She was mildly surprised when her fingers came into contact with soft cotton instead of the sexy lace she’d been wearing.

“Wow, these feel...breathable.”

Courtney laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m out of fancy underwear until my next trip to the laundromat. Sorry about it.”

“Nah, I like them. Reminds me of college.” She flashed a grin at Courtney, who was now straddling her on the leather seat, arms around her neck.

“Yeah?” Courtney tilted her head, teasingly evading a kiss as Bianca chased her lips.

“Mmm…” Bianca’s fingers slipped into the panties, squeezing her ass.

“I like this, too…” Bianca’s own coat was unbuttoned since the driver had the heat on full blast, and Courtney ran her thumb along the neckline of her blazer. “You look so sexy…”

Bianca said nothing, just gave her a wicked smirk, lips finally coming into contact with her neck, lingering there, hot breath against her pulse point making her whimper.

“We should probably wait until after the-” Courtney inhaled sharply, clutching Bianca’s shoulders. “-after the party.”

“Alright, alright…” Bianca acquiesced, pressing a soft kiss to her lips and removing her hands. “I can be good if you can.”

“Debatable,” Courtney responded, her eyes flashing with a naughty glint as she sat down beside Bianca, snuggling up against her.

“It’ll be a fun little experiment.”

***

Violet was standing in Sutan’s closet in her pajamas, flipping through her clothes, her lip between her teeth.

None of it looked right, and Violet had given up on even trying on the dress she had originally gotten to go as Fame’s assistant, the skirt's mermaid cut making it impossible to move in with her crutches.

If her foot hadn’t been broken, she would have trawled her preferred vintage shops weeks ago, or would even have made a dress herself, but the party was in two days, and because of Bianca’s birthday, she couldn’t even empty her savings account to get a dress that could live up to the expectations of a Galactica party.

She was completely, and utterly, fucked.

“Fuck,” Violet sighed, dumping down in the arm chair Sutan had been sweet enough to move to his closet so she could sit.

“Violet? Are you okay?”

Violet cursed to herself, Sutan naturally catching her at a moment where it absolutely did not suit her.

“I’m okay!”

But of course, it wasn’t in Sutan’s nature to leave her alone, her boyfriends head poking through the door seconds later, a concerned expression on his dumb face.

“What’s gotten into you?” Sutan was fresh from the shower, his black and grey hair in an unstyled cloud around his head.

“You’re going to laugh.” Violet crossed her arms, the annoyance still under her skin, rolling around her body.

“Try me.” Sutan stepped inside, a towel wrapped around his hips, his hand holding it in place.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

Sutan snorted, and Violet pointed at him.

“See!” She exclaimed. “Don’t make fun of me!”

“Okay, okay, I admit that wasn’t my greatest moment,” Sutan chuckled, giving her a quick apology kiss, Violet sinking back into the chair as he walked over to his dresser. “but the good news is that your problem is easily fixable.”

“I can’t just go out and buy a new dress.” Violet tried not to roll her eyes, tried not to make this a fight, but it was like Sutan had decided to press every single button she had. “I can’t afford it.”

Sure, she had gotten a pay bump after moving to design, but she had already used her December budget on Christmas gifts for everyone, actually spending the day with people so much more expensive than what she usually did, which was a movie on her ancient laptop and wine by herself.

“Who says you have to pay for it?�� Sutan pulled a pair of pajama pants out, throwing his towel to the side, now naked which would have been weird if Violet hadn’t been used to years of dressing rooms. “I’m planning on getting a new suit anyway,” Sutan balanced on one leg, pulling the pants on, “and the shoppers at Barney’s are great at what they do.”

“Are you serious?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” Violet watched as Sutan pulled a t-shirt on too, running a hand through the hair Violet knew he’d struggle to style in the morning, but that he was also done dealing with it for the night.

“I don’t want your money.” Violet sighed, sitting up in the chair, Sutan finally ready for bed.

She liked staying with Sutan, she really did, the man kinder and more generous than Violet could ever have imagined, but she was also longing to go back to her own place, to have her own space and to spend time completely alone.

She knew her apartment wasn’t much, that it didn’t have air condition or an elevator, that she didn’t have a memory foam mattress or a dishwasher or a housekeeper that came to clean, but it was hers.

Violet knew a psychiatrist would probably consider her need for independence a flaw, something she should work on, but she didn’t want to rely on anyone ever, not even Sutan.

“I can figure it out.”

“Oh that, I don’t doubt,” Sutan smiled, holding a hand out to help Violet out of the chair. “But there is a difference,” Sutan pulled, his hand finding her hip as soon as she was upright. “Between being prideful and being stubborn, lovely eyes.”

Violet shot him a look, and Sutan laughed, giving her nose a quick kiss.

“I’m offering to buy you dresses, not a penthouse.”

Violet opened her mouth to protest, but for once, Sutan was faster.

“You’re going to several parties for my sake. Let me spend money on you.” Sutan rubbed his thumb up and down, gently caressing Violet’s hip. “Please?”

“I’ll consider it.”

***

Being at this elite music industry party with Bianca was thrilling, and Courtney was on cloud nine. She was beside herself with excitement when she got to meet Charlie Hides, unable to stop herself from gushing about her work on Tove Lo’s album.

“Well thank you, darling,” Charlie said.

“Courtney’s a singer too,” Bianca added, and Charlie’s face perked up a bit.

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, aspiring,” Courtney couldn’t help admitting, immediately kicking herself for her inability to fake it.

“She’s incredibly talented,” Bianca said, a hand touching Courtney’s elbow, grounding her.

“You should send me your demo,” Charlie said, picking up two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and handing them over.

“Really? Thank you so much!” Courtney exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that she didn’t have a demo.

“Sure thing,” Charlie said with a grin, before excusing herself to greet another guest. Before she left, she gave Bianca a hug, muttering, “Very cute, B.”

After she walked away, Bianca turned to Courtney with a smirk. “She’s subtle, huh?”

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” Courtney said, and Bianca squeezed her hand.

“You’ll be fine. You’re doing great,” she assured her. “I see another producer I know, let’s say hello. Olivia!”

She waved across the party to a beautiful Black woman with the most fabulous hair Courtney had ever seen in her life. The woman looked up, sending Bianca a beaming smile as she crossed the room to greet her.

“Bianca!”

“Hey Liv, I haven’t seen you in forever!” Bianca said, giving her a hug.

“I know! I’ve been in L.A. for most of the year. Just decided to come back to New York in time for this delightful gray sleet we’ve been having,” Olivia said, that dazzling smile softening her words.

Bianca laughed, turning to Courtney.

“Court, Olivia Lux is an awesome producer. Liv, this my friend Courtney. She’s a singer.”

“Hi!” Courtney prepared for a handshake or some air kisses, only to be swept up into a warm hug. “So nice to meet you!”

“Charlie wants to hear a demo, but she hasn’t gotten the chance to record anything yet,” Bianca said. “Any chance you’re free? Or are you still booked up solid until the end of days?”

“No, I’ve got some time in January. What kind of music do you do, sweetie?” Olivia asked, turning to Courtney with that lovely smile.

“Um… Well, I guess it’s kind of like… Pop, but kind of folk?” Courtney said, trying to think on her feet. “Like Joni Mitchell meets Kylie Minogue?”

“Sounds absolutely glorious!” Olivia said, and Courtney felt her confidence grow. “I know what it’s like when you’re starting out. That shit is terrifying.”

“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks…You two have fun,” Bianca said, leaving Courtney Olivia to talk shop.

After a couple of minutes, Courtney found herself feeling like she was with an old friend. She was just so warm and open, telling Courtney about her own career as first a recording artist, then a producer and composer, making her feel completely at ease--and shockingly interested in Courtney’s own musical taste. When Bianca returned with three cocktails, Olivia put an arm around Courtney and told her, “I’m in love with your friend.”

“Oh yeah?” Bianca said, amused. She handed them both drinks, adding, “Glad you guys are getting along.”

“Getting along? We’re gonna elope,” Olivia said, and Courtney giggled, smiling brightly, happy to have found someone so kind and down to earth.

“Mazel Tov,” said Bianca, giving Courtney a wink.

“Seriously though,” Olivia said, turning to flash Courtney that megawatt smile again. “Why don’t you hit me up and we’ll arrange for you to come into the studio?”

“That would be amazing!” said Courtney. She was so happy, she had to fight an urge to kiss the bottom of Olivia’s glittery heels.

“Perfect!” Olivia said, leaving them both with another round of hugs.

“That went well,” Bianca said, smirking at Courtney over the top of her glass.

“Yeah!”

“Come on, I want you to meet my friend Derrick. She’s a choreographer…”

Later, after about the 20th intro, Courtney began to catch on to a troubling pattern.

“Hey guys! This is my friend Courtney…”

“Meet my friend Courtney…”

“Courtney’s a friend of my sister.”

Friend, friend, friend...

At no point, to anyone, did Bianca say (or even imply) that there was something going on between them-- and Courtney wasn’t sure what to make of it. It wasn’t like she expected for Bianca to call her “my girlfriend.”

They hadn’t had that conversation, and something told Courtney that after tonight, it was a long way off.

She tried to put it right out of her head, though, and focus on the positive. She was at a great party, meeting a ton of music industry professionals, and yeah, maybe Bianca called her “friend” about 800 times, but friends were good, right? Especially considering how much Bianca loved her friends.

She continued to enjoy herself, greeting people, trying her best to learn their names, and just being grateful that Bianca had even brought her through the door. So what if she didn’t want people to know about their relationship? Or if this was just a casual fling for her? She was still doing more for Courtney and being more supportive than anyone she’d ever known.

It was close to 2 am when Bianca put a hand on her lower back and leaned in close--the most intimate gesture since they’d walked in the door.

“You ready to take off?” Bianca whispered.

“Sure,” Courtney said, slightly relieved since she could feel her own energy fading, and knew that making it to work by 7:45 the next day would be a struggle.

They said goodbye to Charlie and grabbed their coats, making their way downstairs to the waiting towncar. It wasn’t until they were on their way that Courtney really let everything hit her, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Courtney swallowed.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“You sure about that? What’s wrong?”

Courtney shook her head vigorously as traitorous tears slipped down her cheek. “Nothing’s wrong, everything’s perfect.” She wiped her face, disgusted with herself.

“Then why are you crying, angel?”

“Because…” Courtney squeezed her eyes shut, positive that she was about to ruin everything. “Because you’re just…making all my dreams come true.”

“Okay. Yeah, I can see how that would be upsetting.”

“No, it’s just…I'm scared, that it’s all gonna disappear,” Courtney said, now unable to hold back the river of tears. “You’re gonna get bored, or meet someone else, and I…I’m falling for you so hard and I know it’s too fast and I-”

“Hey, look at me.”

Courtney turned to her, eyes liquid, sniffling.

“I have been having…the best time with you,” she said, taking one of Courtney’s hands in both of hers. “And I know that it’s still new, but I said that I’d help you with your career and I will. No matter what happens with us. I promise. And I don’t break promises. Okay?”

Courtney nodded slightly, then asked, “Why don’t you want people to know about us? Are you ashamed? Are you just...already looking for a way out?”

“What?”

“You just kept introducing me as your ‘friend’ all night, and I just thought that it meant you don’t care about us, or that-”

“No! I dunno, I guess we haven’t really talked about labels, and I wanted to make sure everyone took you seriously,” Bianca said. “Took your talent seriously.”

“Oh.” Courtney sniffled, feeling a little stupid for letting her insecurites get the better of her.

“Also…you know, a lot of the people there were…mutual friends of…”

“Of?”

Bianca sighed slightly, a sheepish smile on her face, then said, “I guess it’s time to come clean to Fame and Raja, huh?”

“Really?” Courtney looked at her with surprise.

“Well, yeah. I don’t want us to feel like we’re sneaking around. That shit gets old real fast.” Bianca kissed the back of her hand. “I’ve been selfish, I was trying to do this without getting them annoyed at me, but…It’s not worth it if it makes you feel like I don’t care. Because I do.”

Courtney bit her lip, feeling like she might burst into tears again, but this time from joy. She took a deep breath, trying to get her racing heart to calm down.

“When do you want to tell them?”

“Well…the Galactica party’s on Thursday. Wanna be my date?” Bianca asked, a sly smile deepening her dimples.

Of course, they’d both been planning to go to the party, but Courtney had resigned herself to the idea that they’d be there separately. She’d even asked Tati to come as her plus one, not believing for a second that going with Bianca was a possibility. After all, it was so soon.

“That’s in two days!” Courtney exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Yeah… Does that work for you?”

For a second, Courtney felt almost dizzy, imagining walking into the party on Bianca’s arm. There was no way in hell that it wouldn’t cause a stir...but the idea of everyone seeing them together, while a bit frightening, was also terribly exciting.

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds...perfect,” she said, eyes shining happily.

“Okay then,” Bianca said softly, pressing a kiss to Courtney’s cheek.

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franadamo · 4 years

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CASE STUDIES AND INSPIRATIONS.

Sleeping Beauty

Disney’s notorious and classic movie, Sleeping Beauty, was released in theaters on January 29th, 1959. The movie centers around a young princess, Aurora, who was cursed at a young age to prick her finger on a sewing wheel and to fall into a deep sleep on the day of her sixteenth birthday. At the end of the story, the Prince comes to her aid, by getting rid of this curse with a kiss. While it has been re-released four times, it is also the second highest grossing movie of 1969.

The writing for Sleeping Beauty began in 1951, after Cinderella was released and the success it followed. Some of the elements that are found in Sleeping Beauty were taken from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, although that doesn’t come as much of a surprise. Alongside Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty was the third fairy tale movie released by Disney, and the last to be released for some time, before returning to them with The Little Mermaid in 1989.

During the production of the movie, there was a series of replacements of directors. While the movie was originally led by director Wilfred Jackson, he had a heart attack in 1953, leaving the work to the directing animator, Larson. Disney would eventually replace Larson with Clyde Geronimi.

With this movie, Disney wanted the “film’s design aesthetic to be completely unique to anything the studio had previously crafted.” The idea for this movie was to go with a “moving tapestry,” in a sense, as if it was a moving illustration. This was a result of art director John Hench’s seeing the 16th century unicorn tapestries artwork at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Disney also wanted the work to be as detailed as possible with, both, the character designs and the backgrounds, this work falling on background painter, Eyvind Earle, who worked in the studio for only three years.

And this, specifically, is exactly why I wanted to include Sleeping Beauty as one of my case studies for my animation. While the overall aesthetic, color palettes and style behind Disney’s Sleeping Beauty resembles the one I envisioned for Mavis and her world, Eyvind Earle’s masterpieces are one of the things that stood out to me the most. While he had previously worked on projects such as Peter Pan (1953), For Whom the Bulls Toil (1953) and Lady and the Tramp (1955), he “truly left his mark” with Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. He was greatly notorious for his “lush landscapes” and strong verticals. After Disney saw his work, he decided that, instead of having the background artists follow on to the animators’ footsteps, he’d have the opposite, where Earle would lead with his paintings, and the animators would follow in with his style. As a matter of fact, “the animators found it difficult, even impossible, to translate Earle’s detail-laden style into viable character designs.”

Sadly, the movie was a “financial flop.” Not necessarily because of its art direction, but because, as author Bob Thomas noted, “the emphasis was on visual beauty and spectacular effects.” Furthermore, the movie was “released in Super Technirama 70mm, which means there was a higher level of detail and stylisation,” being a huge step forward in the animation field at the time. It also featured a significant transformation in terms of animating, where the traditional “round imagery” turned to a flatter and more graphic sophistication.

Similarly, in terms of style, I also wanted to include Disney’s One Hundred and One Dalmatians (1961) and Pinocchio (1940).

References:

Cain, A. (2017) This Artist Made Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty” Enchanting - and Nearly Impossible to Animate. Available at: https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-artist-made-disneys-sleeping-beauty-enchanting-impossible-animate.

Jamieson, D. (2020) The House of Mouse Project - “Sleeping Beauty”. Available at https://thejamreport.com/2020/04/22/the-house-of-mouse-sleeping-beauty/

Deja, A. (2013) Deja View: The Art of Sleeping Beauty. Available at http://andreasdeja.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-art-of-sleeping-beauty.html.

Rowney, J. (2019) Sleeping Beauty Facts on 60th Anniversary - Movie that nearly Bankrupted Disney. Available at https://www.mirror.co.uk/film/sleeping-beauty-facts-60th-anniversary-13838175

Oliver, M. (2000) Eyvind Earle; Artist and Disney Painter. Available at https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-2000-jul-25-me-58783-story.html

Thumbelina

The movie Thumbelina was originally released on March 30th, 1994, by Warner Bros. It was directed and produced by director Don Bluth. While the movie was produced in the 1990s, the story itself originates from Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale, Thumbelina.

The story features a tiny girl born out of a tulip, after a woman struggled to have a child of her own. Thumbelina herself, like the name suggests, is the size of a thumb. Throughout the story, Thumbelina learns to love herself by undergoing several adventures. The production featured renowned voice actors, including Carol Channing, John Hurt, and even Jodi Benson, who’d notably voiced Disney’s Ariel in The Little Mermaid, in 1989. Some of the animators that worked on this movie were Paul J. Kelly, Jacques Muller and Mark Pudleiner.

When producing the movie, Merlin and Media Assetshave offered to spend 6 million dollars in the production of Thumbelina, as well as A Troll in Central Park. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as successful as it was planned to be, gaining almost half of what was put into the production of the movie. While I personally remember liked the movie as a child because of its colorful aesthetics and in the way that the animals’ features were overly exaggerated, it was also very colorful, while having a, somewhat, darker theme, when it came to the presentation of a fairy-tale world. In a sense, it stayed true to the darker hints that Hans Christian Andersen left behind his stories. Also, while the colors are plenty and to be seen everywhere throughout the movie, they’re also quite muted, and not as bright as they’d usually be for an animation that is aimed at children or at a younger audience.

Nonetheless, aside from the style and the use of colors, I also included this movie as one of my case studies because of the way that the creatures are shaped and presented. In a way, they serve as some sense of inspiration when I work with Mavis’ own universe, in terms of anthropomorphic and normal animals.

References:

The Big Cartoon Database. Thumbelina. Available at https://www.bcdb.com/bcdb/cartoon.cgi?film=23391

AllMovie. Thumbelina (1994). Available at https://www.allmovie.com/movie/v133496

Hersholt, J. Thumbelina. Available at https://andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/Thumbelina_e.html

Dawtrey, A. Merlin’s Magic May Animate DBE. Available at https://variety.com/1992/biz/news/merlin-s-magic-may-animate-dbe-100532/

Spirited Away

The movie was released in 2001, by the notorious Studio Ghibli. It was produced by the Studio Ghibli co-CEO Hayao Miyazaki. After releasing the greatly acclaimed Princess Mononoke, he immediately began working on this new project, after he found inspiration during an outing with some of his friends and their daughters. At that time, he noticed how girls were reading manga, and how the latter were often times focused on romance, and subjects of the sort. This made him think, ultimately asking himself:

“Is there possibly more that we can offer the young girls of this country?”

And so, the idea for Spirited Away, originally called The Spiriting Away of Sen and Chihiro, was born. The story follows the adventures of a young ten-year old girl through a “strange world of spirits,” where she needs to “find the will to live and save her parents,” who, in the meantime, had been turned into pigs. The movie began with a budget of 15 million dollars, while Disney agreed to finance 10% of its production costs. After its release, Spirited Away had a massive success, way more than the Studio could have ever imagined. In fact, “by the spring of 2002, the film would go on to shatter the previous record helf by ‘Titanic’ at the Japanese box-office.” Furthermore, “Spirited Away's $235 million not only sunk Titanic, but also set the film as the first non-American film to make $200 million outside of the US,” surpassing Princess Mononoke’s $155 million’s box office, back in 1997.

This movie is, to this day, the highest grossing movie in Japanese history. Additionally, frequent director of notorious Pixar movies, John Lasseter, was assigned with the task of Disney’s creative consultant in the US release of Spirited Away. This was also a key factor in the commercial success of the movie outside of Japan, as John Lasseter, aside from being a highly renowned animator, was also a huge fan of Miyazaki.

* Miyazaki is also very known for his use of watercolors. Furthermore, he often times includes anti-war, pro-environmentalism and feminist themes into his works.

In terms of the animation itself, Miyazaki wanted to explore the use of computer technology. However, while he and his team wanted to work with this media in particular, he also didn’t want it to use too much. Instead, he wanted to “keep the technology at a level to enhance the story, [and] not steal the whole show.”

“Studio Ghibli has forever shifted Japanese popular culture through their unique and constant quality storytelling coupled with beautiful visuals.”

Similarly, in terms of style and color use that I like to associate with the world and animation that I have in mind for Mavis and her own universe, I thought of Studio Ghibli’s Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989).

References:

The Making of Hayao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away - Part 1. Available at http://jimhillmedia.com/alumni1/b/michael_howe/archive/2003/04/15/1391.aspx

Herskovitz, J. “Mononoke” Creator Miyazaki Toons up Pic. Available at https://variety.com/1999/film/news/mononoke-creator-miyazaki-toons-up-pic-1117759995/

Gurney, J. (2017) Watercolor Tips from Hayao Miyazaki. Available at http://gurneyjourney.blogspot.com/2017/03/watercolor-tips-from-hayao-miyazaki.html

Ewens, H. (2016) Why ‘Spirited Away’ is the Best Animated Film of All Time. Available at https://www.vice.com/en/article/8geg4b/spirited-away-ghibli-miyazaki-15th-15-year-anniversary-best-animation-hannah-ewens

Mcdonald, T. (2020) Studio Ghibli and its Affect on Japanese Culture. Available at https://www.arcgis.com/apps/Cascade/index.html?appid=b2e39738b7d140babc407db5a40415e8

BBC. (2016) Hayao Miyazaki: Japan's Godfather of Animation? Available at https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-38074088

Honorable Mentions: Disney’s Robin Hood (1973), Tangled (2010).

#course: animation principles #animation principles term one #uni work #year 1 #myportfolio #case studies

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animeniacss · 3 years

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A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 16- What Makes Me Passionate

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 4.8k words

Chapter 16 - What Makes Me Passionate

Taehyung felt that he was floating on Cloud 9 after, what he would at least consider, a successful date with you in the hills outside of Seoul. He had such a good time, and even with his silly little slip-up, he was confident that you enjoyed yourself too. When he got home afterward, he lounged out on the couch and flipped on the television, his phone resting safely on his lap until you sent him that confirmation text that you had made it home safely. Once he did, he had Jimin on the phone for over an hour, gushing like a schoolgirl about his afternoon, and how happy he was. Saying it out loud only continued to fill him with happiness.

That happiness lasted into the night and right into the next day. Jungkook wanted to come over and paint, and Taehyung had no objections. As he waited in his kitchen for the knock at the door, alerting him of Jungkook’s presence, Taehyung was whipping up a few sandwiches for the duo to eat at lunch.

“Hyung!” He heard faintly from behind the door. He lifted his head in the direction of the door, where a loud knock came following the voice.

“Yeah, hold on!” He shouted, setting the food on the table before heading to the door. When he flung it open, Jungkook was standing in his view, a bag slung over his shoulder, and a grin on his face. “Hey, Jungkook. Come in.”

“I have some cool new things that I painted over the past few days that I want to show you, Hyung!” Taehyung looked over as Jungkook slid off his shoes and set his bag down on the coffee table, plopping down in front of it before starting to pull out a bunch of canvases of varying sizes. Taehyung felt as though he was looking at himself on Christmas, frantically opening presents with wide and curious eyes, even though Jungkook already knew exactly like he was going to pull out and show. When Taehyung walked over, plopping down on the couch and watching as Jungkook turned in his direction, handing him a few of the smaller canvases. “Which one do you like the best?”

When Taehyung spread the handful of canvases on the couch beside him as well as his lap, looking them over with focused eyes. The various canvases were practically like a rainbow, various colors lined up and spread around the canvases as a focal point for each. The red canvas resembled that of a rose, a hint of green poking out at the bottom as if the flower had just recently bloomed. The yellow resembled a daisy, bright and lively behind hints of a blue background. Purple resembled a stunning lilac, and as Taehyung’s eyes landed on each new canvas, he continued to get the same theme: floral.

“These are nice. What made you choose to do a whole floral theme?” Taehyung’s eyes lifted to see Jungkook and…what was that he noticed on Jungkook’s cheeks? Red-tinted blush? Jungkook must have realized as well because he immediately turned away. “What’s with the sudden red face?” He hummed.

“It’s a long story, just answer the question of which one you like best, please.” He begged, not turning back to look at his Hyung. Taehyung, already with a good idea of where this was going, looked back down at the pictures laid before him.

“Well…” Taehyung began. “I think my personal favorite is the lilac. But there’s something to suggest that can be of good advice.” Taehyung’s explanation made Jungkook finally turn back around to face him. “But I’ll only tell you if I get an explanation. I need some backstory to make a fair decision.”

Jungkook sighed, offering only a pout in response. “Alright.” He began. “One of the girls in my class…noticed me sketching during art.” Taehyung rubbed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, an amused smile forming on his face. “So, she started talking to me a lot and said she thinks I’m talented. Usually, girls are pushy with me but like…she’s pretty calm. She hasn’t tried to flirt with me or anything. She just wants to talk about my art and it’s nice.”

“So, does that have a connection with the paintings on my lap?” A curious Taehyung asked.

“Yes,” Jungkook said. “She said she’s a really big fan of flowers. But she never really told me a specific one, she just kind of say she liked flowers. So, I made a whole bunch of flowers, and…I wanted to give her the best one.” Taehyung smiled.

“That’s cute, Jungkook. These are all good.”

“But you like lilac best?” He asked curiously. Taehyung nodded. “Then I’ll give-.”

“Hold on,” Taehyung said quickly. “Remember I said I had a suggestion that could work if I had the right information?” Jungkook nodded. “Well, now I have the right information.” Taehyung leaned back against his couch and motioned to the paintings. “If you don’t know what kind of flower she likes the best then give them all to her.”

“But isn’t that a bit excessive? She’s not me…” Jungkook’s ears tinted a little pinker. “my…girlfriend, or anything.”

“But clearly, you want her to be,” Taehyung said simply. Jungkook huffed, but he didn’t respond because he knew Taehyung was right. So did Taehyung. He’s a love guru now, after all. “But I know what you mean. Dropping like 5 different paintings on her desk in class seems a bit…too much. So, what would you do if you were buying a bunch of regular flowers for her?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow a bit, confused as to what Taehyung wanted for an answer. “Well?”

“I’d buy her a bouquet, I guess,” Jungkook said. Taehyung motioned down to all of the paintings once again, then offered his friend a small smile. “…Oh. Oh! Hyung, that’s a great idea!” Jungkook immediately took the paintings back into his arms, laying them out on the coffee table now. “I can go pick up a little carrier and give it to her on Monday! Hyung, you’re a genius!”

A genius. Yes, he was. Taehyung crossed his arms and offered Jungkook a playful, yet confident grin. “Any time, Jungkook. Considered it repayment for helping me last time.” Jungkook laughed a bit.

“How did the date go, anyway?” Jungkook asked curiously. Taehyung sighed, wagging his finger just slightly at the teen.

“Now, now Jungkook, it’s rude to kiss and tell, now isn’t it?” Taehyung asked curiously. Jungkook raised an eyebrow. It was obvious to him that Taehyung had been dying to share the experience since Jungkook first walked through the door of the apartment. After a second, Taehyung’s boxy smile returned to his face. “Alright, well since you’re being so adamant, I guess I can share.”

“You’re insane. I still can’t imagine how you scored that date.” Jungkook muttered, but Taehyung ignored it. Resting in the back of his chair, he resembled that of an old war veteran, preparing to share his stories of grandeur with the grandchildren at a family reunion. It made Jungkook snicker in amusement.

“Well, we went to the hills and had lunch. We got to do some painting, and overall, it was a really good time. She said she wants to do it again sometime, so hopefully, soon we can plan another one.” Jungkook nodded.

“That’s great.” An amused Jungkook responded. “What did you end up painting?” Taehyung looked to his left, pointing to the painting that was resting against the wall. “Oh, wow. That’s incredible.”

“I just need to finish shading. I was going to do it at some point today.” Jungkook looked down at his stack of paintings on the coffee table. “Hungry? I made some lunch.” He quickly added, before hopping up and heading into the kitchen.

A few hours had passed after lunch, and the boys decided to just start painting. Jungkook’s desire for mentoring has slowly just formed into a painting session once a week, with some advice sprinkled here and there as questions arose, and honestly, bother Jungkook and Taehyung couldn’t have asked for a better arrangement. Taehyung had his painting on his biggest canvas, allowing him to stand up and fill in the shading in the areas he had previously labeled in hopes to remember. He was working quite diligently, his brush furiously rubbing against the canvas to add dimension to the face, body, and background of the scene as if it was basking in the glow of the sun. Jungkook must have noticed Taehyung’s hard work because he spoke up with a question. However, it wasn’t a question about whether or not he should use a particular color scheme, and that took Taehyung slightly off of his guard.

“What makes you passionate, Hyung?” Jungkook asked. Taehyung turned his head to look at Jungkook when he asked this. He stalled his reply to see if Jungkook would add anything else to his abrupt statement, and he did. “Is it her?”

“…Didn’t I already answer that last time?” Taehyung asked curiously as his eyes wandered back to his painting.

“Well, yeah. But I asked if she inspired you then, not if she made you passionate. You can be inspired by anything but I think it won’t be anything special if there’s no passion in it. That’s why I turned to you for advice in the first place.” Taehyung sighed. Suddenly, he no longer felt like the wise, older mentor that he had enjoyed being up until this point. “Well, am I right?”

“I…I mean I guess,” Taehyung said. It would explain all of the sketches he’d made of her recently, all of the features he has gotten to put to paper and morph into something almost as beautiful as the real thing. “I just like to draw her. Is that weird?”

“When you word it like that…” Jungkook’s comment elicited chuckles from both of them. “I was just curious, because if passion lets you draw amazing things like this-.” He motioned to the painting that Taehyung was working on. “-then I mean come on. I could only wish to have that kind of passion when I work.”

“Seems like you do already Mr. Florist.” Taehyung teased. Jungkook laughed shyly, and Taehyung turned back to his painting, continuing to shade in his painting.

“Maybe I should reword my question,” Jungkook added. “…Do you think being in love makes you passionate?” Taehyungs brush stopped stroking the canvas, pressing against the canvas for a moment.

“Well, it can be a source for people, definitely, but-.”

“I mean for you, Hyung.” Jungkook corrected. Taehyung was silent for a moment, not looking at the younger boy though he can feel his eyes burning holes into his back. After a moment, he shrugged.

“I couldn’t tell you…” Taehyung said. “I’ve never been in love before.” Jungkook nodded, deciding to leave the conversation at that and turn back to his work. As the duo got back into focusing on their paintings, Taehyung’s eyes wandered towards his desk, where his small stack of haphazardly placed sketches laid. Through them, he could see different prominent features of you poking out into his view, from your cheeks to your adorably addicting grin. Love was something he never really experienced growing up unless you count the occasional adolescent crush. He had never been in love before, at least not before now, and honestly, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

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

Your night with Hoseok wasn’t much different from Taehyungs in terms of conversation. Hoseok had come over with some take-out and wine, much like he did every time that he stopped by knowing they would be doing work. However, it wasn’t long into the cutting and preparation of materials that Hoseok asked the dreaded “So tell me all about your date!”

“It was fine.” You said simply and hoped Hoseok would leave it at that. You and Hoseok both knew him well enough to know that was next to impossible.

“Fine is not detailed enough. What did you do, what happened? I’ve held off texting you about it because I knew I was coming over today and I’ve waited long enough!”

“Do you just find all your entertainment in my life?” you asked curiously. Hoseok only nodded, and you sighed. “All we did was have a picnic and paint! I sent you the picture of what I made and I told you it’s going up in the classroom Monday.”

“Yes, that’s all fine and good but I want to know like…what happened?” You raised an eyebrow at the way he emphasized his word, and Hoseok sighed. “Was it good enough to go on another one with him?”

“I…I don’t know. I told him I had a good time and would do it again but…I don’t know.” Hoseok’s eyes went a bit wide, and he leaned forward. You glanced up at him. “What are you staring at me like that for?”

“Did…did he kiss you or anything?”

“Hoseok!”

“I’m curious!” He gasped, grinning a bit. “I just want to know, that’s all!”

“I just…” you shook your head. “No. No, we didn’t kiss or anything like that, we just ate and he helped me with my painting a bit and that’s all.” Hoseok leaned back in his chair. “Besides, even if he tried to kiss me, I don’t think I would’ve gone in to accept it.”

“Why?” Hoseok asked curiously. You sighed, clasping your hands together and pressing them to your forehead as if they would help push out the words you wanted to share.

-------One Week Ago----

You had just watched as Taehyung and Hoseok walked out of the restaurant, Taehyung’s eyes falling in your direction as he made his way towards the door. Once he was out of your sight, you sighed. The sigh alerted Namjoon, who decided to look in the direction you were just in time to see the duo leaving the building.

“Hoseok and Taehyung? Didn’t think they would show up here? Did they know where we were coming?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You said simply. “I didn’t even know we were coming here, so I’ll be concerned if they managed to find out.” Namjoon chuckled a bit, taking a sip of his wine.

“Well, maybe they just wanted to see how lovely you look tonight.” Your eyes cast up to Namjoon, and all you could do in response was chuckle.

“Thank you, but my hair is a bit frizzy tonight so it’s not-.”

“No, it’s perfect.” He assured, offering you one of his gentlest smiles. “I think the frizzier hair suits you well. It looks more natural that way, you know?” He gently reached out, poking at a bit of hair on your forehead that was sticking out. You had to admit, it made you giggle a bit.

“Thank you.” You said softly.

As your dinner with Namjoon began to wrap, he paid the bill that was almost as long as your phone number and escorted you out with a hand resting gently on your hip. Upon walking out of the warm, heated building and into the slightly brisker air, it made you shiver slightly, instinctively scooting closer to Namjoon in the hope to find warmth at his side. Namjoon noticed immediately and was quick to tug off the jacket of his tux, sliding it over your shoulders. When you looked up at him, Namjoon smiled, his arm slipping around you as he led you down the street.

“It’s a nice night. Do you want to take a walk before I take you back home?”

“Okay.” You said softly, nodding your head. Both of you headed down the street, admiring the lights that were turning on to illuminate the street as you both walked down. “Thank you for dinner.” You said gently.

“Of course! I hope you enjoyed it.” He smiled happily. “I had a great time.”

“Me too. It was delicious.”

Both of you walked in silence for a little while, just enjoying the comfortable air that followed you both through the night. As Namjoon walked you back towards his car, he was quick to open up the door to the passenger’s side. As gentlemanly as ever. You smiled, quickly taking off his jacket and handing it back to him.

“Thank you for this.” You said softly. Namjoon was hesitant but took it back knowing well that you were about to be in his heated car. When his hand grasped on to it, a few his fingers pressed against your tight knuckles, which made you bit your lip. When you glanced up at Namjoon, you saw he was staring right back at you. The way his eyes captivated you, was unlike anything you had ever seen every time you got the chance to catch a glimpse. Regardless of how you felt going on a few dates with Namjoon, you had to admit he was extremely attractive, and the fact he asked you out at all was something that you would never wrap your head around. You must have been staring at him for far too long, because the next thing you knew, Namjoon quickly leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

The action was so sudden, it completely caught you off guard, transporting you back into the reality that you were faced with. What was going on?! Before you could give a proper reaction, Namjoon pulled back. It was only slightly, leaving a small gap between the two of you so that if either of you wanted to go in for another kiss, the travel would be short. You blinked, staring up at Namjoon with what must have been wide and confused eyes. Namjoon chuckled breathlessly, scratching his red cheek as two dimples poked out into view.

“Sorry, I uhm…” Namjoon couldn’t seem to find the right words to finish the thoughts swimming in his mind. Your fingertips reached up to your lips quickly, as if you could catch the feeling one more time simply by touching them. When your eyes raised back up to Namjoon, he blinked. “Are you okay?”

“Y…yes, I-.” Now you were the one lost for words, unsure of what you could say at this moment. That silence that overtook the both of you before returned, however, unlike before when it was comforting, now it was totally awkward. Namjoon’s eyes widened, and he quickly covered his mouth.

“Oh God, I made you so uncomfortable, I’m so sorry, I should have asked or something first, I-.”

“No, no!” You said quickly, waving your hands. “Namjoon I just…it just took me off guard, that’s all. But…I guess it makes sense you’d want to do that…we’ve been on several dates now…” You could see the guilt wash over his face as he ran a hand over it, hoping it would wipe the guilt away, but to no avail. He quickly let out a deep sigh, and you looked down at your feet.

“Uhm, here….” Namjoon quickly helped you into the car. Once you were settled, you watched him close the door and walk around to the other side. Your eyes trailed him all the way around, and you could see his hands run through his hair as he slid in beside you.

No matter how fast Namjoon could have driven, that awkward silence followed behind you, filling the car with tension so thick you almost felt as if you were suffocating. For a while, you looked down at your lap. You had no idea what to say at this moment, it was still shocking that you had even experienced it. As your eyes trailed over to see if Namjoon’s reaction had at all changed, you noticed that his eyes were fixated only on the road. One of his hands gripped the steering wheel, while the other covered his mouth, almost as if he was thinking while he drove. You didn’t know what to say but felt like you should say something.

“…Sorry.” You said softly. Maybe not that. Namjoon immediately looked over at you, eyes wide.

“S-. Why are you apologizing? You have nothing to apologize for. I should be on my knees begging for your forgiveness.” A small smile escaped your lips.

“I feel bad I gave such an uncomfortable reaction.” You said softly. “I didn’t mean to…it just happened. But I didn’t…mind it? I don’t know.”

Namjoon offered you a small smile. “Feels like we’re back in high school, doesn’t it? All these weird emotions in our minds yet not enough wisdom yet to sort it all into its proper places.”

“All these years later and clearly I still can’t.” You added. Namjoon laughed a bit. “I never really dated in high school, either, so I never had the experience.”

“Neither did I. I can’t remember the last serious relationship I was in.” You nodded. “But I am sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I just…I’ve kind of wanted to do that for a while.” You nodded.

“…Thank you, I think.” You both shared another chuckle before you pressed your hands together. As Namjoon pulled up to your apartment, you glanced up at where your window was, then looked back at Namjoon. “I’ll see you Monday morning at drop-off, then.” You smiled happily. Namjoon smiled.

“Yes, see you then.” He said. When you slid out of the car, you offered him another shy wave before heading up the steps and into your apartment building. Namjoon leaned forward to watch you, making sure you made it in alright.

This part you didn’t see, but once you were out of his sight, Namjoon slammed his hands angrily on the steering wheel, cursing at himself for his stupidity.

--------------Present Day---------

“HE KISSED YOU?” Hoseok shouted, standing up so quickly that the chair he was resting on flew back and slammed down onto the floor. The sound made you both flinch in surprise, and Hoseok quickly turned to pick it up. “You never told anyone that part!”

“It wasn’t anyone’s business, that’s why.” You spoke. “Besides, if I said something then Seokjin would have been losing his mind, and I did not want to deal with it.”

“He had no right to do that!”

“And who are you to tell me or anyone else what they can do on a date?” You asked, frowning. Your harsh tone stopped Hoseok in his tracks, and his tense body quickly began to relax muscle by muscle.

“But still, he….” As you watched Hoseok mutter his words, you saw his face droop and his eyes grow slightly darker, as if he was trying to escape this reality and wake up in a new one. You frowned. “He did that…and then Taehyung, he…” Hoseok plopped back down on the chair, shoulders slumped in frustration. “I can’t believe that he did that….”

“Are you okay?” You asked softly.

“Are you?” Hoseok gasped. “He just surprises you with a kiss then acts like everything is okay. He didn’t even look awkward when he dropped off Kai that next Monday…”

“He didn’t have to. I told him it wasn’t a big deal.”

“B-but it is a big deal!” Hoseok said quickly.

“…Hoseok, what’s wrong with you? Why are you getting so worked up about this?”

“Well, there’s Namjoon who's taking you out on dates and now starting to kiss you. Then there’s Taehyung who just took you out, and…” Hoseok’s shoulders slumped. “What’s going to be the point of having me around then?” For a moment, you couldn’t tell if Hoseok was teasing you with that question, however, even if he was, the truth behind his statement and the fear that lied within it became more prevalent as Hoseok crossed his arms. “It already took a while after we made plans to hang out to actually hang out.”

“Hobi…” you said softly.

“I know you don’t want to date me, that’s…well, it hurts but there’s nothing I can do about it but I…I can’t handle all of this anymore. It’s stressing me out.” You quickly reached out, taking Hoseok’s hands tightly into yours. He glanced up at you, a slight pout on his face much like that of a little child

“Hoseok even if I date a thousand different people in my lifetime, they’re not going to be my best friend like you are.” Slowly, Hoseok’s head lowered until he was resting his forehead on your hands, which he was tightly gripping with his own. You managed to lift your thumb, gently stroking his hair in hopes that would soothe him a bit.

“Please don’t date a thousand different people, I can’t fight that many people.” You smiled a bit at Hoseok’s playful comment. “I just don’t want to feel unimportant to you, that’s all. Hearing these stories about your dates, as much as I want to know, it kills me inside.”

“You won’t ever be unimportant to be, Hobi~.” You cooed reassuringly. Hoseok took a moment to remain in that position, silent as he relaxed into the feeling of your thumb, and eventually your entire hand, lifting into his hair and stroking through it gently. As he did, you pursed your lips.

As you watched Hoseok rest there, you began thinking about Namjoon, Taehyung, and Hoseok. How on earth did you of all people manage to get three guys like them roped into your life? And how the hell were you going to work all of this out? What kind of relationship did you want to be a part of? Did you even want to be a part of a relationship right now? Obviously, you do if you’re accepting dates left and right. You thought to yourself. If that were the case, how on earth were you going to be able to determine the path that was meant for you? You knew the simple answer to all of these questions:

You had no fucking idea.

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

While you and Kim Taehyung were thinking about your love lives in your unique ways, the weekend came to a close and schools opened back up for the next school week. With this, a certain Jeon Jungkook strolled into his high school. This was the most nervous he had ever been in his life, next to maybe when he graduated from middle school and had to give a speech to the entire room. However, he wanted to set his plan into action as soon as possible, and he knew the longer he waited, the longer it would take for him to do this, eventually meaning he would never do it. So, it was now or never.

As Jungkook walked into the school, a few girls approached him to talk or wished him a good morning from the other side of the hall, giggling and sighing when he offered a hello back. He was being friendly, however, he had one mission that he knew he was going to complete before the morning came to a close. Entering his classroom, he saw her. Sitting at her desk in the front of the classroom, young Moon Nashin was talking with a small group of her friends. She was only alerted of Jungkook’s attention when one of her friends called out to wish him a good morning. She was quick to follow suit.

“Good morning, Jungkook!” She said happily. Jungkook nodded, walking up to her.

“Good morning.” He said softly. His hands were shaking so they were stuck in his pockets for right now. “Uhm…Nashin… I bought you something, and I want to give it to you if that’s okay.” Nashin’s eyes widened in surprise at the news, and she turned to her friends, who were just as shocked as she was.

“Okay!” She said cheerily. “That’s so exciting, what did you get me?” Jungkook nodded, setting his backpack on the floor and opening it. He quickly lifted a small bouquet. However, the bouquet was not flowers, at least not ones with a floral scent that could be smelt. These flowers only smelt of dried paint, of the hard work and passion Jungkook put into his art. When he stuck the little bouquet out to Nashin, her eyes went even wider, and Jungkook saw her face light up. “Wh-.”

“You said you liked flowers, but I didn’t know which ones. So, I painted you a whole bunch. And my Hyung helped me think of a unique idea to give them to you like they’re a real bouquet so…here.” He handed them to her as she rose from her seat, and she immediately took them. “You inspired me to paint a lot of pretty things recently. I wanted to thank you for that.” Nashin looked up at Jungkook and offered a wide, excited smile.

“Thank you so much! These are beautifully done!” By now, the rest of the class had gathered around to examine what Nashin had received. A few other girls in the room were whispering, jealous of her for her amazing gift, while boys were kicking themselves yet again for not being like the Jeon Jungkook. He only offered a shy smile, scratching his neck. Before he knew it, Nashin quickly embraced Jungkook in a tight hug. This startled him immediately, catching him off guard and making him stumble a little.

“Tell your mentor he’s a genius, this was so thoughtful and I’m so happy I get to be your inspiration, Jungkook!”

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chapitre7 · 4 years

Text

The heart at the tip of a brush

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

College / Drama Club AU

Read on AO3

Mo Xuanyu had always been their make-up artist. Lan Zhan had always been in charge of the costumes, ever since Wei Ying found the sketchbook where he kept the designs he came up with in the hours between sleep and homework, when he allowed himself to flounder the wings of his imagination. Embarrassed as he was of his hobby, he didn’t even know why he had carried the sketchbook with him that day (maybe confused it with his regular notebooks?), but after the initial shock of being discovered, he had relented to Wei Ying’s cries and pleadings and had agreed to be the last member in his brand new drama club. What set them apart, Wei Ying had told him with exaggerated gallantry, was that they’d write their own plays and enact them, instead of somebody else’s. Pretty big talk for someone who wouldn’t actually do the writing, Jiang Cheng barked, but he still joined the club anyway, the flair for the dramatic flowing in his veins as much as it did in Wei Ying’s; truly brothers, no matter the blood ties and several other differences between them.

So the club started then, each one of them being responsible for too many things and also not much at all, in those early days of chaotic planning, until they gathered more members and set a clear goal in mind: the school festival. It was an embarrassment, as school projects often were, but Wei Ying’s joy at seeing all of their work fulfilled in an hour of glory (“What glory? MianMian forgot her lines and ruined my impeccable script, Brother Wei! It won’t do, it really won’t do!”) somehow emboldened them to try harder and strive higher. So, at Wen Ning’s suggestion, on their second year, they started enacting plays at the local orphanage. The reward of the kids’ starstruck faces fed them better than any feast, and so they continued, every year, sometimes twice a year, all the way till college.

With such responsibility on their shoulders, it was natural for everyone to get pumped up, even going so far as to enlist some of their family members to lend their hands. Such as Lan Zhan sewing all of their costumes with his brother’s help, who had an eye for subtle details that Lan Zhan treasured, as he always did with all of his brother’s inputs throughout his life. Along with elder brother Lan came Meng Yao, who enriched Nie Huaisang’s scripts with twists and turns that made the fan-wielding boy think up even wilder twists and turns that Wei Ying’s creative mind ate up like his favorite spicy pumpkin-flavored cookies from the local coffee shop (that literally nobody but him liked). Jiang Cheng was their lead actor, Luo Qingyang, stage name MianMian, their lead actress, and everybody did a little bit of acting, even if they had no lines, as was often the case with Lan Zhan (at Wei Ying’s request).

And Mo Xuanyu was in charge of their make-up.

Not Lan Zhan.

Never Lan Zhan.

Yet there he is, covering for the sick man, standing in front of a smiling Wei Ying, who looks every bit like the evil sorcerer that they had perfected through the years, while Nie Huaisang, the second-best make-up artist of their little rogue troupe, frenzies over MianMian.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, the gentle tone of his voice coloring his name, holding the familiar hint of apology that he often uses when he drags Lan Zhan to adventures his friend doesn’t appreciate as much as Wei Ying had anticipated. “It’s really not that difficult. It’s not too different from coloring your designs, and you’ve seen the end results. This is nothing your brilliant, talented hands can’t handle!”

Flattery could get him anywhere as long as Lan Zhan was involved, but the young man still swallows down around the anxiety that has installed itself at his stomach like acid, not having much to do with being able to pull off a decent make-up job and everything to do with leaning over Wei Ying and painting on him like a canvas.

Unaware of the not-so-honorable battle that Lan Zhan fights against himself, Wei Ying places the eyeshadow palette in Lan Zhan’s palm and leans against the back of the chair, tilting his face up. It’s so innocent, so trusting and professional, and Lan Zhan leans over him for a brief second before remembering he’s not holding any brushes. How surprised would everyone be if Lan Zhan simply bolted out of the modest, well-lit bedroom that they used as a dressing room and screamed in the backyard full of children waiting for the play to begin? He can’t even process the mental image, but knowing that it’s impossible seems to ground him.

Firmly holding a brush in his hand, Lan Zhan swallows again — doesn’t scream —, inhales, and sets himself to work.

It really isn’t so difficult once he begins. He knows exactly what color Mo Xuanyu uses on Wei Ying, so accustomed he is to seeing his friend play the fearsome Yiling Patriarch. It’s a highlight of red on the crease of his eyes, to give him a sharper look, scheming and compelling at the same time. Lan Zhan uses his own thumb to smudge the same red on his eyelids, just a tiny bit, just a brush of color, a gradient of red that matches up with the color scheme that Lan Zhan set up for his character a long time ago, which was really just a fantasy take on Wei Ying’s own style.

With a thin brush, he sets to draw a perfect black contour on Wei Ying’s lash line, for when he opens his eyes, he needs him to look as if he could transmutate into a cat at any given moment, so round and marble-like those brown eyes look then, mesmerizing the audience.

Satisfied with his job on his eyes, Lan Zhan sparkles a peach color on his cheeks so he looks healthy and ready to gobble up misbehaving children. And then his lips...

He curses Mo Xuanyu and his food poisoning, and then he mentally apologizes. All those years in high school trying to ignore just how pretty Wei Ying is as he tried to get Lan Zhan’s attention, how pretty he even was when he was asleep and drooling on Lan Zhan’s dinner table where they were supposed to brainstorm the theme of their next play. Years of trying not to betray the honesty of their friendship, because he could spend forever watching the endless capability Wei Ying’s ideas, and he liked being included in his group, doing something that he had been curious about but ignoring for the sake of his academic success, until Wei Ying taught him that he could have both the success and the fun of doing something you like. All of it, and also the dreams where Wei Ying kissed him (because he was never the one to initiate it), touched him, pinned him to the floor from where he fell in endless loops — all of his inappropriate desire falls upon a single, tiny brush of red.

Holding Wei Ying’s chin, he glides the brush, shiny and glossy, over the center of Wei Ying’s lower lip and then out to the sides. Then he draws the heart shape of his upper lip, careful not to color outside the natural lines of Wei Ying’s mouth, slowly, slowly covering every corner with calculated precision. He’s mindful not to use too much product, knowing by its consistence that it can smear unsightly, but it still accumulates in the corners, and he wipes it away with his digit, using the tip of his nail to draw the proper line again.

His gaze moves up and the eyes he framed are looking straight at him. How long had he been staring at him? How long had Lan Zhan even been working? And why can’t he hear the others getting ready around them?

His breathing, that had been steady — and he had, by all accounts, been touching Wei Ying’s face as he hovered over him, trying to make him even more beautiful than the memory of their past plays — fails him as the tip of Wei Ying’s tongue peaks through, just the tip, before he touches his lips together. His teeth look whiter with that red framing them, and Lan Zhan can’t look away, he’s mesmerized by that mouth that loves to talk to him, pouring out considerations from topics Lan Zhan had never even considered but that he understands when Wei Ying talks about them. But now he’s not talking, his lips are just perfect and unmoving and parted, and Wei Ying still has his chin tilted up at him, and he’s so near. Why isn’t Wei Ying saying anything? Where is everyone? Why is he gripping the arms of Wei Ying’s chair—

“Are you done there yet?!”

Jiang Cheng’s call is very clear and very near, and Lan Zhan is aware that he has made an undignified jump away from his position in 0.1 seconds flat. He expects Wei Ying to laugh at him, as he does in almost every situation, but when Lan Zhan dares to raise his eyes back at his friend, he’s also standing and adjusting his cuffs before checking his reflection on a nearby mirror.

“Wow,” is all that he says about Lan Zhan’s work, and Lan Zhan is surprised that, despite the panicked drumming of his heart against his chest that spells out all of his secret infatuation, he’s still glad that Wei Ying seems pleased about the results.

“I... I kept it simple,” he says, and it’s true. Xuanyu uses a plethora of products that Lan Zhan doesn’t quite begin to understand the purpose of, and he still wouldn’t have taken as long as Lan Zhan did given his expertise.

Wei Ying, however, just shakes his head and gives him an honest (and painfully distracting) smile.

“These kids are in for an especially striking Yiling Patriarch today,” he says and smirks, and Lan Zhan wants to kiss him and die, and those ideas don’t feel as isolated as he originally thought they’d be. “Let’s go, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan is terribly relieved that they had decided to write him out for today, because he’s not confident he’d remember to say any of his lines, even if they were just mostly hums, with Wei Ying playing his flute in a particularly intense tempo, eyes glued on him, as if he was the one he wanted to enchant.

***

“Lan Zhan, create my new character with me.”

That is the sole reason why Wei Ying arrives early to one of the few classes they have together, the very next week after their performance. Their professor is never late, but that doesn’t keep Wei Ying from throwing his notebook at him, an old thing, full of scribbles that date to a place in time when they didn’t even know each other. Wei Ying makes a list of attributes, sitting in his own space but leaning over Lan Zhan’s desk with inspiration at the tip of his tongue. He looks up at Lan Zhan with eyes that might as well sparkle like in the comics he once convinced Lan Zhan to read.

“I want to be a hero,” Wei Ying says, voice brimming with an emotion Lan Zhan can’t quite place, and they’re only forced out of their own world when the professor clears his throat loudly, quite pointedly looking in their direction.

Although he takes his notes dutifully, Wei Ying keeps throwing him glances with barely contained excitement, and in the back of Lan Zhan’s mind, in-between the professor’s pauses, he’s already working on the design.

***

The troupe doesn’t have to meet for some time, given they all also have to focus on their own assignments and upcoming exams. When they do, after New Year celebrations, it’ll be time to brainstorm, and Wei Ying, diligent for all the wrong things at the wrong times, plans to pitch his brand new concept.

“He’s going to be one of two prides,” he says, sprawled on Lan Zhan’s couch, his hands raised high, as far as he can reach, palms splayed, as if he can already see the scenes playing out on the ceiling.

“Prideful?” Lan Zhan questions from his place on the floor, leaning against the couch and looking at Wei Ying, his sketchbook on the low table before him, waiting.

“Hmm, not his definitive trait. His brother is though — that’s Jiang Cheng, of course —, as the rightful heir to the kingdom. I’ll be...”

“A general?”

“A loyal servant and prized adviser? You know, sort of like Merlin. But I don’t wanna be a sorcerer this time, I wanna wield a sword. I love brother Mingjue’s props.”

Lan Zhan huffs, and whether it’s about Nie Mingjue’s props or the idea of Wei Ying being an adviser, he doesn’t say.

“Lan Zhan, close your eyes and imagine it.”

He leans his head back, more against Wei Ying than the couch, and does so. One of Wei Ying’s hands sets over his eyes, for unnecessary effect, and Lan Zhan can’t help but allow himself to smile.

“A prince and his right hand, the twin prides. One is the rightful heir, the other is... adopted, yes. Together they defend Lotus Pier against invaders, and their rising success brings them notoriety among the other kingdoms. What do you think?”

“Purple.”

“Hmm?”

“The royal color of Lotus Pier should be purple. Pink is too light, purple is better. Like Yunmeng’s sky in the summer.”

“You still remember that?”

Wei Ying lifts his hand from his eyes, resting it on his hair as Lan Zhan turns his head around to look at Wei Ying, acquiescing with a hum. The last time he went to Yunmeng for the summer, he sent Lan Zhan dozens of pictures, including one from the beach at sunset, when the sky was a gradient of orange and purple, like a painting. Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan would love that one, and he did, making sure he told Wei Ying that instead of keeping it to himself.

(Although he loved and saved all of them to his phone anyway, but he kept that to himself.)

“Isn’t that what you were thinking about? Lotus. Yunmeng.”

Wei Ying smiles and hums an agreement of his own, his fingers brushing Lan Zhan’s bangs away from his face. And because they’re both so easy to read to each other, and Wei Ying’s gaze is so unmistakably fond, and because he feels himself too open, Lan Zhan lifts his head from the couch and leans forward, fingers hurriedly taking up his mechanic pencil to scribble down a few keywords. Purple. Twins. Adopted. Adviser.

“I haven’t figured out how to go about it yet,” Wei Ying says as he moves from the couch to sit beside Lan Zhan on the floor, “but I wanted to create a different kind of hero than we’ve worked with before.”

“The adoption part will be important for the children,” Lan Zhan points out with a nod. “It’s good, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying lets out a strangled noise and takes hold of Lan Zhan’s left arm, rubbing his face on his upper arm before looking back at Lan Zhan. His cheeks and nose are red, but he has the same excited glint in his eyes that he had when he approached Lan Zhan in class the day before, and Lan Zhan thinks it simply belongs there. This is his favorite Wei Ying, creative and free, and though he’s bound by his academic responsibilities, as long as Lan Zhan is with him, he’ll make sure he succeeds in everything he does. Everything for that crescent moon smile, full of stars.

“So, what else?”

Lan Zhan’s mechanic pencil hovers over the paper as they think, scribbling down more keywords, until it becomes so late in the evening that Wei Ying misses his dormitory’s curfew and has to sleep at Lan Zhan’s flat, in a guest bedroom that holds more of Wei Ying’s forgotten possessions than those of Lan Zhan’s brother, who was supposedly the person he kept the room for.

***

“Why did you keep the red ribbon?”

Lan Zhan sets his red pencil down, lifting his sketchbook so both of them can think about it together.

“Both Wanyin and Wuxian use the same clothes and hairstyle, as twins and members of the royal family. Wanyin, as the heir, wears the crown’s jewelry in his hair. Wuxian is a main character too, so he can’t look any less striking, so, the red ribbon.”

It’s your color goes unsaid. His hair is long, past his shoulders, though Jiang Cheng keeps telling him to get it cut like a normal person, and he always ties it with a red velvet scrunchie. As the Yiling Patriarch, he wore a red ribbon in his hair, and when he played the dizi and a gust of wind blew by him, he was mesmerizing, the red unforgettable against Wen Ning’s hand-drawn background. There was always something red about Wei Ying; a red backpack, red converse, and that red lipstick... Lan Zhan still dreams about it.

It should be there. Yet Wei Ying keeps his brows furrowed at the drawing.

“But isn’t it too striking? I don’t think Jiang Cheng is going to like it.”

“Wei Ying.”

He takes Wei Ying’s wrist, bringing it away from his face, where he was chewing on his nailbeds. Sitting side by side without a space between them, he lowered their hands to their laps and his hold moved to keep his palm against Wei Ying’s. It’s a lax hold, unambitious, just sharing warmth.

“You can be a hero too.”

His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He holds Lan Zhan’s gaze for long seconds (maybe two) before he bites his lip, huffs a repressed laughter, and lets his head fall on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

“Lan Zhan,” he says it like a whine, like a plea, and he feels his fingers intertwine with his, the connection still comfortable, still known, still familiar.

“This whole project is yours,” Lan Zhan speaks into his hair. “You should be able to do what you want.”

Wei Ying snorts.

“Isn’t that vain?”

“...You’re not exactly humble.”

He lifts his head from his shoulder and bumps into him with a pointed, “Hey.” Lan Zhan chuckles, almost without sound, and pats the hand that’s still holding his.

They look back at the design. Lan Zhan can already envision the fabrics he’s going to use, the details that he wants to add, and he already regrets saying that both Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s characters are going to dress the same.

Wei Ying sighs. “You spoil me with your designs, Lan Zhan.”

And he can’t really deny that.

***

It’s as difficult to keep Wei Ying focused on his studies as it is for Lan Zhan to not drop his books and go to his workshop to sew Wei Ying’s costume. Even though exams are merely weeks away, Lan Zhan still finds some time to secretly buy all of the material he needs while Wei Ying tries to keep up with his own study group. And it proves to be a wise decision because Wei Ying doesn’t last two days with his classmates before he shows up at Lan Zhan’s flat with thick books recently checked out from the library and teary eyes.

“I hate studying,” he dramatically announces as he flops down face-first on the couch. Lan Zhan knows it’s true as much as he knows that Wei Ying actually really enjoys being practical.

He opens Wei Ying’s bag and puts his books on the low table. “Why are you even taking classic literature?”

“It’s inspiring,” Wei Ying says, eyes closed and voice muffled by the leather of the couch. “It’s food for the soul. It’s pretty like you.”

Lan Zhan halts his movements, not daring to turn or do anything else; one hand lies atop Wei Ying’s bag and another on the advanced physics book he last set down.

Wei Ying is by his side before he blinks twice, putting his bag away and apparently trying to choose which of the books he wants to open, but too rushed and flushed to be doing much thinking at all.

“You,” Lan Zhan begins, swallows, inhales and tries again. “Do you want me to help?”

Wei Ying’s head snaps in his direction. With big eyes and his lower lip hidden under his upper lip, he just nods, and Lan Zhan either saves or dooms them both as he sets all books aside and puts the Advanced Physics book in front of them.

“Explain.”

Flipping the pages to the subject that would be covered in his exams, Wei Ying takes out his notebook, and he explains.

***

The end of the year is marked by heavy snowfall, the kind that has Wei Ying’s teeth clattering together outside, even if he’s covered in layers that are short from hindering his mobility and wearing a scarf so wound around his head that only his eyes peak out between the wool. It’s the only time of the year that Lan Zhan feels bad for his staying in Gusu, as if the city is like a stern parent testing the object of his affections and Wei Ying barely passes, or maybe bypasses it, by sticking close to Lan Zhan even when they’re indoors. He indulges in their practiced proximity, and if his body yearns for more, he sternly shuts it down, unable to sacrifice all the years of accumulated mutual trust for the gamble of a confession.

As always, however, he’s saved from the trap of his feelings by Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s end of the year trip to Yunmeng. And on cue, he leaves his own flat to spend the turn of the year with his uncle and brother at the Lan estate, set in the part of the city where the hills are high enough to almost sit among the clouds.

Between hot tea brewed to perfection by his brother, television cooking programs that his uncle has become oddly fond of in the past year, and the occasional reading (both required and unrequired for his studies), Lan Zhans works on Wei Ying’s costume in the studio his brother arranged for him when he first enrolled in Wei Ying’s drama club.

“Did you make this jinbu, A-Zhan?” Brother Huan asks when he brings him tea and biscuits, picking up the accessory with a purple tassel, light and dark purple beads and a white lotus that could pass as jade. At his younger brother’s nod, Lan Huan’s smile is so delighted that Lan Zhan has to look away. “It’s beautiful work, A-Zhan. You could really make a profession out of it.”

“Brother, it’s just...”

He trails off as his brother chuckles and gently places the jinbu back down.

“I know. It’s just for Wei Ying, isn’t it?”

Lan Zhan leans even further down into the fabric he’s working on, pretending to check something in the sewing machine.

“It’s just a hobby,” he admits instead. Lan Huan doesn’t discredit him, patting his head like he’s still a child, and Lan Zhan doesn’t have it in him to dislike the touch.

“Just remember that if you ever question the serious profession you’re seeking, A-Zhan, the answer always lies closer than you think.”

The older Lan Sibling tilts his head, taking in all of his little brother’s work laid out in the space of his studio. He looks at the design Lan Zhan is trying to bring to life and then at all the materials on the station, and an imperceptible frown touches his face, like a ripple on calm waters.

“This fabric...”

Lan Zhan sighs, knowing exactly what fabric he’s questioning, without even having to try and see it in his brother’s hands.

“I know. I couldn’t find the one I wanted in time.”

He works the machine to keep the frustration away, so he doesn’t notice his brother leaving with the offending fabric, only to return, hours later, with such a fine material that Lan Zhan breaks into a bright, grateful smile. During dinner, even uncle, so often taciturn, makes the table inviting with an amicable mood, the three of them enjoying a meal that their caretaker made with his own hands, the elder rambling on and on about every detail of the cooking process while his nephews pay dutiful attention and encourage the little passion that seemed to burn quietly in the heart of every Lan.

***

Wei Ying’s praise for Lan Zhan’s work was ever grandiose, and any other man could let it get to his head like an invincibility potion. Lan Zhan, however, is a simple man, and only his heart swells with contentment at every exaggerated compliment that falls out of that beloved mouth.

When Lan Zhan shows him the finished the prototype costume for his twin pride character, however, Wei Ying seems to be, maybe for the first time since they started collaborating, at a loss for words.

“It’s so...” He starts, touching the rich purple fabric with hesitant fingertips. Lan Zhan knows it’s more than their budget, and that they don’t even have a proper story yet, just the core concepts that they came up with together. But Wei Ying had been so engaged, so inspired, and though he’s usually that way when he’s working with Nie Huaisang, it’s the first time he asks Lan Zhan to create a character with him. So he was impulsive. It’s not a crime. “Lan Zhan, it’s...”

Wei Ying brings the costume to his face, rubbing it against his cheek, and the pleased hum he lets out makes Lan Zhan’s breath cease for a couple of seconds.

“Make-up test?” Lan Zhan offers, a little weakly, a little shy, but Wei Ying practically jumps in place at the thought, electrified with excitement.

“Make-up test!” He announces before he runs to the guest bedroom in wide steps and Lan Zhan, left with unwelcome nerves, nervously puts Wei Ying’s backpack away on the couch from where he had unceremoniously dropped it on the floor.

When Wei Ying comes out of the bedroom, Lan Zhan was thinking about making tea after he had paced from the living room to his own bedroom, then to the kitchen to drink some water, to the window to check the weather, until he finally stopped to sit on the couch, where Wei Ying finds him. His best friend comes out of the bedroom in the costume Lan Zhan designed for him (just for him, he decides right there, he’ll simply have to rethink how to proceed with Jiang Cheng), sets a hairbrush, a red ribbon, and a big pouch on the low table, before twirling around himself.

“So? What do you think?”

Wei Ying had always favored black and red. They weren’t the sole colors he used, and Lan Zhan particularly liked when he wore white, the color brightening up his features like a beacon, but Lan Zhan is sure he had never worn something like the bright purple of the robes Lan Zhan made for him. When he twirls, the light plays tricks on the fabric, like a multi-colored bouquet of hydrangeas glistening after a rainshower. The inner robes are a simple black, but the outer jacket is more fascinating still, of a dark purple, almost black, iridescent, see-through fabric that he knows his brother bought from someplace outside of Gusu. Lanling, he believes. On the back, he embroidered a lotus motif with nine petals, the symbol of Wei Ying’s royalty.

“I love it so much,” Wei Ying says, without waiting for his response, unknowingly almost sending Lan Zhan into cardiac arrest. His hands keep petting down on the costume, and he giggles when he touches the jinbu that jingles with a small bell that Lan Zhan added as a last-minute detail. “Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you made this. We haven’t even finished creating Wuxian, and it’s really...” He laughs, somewhat strained, covering his face with his hands, before dropping on the couch beside Lan Zhan. “How am I supposed to kill him now?”

Lan Zhan immediately snaps out of his reverie, blinking rapidly.

“Kill?”

Wei Ying sighs, letting his hands drop and leaning his head against the couch backrest.

“Yeah. I was thinking that Wuxian would sacrifice himself to save Jiang Cheng and the kingdom. Like, he runs out of good ideas in a crisis but the kingdom and his family are bigger than he is, so he makes his decision. The kingdom sings songs about him after he dies, and he’s widely recognized as an important member of the royal family.”

Lan Zhan can read too much between the lines of that script, and the fact that Wei Ying has come to the conclusion that his death, however metaphorical, is the answer, sits heavy on his stomach.

“Wei Ying,” he calls, a bit too sternly, perhaps, as Wei Ying looks up from fiddling with his jinbu like a child ready to be scolded. “Wei Ying, you can’t kill him,” he says, more softly. “You can’t kill the adopted son in front of an audience of foster kids. What kind of message would we be sending them?”

“I know,” he whines. “But isn’t it heroic?”

“Death is just death.” He takes Wei Ying’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Even in fiction. The ones that stay behind are never happy to part with a loved one.” Wei Ying turns his hand in Lan Zhan’s grasp so they’re palm to palm again, puzzle pieces fitting together. Lan Zhan inches closer, brings their clasped hands to his chest, and firmly says, “We’re not killing Wuxian.”

Wei Ying’s laugh is just a huff of air, and he can’t hide his tears when he wipes them away from the corners of his eyes.

“Okay. Wuxian lives in the end.”

Lan Zhan nods, letting their hands fall between them, but not letting go. The silence that follows Wei Ying’s sniffles is not uncomfortable, but there’s something in the space between them, in the way Wei Ying is wearing that beautiful purple that Lan Zhan made for him, in the way Wei Ying keeps looking at his face, that Lan Zhan feels is both thick and fragile like glass. Or maybe he’s a coward, just a coward in the end, consumed by his desire to hold that man and touch him and kiss him, but ultimately defeated by the overbearing affection that wants him to make sure he never leaves Wei Ying, never lets him think he has to sacrifice himself for anyone, when he’s the brightest star in everyone’s lives.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls, and he seems to be closer than he was just a moment ago, the tears gone, leaving only a shine in his eyes in their wake. “Aren’t you going to finish our make-up test?”

At Lan Zhan’s nod, Wei Ying smiles his wide, crescent moon smile and hops to the floor, handing Lan Zhan the hairbrush from over his shoulder. Lan Zhan, who has experience at both being a younger brother who played with his elder brother and a long-time drama club member, brushes Wei Ying’s hair without hesitation or clumsiness. Given the sheer volume of hair that Wei Ying possesses, there’s no way that the bun can be secured for long with just the ribbon, but Lan Zhan doesn’t want to get up to get any pins, so he just works with what he’s given, tying a pretty bow near Wei Ying’s nape, the ends of the ribbon still falling long, down his back. He had been right. The red looks almost mystical against the purple.

“So, since the royal color is purple, should my make-up be purple too?”

Lan Zhan climbs down from the couch, kneeling beside the other, and shakes his head. He takes the pouch from Wei Ying (that he’s sure is Mo Xuanyu’s, when did Wei Ying even take it?) and pulls a neutral-colored palette and a brush.

“The clothes are already flashy enough, so we’re only framing your face,” Lan Zhan explains, although he’s more versed in colors than in make-up specifically, but it’s a test. If Mo Xuanyu has any better ideas once the story is pitched to the group, then he’s free to use them. Right then, Lan Zhan stands on his knees for a better angle to paint Wei Ying’s eyeshadow an earthy, reddish brown. With a thin, black pencil, he traces the line along his lashes in a much finer touch than the one he used for the Yiling Patriarch, just so the audience knows that his eyes are just as important as his clothes, that his person is just as big as his position.

For his lips, he chooses a similarly neutral, peachy shade, just so he doesn’t look pale under the stage light, so his smiles can reach even the chairs in the furthest rows. The traditional lipstick makes less of a mess than the glossy, liquid red one he used before, but still the corners... No matter how careful Lan Zhan is, he still misses his mark when he gets to the corners. So he reaches out, just as he did then, to wipe the excess at the corner of Wei Ying’s lips with his thumb, and it’s so much easier this time.

So much easier, and still... He runs his thumb along the lines of Wei Ying’s lower lip, as if there’s something there to correct, but there’s nothing, just his lips, parted and colored and waiting. Just his lips and that birthmark underneath, distracting, beckoning, a natural wonder that Lan Zhan can’t ignore, he looks, and he touches, and he’s lost, dazed again.

Those lips open, form the syllables of his name.

He looks up, wide-eyed, at a Wei Ying that is closely watching him. Eyes as round and attentive as they always were.

“Lan Zhan. Do you want to kiss me?”

He swallows and tries to look down, but Wei Ying takes his face between both of his hands and doesn’t let him.

“Do you?” He repeats, and because he cannot lie, because he especially cannot lie to Wei Ying, he nods, and he closes his eyes, and he waits for his best friend’s judgment.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls again, and Lan Zhan can hear him shift his position. “Lan Zhan, look at me.”

He opens his eyes and he does. Wei Ying is at his eye level, standing on his knees as well. Wei Ying, always so expressive, doesn’t look anything like Lan Zhan had feared; he looks kind and patient and good. Lan Zhan’s hands, without him even noticing it, have moved to hold Wei Ying’s wrists.

“Lan Zhan,” he calls, and in Lan Zhan’s mind, it could be the last time. But it sounds just as melodious, just as full of Wei Ying’s sincerity as it always did. “Can I kiss you?”

All of his thought processes, all of his observations trail off then. Wei Ying looks a little flushed, though Lan Zhan didn’t apply any make-up to his cheeks. And his mouth, his beautiful, glistening mouth, displays a half-smile. Expectant. A little scared.

Once Lan Zhan nods, everything seems to resume at a much faster pace, as if they stepped too hard on the gas pedal and their car flew off the road with a loud screech. Wei Ying exhales before their lips meet, as if meeting two necessities at once. He throws his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and pulls, his lips opening and closing around the other’s as many times as he can before he needs to breathe again. And then breaks away just to catch his breath before he’s lounging forward again, forcing Lan Zhan into a sitting position so he can climb on his lap and rob him of all coherent thought. Lan Zhan circles his arms around his middle, underneath the outer jacket, securing Wei Ying flush against him. The kiss is messy, wet, open-mouthed and inexperienced, Lan Zhan just following Wei Ying’s lead, which isn’t much of a lead, as Wei Ying whimpers between touches. The sound is enough to make Lan Zhan lose the last grasp he had on control, and that sends him to fall backwards, all the way back where he has no support, and they only have a second to disconnect their mouths before Lan Zhan’s head hits the hard floor.

“Oh my God, are you okay?!”

Lan Zhan winces, seeing stars in front of his eyes, and Wei Ying is quick to pull him back to an upright position, helping him lean his back against the couch before climbing back on his lap.

“Lan Zhan, does it hurt too bad? Is it bleeding? Do you have a concussion? We should go to the—”

“I’m all right,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. Wei Ying touches the back of his head and he winces, but he reassures him again. “It’s okay. It’s just a bump.”

Wei Ying pats his hair into place after the mess that his hands made.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Wei Ying’s lipstick is smeared all around his plump mouth (from kissing; from kissing him), and Lan Zhan be damned, he didn’t think Wei Ying could look more attractive and then he looks like that. It’d be unfair if Wei Ying wasn’t following a similar train of thought, thumbs touching around Lan Zhan’s mouth in a weak effort to wipe away the lipstick there. And because he wasn’t really trying, he just kisses him again, slow, unhurried, almost chaste, a kiss that lasts long, a whole time unit in its own.

His hair is down, red ribbon lying somewhere on the floor. Lan Zhan pushes it away from his face so he can take a good look at him, his best friend, brilliant and full of life and beautiful around him, in his embrace, his cheeks flushing darker the longer he observes him, until Wei Ying throws his arms around him again and hides his face on his neck.

“I have a confession to make.”

Lan Zhan hums, his hand moving up and down Wei Ying’s back.

“I didn’t really plan on writing a play with Wuxian... I created him as a way to spend time with you.”

When Wei Ying takes a deep breath, Lan Zhan can feel it, against his chest, on his neck, the exhale making him shiver.

“After our last performance, I— well, we never really...”

Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan’s hand moves to his hair, petting, fond. He barely ever allowed himself to think of touching Wei Ying, yet it feels like the right thing to do, a natural step from all the hand holding and working in each other’s personal spaces. And it’s just what he can do to tell Wei Ying to go on, that he’s there, listening, although he’s not done collecting all of the fragments of his own confession, shattered in the car crash of a kiss long suffered.

“I’ve always really admired you, Lan Zhan. Your talent, your imagination, everything you do is so good. I wanted to make something with you, to spend all of my time with you, to create something out of nothing that was ours.”

Lan Zhan can feel Wei Ying raising his head, his chin resting on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

“You see, Lan Zhan, I’m really selfish. I’ve had a crush on you since I first laid eyes on you when we were fifteen but now I really wanted all of your attention. The way you looked at me that day, I... You don’t have any idea what you do to me.”

Wei Ying tries to hide again, but Lan Zhan holds his shoulders, pulls him back to look at him. His mouth is still a mess of lipstick, but his eyes are wide, exposed. Lan Zhan tries to wipe the lipstick away, just to save Wei Ying some grace, because the weight of his their attraction pulling them together was nothing compared to the weight of the heart against one’s palms.

“I’ve always admired you.” Lan Zhan echoes, eyes still focused on those lips, still trying to clean up their mess. “Your talent, your imagination, and everything you do. I want to spend all my time with you, and create things with you, things that everybody will look and know it’s ours.”

His hand, on Wei Ying’s face, moves to cup his cheek; his gaze moves up, without hesitation, because being there with Wei Ying when he falls is all he’s ever done, when people laughed at their plays, when their plans were foiled, when their ideas went nowhere. They’d come together, the two of them, and rise the whole group back up, one more time.

“I really like you, Wei Ying. I’ve liked you for a long time now.”

How could he be pretty even when he cries?

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’re my best friend. The only one in this lifetime.”

It’s only when Wei Ying touches his cheeks that he realizes he’s crying too.

“You��re my best friend too, Lan Zhan. And I really, really like you back.”

The kiss they share then is somewhere in-between the other two. It’s tender like a first kiss between their teenage selves, pecks that follow one after the other and another again, followed by kisses on each other’s cheeks, on noses and foreheads, marked with promise and lipstick. And when they finally regain their breath from their confessions, from their laughter, it’s open-mouthed and eager, ready to discover each other’s taste, and the best angles for their tongues to come together, to elicit delicious sounds from their throats.

Wei Ying finds as much delight in delicately peeling the clothes Lan Zhan made for him open as he did in putting them on. And the view is almost too much for the designer, who both marvels and suffers at all the layers of his creation, sprawled underneath Wei Ying, still so beautiful against his skin, but ultimately forgotten.

***

“Lan Zhan.”

It’s a snowy night. Cold and white and long, sure to trap them inside when the morning comes.

The answer to Wei Ying’s sensibilities, in the end, turned out to be simple; cuddle up as close as he can to his boyfriend, underneath thick and fluffy blankets.

“Mn?”

“I thought up a nicer end for Wuxian.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t bother to open his eyes in the dark. He just turns his head to touch Wei Ying’s, his nose cold on the other’s forehead.

“In the end he sacrifices himself for the kingdom but he doesn’t die. He ends up powerless but he meets someone who takes care of him regardless of the fact that he’s a royal.”

Wei Ying plays with the collar of his pajamas and Lan Zhan could burst with contentment, but he only smiles against Wei Ying’s skin.

“So when Wanyin finally finds Wuxian again, a long time later, Wuxian has become wiser because he realizes true strength doesn’t come from battles or sacrifices, but human connection. So he promises to be Wanyin’s adviser because he loves and supports him, but he’s not going back to the palace, he’s staying with Wangji.”

“Wangji?”

Wei Ying hums. Lan Zhan likes that ending. It’s a good message for the kids, to follow your heart rather than a life mission.

It takes his sleepy mind a few seconds to remember his brother’s words. He’s going to like Wei Ying’s play, very much so.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Mn?”

“Will you be my Wangji?”

He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead and places his hand against the hand that lies on his chest, next to his heart.

“Mn. I will be Wei Ying’s commoner wife.”

Wei Ying snorts before nuzzling his shoulder.

“I haven’t decided if he’s going to be a commoner yet. But you’re going to wear blue. Blue and white, like Gusu’s clear skies.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t comment on how Wei Ying didn’t deny being his partner in the play, even if they had just confessed to liking each other. There’s still so much more to be said, and Lan Zhan loves the anticipation, will dream about them with Wei Ying in his arms all night, and all of the next day, too.

“I thought you didn’t like Gusu that much.”

“Of course I like Gusu. All of my memories with you are here.”

Lan Zhan turns to his side, hugs Wei Ying tight against his chest, making him laugh. He kisses him all over his face before meeting his lips, then covers him up to his chin to protect him from the cold, and together, they fall asleep, the future holding a different shape in their creative, clasped hands.

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Alternate Universe: College #Alternate Universe: Drama Club

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hookedontaronfics · 5 years

Text

Tailor-made

Title: Tailor-made Pairing: Taron x reader Rating: M Warnings: Pure smut (thigh-riding, unprotected sex - glove it before you love it, kids) A/N: Just some smutty reading for your Sunday morning. I never promised to be a saint. This is just a quick little one shot, so I hope you enjoy the fantasy! x

You were staring at bolts of fabric, lost in thought, when your co-worker Siobhan knocked on the storeroom’s door, making you jump slightly.

“Hey, you busy?” she asked, as you set your clipboard down.

“Always busy,” you grinned at her. “These bolts don’t count themselves.”

“Well, Taron Egerton is asking for you to do his fitting again. He always insists it’s you,” she said, shrugging slightly.

“Well in that case,” you smiled, trying to not let your excitement show. “Would you show him into the Crown Room and I’ll be there shortly?” She nodded and disappeared back to the front as you tried to keep your heart from racing. You and Taron weren’t exactly dating, but you both tried to see each other off and on and it was always a passionate and fun weekend when you managed to hook up.

You went over to the computer and pulled up the information on his current suit commission, one his stylist Gareth had had a hand in designing; a white suit with pinstripes but the shirt color choice had been left blank. You tapped your pencil against your lips for a second, flipping through your mental palette as you walked to the racks of collared shirts. You landed on a silky denim number, thinking bold would be a good choice, but just in case you also grabbed a merlot red and forest green shirt too. You draped those carefully over your arm before locating the suit, still wrapped in its plastic, and carried all of that with you to the Crown Room.

You knocked and then opened the door to the fitting room, closing it behind you quickly. Taron had been scrolling through his phone but looked up and gave you a huge smile when he saw you.

“Heeeey love!” he said brightly, pulling you into a hug as you carefully held your arm out, trying to keep the suit from getting wrinkled and also getting lost in that embrace for a moment. “I’ve missed you,” he said, as his gaze lowered to your lips and lingered there.

“I’ve missed you too but you’ve decided to be exceptionally busy lately. That’s not my fault,” you teased cheekily.

“Today is no exception, I’m afraid,” he sighed. “This was just a quick stop of many.”

“Then we’ll just have to make each second count,” you replied, pulling the tape measure from around your neck. “Blazer off,” you said, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t you know I love it when you take charge,” he smirked as you hung the suit and shirts on the hooks carefully, smoothing your fingers over the fabrics and imagining how his firm chest would feel beneath them.

“I’m sure you do,” you laughed softly. You had to stop your brain from thinking that way, though, or this fitting was going to go to a place it never should.

You quickly and expertly took his measurements, though they rarely changed much. He was always quite fit even when he insisted he wasn’t, complaining about how often his publicist told him to cut out his fried chicken, pizza and beer habit. Your fingers whisked the tape around his biceps, chest, neck and waist, something you barely thought about doing now as you’d been measuring clients for years. You were nothing if not practiced and professional, that is until Taron placed a finger under your chin and tilted your face up to his. You realized how close you both were standing, and the undeniable tension between you filled the room.

He leaned in slightly, his breath hot against your face as he looked at you with that question lingering in his eyes. You closed the distance to him and kissed him first, wrapping your arms around his neck as you felt his expression first of surprise and then as he melted into your kiss, his soft full lips pressing hungrily against your own. He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth to grant him permission, your tongues meeting each other and deepening the kiss.

And then you both realized what you were doing, where you were at, and broke apart, panting slightly and staring at each other, the unbridled thirst for each other apparent on your faces. “I… don’t want to get you fired,” he stammered slightly, running his fingers over his face.

“But the little Do Not Disturb light is on,” you smirked lightly before gesturing to his chest. “Shirt off,” you demanded, as he made a slightly strangled noise in his throat, but you had your back turned, aware of how great your ass looked in the skirt you’d worn to work that day. Just because you had to look professional didn’t mean you couldn’t still look good doing it, and when you flicked your eyes up to his reflection in the mirror, you could see him staring even as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it in the chair in the corner.

You handed him one of the shirts, hoping you’d remembered his size properly, and watched as he slid the denim silk over his biceps and then started buttoning it up painstakingly slowly, or at least it felt that way.

“It’s a bit tight, isn’t it?” you said, making him hold his arms out and move them about, frowning as the fabric puckered slightly around the buttons.

“It’s fine love, I can move just fine in it,” he shrugged, reaching for the suit coat and trying that on as well. You walked around him, pulling slightly on the fabric, checking the fit and stretch and making sure it wasn’t pulling at any seams, jotting a couple of quick adjustments down on your paper before finally clearing your throat.

“You should probably try the pants on too,” you said in nearly a whisper, trying to keep your composure. You turned your back to give him privacy but he only chuckled at that.

“You’ve seen me naked plenty, love, there’s no shame here,” he said, sweeping your hair aside and placing a kiss on the skin of your neck that made your legs quake. “Now I do find it odd I’m the only one getting undressed here,” he said in such a lusty way it made you throb uncontrollably between your legs.

“Taaaron,” you whined slightly but you certainly didn’t argue when he hiked your skirt up your hips and pulled you in for another needy kiss. His greedy fingers pushed your panties aside and dipped them into you, making you moan into his mouth, which was for the best because you weren’t sure how sound-proof those fitting room walls were.

“Get these off,” you groaned, fumbling with his belt buckle hurriedly as he continued to kiss you hungrily. You were so turned on it almost hurt; it’d admittedly been a while since you’d both seen each other. You knew this could go bad very quickly, but right at that moment, with his fingers digging into your thighs, you could care less. You managed to pull his tight jeans down to his ankles and then pushed him down on the chair, earning a small grunt from him before you pulled your own panties down, straddled his leg, and settled your dripping cunt over his thigh.

“This is new,” he groaned slightly, his fingers trying to undo the buttons on your blouse, accidentally popping a button off. You heard it pinging across the floor somewhere but in the heat of the moment you couldn’t care less. He trailed his fiery kisses down across your chest and over the tops of your breasts as you slowly shifted your hips over his leg, making his skin slick with your juices and groaning at the friction against your sensitive folds.

“Fu-fuck, baby,” he groaned out loud before you clasped your hands over his mouth.

“Shhhh,” you warned him, your eyes going wide. No one could know what you were doing in here, half-naked and completely turned on. You reached between you and stroked his hard length through his boxer-briefs, and he hissed in pleasure around your hand. “We’ve got to be quiet,” you gasped.

“Not sure I can be with you driving me absolutely wild,” he groaned in a whisper. “Now ride my thigh like the naughty woman you are,” he whispered in your ear, so you wrapped your arms around his neck again and started grinding your hips against those muscles, losing yourself to the waves of pleasure rocking through you. You were dimly aware that he’d pulled his cock out and started stroking it along with your motions, and when he dropped his fingers between your legs and started rubbing your clit, giving you just that extra stimulation, it completely sent you over the edge. You came hard against his thigh, clenching your legs around him and biting his shoulder accidentally in an attempt to keep yourself from screaming out.

He sweetly held you close to him, your semi-clothed breasts pressed against his chest until you stopped shaking. “That was fucking hot,” he said, his reddened, engorged member still painfully obvious between you.

“Want me to take care of that?” you whispered, dropping your eyes down as he shifted slightly beneath you.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, standing up and letting you slide the rest of the way down his leg, the moan escaping you as your still-sensitive flesh responded. He pulled you over to the mirror and pressed you up against the glass, his body flush against you from behind. “Always fantasized about doing this,” he smirked, lining himself up with you and guiding himself home, pulling your hips back to meet his. You clapped your own hand over your mouth, keening softly as he began pounding into you mercilessly, his lust-filled gaze meeting yours in the mirror. He was still in the shirt and suit coat, and you couldn’t help getting slight “Fifty Shades” vibes from the situation; it was the hottest sex you’d ever had, and soon you were spiraling quickly toward your climax, and from the sounds he was trying to not make, so was Taron.

“You can cum for me, pretty baby,” he grunted, his teeth grazing over your shoulder lightly, and his words drove straight to your core, the orgasm softer than before but still absolutely delicious as you felt his thrusts grow sloppy. He clung to you tightly as he spilled into you, one hand tangled in your hair and the other pressed against the mirror as he panted heavily and tried to keep his legs from collapsing under him.

“Holy...shit,” you said, whining as he slid out of you and looked about for something to use to clean you both up with. Thankfully there was a box of tissues in the corner, and you both attempted to put yourselves right again as if nothing had happened at all. “I’m going to have to wash that mirror top to bottom now,” you said, and Taron threw back his head and laughed at that.

You yanked your skirt down into place and smoothed your hands over the front of it, before trying to locate the missing button on the floor. You’d have to sew it back on and hopefully no one would ask any questions when you left the fitting room.

“We’ve already taken too much time,” you giggled, watching Taron tuck himself back in his briefs and yank his tight jeans back up. He slid the suit coat and shirt off, handing them over to you before retrieving his shirt and blazer again and clearing his throat.

“The denim is definitely the better choice,” he nodded, as if you both hadn’t totally fucked each other senseless just now. “And is dinner later okay? I’m not a fuck and run sort of guy, you know,” he smiled at you, his eyes back to that light-green color you loved on him so much.

“Dinner would be perfect. And maybe a Round 2, if you know what I mean,” you smirked lightly at him.

“You little minx, you,” he chuckled, stealing a couple sweet kisses, making sure one last time he looked put together, and swinging the door open to let you both out. Taron took his leave, acting as he would were you any other assistant, and you walked to the front desk to log your adjustment notes.

“Did you have fun in there?” Siobhan asked, and you suddenly worried she had overheard you, but she sounded as bored as she looked, chewing gum and filing her nails. Who did that at the front desk anyway?

“Uh, yeah, well, Mr. Egerton is always a well-paying client,” you said, your cheeks turning pink but she didn’t notice.

Some client indeed.

“And make sure you wash down those mirrors, they’ve got to be spotless,” your co-worker’s voice broke into your sexy reverie.

“Hmmm, what?” you asked, shaking yourself back to reality.

“For the inspection. I just mentioned it. Have you even been listening to a word I’ve said?” she asked, sighing exasperatedly. “Before your 3 p.m. arrives, ahhh, a Mister Egerton?” she said, consulting her checklist. “Could you wash the mirrors please?”

“Yeah, no problem,” you sighed, wishing your daydream could be more than just a fantasy. You hated your job, even more so because Taron would never give you a second glance. You were simply the tailor’s assistant, nothing more, and you could only imagine what lay below those clothes of his he wore so well.

You stood up from the desk to grab the cleaner and paper towels, sighing slightly to yourself. “And y/n, by the way, you were moaning, just to let you know.” You froze in the middle of your step, looking about as wide-eyed as a deer in headlights.

“It was, uhhh, a stomach ache,” you stammered pathetically.

“Sure, if that stomach ache is one Mister Egerton,” she smirked. “Just keep it in your pants, alright?”

You slapped your hand over your face in embarrassment and sighed. This was going to be a long shift indeed.

#taron smut #taron imagine #taron x reader #taron egerton #taron fanfiction

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collective-laugh · 5 years

Note

If the main six had pokemon as familiars, what would they be?

Okay so I wasn't going to answer any requests today, but this one literally just came in and I had to

Asra - I was going to say Snivy, but I think Serperior is a better fit because it reminds me so much of Faust lol. It is a Grass type, which I think could fit Asra well, but I wanted to go with a magic one, but fuck it. I like Serperior because it's superior (slow clap)

Nadia - I decided on Espeon almost right away because it was one of my favorite Pokemon when I was into it. It isn't a bird Pokemon (like Chandra), but it is a psychic type, which I think plays into Nadia's ability of precognition well (and color palette lol)

Julian - I struggled with this one because I didn't know, exactly what to go for. I almost went for a rock type, and then looked up 'pirate themed pokemon' because...Julian, and then I decided on and Audino because hello! He's a doctor! And can you imagine that pink, lovely healing cloud next to edgy doctor boy?

Muriel - I was looking forward to Muriel because I knew I was going to say Turtwig the moment I saw this ask because smol Grass type plus Muriel equals yes. Also, I know Muriel treats it as his equal, and a Turtwig would be a good companion for him to evolve and to evolve with, because growth

Portia - I almost said that fucking cat that used to hang around Team Rocket and figured that was too expected. You guys want me to say that little annoying thing that haunts my childhood, but I know better, so I'm gonna say an Aipom because ya girl could use a long tailed normal Pokemon to help out with her work (and height deficiency)

Lucio - So I will buy into the stereotype this time and say that Lucio would have a Furfrou, because I'm in love with the aesthetic, and the idea of Lucio going wild over all the different trims. It is a normal type, but it's a dog. Of course.

Also, this ask made me think of this. I went and saw the Pokemon movie in theaters twice because I loved it so much, once in New York City, and the second time with a bunch of children that are not mine, and both times I had an absolute blast, and have watched it once since then, not in theaters. It wasn't a masterpiece, but it definitely knew what it was. If you haven't seen it yet, it's the murder mystery we all deserve, and you should totally check it out.

#arcana #the arcana #the arcana game #collective laugh #muriel #julian #asra #lucio #request #nadia #portia #main 6 #pokemon #familiars #this was so cool lol #im awful with n and had to look up a bunch by descriptions that i fucking knew #preference #headcanons

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romancingromanoff · 5 years

Text

What Happens At Disney.... Part 2/3

youHe:

Just a bunch of Disneyworld fluff! Also more one-on-one time with Nat in this one; you get a makeover and her and Ariel compete for best redhead.

Part 1 here//Part 3 here

Tony coughed, “So now what?” The rest of the crew is standing around awkwardly in what Cap calls their “civilian clothes.” He’s sporting a plain white tee and a blue baseball cap (of course, because America) while Tony has opted for a more business casual look with a fancy short sleeved collared shirt and a tie. That’s about as casual as he gets but you just hope that he can try and relax and have fun today. There’s nothing that Thor could wear that wouldn’t make him look like a super granola California surfer guy. His man bun is attracting a lot of female attention, but then again, you suppose that that happens most of the time anyway. Bruce, of course, manages to look awkward in whatever clothing he’s wearing. He has a lot of purple shirts but he’s decided to go with the one you got him for Christmas with a small pocket over his left breast that you told him was where he was supposed to put his matching pen you also had made. You think it’s sweet that he’s wearing it today. Clint is also wearing some shorts and a tee along with some actual worn in sneakers; he probably blends in the most with the crowd.

Then there’s Nat- your girlfriend. She could pull off anything of course but today she’s just wearing some shorts, a black tank, and some combat boots. She’s quite the opposite of yourself in terms of the color palette she prefers but you secretly love that her neutral-toned basic pieces allow her red hair to shine and frame your favorite part about her- her face and those green eyes. Her hands are casually in her front pockets and she would almost seem relaxed if not for the fact that she was perpetually scanning the area around her and moving her eyes around to check for potential threats wherever she goes. You sigh and grab one of her hands into your own and pull her towards one of the stores and motion for everyone else to follow behind you.

“Well, me and Nat are going to the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique so can you boys wait for us nearby? Thor, I think they sell giant turkey legs at that stand over there,” you see his face perk up at the mention of huge slabs of meat and he’s gone before you can blink.

“Aw, c’mon Thor! You can’t just push the kids out of the way like that!” Bruce groans and goes after him followed by Clint, Steve (who has entered reluctant babysitter mode) and Tony because apparently he just coincidentally wants to “go in that vague direction.”

“Okay, but I am not allowing them to touch my hair,” Natasha warns and you just give her a peck on her cheek before dragging her into the store. It’s like what you imagine Princess Jasmine’s salon is actually like as there are golden chandeliers, giant mirrors, and long silky curtains and drapes of all different colors decorating the giant space. Two of the stylists greet you with great big smiles and start giving you information on all of the different packages they offer.

“Of course not,” you smile. “Remember, this is my makeover, buddy. And I don’t want you stealing away my thunder anyway when you’re already a billion times prettier than me.”

“Get in the chair, you dork,” she snorts as you take a seat in the styling chair and the ladies begin their work. You decide to go with some simple makeup (just a little bit of blush, neutral eyeshadow, winged eyeliner, some lipgloss in the shade that Aurora wears, and light mascara with only a tiny bit of sparkly highlighter) and a giant Elsa-braid.

“Oooh, help me pick out the perfect ears!” you squeal dragging Nat over to a wall of an assortment of glittery Minnie Mouse ears next. A pair of sparkly white ones with a red bow catches you eye which Nat notices and she reaches up to grab them for you.

“If I have any input, I’d like to see wearing these in the bedroom,” she says in that sultry voice as your face blushes and she slips them onto you.

“Shush, Nat, this is a public place with little kids,” you swat at her but can’t help but catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you tilt your head modeling them off for her as she smiles watching. “But I do look really good in these,” you admit. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff,” you say to her in a lowered voice and pray that the store is busy enough that no one can hear your private conversation over all of the noise. She just gives you a grin which tells you she’s up to no good and pulls out her phone to show you a pair of very expensive, but stunning cat ears from a website you personally would have been afraid to visit off of private browsing mode.

“I don’t know, maybe playing cat and mouse could be kinda fun,” she says suggestively and you give her a quick kiss on her lips.

“Hey, don’t make me mess up my lipstick,” you warn with a laugh.

“Not until we get home, I promise.”

You meet with the boys just in time to stop Thor from consuming half of all of the turkey legs this poor vendor has and Tony suggests that you all go on a ride.

“How about the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train?” you suggest. “You know, from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?”

“I understood that reference,” Steve’s got this huge smile on his face when you mention what was one of the only Disney animated films that came out pre-WWII.

“Well, apparently the ride is just as old as you Capsicle,” Tony mocks him and pulls up his phone which he has on a website that shows all of the times you have to wait in line for a ride. “Because the train broke down while the dwarfs must have been hi-hoing to work.”

You can’t help but get a bit sad and your sulk a little bit before Nat gently rubs your arm and shoots Tony an angry glare. “Buuuuuuuut,” he begins obviously intimidated by Romanoff. “Luckily, I am an engineering genius so I’ll see what I can do to fix it.”

Perhaps the only perk of having a super egotistical genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist for a friend is that they never take “no” for an answer and can talk their way into pretty much anything when you need a favor from them. The seven of you eventually found your way to the control room which was underground in the infamous tunnels that only workers were allowed to see.

“I don’t know, Tony, I get kind of claustrophobic and being underground probably isn’t good for my stress,” Bruce worries as Tony is nagging him to help him with the tools.

“Hey, it’s the happiest place on earth, so get the hell in here,” he says and you hear Bruce groan. You, Clint, Nat, and Steve just decide to awkwardly wait outside while they’re arguing over mechanics and Tony is criticizing the Mouse for “not having adept technicians” when you decide you’d rather go explore around the corner and at least look for a bathroom. You excuse yourself and head into the labyrinth that is Disney’s Underground Maze and can’t help but stare at all of the half-human half-animal creatures you run into. There’s Chip & Dale without their costume heads on so it just looks like two normal guys’ heads floating on top of the bodies of some obese chipmunks, the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland is standing in a corner cursing out his girlfriend over the phone, and someone else with Tigger’s head and a woman’s body almost bumps into you. That’s when you stumble upon what looks like another dressing room and you peak in to find that it’s full of all of the Princess character-actors putting on their makeup and wigs.

“Oh my God, you’re Y/N!” a super perky voice catches you by surprise and you almost trip over yourself before the owner of that voice manages to catch you. She’s wearing the most magnificent mint green ball gown which is sleeveless. You know it’s a wig, but she’s got the most voluptuous red curls that frame her kind face so nicely that you can’t help but stutter as she smiles at you. After all, you’ve always had a thing for redheads and though she’s a little too bubbly for your taste, you have to admit that she’s very beautiful. “Wow, it is so cool to meet you!” Princess Ariel exclaims before she starts complimenting you on all of the work you do. “I’m such a huge fan of yours!”

“Thank you very much, it’s nice to run into someone that thinks so,” you say. “And I’m such a big fan of your’s, I mean, of Ariel’s since I guess you are her.. or.. are you? Um, what should I call you?” you feel so embarrassed tripping over your own words confused about what the rules are for breaking out of character but she just laughs it off. You had no idea that the employees here could be so nice.

“I’m off the clock right now so you can call me Stella,” she winks and you try to play it off like you totally know what’s going on. “How long are you going to be here in Orlando?”

“A couple of days. I really want to visit all of the different parks.”

“Well,” she reaches into the dressing room and grabs what looks like a sticky note and a Mickey Mouse pen. “Let me know if you’d like someone to show you around, you know, after hours. I can give you the secret tour; get us a dinner reservation somewhere nice,” she winks at you again and then you finally catch on to what she means after she hands you the note which you see has a phone number on it.

“Oh, uh-”

“Thanks, but my girlfriend knows I won’t kiss her if she’s been eating seafood,” you whip around to see Natasha standing there looking like she’s death itself about ready to take this poor girl away to hell.

“I, uh, I gotta go,” Stella hurries into the dressing room closing the door after her and you’re left with an angry assassin with her arms crossed just waiting for an explanation.

“Natasha, I swear, I had no idea she was flirting with me.”

“I know. That’s exactly how she took advantage of you,” she almost darts into the room but you block the door before she can go kill anybody.

“Hey, she was not taking advantage of me,” you retort.

“I saw how you were mesmerized by her hair and that stupid starfish clip.”

“It’s a wig, Natasha. You know I like my women to be naturally redheaded... even if they get a little green sometimes,” you playfully push her understandingly taking her two hands into yours and pulling her closer. “I only have eyes for you,” you whisper and she rolls her eyes trying to resist the puppy eyes you’re giving her.

“Okay, but if she flirts with you again then I’m ripping that wig right off.”

Natasha won’t let go of your hand as you find your way back to Tony and Bruce who have finally finished repairing the ride. Coming back up above ground, the sun’s glare kind of blinds all of you and you notice Clint looks especially bothered.

“Hey, save that perfect hawk-vision of yours,” you pull out a pair of sunglasses from your bag and offer them to him.

“Thanks,” he says slipping them on over his squinting eyes before Thor, Tony, and Nat erupt in laughter. Clint just stands there confused for a second as his eyes readjust just before he realizes that the sunglasses you’ve given him are from the Pixie Hollow collection and are bright pink with tons of sequins all over the winged-shaped frames.

“You know what? My eyesight needs protection more than my masculinity, which I am completely comfortable with, so you guys can just go blind. Have fun staring at the sun,” he proclaims trying to block out the sounds of Tony struggling to breath from laughing too much and Thor’s giant belly laughs.

“Hey! I will expose you!” he threatens. “Security! Security?! Yeah, this guy has a giant weapon on him! Yup, the hammer guy? That's him. He’s right here.”

Thor turns around so fast with his hammer up to Clint’s chin. “You be silent right this instant, Barton, or else I shall smash you fairy princess glasses with my hammer right here and now.”

“No! Those are mine!” you scream as Natasha just keeps recording everything happening on her phone.

To be continued...

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preciousghouls · 4 years

Text

excerpt taken from my stony fic for the stony zine application!

It’s a little past two in the dead of the night, but neither Steve nor Tony dare to shut their eyes and go to sleep, still somewhat in disbelief that after everything, they still have each other. They lay together on Tony’s bed, loosely wrapped in each other to avoid applying pressure to the areas where they’re injured, but close enough to feel their partner’s warmth. In a rare moment of peace, Steve recalls a conversation from (not that) long ago.

“I do wonder, at times.”

Tony hums, plucking at a loose string of the bandage around his arm. Steve swats his hand away with a disapproving frown. “About what?”

“Like, what if there weren’t any superpowers involved.”

Tony turns back to look at him, a brow raised. But Steve can tell he’s amused. “Time travelling isn’t crazy enough, now you wanna talk about fiction-like alternative universes? Damn, Rogers. Didn’t know you were such a dreamer.”

“C’mon, Tony,” Steve pulls the man closer to him, setting his head on Tony’s shoulder and closing his eyes. It’s easy to forget the cuts and bruises over his body when he feels like this. At peace. “Just imagine. If the world was like this from the moment we met.”

Not perfect, of course, but it is perfect, because of the people he’s met. The people he’s had the honor of meeting.

Steve feels the vibrations as Tony hum thoughtfully. “Well, the world wouldn’t be the way it is if I wasn’t who I was. Who I am. I’d say I’m pretty okay with how this universe turned out.”

“Yeah?” He thinks he understands what Tony is trying to say. There are days, really rare ones, where adrenaline is coursing through his veins and he cannot rest, his mind needing to run. Those days are when Steve allow himself to wonder, to imagine what life would’ve been like if he’d woken up in the future to learn that the war is over, he can go and live his life a free man. A common man, as common as he can be, because he’d be the weirdest thing science had ever created, and he would be fine with that.

Tony turns to look at him with those honey chocolate eyes, “Yeah. You’re here with me now, aren’t you?” And he is just so beautiful no invasion could’ve stopped Steve from leaning in for a kiss right then.

They never did tell Steve the cost that comes with war, but now he’s seen. He’s lived through it. And it’s all that experience that has brought him here. He can’t lie and say this is the best outcome, the one his optimistic self has envisioned so long ago, but he’ll take what he can get. And what he can get right now is in his arms, and Steve thinks he’s pretty damn lucky, all things considered.

The topic of marriage comes unexpectedly, just two weeks after the battle, as the world is still recovering from its loss. The Avengers (all six of the original team, because they sent the rest on vacation , they aren’t responsible for the beginning nor the end) are forced to ‘get their asses off the field or be put down forcibly’, and Nick Fury is really quite terrifying when he wants to be, so they listen. But things are hard when you’re a superhero - what did you do when you didn’t have a world to save?

Let’s watch a movie, Tony had suggested.

So they sit in the living area, eyes glued to the screen stretching almost 2 metres long, watching The Incredibles, because they can’t deny they’re practically a family by now (also because Steve thinks he will be able to relate to Mr. Incredible, and being Tony’s boyfriend has its advantages, but no one points that out).

“This is such a grossly domestic movie to watch,” Clint mutters fifteen minutes into the film as he shoves chips into his mouth. Nosily, lower lip pushed out in a pout. Like a petulant child. His head is on Bruce’s shoulders, the latter’s hand in his hair, and no one misses the irony of the situation.

Natasha, of course, calls him out on it. She’s sprawled out on the floor, massaging Clint’s calf that he’s spread on the coffee table, legs over Bruce’s. She simply applies more pressure to her ‘massage’, and Clint cries out.

“Nat , what the hell!”

“Shut up and enjoy the movie,” she threatens in a soft tone, a smile curving her lips, neither of which making her any less dangerous. “Or I’ll tell Laura to burn your Lord of the Ring figurine collection.”

He pales almost comically; Steve bites down on his cheeks to stop from breaking into a goofy grin, while on his lap Tony just bursts out laughing. “Jesus Barton, you look ridiculous. I hope you caught an image of that, J.”

“Of course, Sir,” the ever attentive AI answers, tone one of amusement.

“Ah, JARVIS. Ever the efficient one,” Thor praises with a smile. The camera above the TV nods in greeting.

“You’re all ganging up on me!” Clint digs his face into Bruce’s shoulder. “We have the worst team Mom ever .”

Tony takes one exact minute to stop laughing long enough to answer in a mock serious voice, “Careful there, Sonny, or you won’t be invited to our wedding and end up being known as the prodigal son."

Clint just sticks his tongue out, “Like you’d even notice me in my stealth mode. I’ll disguise myself and tell everyone about your sex life!”

“Like my sex life has ever been private,” Tony beams proudly. “But you’ll have no one to tell, because the wedding would be private. Everyone invited would know exactly how awesome we are in the bedroom.”

There’s a collection groan throughout the room and a “Christ, Tony, this is a family friendly movie, we’re lucky Parker isn’t here” from Bruce that Steve almost misses because his heart is thumping so loud, so wild he’s amazed he can still hear them at all.

“Tony,” Steve breathes, because he’s still in disbelief. “You want to get married?”

And Tony seems to get the wrong idea, he still usually does. He stiffens in Steve’s arms, already trying to squirm himself out and away from the couch. “Uh.” Then, softly, “Fuck. You don’t?” Clearing his throat, in a louder voice, “I mean, of course you don’t. That was just a scenario y’know. You don’t have to take it seriously."

“What?” That’s just ridiculous, and Steve pulls Tony into a super hug. He’s gotten better at those, hugs that make them both feel warm and content that don’t actually hurt anyone. “No! I mean, yes! I mean-- I do want to get married. To you, Tony. I want to get married to you. ”

“Oh.” Tony seems to go complete slack upon hearing that, letting himself go limp in Steve’s arms. “Thank fuck. Thought I was gonna be rejected before I could even get out the ring.”

Steve’s grin is ear splitting. “You got me a ring?”

Tony’s red down his neck, and he groans. “Fuck you, Rogers.”

“Any time, Tony.” He means it, hoping his words convey his sincerity.

Judging by the way the entire room (including Tony, though his eyes are bright) groans in unison, Steve thinks himself successful.

The wedding is private. There are lesser people here than Steve is used to, but then again, that was before everything went to shit. Compared to the last gathering he’s been around, this is… good. Better than good. It’s his wedding day, after all.

He’s in a suit of Tony’s colors - gold, and red. And Tony, vice versa. At least, he thinks that’s how it works. Steve hasn’t exactly been contributing or giving a say as far as aesthetics are concerned; that’s Tony’s natural element, and Steve’s more than happy to indulge his soon-to-be husband (God, his husband ).

He’s in the waiting room, being ’done up pretty’, and his palms are sweaty and gosh, why is he so nervous ? Sam laughs as he dabs at the beads on his forehead, only for more to take its place.

“Don’t worry, Steve. It’s just you and Tony, and us .”

And when it’s put that way, yeah . Yeah, Sam’s right. It’s a ceremony with just them, the team, the family. They’re here to make something that has been happening… Official. That’s what this is. He clings to that thought.

Steve smiles, squeezing Sam’s wrist once. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime, pal.”

It doesn’t stop Steve from tearing up when Tony walks down the aisle, arm in Rhode’s (there’s no one else more fitting). As he’d suspected, Tony’s in his colours - red, blue, white. Not America’s colors, but his , Steven Grant Roger’s, like how he’s in Tony’s, and not Iron Man’s. Once, they’d been unable to differentiate each other from their alter-egos.

Big man in a suit of armor. Steve had said that, once.

Every special about you came out from a bottle. Tony had shot back, then.

They had been so wrong about each other, and so what if took a war, a snap, sacrifices, years, for them to come to this point? They have so many flaws, but so God help him, Steve will do it all again in a heartbeat.

His eyes fall to Tony’s cufflinks, and he breaks into an almost laugh through his blurring vision. Tony smirks when he sees what Steve’s noticed - the dick shaped cufflinks Tony’d sworn he’d wear. Steve’s own cufflinks are relatively PG; it’s a palette, because art has been the one consistency in his life. And even now, his heart warms that Tony understands.

Rhodes’ own eyes are misty when he passes Tony to Steve with two hard pats to their joined hands. “Take care of my best friend.”

In a choked voice, “I swear.”

“We’re not the vows yet!” Someone shouts, and there’s laughter that resounds within the small hall.

Nick Fury clears his throat, and they repeat the vows. More tears pool at the corner of his eyes when Tony looks him in the eye, and says “I do”, but the tears fall freely when they exchange rings, because the rings were melted and molded from his dog tags, with his carved ‘Tony’ and Tony’s carved ‘Steve’. They kiss, one of the softest exchanges between the two, and their family erupts in cheers.

In a voice Steve thinks is filled with awe and pride, Fury announces, “I now pronounce you husband and husband.”

They part to loud applause, pressing their noses together, breathing each other in. Tony already has a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hello, Mr. Steve Rogers-Stark.”

Steve smiles, pressing his lips against Tony’s again. “Hello, Mr. Tony Stark-Rogers.”

This is in no way an ending; the second half of their lives has barely begun.

The second half of their lives, as one may expect, isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. They stick with the team, reasoning it with ‘They need time to adjust. Just a little longer’ when all it’s really about is that they aren’t ready to part with all this. War has never been their choice, and the world will only ever truly be at peace when something like the Avengers need not exist, but they have found home in each others’ presence, and no one is quite willing to just let go yet.

It takes a little more than a decade before they figure a way to neutralise the effects of the Super Serum. There are risks - there’s always risks in science and experiments - but when they think about the reward and how there’s technically nothing much left to lose, they approach it light-heartedly. And maybe it’s some faraway God who takes pity on them, or maybe Tony’s just that much of a genius (Tony insists on that), but the process is smooth and the effects are immediate.

Steve will never forget Tony’s laugh when he sees the first signs of age catching up to the super soldier in the form of a single wrinkle across his forehead. It’s one of those moments Steve captures in his sketchbook when Tony’s gone to sleep and he knows he won’t be caught in the act. This particular sketchbook is a private one, something Steve hopes he can keep to himself in this world that isn’t quite his.

The team, supportive in a way only they can be, congratulate the couple. They have a party, one lasting two days and three nights, however impossible it may sound. There are no tears as Steve and Tony finally retire from the Avengers team, only smiles and laughter and warmth and love.

They move to a quiet place, off the grid, for retirement. The press do what they do best - they press , but the Avengers have also made some connections with powerful news stations, who convey their blessings and swear to keep reporters off their backs. Steve thinks that’s largely thanks to Pepper, and he thinks Tony knows that too, but that’s just one of the many things they’re content with keeping to themselves.

They adopt two dogs - Steve gets to name one and Tony the other, it’s only fair - and a baby girl. When Tony suggests to name their daughter ‘Morgan’, Steve has to turn away and hold back his tears. Tony doesn’t ask - he knows . Tony always knows. He simply stands there in silent support, because Steve always shares when he is ready to. And he will, even if that time is not now.

The nightmares never truly stop. Even now, albeit rarely, Tony dreams of the Chitauri, of the world’s end, of stepping into a battle 87.4% sure that it will be his end. But Steve is always there when Tony wakes, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. He will hold Tony close, remind Tony who he is, that he’s safe, they’re here and only this is real.

For Steve, well, it’s a little more complicated, seeing as he’s literally a man out of his time, his world now even. And that’s the one thing that truly haunts him. Steve’s never forgotten who he really is. He never lets himself forget that he comes from a different timeline, messed this one up (too, the darkness in his mind adds) with his good intentions, and found his way to Tony (but at what cost?). That the time he has now is stolen, that one day this will all catch up to him.

He never forgets what really happens after New York. Not Ultron, not finding out what Bucky did and keeping the truth from Tony, not the Accords, not Siberia, not the time he spent as a fugitive in Wakanda.

Not the way he felt when the burner phone had rung, the way his stomach lurched at the thought that something was wrong , and hearing Bruce on the other end, telling him that Tony and a wizard had gone to space .

He can never forget the first time he’s had his arms around Tony in two years, looking so thin, hollow, fearful . Can’t forget the hurtful words exchanged, even when (because) the Earth is already damned and there’s nothing left to lose.

The temporary truce five years later.

Tony’s lifeless eyes before Steve can make things right between them again.

“Steve.” Tony’s voice, gentle but firm. Something warm presses against his ear, then again at his neck, his forehead, over his shut lids. Tony.

“Tony?” His voice comes out small, like the sickly boy from Brooklyn who isn’t sure whether he’ll make it through the day. Steve doesn’t dare open his eyes, like he thinks once he does, he’ll find himself alone in a dark alley, and he can’t take that. But Tony is real, or so the voice coaxes, until Steve’s breathing calms.

“Tony,” Steve says again.

“I’m here, Steve,” the answer comes within a heartbeat.

Now that his mind is clearer, Steve realises the sun has long since risen, now high in the sky. They’re both still under the covers, and Tony is spooning him, chest pressed against Steve’s back. His hands clasp Tony’s, toying with his wedding ring.

“I love you.” Not thank you, or I’m sorry, because they’re way past that.

He feels Tony smile. “Good morning to you too, Winghead.”

One night, when Tony comes out of Morgan’s bedroom looking somewhat helpless and in awe and so full of love, Steve thinks he knows.

Brown eyes seek out the blue of his own, and Tony is all but whispering, “She told me she loved me 3000 times. My calculations -never wrong, by the way- tells me she loves you maybe 900 times, max? Wow.”

And Steve laughs, because now, he finally understands. He beckons Tony to join him and their two dogs on the couch, cradling him. “It’s not a competition, Tony.”

His husband all but snorts, sinking into Steve’s arms, absent-mindedly stroking the golden retriever’s fur. "Course it isn’t."

They both know Tony will never let any of them live that down, and Steve is more than fine with that.

#personal #delete later #or maybe not aosjdisfjsofs #stony #marvel

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years

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MakeUp By Artists: Mystic Space Palette

At long last, I have gotten off my lazy bum and participated in my own tag/challenge/whatever If you'd like to try this #MakeUpByArtists thing to make your own makeup collection, you can download the Premium template that I used with shading and textures and all that here, OR you can download the completely Blank template here. So this is, essentially, what it would look like if I was approached by a brand or suddenly given the funds and means to make my own makeup collection based solely on myself. I'll be honest, I spent waaaayyyyy too long deciding on some of the color names, but for the most part, the colors themselves were relatively easy to come up with. The lipsticks I just based off of my favorite colors to wear in real life, and the eyeshadows were a mixture of colors I use a lot, colors I wish I had in eyeshadow, and just my favorite colors in general. Even the name of the collection was a little tricky for me since I didn't want it to just be point-blank my name. (But that's definitely an option, I just wasn't feeling it myself.) I started with "Stars and Sparklers," but then as I was trying to name the colors in the collection I felt minorly obligated to make them line up with that as a theme. But that's not what I wanted; I wanted a "theme" that was just me if someone threw my personality in a machine and turned it into a makeup collection. (I can always play with different themes and stuff in other palettes later; this one was just supposed to be about myself.) So I went back and ended up going with "Mystic Space" because it sounds kinda snappy like a typical makeup palette/collection name, but it's also accurate: use these makeup products and you're stepping into my (Mystic) Space. The overall look, likewise, I went with some galaxy stuff for the logo/item theming. I had decided pretty quickly that given the choice, I'd have all the metal portions as that opalescent/holographic-white color that shifts to a kind of pale green or lavender in the light. So I did my best to capture that and going also with that the brush bristles would also be white, both to match and because that way I could more easily see how much color I've actually picked up on it. The lace edging on everything was actually a later addition. My general disposition in terms of style volleys between Pastel and Punk (and often combines the two), and so after some thought I came upon the idea of having white lace accents (IRL, I imagine this would be actual lace somehow tied or otherwise attached to all the different things) against all the stark black. It's pretty nice visual contrast and reflects me pretty well. (I'll also picturing a white bow over the spot where the palette would open/close, and maybe in the store, there were be white bows wrapped around the boxes?) And now I'm going to very quickly run down where each of the color names come from and what they would look like as makeup products, starting with the eyeshadows (order is left-right, top-bottom). I came up with all the colors first, then went back and did names as they came to me: • Sugar Water - A bright white, shimmery shade. Originally the name was going to have something to do with dandelions or Baby's Breath, since I really love those flowers, but more integral to me as a person is definitely that pretty much all I ever drink is soda, and I will often actually put sweetener in plain water when we go out to restaurants.

• Enchanting - A buildable matte, light seafoam shade. It is a little more cyan than I originally intended, but this still works. Mint/seafoam/robin's egg kind of colors really draw my eye, and I imagine as an eyeshadow with few layers and lots of blending this would work as a lighter mint shade, or the more intense cyan with more layers and less blending, so it hits both of those. The name I derived from "Enchantix," my favorite Winx Club transformation, as this color reminds me a lot of Bloom, the main character from the show, and her Enchantix outfit.

• Mew Know It - A very shimmery/glittery baby pink/rose gold. I use this kind of color a lot when actually doing my makeup, and it happens to remind me of a cat's nose or paw pads, and thus a pun for the name encompassing my love of cats was born.

• Mummy's Tome - High-Impact, metallic-glitter gold. Also a color I use a lot of IRL. The name here is a 2-in-1. Mummy because I have an inexplicable fascination with Ancient Egypt, and Tome because not only does that make a nice pun on "Mummy's Tomb, but it also references my avid readership. (I was really happy went I came up with this name; I thought it was so clever! ) Cheshire - Another pink, this one more on the matte side and much more intense. I don't use this color a lot, but it is one of my favorites to use in art making (which may or may not be obvious if you know me) and I wish I could use a color like this on my eyes more. Named after the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, naturally. Specifically from the 1951 version, as it is my favorite Disney movie.

• Apple of my Iris - A mostly (very subtle shimmer) matte neon purple. I'd use this color if I had it, but I don't! Also one I like to play with in art, though. Originally I was going to call this one "Joker Country" after one arc of my favorite manga, Alice in the Country of, but the next one was also going to have an AiW kind of name originally, and I really didn't want to have three with the same name theme right in a row. I also thought I could do with more puns, so I thought this one up and went with it.

• Faulted Star - An opalescent/holographic electric sapphire blue. My personal favorite out of the palette! I'd find every excuse I could to use this if it was a real thing! Based off of my absolute favorite color in the entire world. The name derives from The Fault in Our Stars, my second favorite John Green book. (It was my #1 before Turtles All the Way Down came out.) And it is also an accurate statement of myself.

• Parade - A highly shimmery/glittery black shade. I do use black eyeshadow a lot, but mostly for intense eyeliner and in small doses to bring out other colors. But I've yet to obtain a really nice, super sparkly black to use. This one probably has my favorite name though; Originally I was trying to force a Winx Club Wizards of the Black Circle reference in, but I just couldn't do it. And then the thought appeared to me: It's Black. And what is the most popular song by my favorite band (My Chemical Romance)? Welcome to the Black Parade. From there, the reference/pun was entirely too good to pass up. And I still love it. Comparatively, the lipsticks didn't have quite as much thought put into their names: • Freak du Chic - An opalescent hot pink, satin finish. I actually have a lipstick this color, but I don't wear it much because A. It's a lot, and B. over the years the actual lipstick has gotten kind of beat-up, so I have to be extra careful when I do use it that it goes where I want it to. Originally I had just named it "Blue Rose," but that was so plain and I had entirely too many things with B names. So I went with a Monster High reference instead, since I strongly associate hot pink with the brand.

• What in Carnation - A highly shimmery baby pink. This is probably the kind of lipstick I wear the most often since it looks pretty inoffensive on my face but still looks like I am indeed wearing lipstick. The name was also the very first pun I came up with for the names and once I thought of it I couldn't bear to let go of it. I also really love the look of carnation flowers, so that works out.

• Bloody Berry - Deep, almost pinkish matte red. Surprisingly, I will usually go for red lipstick if I'm not wearing the previously mentioned shimmery pink. I'm not really sure what it is, but I like a nice matte, red shade. (My mother doesn't care for the matte look, but they're my lips, right? ) The name is sort of my poking fun at traditional "berry" names and also sort of a distant reference to the interest I've had in vampires that I've had since I was like ten. Also, I like most berries.

• Beachy Keen - Satin finish, peachy/apricot/pinky-fleshy/nude shade. I'd wear this more often if I could find exactly the right color, but most are usually not quite what I'm looking for in one way or another. Still, I do like the subtle look sometimes. The name is really purely a pun, but it also works since I like the beach but I don't really like eating peaches. ... I think that's everything! Clearly, I had a lot of fun with and put a lot of thought into this, but that was the point from the very beginning, waaaaaayyyy back when I first started toying with the #MakeUpByArtists idea. So I think I've properly come full circle with it. I just really hope I'm not the only one that ever does this, or this is going to look kind of silly. Oh well, I had fun and did what I originally set out to do, so no harm was done, I suppose. ____ Artwork & Template (c) me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#makeupbyartists

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aggresivelyfriendly · 6 years

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~Who Names The Colors~

Chapter 5- L’atelier Rouge

So this chapter poured out after in saw that image-the red one- of a harry look alike with his face between a ladies thighs and her hand in his hair….I reblogged it earlier-I’m sure I’ll reblog it tonight, and many more times in the future. Because I think about it alllll the time!!!

It’s Inspiring!

As are @bleedinglove4h, @nocontrolforlouis, and @dirtystyles, MUAH!!

Oct 2014

Jo could see it so clearly, the red of the walls already cast a hue onto the occupants, whether the source of light was the window or the dingy hanging bulb over head. Harry would like red too.

She was red. That was for sure. If she had a palette and brush in her hand she would be mixing a little brown into her crimson to dull the orange and bring the color's brightness down to the hue of her desire. She imagined it would be deep and saturated, like Bordeaux or Syrah. She liked to drink Syrah when she was painting through upset. So maybe Boudreaux if she was painting out desire. Jo liked to have her wine accompany her mood. Like white with fish and red with steak.

He looked like a three course meal in front of her.

In her mind's eye it wasn't unrequited or unmet, the desire that pulsed up and through when he answered the door to his apartment in his current state. She was often on a low simmer for him, had been since his metamorphosis. It's power today though was shocking, like someone knocking you on the chin, but with brass knuckles. Jo's head is reeling and whirring from the blow. Her imagination is fired. And in her head Harry feels it too. Feels her and her ache and her thrust. So, there would be no preamble, which would never happen, clearly. Men wanted their tit and a blow job usually before they went for that tat. But in her fantastical reimagining of her first time in Harry's home studio, there was no tit. He just pulled her down to the flat table, shoved supplies to the side, pushed the flowy fabric of her long skirt up to her waist and grinned at her lack of underwear. She didn't wear them as a rule, but how would he know that? It would give him immediate access and his long stare would make her the opposite of self conscious, because he poured over her form the way he did the Van Gogh at the museum last week.

In the museum, he'd been entranced by the thickness of the brush strokes. "They are so full of emotion! I can feel this!" He'd been the most excited student there with her and she once again saw those flames around his head, his spark. Jo knew then that she needed to see his current art. He had been a bit of a prodigy as a teenager, but he told her that first day in her office that he had been painting voraciously ever since then. And all the sparks and ignition of ideas she could see coming out of his ears made her excited. As much as the trip to London was gassing up his artistic engine, she knew a trip to his studio would fill up her tank too.

She was wet, had been from anticipation before getting here and stayed that way when he answered the door in a pair of threadbare gray jeans and a half buttoned plaid. He'd pushed his hair back with a hand and Jo thrilled at all the tattoos on the underside of his arm where his sleeve was rolled. Jo had to stop herself from reaching forward and keeping his elbow pointing up so she could look at them all. For a boy obsessed with color, she wanted to ask why only one or two tattoos had pigment at all.

She kept her hands to herself, a little confused by the urges she felt, like seeing Zoe reach for a flame at her first bonfire or Ethan weep for the girl least interested. But seeing the art on his body was exciting and she hadn't even seen any of his creations yet. Jo couldn't imagine how she'd put a cork back in now that she has seen him in his place of revelation. Not that there was an adequate seal on her simmering need since he'd walked out of his cocoon into her house what was now years ago.

He's called her to come over, they had spoken in her office recently and arranged for a time for her to see his studio. But two days later and two before the appointed time, her phone had rung with a frantic, rambling H on the other line.

His mood was contagious, and her body had translated it into a different energy.

Harry pushed the door closed behind her and began talking really fast. Especially for him. He usually had a slow cadence to his words and he carefully placed each, like his thoughts were a puzzle and he had to find where the edges matched. It made you listen, and emphasized the low thick sounds he made.

There was none of that now, he was in a fit of inspiration, and its fire matched the one Zoe had last night when Jo had sliced her cheese instead of giving her the whole block to chew on.

"Jo, I mean Professor Smith," that makes her a little slicker, too. Her own name on his tongue and her title was even more titillating. His excitement was palpable, pulmonary, beating out of him and into her. His excitement was not carnal at all, but artistic, but Jo's was definitely centered in her core, not in her imagination. Though that is firing too. And her twin drives have melded like an alloy for her in his presence, art and act merged in his red painted forge.

She was thinking she couldn't meet him here again when she realized he was still talking.

"I found her last night. Haven't slept I've been so busy defining her edges. That's why I had to call you, though I'm not exactly ready I couldn't wait.. Sorry 'bout that, not being ready, studio is a mess," and he led her into what she assumed was meant to be a second bedroom with bright red walls. It was covered in canvases, some blank, but mostly covered in oils and acrylics, stacked around and against most of the walls, three and four deep. The piece he immediately went to was giant, which was why she had to come to his apartment to see it, he couldn't bring it to her. It was a blended landscape of golden hills. Jo actually kind of recognized the geographical forms, but the colors were wildly washed out for verdant England. "But, I've always done landscapes, think you may remember that, it's what I started with. I've tried before, to draw people - my mum and Gem, even Ethan once. I almost had Zoe, but she just turned into a wave, think she was gonna be a mermaid anyway, though those are vaguely humanoid in shape." He shrugged and kept walking to the far right quadrant of the painting. He was still excitedly talking and picked up a pencil, went right back into what she imagined he had been doing when she knocked.

Jo scanned him, his bare feet with a smudge of charcoal on the right heel and a bit of red pigment on his big left toe were sensual and lurid to her. His black encased legs were sexy even at the ankles and his thighs, when her tracing gaze reached them, reminded her of one of Michelangelo's subjects, thick and with obvious definition even through the denim. His shirt covered his ass, thankfully -she wasn't sure she could take that - and was loose over his abdomen and he was faced away so she couldn't see the bare skin. Only the tattoos on his nearly sleeved left arm and it's almost bare twin were exposed. But the pull of the fabric across his broad upper back made her think of a tree. Sprawling and wide, full of life giving strength. Self sustaining and capable of holding weight.

Could he hold her weight? If Jo pressed herself to him, literally came onto him. Would he heft her up onto his hips and take her down before he took her. She couldn't even listen to him talk, heard the dull roar of her own blood rushing to needy areas instead of his voice. Unless she concentrated on his low down rumble.

And when she did.

Well, Jo wanted to spread herself on the low table, offer herself as a meal to him there. She imagined the light in the red room as that deep wine red again and him leaving her shirt on, not bothering to strip her bare up top at all. Hungry for the pulsing center of life on her own body. Her cunt may not carry out photosynthesis, but it certainly had made and brought forth existence. Worthy of a feast, and to be feasted on.

Jo imagined the open purse of his mouth around her. Her thighs formed a cradle for his head. The urge to rock took her and she squirmed on the couch while he sketched for a minute. She should have been looking around his studio, but she could only watch him work and imagine him at other work. A man's work. The curls of his head, especially the ringlet on the left side and the swoop over his forehead, made her want to pull them up to run her fingers through while she moaned and moaned. Or the bun, god she wanted to used the bun as a handle. The first time he had walked into class with it she had tilted her head like a curious dog. She wasn't sure she liked it. Now she was. She wanted to grip it, and moan. She wanted to say his name.

"Har, Har-ry?" God, the ache and catch in the syllable break, it sounded like driving down a rutted road to a home you never thought you'd be allowed go back to. He must've heard it. Because he stopped sketching and his back stiffened. She watched his chest pick up in pace and he put down the pencil, she couldn't see what his hand did after that, but it was something hidden near his midsection and she heard him suck in a breath before he let his head fall for just a second. Then he squared up, like a fighter entering the final round. He turned to her. And the look on his face? The look there was an open valley after a long climb.

His eyes, what color were his eyes?

Jo got up abruptly.

Her intention was twofold. The one set by her fantasy about red light specials on tables was to get close enough to determine the exact color of his eyes, the texture of his hair, and the taste of his lips, was what she desperately wanted.

But a need had asserted itself. And she couldn't push him against the wall and wrap a leg around his strong thigh or slim waist. She wouldn't. She could obey the need though. So Jo gestured to his supplies and he nodded at her, confused. She started mixing on a palette and set herself an easel adjacent to his elbow, with enough space for comfort. Once she had the green and blues to choose from she turned to him and gestured at his work.

"Do you see her too, Jo?" His voice sounded like an old engine starting cold and she dreamed of pressing him against the canvas in front of them, her front to his back, and she took his hand and put his pencil back to the top of her head. Tracing over the anterior of her body. Whoever she was, that was what she wanted to do.

She saw her, Jo definitely saw her.

She wanted to trace her with him and then let Harry trace her. If he wanted of course. God, she'd never wanted an attraction to be two sided and unrequited at the same time. If he was just a daydream, someone who she wanted and didn't see her, it would be loads easier. If he felt it, the pulsing blood beneath her skin, and in her fluids, then it was worse. If it beat beneath his breastbone to the same rhythm, it would be so much harder. Because they could not, would not. They could not fuck on a plane, or on a train, or against the art frame.

So she painted

Jo had painted before in this mood, but it's oncoming had taken her unawares. It's connection to this place, Harry's studio, was revelatory to her, a ripping open of all seven of her seals.

It could not just be the place, it had to be the company. But, if she couldn't act on it, mark him with her passion and splash him with all the colors in her head, she would paint it on a canvas. Just like she had when she was sixteen and felt like a burden to her mother and an accessory to her father. Thank god Jo was pretty, or they both may have had even less use for her.

She had painted through her first love. As unsuitable as they come, co-dependent and a gaslighting nightmare. But he wanted her and she wanted that.

So Jo made art and they made Ethan.

She painted through the decision to leave him. Charlie may have wanted her in a way even her parents didn't, but the baby, it needed her. And Charlie was not in a place to be a dad. She painted the heartbreak and hope.

Then Jo did not paint for ages. Because she created other things, a life inside her and a home for her and Ethan and a career to clothe and feed him.

Jo went back to painting her feelings when he got too old to need her relentlessly. She painted the pain of his burgeoning independence. The pride too.

That was when she taught Harry to paint.

Then Jo went through another fallow period while she created Zoe.

But she had picked up her brush again, painted out her feelings when she realized she once again lost the man but kept the baby.

Jo had sat up many nights wondering if her picker was broken. She could see the downfall of her first relationship clearly. It was doomed from the start because it was a product of her home life, which she had done her best to work through in therapy later. Charlie loved her, but only if she could love him above all else, and let him be the same. He required co-dependence and she already felt stifled. Jo was growing out of him. He started to become very controlling before she got pregnant, as her world got bigger at university and his got smaller at the auto shop. She'dended it when she had a squirming reason to.

There had been nobody significant while Ethan was growing. She didn't have time for it. She had a university friend that she met for the occasional interlude when she needed it. Jo went out on random set ups and finally resorted to tinder when Ethan was a teenager, just to scratch her itches. They were usually infrequent and mostly controllable, but sex was an appetite like any other and healthy. So when she had to, she had it, responsibly, like a drink on a Friday night.

It was never an undeniable need like they talked about in books. Definitely not with Colin, though she thought they did well enough in the bedroom. That relationship didn't even require her therapist to figure out. He was older than her and had never had to share his life or the spotlight. If marriage was a partnership, he only wanted a junior to his senior. But he had looked so good on paper and, if she was honest, Jo was desperate for another baby before her time ran out. They had hit fast forward and because Colin was desperate for an approximation of normal, the full package, pretty educated wife, little baby, he would deal with the stepson.

He'd hid that bit, his indifference to Ethan, until he lived with them. That was the beginning of the end. When Jo made it clear she was also an adult who was capable of running their life, had run her own and molded her son's, so she got a say, thank you very much, that was another nail into the coffin. The box was sealed up tight when his only interest in the forthcoming Zoe was getting it her on Jo and having sonograms to share, though he never witnessed one.

A show, Colin wanted a show.

So that was Jo's second strike. She was determined that her next step up to the plate was going to be a home run.

Which was why, no matter how much every fiber of her being was telling her to push Harry up against the red walls of his studio and paint them black and blue and every hue of pink, she was not going to.

There was no way that choosing him was the right choice. He was wrong on paper, and she was wrong for him and he needed to find a different woman, search for her and draw her out like the one in his painting. Anybody would be more suitable for him that his best mate's mum, who was twice his age, had a young child, and was his professor and senior adviser to boot. No matter how red the pulse of her feelings were, she knew they were wrong.

Her strokes over the middle of the canvas were rough, thick, and wide. Jo felt like she might as well be finger painting with all the finesse she seemed to be able to show. She didn't even like color blocking, didn't understand the fuss about Rothko. And even with the wide swath of green on top and blue below, the mix between was still the wrong color.

Abstraction wasn't her strong suit, unless they were figures. Jo sat back to frown at her painting.

Harry seemed to sense her movement and paused too. "That's a lovely color there, Professor Smith." It seemed odd to be formal now that she had sat with him painting for over an hour and daydreamed about him giving her orgasms on his table. Thank God he couldn't read her mind or feel her moods! "What do you call it?"

"Silt." Jo said, "but it's not right. The shade is....." She peered closer. "Too blue?"

"What exactly are you trying to paint?" Harry asked. And looked back to his own work with a smug smile before going to get black to make his woman permanent. He knew what he was trying to paint.

"I dunno. Not sure what I'm going for. Just know this isn't right."

Another hour of creative silence later, Jo looked up at Harry's work and sighed happily. He was so good.

"Your woman is lovely Harry! I can definitely see her." He looked back at her comment and held her gaze.

"Me too."

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #who names the colors #wntc #chapter 5 #l’atelier rouge #one direction #one direction fanfiction

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elenajohansenauthor · 6 years

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Fictober18, Day 30: “Do we really have to do this again?”

OCs: Shannon and Orlando

Project: Untitled paranormal romance for Fictober18/NaNoWriMo, now tagged #spookyromancenovel on my blog

Potential Triggers: none

Word Count: 2,285

About: Sun magic and an unexpected phone call.

The process of capturing sunlight is mostly preparation, coupled with lots of waiting. Now, after my coffee date with my mother, the waiting was over.

I don't open the shop on Sundays, but I headed there, since that's where I'd likely be when the sun was shining, any other day of the week. I'd left my assembled kit of spell components there, waiting through every day serving my customers and tending the shelves for the rain to break, for even just five minutes of sunlight to get things started.

Of course it was sunny on my day off. Of course.

Everything was packed in a drawstring velvet bag (one of my most popular items, witches of every stripe go nuts for soft, pretty velvet) so I grabbed it and headed up to the roof, which I could access from a steel ladder on the back wall of my storeroom. Managing the hatch was a pain, I always wished I had stairs instead, especially when I was taking up vessels for collecting rain water, or bringing them in. I had a lot of roof, so I could put out a lot of pots, but they got dirty quickly if I left them up there—I'd found that out the hard way, and let me tell you, chipping off dried bird shit is no fun time. In theory, I could get one of those big weatherproof chests to keep things in, but how would I ever get it up there?

Hauling the bag up was easy, though, I simply looped the drawstring around my wrist and up I went.

The rainfall had lasted long enough to thoroughly soak the cement, but there were dry patches emerging from the scattered puddles. I sat in the center of one and opened my bag.

A scrap of bright golden silk came out first. It had come from an ao dai I'd worn as a child, and the square, cut from the front, still had faded embroidery in one corner. The thread had been bleached by the sun in a way that the silk itself hadn't, but I liked the effect, the white-gold stitches against the strong, mustardy yellow. I'd been using this cloth for ages, and I would keep using it until it disintegrated in my hands.

I weighed down each corner of the square with a piece of tumbled citrine, used to attract joy to one's life, and emblematic of the sun. They were pretty stones, not my favorite, but clear and warm. I only used them for this sunlight gathering spell, which I had done before, but not often. My mother had always frowned on magic in the house, but a natural sun lamp was one of the few things she permitted, once I'd explained how much of a help it would be in the rain and snow of a gray winter. She did prefer to test color palettes in sunlight, after all. The first summer she allowed it, I spent a whole week storing up sunshine, every afternoon until she called me in for dinner.

I wouldn't have that same reliable weather now, but all I could do was my best, which was coming up here as often as possible before the full moon.

A brief moment of curiosity distracted me—Ursula as a moon witch? It wasn't entirely out of the question, but it was a pretty large departure from her family's traditions, if Noah's gossip was accurate. Better that than a necromancer, I suppose, but then, I didn't actually know that much about necromancy. It wasn't, strictly speaking, raising the dead—we already had enough problems with ghouls for anyone to bother with that, I would think—but rather communing with them, as well as using the power of death and its trappings to affect change in the living world. But that was only the broadest outline of the branch, and I didn't know anything more specific.

I supposed if one of Ursula's brothers was capable of mind control, which wasn't necromantic at all, then she might also have ended up with talents that veered in other directions.

But I was doing this for them, so I needed to do it, and stop dithering.

The next item from my bag was a smaller bag, the boring zipper top kind. It was filled with white sand I'd collected from a beach a few years back, and it was still half full, thankfully—I didn't get to travel often, so I was always keeping an eye out for spell components when I did. I measured out a handful and brought it close to my face, closing my eyes. “Warm sky and brilliance,” I whispered over it. The sand heated briefly in my hand, not unpleasantly. Like holding a bag of roasted, candied nuts. Without opening my eyes, I reached forward and tipped my hand, letting the sand spill over the silk, or at least where I thought the silk was.

When I opened my eyes, I was pleased to see I had a neat pile sitting almost exactly in the center of the square. Good luck, that. It's not that the spell wouldn't work off-center, but neatness and symmetry certainly aided most types of spells.

The last thing I needed was a plain old crystal ball, which I drew out carefully. Any scratches or nicks on the smooth surface could decrease its effectiveness as a vessel, and I was tired, run-down from all the stress of the past few weeks. The last thing I wanted was to drop the ball and have it roll clear across the roof, picking up grit the whole way, until it ran into the low brick lip at the edge and cracked.

I handled it gently, with just my fingertips, and set it firmly atop the sand pile.

Everything was in place. I put on my sunglasses, focused on the center of the crystal ball, and began to chant.

Sunshine, sunshine, bless this vessel. Sunshine, bright light, fill it full. Sunshine, white heat, hear me calling. Sunshine, great star, grant me life.

It wasn't the greatest poetry, but it did the job. If I'd written the chant, I would have at least tried to make it rhyme, but it did have a certain pulsing rhythm to it that I liked, that made it easy to fall into. Because I was going to be up here for hours, with any luck.

After the first twenty minutes of the spell, the crystal ball grew bright enough I was thankful for the sunglasses. After another fifteen, it was too bright to look at anyway—I had to shut my eyes. When I eventually paused to take a few sips of water—I'd stashed a bottle in my supply bag—I could see the gathered light pulsing even through my eyelids. This was going faster than I expected it to, which either meant the sun was unusually strong, or I was. Since the last time I'd gathered sunlight was near midsummer, and now we were in early fall, I doubted it was the former. But it had been years, so maybe I was more skilled than before?

Or more powerful?

A witch's power was a tentative, relative thing. So much depended on aptitude for a type of magic. Just like a person could have different types of intelligence—book-smart, people-smart, number-smart and so on—a witch would could incinerate a hay bale with a glance might find herself completely unable to scry, or imbue a promise with magic, or hear the truth in someone's voice. I had strong Healing magic, a smidge of truth-reading, and the most basic, rudimentary abilities in a few other areas, like sun magic. Yes, I could gather sunlight to store and use later, but I couldn't conjure it from nothing; I couldn't weave its light into illusions or focus it into a laser beam to cause harm.

For me to suddenly be so noticeably better at a spell I'd performed several times before was worrying. How could I have changed so radically? No amount of book-smart research could account for it.

It only took another hour to fill the crystal to bursting with light. I couldn't explain exactly how I could tell it was done, just like I couldn't explain exactly how I could see the invisible edge of one of Orlando's portals. But there was a feeling of pressure against my skin, and that precise kind of silence you hear just between the moment a piece of glass shivers, and the moment it cracks. I could imagine one more word of the chant filling the ball too much, and having the light flood out.

It had never happened to me. I didn't know if I would fry to a crisp, or just get badly sunburned. I stopped. I wasn't taking any chances.

Still with closed eyes, I reached out gently to find the ball. Despite the swirl of brightness I could see even through two layers of protection, the ball was only barely warm to the touch. I brought it to my lips and whispered, “Rest.”

The light died instantly. I left my eyes closed until the false colors my brain was producing stopped flashing and popping against my inner eyelids. When all was black again, I looked at the crystal. It was a solid, matte black, so deep it almost looked like a hole between my hands. The blackness had startled me the first time—I thought I'd failed. But when reawakened, the light had been there for the taking. No, the blackness was a precaution, preventing the loss of light, and preventing the caster from blindness. The amount of light I'd stored was dangerous, if unleashed too quickly or seen too closely.

I slipped the ball back into my big velvet bag. The sand beneath was scorched black, sooty more than sandy. After removing the pieces of citrine, I picked up the silk and shook the ruined sand out into the wind, hoping it would settle somewhere where the soil needed enriching. I'd tried disposing of the sand in a few different ways, but it tended to burn through plastic trash bags, set puddles of water boiling, and eat like acid through most solids—it was that hot, magically speaking. The only way to disperse that intense energy seemed to be to disperse the sand itself, letting the wind carry and cool it.

I was just opening the hatch to go back inside when my phone rang from my jacket pocket. Orlando was calling. This probably wasn't good.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively.

“I need to see you about something,” he said without preamble. “Can you come by tonight?”

“Something you can't just talk to me over the phone about?” I was close to whining, but I was wrung out. “Do we really have to do this again?”

“That's the other thing,” he said grimly. Internally, I was sighing. There was another thing? “Don't bring Noah.”

“What?” I stepped back from the open hatch, afraid shock might pitch me straight into it. “I don't have the best record with keeping secrets from him, okay? Are you sure I have to come alone?”

“Positive, Shannon. But it'll be worth it.”

I reminded myself not to clench my teeth—bad for my blood pressure. “I can't promise when I'll show up, then. It'll have to be after he's left to hunt. If he even does, I can't exactly force him to if he's not hungry, and there's no way he'll let me leave alone if he's around.”

“Figure something out.” Orlando's voice was flat and hard. “You might think his protectiveness is cute now, but if he makes the transition to full gargoyle, he's either going to rip you to pieces in a frenzy, or guard you so well you'll die of starvation because he'll only bring you ghoul carcasses to eat instead of human food.”

His words were so ridiculous I wanted to dismiss them out of hand, Noah would never...

But he might. If that promise spell broke somehow, if he turned, Orlando was right—Noah would either kill me immediately, or doom me to a slow death of privation. There was no way gargoyle-Noah, with a surviving instinct to protect me at all costs, would ever let me do anything so mundane as go grocery shopping.

“That won't happen.”

“Not if we're all working merrily together to keep him human-ish and sane, it won't. So you need to meet me tonight, without him.”

“Fine,” I growled, my good mood from the success sunlight gathering completely ruined. “Remember, I have no idea when I'll make it.”

“I'll be waiting.” He hung up.

I cursed Orlando with every non-magical swear word I knew, then climbed down the ladder after I'd vented my rage. No temper tantrums would make me risk the charged crystal, but once I'd secured it safely in my office, I shut the door and gave into the temptation to shout my curses, a luxury I hadn't indulged in on top of the roof, in the open air. I wanted to store up my anger like that sunlight, to unleash it on Orlando when I saw him, but some part of me was still afraid of him, of his knowledge and power, neither of which I knew to their full extent. Until I understood him better, I couldn't risk becoming his enemy.

Not when Noah's humanity was still at stake.

By the time I got home, I was still and calm as the surface of an early morning pond. Noah would wake soon, and he must not know I planned to trick him, or then everyone would be pissed at me.

#writeblr #fictober18 #original fiction #spookyromancenovel #amwriting #spookynovelexcerpt

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purecolby · 6 years

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Imagine #14- It Was Perfect- Part 1

You were dragged into Devyn and Corey’s bedroom, and Devyn had the camera this time.

“What the hell is going on, and why do I feel like i’m some kind of experiment for you..” You questioned. Devyn didn’t answer. You really didn’t know what she needed. You thought it was just going to be some stupid vlog thing that Corey usually does. You decided to go along with it and just forget about how you didn’t know what was about to happen.

“So, for this week’s video we will be using Y/N as a living, breathing mannequin. We are going to give her a new makeover. Hopefully that will be okay because I didn’t ask her before we started filming. Is that okay, Y/N?” Devyn asked you, turning away from the camera to look at you.

“Yeah, I guess it’s fine. I’m curious to see how you’ll do my makeup and dress me up.” You said. After you were stuck in your head for a minute, but then you realized that Devyn has just pulled out a MAC store from her bathroom. “Do I really need that much makeup?” You asked her with a terrified face. You started to cover your face, insecure of why she had brought out all this makeup.

She pulled your hands down and answered your question, “No of course you don’t! But I do need to foundation match you, and pull out all of my palettes to see which eye look I want to do on you, especially for this occasion…” She ended. You started to get suspicious. You wanted to ask her.

“Occassion? Wait, off the record, are you trying to set me up? You know how anxious i’ll get if you do.” You asked. She smiled but she shook her head no. You let out a sigh of relief but you didn’t take her answer seriously.

“So, why is there so much makeup? Really.” You asked her. “I never get to play with makeup much when Corey’s home, and this is a perfect excuse to get you to wear 10 pounds more makeup than you usually do.” You heard the bedroom door open. Out walked Katrina.

“Hey Kat. Sorry I look like an actual ghost. Devyn has made me fall ill, or at least made me look like it.” You said as Kat walked in and kicked off her shoes. She laughed then plopped down on the bed.

“Here I am! I love you Y/N. Just wanted to tell you that before we go out to look for clothes.” Kat said.

“I love you too, but what does that have to do with going out for a stupid video that won’t mean anything in the next few months?” You said to her. Katrina gave you some wide eyes and then looked at Devyn.

“Devyn. It looks like you put a little too much foundation on her ear. It looks like her ear is about to fall off because she’s decomposing. Come help me find the makeup wipes so we can fix her dead ear look.” Katrina said. Devyn looked at your right ear and agreed with Kat and went to the bathroom with the camera. They conspired.

“I have to pee, too. So we’re closing the door.” Katrina said to you. And then Katrina shut the door. It didn’t really come to your attention that they might be conspiring until you got the idea by the time they came out of the bathroom.

“Okay guys so Y/N is a little bit onto us and I think us both being in the bathroom looking for makeup wipes is a little much to stay out of her way while we do this whole thing. Kat literally just told her about how she needs to pee, and that’s why she shut the door. This isn’t exactly going well, as you’d imagine. But, we are keeping it under the wraps that we are putting her through the process of a blind date. She has no idea that we set this up. So, in the meantime, I’m going to look for makeup wipes.” Devyn said into the camera lens. Katrina went pee and Devyn frantically looked for the baby wipes. They both came out to see that Y/N was holding the baby wipes in hand. Devyn laughed and grabbed them from you.

“Katrina, how was the potty break?” You asked. She nodded. “Good. It was good. So, let’s talk. What colors do you plan on putting on her eyes, Dev” Katrina asked. Devyn wiped around your ear a little bit.

“First of all, don’t call me that. And second of all, I plan on putting neutrals on her, so go nuts with the outfit.” Devyn said. You were confused. You thought Devyn was the one doing all the heavy lifting, and Kat was just asked to come over to be the camera-man. Clearly, you were wrong.

“What? Why did you think I came over? To hang out with my disgusting boyfriend, Sam? Ew, no. I came to come help Devyn figure out what to dress you up as. I just needed to know what she was gonna do to your beautiful face!” Katrina exclaimed.

“Okay. I actually think we should stick with something a little more, brown and light. Not shadowy and sexy. I think it will look better in the long run.” You decided to just scroll through instagram instead of worry about it because then you’d drive yourself to just make some theories up. You saw that Colby has posted a photo of him and Brennen at Tender Greens.

“Look! He’s having so much fun with his best friend, and his boyfriend!” You laughed. “He really is dreamy, and he looks super hot in his sweater. I love his new merch line. It makes me want to just buy everything, but then again, I need to eat, so…” You laughed again. Devyn looked at the picture you were talking about and saw that Colby has mainly posted the picture because he got a new haircut.

“Sorry I have a boyfriend so I can’t fantasize in the same way that you are. It’s driving me nuts that you and Colby haven’t made something happen, though. You guys are pretty much the same person except one of you has ovaries; however, I can’t tell if that’s you or him. He spends way more time on his hair than you.” Devyn said.

“Devyn!” Katrina said, laughing. “So has this crush progressed?” She asked. You nodded your head and she squirmed, excitedly.

Devyn finally finished off your makeup look with a nice, brick red lipstick. She set your face with setting spray and she curled your hair. You guys went to target because you didn’t like those expensive places to shop. It was really just your simplicity of things. Katrina insisted that you guys go to Forever 21. You really didn’t like that idea. You wanted to go cheap and simple. Like your makeup. Which wasn’t really a change from what you normally do. It was like your regular makeup routine, just caked on.

Katrina and Devyn finally found the perfect outfit, and it was definitely your style, too. It was totally lowkey, and it seemed like something that you had already had in your closet. You really didn’t understand what was so special about a black nirvana t-shirt and jeans, but you liked it. You paid for the outfit and you guys got back to the mansion. Devyn and Katrina had left to Devyn’s bedroom and told you to stay out.

“So Y/N is finally ready to be shown, but it’s almost time that we tell her about how all day we’ve been preparing her to go on this date with Colby. Also, so you’re filled in, Brennen and Sam have also been preparing Colby so he doesn’t look exactly like Y/N.” Katrina said. Devyn nodded and then aimed the camera to Katrina.

“Are you ready to tell Y/N, Kat? I am so excited to tell her about the date, but to keep her in suspense, we won’t tell her it’s Colby that she’s going out with. It’s going to be super funny!”

You waited in the kitchen just eating out of a bag of cheetos and you were surfing on instagram.You were actually surfing through Colby’s instagram and then Devyn scared you when she snuck up behind you.

“God! Jesus, Devyn. You scared the crap out of me!” You said loudly. Katrina patted your back and you were alerted immediately. “Why are you trying to comfort me?” You asked. You walked over to one of the charis at the end of the island at the table.

“Nothing. Just- sorry, can you please stop shoving your face with cheetos for a second. I’m trying to tell you something!” Devyn exclaimed. “God! Okay, tell me what you want!” You asked, getting your hand out of the bag of cheetos.

“So, we actually did have a reason why we gave you a makeover. But can you promise not to freak out when we tell you?” Devyn asked, pointing the camera at you.

You stood there noticing the lack of expression in their faces. So, you nervously grabbed the bag and took another helping of the cheetos (let’s face it at this point you’re kinda curious).

“Stop eating those things!” Katrina yelled as she pulled the cheetos bag out of your hands.

“What is so important?” You asked. They finally let it out.

“We got you a blind date with a guy we really don’t think will murder you if you talk a little too much.” Devyn said.

“What? What the hell is wrong with you guys! I really need to go, I have to clean my apartment.” You said. You grabbed your purse and started to head out the door.

“No stop why are you leaving, Y/N?” Katrina asked.

“No, stop. I need to go, I have no idea why you did this. You know I get really anxious about things like that. I really hate it when you guys put me up to this stuff. I can’t be here when, whoever, you got for me to date gets here. I really can’t.” You said.

“No, no, no. You are going to be fine. We know the guy you’re going on a date with. You will be completely fine.” Devyn said. You took her word for it and just collapsed in the chair.

“He texted me, here. Read this, Devyn.” Katrina said. You wondered why you were sucked into this.

“Listen, take a few deep breaths and stop eating the bag of cheetos. Kat, take them away from her, jesus.” Devyn said. She went upstairs to go get at least her eyebrows on. She wanted to look presentable for their ‘guest’.

“Kat, this is freaking crazy, I can’t do this. Especially now that I know what you guys were doing to set me up today. It is driving me to the point where I am having serious anxiety.” You confessed.

“You will be fine once you meet this mystery man. You will be fine.” Kat assured you. You decided to trust her, but you still ate out of the cheeto bag since you were super stressed out.”

The doorbell rang. You immediately got chills down your spine.

“That’s your date, Y/N! Aren’t you excited to meet him?” Devyn said as she came downstairs, more presentable than before.

“Sure, if you think that the thought of me heaving on your nice floors is a feeling of excitement, then yes.” You retorted. Devyn went up to the door, disregarding your comment, and then she opened the door.

“Welcome back, Colby.” Devyn said. You sighed. You started to walk back to the kitchen.

“What’s the matter, you don’t like him, Y/N? Because my plan kinda foils if you don’t like him, since he’s your date for the night.” Devyn said. You gasped and turned around.

“What?! Oh, my god. I’m so sorry, Colby. I thought maybe Devyn and Kat set me up with someone else. It’s just unexpected and I hope that you-” You were cut off.

“Y/N. Chill. It’s okay. It’s fine. Calm down. Take a few breaths. I know you’re a little bit anxious.” He said. You kind of felt safe around him.

“Awe!” The girls exclaimed at the same time. Colby comforted you by caressing your arm.

“He knows you so well! That’s sweet!” Katrina said.

“Yeah, we’re pretty close friends, remember. We met in 10th grade, I think?” You asked him, squinting your eyes.

“Yeah I think so. Wow. That’s quite some time. Anyways, I think that maybe we should continue with this date.” Colby said. You blushed a little as he pulled you in for a hug.

“No, you’re having the date here, Colby.” Devyn chimed in.

“No, now that I see that my blind date is Y/N. I will take her out on a proper date.” Colby said.

“All right then. Y/N. Take the camera, please. Document your first date with your lover, please.” Devyn asked. You grabbed the camera.

“He’s not my lover!” You whispered angrily at her. Colby didn’t hear you because Brennen caught his attention. Brennen walked in and handed Colby the camera.

“Here. Document your date, Colby. It’s sad that I have to make you do it though, since we have such a good bromance.” Brennen stated. He quivered his lip. You laughed, which made Colby laugh, and then he swept you away from these crazy, blind date creating people. You guys hopped in his car and drove somewhere, but Colby refused to tell you where you were going.

“I hate it when you guys do this. I’m not really fond of surprises. But then again, you know that. You surprise me all the damn time with your pranks.” You laughed and nudged him. He laughed and then you tried to guess where you were going on your date.

When you arrived, you almost cried. It was perfect.

#colby #colby brock #colby x reader #colby brock x reader #sam and colby

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