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steddiecameraroll · 11 months

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The Artist and The Hair - Part 4 (complete)

[part 1] [read entire fic on ao3]

Eddie jumps off the stage and moves to the participant to offer assistance.

“I think you two would be perfect together. And I don’t mean like a one-night stand kinda thing. So give him a chance, ok?”

“Have you talked about me a lot? To him?”

“Well, I mean, I haven’t spilled any secrets or anything, but he saw a picture of us on Instagram after I’d mentioned you, and then he would sometimes ask questions. So I think he’s had a crush on you for a little bit, even before meeting you.”

“On Instagram?”

“Yeah, we follow each other.”

“Does he follow me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think about that. You should check.”

Steve reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, swiping it open and pulling up the app.

“What’s his handle?”

“Something about bats, I don’t know. Go to the studio’s account and look at tonight’s post. They usually tag him.”

Steve does just that and then recognizes the profile photo. He clicks on it and opens Eddie’s page.

“So?” She asks.

“Yeah, um, and I follow him.”

“What? How?”

“I liked his art. He followed me, and then I checked out his profile and thought it was cool. He never posts selfies or anything of himself. I didn’t know it was him.”

“Oh my god, do you two like each other’s posts?”

“Yeah, like every time.”

“Jesus Christ, like a fucking rom-com or some shit.”

“I kinda would get happy when I saw his notifications too.”

“WHAT?” She laughs and then ducks down behind her canvas. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean, he has these videos of him drawing, and he has kinda sexy hands, and he’s fucking talented, ok. Plus tattoos. I mean, Rob, I’m a weak man.”

“How is this fucking real? You had a crush on him, didn’t you?” She whisper yells at him.

“Yes,” Steve puts his face in his hands. “And he has the cutest dog. Rob, he has a dog. Oh my god. Now I’m weirdly nervous.”

“How do you know he has a dog?”

“He posts like normal stuff in his stories.”

“I better get the first wedding invitation.” She laughs and tilts her head back to look at the ceiling.

“Shut up. Now I’m nervous.”

“Why? Because you just found out the hot guy you’ve been eye fucking all night is also the cute Instagram man you’ve been crushing on? Yeah, that sounds terrible to me.” She rolls her eyes and swishes her brush back and forth in the cup of water. “This actually makes so much sense now.”

“Why? What do you mean?” He turns to her and crouches closer.

“Because sometimes, after we hung out on the weekend, he’d ask me pointed questions about what we got up to. You know I always put shit up on my Instagram stories, so he must’ve seen them. You two are actually so much grosser than I imagined. Ugh, I hate you.” She sighs with a smile and zero animosity.

“Why?”

“Because now I want a girlfriend.”

“What? He’s not my boyfriend, Jesus. Slow down.”

“He’s gonna be, and then I have to deal with what you two have been doing all night, all the time. It was funny until, apparently, I walked into a fucking Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks movie.”

“We may end up hating each other. You don’t know.” He huffs and awkwardly avoids looking up at Eddie.

“I don’t have that kind of luck, dingus.”

“So here we are, the last step of the night. I know it’s a shame, but if you realize you miss me giving you directions later this week, you can always come back. I do love telling people what to do.” The group laughs while Eddie’s eyes fall on Steve before he quickly looks away, turning to his painting.

Eddie walks the class through their last step and then reminds everyone to sign their finished paintings at the bottom corner.

“Don’t forget to drive safe, and come back next month where we’ll paint a saguaro cactus. I promise it’s cooler than it sounds.”

The class disperses, and everyone says their goodbyes. Some people approach Eddie to thank him and give him kudos. A few people are milling around finishing their last drinks when Robin and Steve move over to Eddie, who’s starting to throw cups of paint away.

“I would never say this sober, but you’re not a terrible teacher, Eddie,” Robin smirks at him and then playfully punches his shoulder.

“Oh shit, that’s high praise coming from you, Buckley. I won’t take that for granted.” He slides his hand around her shoulder and pulls her into a tight hug that she pretends to struggle beneath.

“Yeah, yeah. Apparently, you two have a lot to catch up on and divulge. Talk to you tomorrow, dingus. I’m outta here.” She looks between Eddie and Steve, then laughs and shakes her head while walking away.

“What is she talking about?” Eddie asks.

“Um,” Steve puts his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor nervously. “Apparently, you follow me on Instagram, and I have been following you this whole time and didn’t know it.” Steve’s eyes flit up to catch a surprised look on Eddie’s face.

“Oh, uh yeah, sorry if that’s weird.” Eddie nervously steps away from Steve and starts tugging on a stray strand of hair falling from his bun. “I didn’t- like it wasn’t some ploy or- I wasn’t….”

“Eddie, it’s fine.” Steve laughs a little and sees Eddie’s shoulders loosen slightly. “I think it’s kinda cute, actually.”

“Really?” Eddie sighs and nervously pulls his strand of hair over his smile. “Robin would just tell me how great her best friend was, and I mean, I saw her tag you, so I thought, how great could he be, really? No one is that great. It was research.”

Steve bites back a smile and glances around the room, noticing they are alone. He takes a cautious step closer to Eddie but keeps his gaze down.

“What did you find out with this research?”

“Well, um- that you will order a caramel Frappuccino every few weeks and then absolutely bash yourself over it for days. Which is really unhealthy, by the way.”

“I know. That’s why I get so mad at myself. I know they’re unhealthy, but I have no self-control.”

“No, no, not the frap,” Eddie chuckles. “You being hard on yourself. You kinda do it a lot, or at least of what I’ve seen. You should be nicer to yourself, man. I’ve also seen you be kind to some kids you act annoyed by, but I can tell you care about them.”

Steve blushes but takes another step closer.

“What else?”

“You have an awful lot of plants in your apartment.”

“Robin’s always giving me grief about them. I can’t help it when I see a sad little plant on the verge of being thrown away. It just needs a little love.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly and catches Steve off guard.

Eddie takes a small step closer to Steve, now only a few feet away.

“What else?”

“You have absolutely terrible bedhead, but you sound really sexy right after you wake up. Those stories might be my favorite.” Eddie keeps his eyes on Steve and moves in closer. “When you’re complaining about having to go to work for an early shift, and you make this little groan when you stretch. But enough about you, what about me? If I remember correctly, you’re also following my account and tend to be one of my most active followers. Hmmm, why’s that?” Eddie asks just as he reaches out and lets his fingers graze across Steve’s wrist.

Steve raises his arm, letting Eddie wrap his fingers gently around him.

“I liked your drawings- and maybe your dog.” Steve bites back a smile while Eddie takes the last step between them.

“It’s always my dog. He’s cute, though. I understand. So much cuter than me.” Eddie grabs Steve’s other wrist and slides his hands up his forearms.

Steve feels a chill run up his skin and across his neck.

“I also liked watching you draw- your hands, fingers. You leave your rings on when you draw. It’s sexy.”

Eddie smirks. “These hands?” He asks, then rubs his palms up and down Steve’s arms.

Steve’s eyes flutter involuntarily. “Y-yeah,” he responds a little breathlessly.

“Maybe later you can find out what else these hands can do.”

Steve bites his bottom lip and blinks back at Eddie while lost in that thought, giving him a slight nod.

Eddie slides his hands further up Steve’s arms and over his shoulders, sending a shiver through Steve.

“Is this ok?” Eddie asks softly while his gaze gets pulled down to Steve’s lips.

“Mhm,” Steve nods.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Eddie whispers and continues touching his hands over Steve’s shoulders. He moves them up over his neck, his fingers sliding into Steve’s hair at the nape.

Steve has to close his eyes at the feelings overwhelming his senses. He swallows hard before opening his eyes again. “Me too.”

Eddie moves closer, their chests centimeters apart, his hands lacing through Steve’s hair.

“I’m going to kiss you now, ok?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s breath woosh across his cheeks, and he nods, Eddie still holding his head.

“O-ok,” Steve whispers.

Eddie closes the gap between them and crashes his lips hard against Steve’s. They both inhale quickly while Steve’s hands rush to Eddie’s waist. Eddie groans against Steve as his fingers curl into Steve’s hair, pulling his mouth firmly against him.

Eddie angles his head, tilting his lips to slot perfectly with Steve’s. Steve spreads his hands wide across Eddie’s back, pressing him closer. The evening of sexual tension explodes into a rushed desperate need to touch.

They spend a few minutes exploring each other’s touch, taste, and bodies letting themselves slip into emotions they both have been missing.

Steve’s the first to pull back, trying to catch his breath.

“Wow,” he smiles, trying to hide his blush.

Eddie leans his forehead against Steve’s. “I bet that’s what you say to all the boys.”

“Naw,” he shakes his head slightly. “Just the really sexy artist types.”

Eddie moves his arms around Steve’s waist and hooks his hands together, leaning back to look at Steve. “So, I have to clean up real quick, but would you wanna grab a drink or dessert or something across the street? They make a pretty good cheesecake if you were up for it.”

Eddie looks bashful, and it makes Steve melt a little inside.

“I’d love to. I’ll help you clean up so we can get out of here quicker.” Steve leans forward and kisses Eddie softly.

“It’s a date.”

coffee? ☕️🍩💕

#steddie #steddie fanfic #I love these two an unhealthy amount #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiecameraroll posts #my writing

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the-slasher-files · 3 years

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Hello there! I’m back with another request. Can you write some headcanons of Michael, Jason, Bo and Bubba if their S/O was an artist? I’m an artist and I would love to see their reaction if I showed them one of my latest drawings.

Yay.. ok so I’ve got a few requests for this (from a shy s/o to a confident one) so I kind of mixed them together :) also btw I don’t write for Bubba but I will write for all the others, plus more! hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

SLASHERS WITH S/O THAT LOVES TO DRAW OR IS AN ARTIST

INCLUDES JASON, MICHAEL, BO, VINCENT, and CHROMESKULL

JASON VOORHEES

First of all living where you do at the cabin there is so much inspo from deer, to the lake, to changing of the seasons.. It is honestly the best place for an artist

Jason always noticed a black notebook lying around with pens and pencils on every other surface, and you were oddly protective of the book, so he left it alone respecting your boundaries

Sitting with him in the quiet cabin Jason loved the sounds of the pencils scratching along the paper, and he loved to watch the soothing motions of your wrist going to work

Slowly he will become more and more interested in what you're doing and he needs to see. Sneakily inching himself closer to you as you work away and stretching his neck as far as he can, catching a glimpse then feeling guilty

Jason wants to respect you so much but it kills him that you’re not showing him. So when you were in the shower he quickly ran to the book and gently ran his fingers over your work, amazed at how good everything was and how you brought the nature/animals to life in the book from around the camp

Flipping a page then he is met with sketches of himself, with the mask and without, his hands, some of his wounds with the bones sticking out... it was beautiful and he couldn’t look away until you walked into the room pushing him away from the book but seeing his expression made you melt, he loved it so much and slowly brought out confidence in you, making you show him your work all the time

A few times he had brought some art supplies home from a group of teens that came along

One day he came home to canvases all over the floor and red paint splattered all over your old t-shirt Jason freaked out thinking it was blood in the dim lighting, he stepped on your canvases with muddy boots and held you up making you yelp... “Baby it’s just paint”... well now he feels foolish and upset for stepping on your art

The next night he still felt bad but you showed him what you had created from “the incident”... Bright colours framed the bootprint and brought out the muddy tones, some of the canvases had pressed flowers along the details of the print and it was so beautiful Jason immediately hung them on the wall

Just an fyi he wants to always do crafts with you lol so make sure you help him

MICHAEL MYERS

Now this guy is pretty indifferent to everything but something about your art brings out a new side in him

You can say a lot of things about Michael but you cannot say he isn’t observant, he sees everything and knows everything

Like Jason he notices your many notebooks and various art supplies around the house, but he is far more intrusive than Jason and will rip the notebook from your hands holding your neck if you protest as he flips through it

Watching his face nothing changes, he just scans the pages then throws the notebook down walking away leaving into the night

The next morning notebook, paints, pens, brushes and other supplies litter the kitchen counter... wonder who got those???

Michael loves watching you work on your art, watching your facial expressions, the way the pens run along the paper and how the paint coats the canvases.. oop you just gave him an idea

One night he came home gruesomely cover in blood a little more than extra, and Michael moves above you and the art you are working on, whoops he is dripping blood on the canvas, then smearing it, then moving his knife along it using it as a brush, I guess

You yelled at him at first but watching how he seemed to enjoy the colours mixing together and the way the blood dried was sort of.. cute

You knew Michael had a funny and creative side just by the way he walked into the bedroom one night with a sheet over himself and sunglasses on, and the way he leaves marks on your body in a certain pattern or framing his favourite features of you. Michael’s art was his kill you realized

He really loves your pieces, even though he would never say so and Michael’s favourites were the sketches of himself you did and he would paint blood along them

You weren’t gonna lie it made the portraits more interesting and honestly beautiful, they quickly became your favourites as well

I’m sorry but my horny self just wants to see Michael in an all-black suit at an art gallery admiring the masked portrait of himself covered in blood... sorry but it’s hot lol

BO SINCLAIR

So Bo is not really observant so it might take him a while to notice the art supplies around the house but even then he thinks it’s just Vincent’s

You will probably have to do just do the art in front of him before he gets that its your art supplies.. man sucks lol

Bo really enjoys your company when he is in the shop, you just sitting there working away in your notebook and him under the hood of his truck

He doesn’t necessarily push to see what you’re drawing but Bo teases, the harder you hide it the harder he teases... “what ya got in there sex drawings?” “Fuck darlin’ let me be your model”

If you don’t want him to see what you’re doing never leave your notebook behind because the man is a snoop in every sense of the word

Bo 100% supports your art even though he isn’t very interested in it and doesn’t really get it, if it makes you happy he will steal supplies from his twin and if victims have notebooks or pens he will bring them to you immediately

On a day where you decided to spend the day at the shop, sitting on your chair sketching away while Bo was organizing his tools, he kept catching your glances and smirked “Baby, you need somethin?” he would ask smugly.

“Nope” a simple answer not stroking his ego “gonna grab a beer from downstairs you want one?” Bo nods as you make your way to the mini-fridge. Quickly the man strides over to the notebook, opening the page where you had placed your pencil. He knew it, sketches of himself, it makes his ego skyrocket.

“BO!!” pushing him away and he grabs the book holding it just out of your reach smirking “Momma always said I’d be a good model” “Don’t flatter yourself Sinclair, you’re the only man around for miles that doesn’t wear a mask or look like a trash man” you laughed as him smirk fell... run

He honestly loves your art even though Bo gives you a hard time... His favourite thing is falling asleep to the pencil sounds against the paper when you’re laying in bed together

VINCENT SINCLAIR

SAAAAAAME... lol

The man notices right away that he begins to lose his an unused notebook and some of his best art pencils

It made you very nervous to show Vincent what you sketched and painted since he was just so good at art in every way. It was unfair

His favorite thing to do with you is make little sculptures from wax or clay, he could tell you were very creative and good at what you made, and he would always be super supportive

Vincent’s praise and support made you more comfortable with doing your art around him and even showing him. The man loves it and loves all of it

Different from his brother, Vinny respects you a lot and is fine with not looking in your notebook until you’re ready to show him. He hates when people see his unfinished work and flip through his notebooks as well

The good thing about dating him is Vincent’s art stuff is now yours

Also he is a very good teacher, somehow though he cannot talk, Vinny never makes you feel bad about your art and if you need help he is more than happy to support

Art date nights!! Getting the idea from your phone, you lit all the candles and brought down all the paint you could along with the large unused canvases you had found. When Vincent strolls downstairs his eyes go wide, seeing you in just your bra and underwear “I’m ready for art class Vin” you giggle

When he finds your paintings or sketches of himself without his mask Vincent’s heart melts, finding someone like you to love him, let alone see his destroyed features as art kills him

CHROMESKULL

Jesse is a very watchful human, even when he isn’t at home the guy has cameras literally everywhere

When he was gone on a "business trip" you had all the free time in the world, plus you had picked up some new art supplies, so why not work a large piece when Jesse isn't around to distract you... When you had worked on for a few hours you got a text 'How's the painting coming along?' And that's when you realized cameras are everywhere!

If you are a shy person with your art he basically doesn’t allow you to be, he’s a pushy spoiled man but he is also very supportive and it makes you more confident in showing him

Jesse honestly loves art and has many expensive paintings in his large home, so when he sees your art you better believe he will have Preston frame the art and put it on the walls, with special art gallery lights really making it look perfect

If you need any and I mean any art supplies no matter how expensive Jesse supports it *hands you his gold credit card*

"Oh.. renovations? To the already perfect mansion?" "Yup.. it's your new art studio"

Art, wine and cheese nights... the perfect date

Feeling uninspired? alright time to change the scenery, let’s go to a tropical destination or a wintery cabin. The man wants to spoil you and put your passion at the top of his priority list, plus he just wants a vacation and see you in your swimwear

It doesn't matter if you're shy about your art or confident Jesse will say he is taking you to an event, get you all dolled up and take you to an art gallery event that is just your art... surprise! Dumb rich bastard loves your work and flaunts it to everyone he can

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nickydestati · 3 years

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joe + nile and german 9?

Hi neon!!! I've written way too little Joe + Nile content, so thank you for making me change that!! 💛

Anon, thank you so much for the prompt! I'm glad you added the sibling/ found family thing so i could combine these!

Hope you both like this!!

German 9. Do you not like trees? (Magst du Bäume nicht?)

“You have everything with you?” Nicky asks when Joe and Nile are about to leave the safehouse.

“Of course, habibi.”

“The good watercolors? Paper tape?”

“Got them right here in my bag,” Nile reassures him.

“Lunch?”

At this, Nile and Joe share a glance and Nicky chuckles before procuring two neat lunch bags. He really knows them too well.

Joe takes them from him with a kiss to his cheek.

“What would I do without you? See you tonight, babe,” he says and then turns around again to open the door. He winks at Nile. “After you, my lady.”

“Well thank you, m’lord,” Nile says with a laugh and steps outside with a courteous nod.

“Have fun!” she hears Nicky call after them right before Joe closes the door.

It’s a nice spring day. The sun is shining generously in between a few thin clouds, and birds are singing their songs from their hiding places. Perfect for painting some extensive landscapes.

"So where are we going today?"

They've done these kind of trips whenever they grant themselves some time off. They either visit museums to study other works of art, go for a coffee in a quaint cafe to do some artistically justified people watching, or wander outside until they've found an interesting landscape or building or whatever else catches their eye.

Nile suspects the latter will be the case today. So she's a little surprised when Joe says 'you'll see' because she didn't expect him to have a plan.

She hates it when people are keeping secrets from her, but all her attempts to find out their destination are easily dodged by Joe. If his smug grin is anything to go by, Nile's frustration-fuelled curiosity is exactly the reason why he isn't telling her.

She's so busy planning on how to get him to talk that she doesn't even notice they have arrived until Joe stops in the middle of a forest and starts preparing everything.

"The forest?" Nile asks, looking around. She'd hoped for something a tad more exciting after all Joe's secrecy.

Her disappointment must have shown, because Joe laughs.

"What, do you not like trees?"

"I do," Nile says, taking her own stuff out now too. "I just don't like drawing them."

Joe eyes her for a moment, but doesn't say anything.

Soon, they're all settled and busy. Joe is sketching the canopy above them in his sketchbook. He barely takes his eyes from the leaves to look at the paper in his lap, but somehow he still manages to draw a masterpiece.

Show-off, Nile silently scoffs because she has been painstakingly attempting to paint some trees for what feels like hours and they still look like a toddler scribbled them.

"Why don't you like drawing trees?"

With a start, Nile glances back at Joe who's still studying the foliage.

She shrugs. "Too many damn leaves. I never get them right."

And as if to prove her words, her hand fucks up yet another one. She jumps up and paces a couple of steps away, clenching the paintbrush in her hand to keep herself from throwing it to the other side of the forest.

"I'm done with this. I'll just go for a walk or something."

"Since when are you one to give up?" Joe asks, not unkind. "Come, let's see what you've got."

With that, he closes his sketchbook with his flawless leaves and branches, and scoots his folding chair closer to hers to take a better look at her easel.

"Ah, I see," he says and doesn't wait for Nile to return to her seat before pointing out some things and giving her tips on colors and technique.

Nile sits back down and, guided by Joe's gentle instructions, starts anew. After a while, he only offers some suggestions here or there, until he doesn't have to say anything at all anymore.

And suddenly there are beautiful, actual tree-like trees on her canvas. She stares at them, wondering if it really was her who painted them while also thinking how she ever thought trees were hard.

"Thank you," she says.

"Of course." His voice is as soft as the sunshine filtering through the foliage. "We all need a push in the right direction sometimes. We don't have to figure everything out on our own."

Nile turns her head to Joe. His confident, relaxed smile makes her chest glow with gratitude. She nods and smiles back.

He rips a page from his sketchbook and hands it to her before moving his chair away again.

She looks down at it. It's a sketch of her painting the trees. She hadn't even noticed him drawing it. In the bottom right corner below his signature, his elegant handwriting says, Nile learns to appreciate trees - 2032 AD.

#ty again!!!!#duolingo prompts #the old guard #nile freeman #yusuf al kaysani #demonicneonfishy #anon #swquser #usertriz #userbooker #usercacau #usernicolo

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darlinrogue · 4 years

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His chest aches, his cheekbone throbs with the imminent development of a bruise. (How? He doesn't remember, as faint as he is. Adam had fought, and he fought hard.) But Kenny is the one victorious. Victorious, but all he's able to do is kneel, half collapsed, his hands against the canvas for support. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know why, but he kisses him, lips to the forehead of the man he—. He kisses him. He walks away. He touches the bruise on his cheekbone, and he smiles. It still hurts.

Kenny Fucking Omega

w/ the sad yeehaw man

He didn’t hook the leg.

Adam rolled through the snapdragon and countered with a firm elbow to Kenny’s jaw. He put Kenny on his feet and then lifted the other man by the thighs, over his shoulders. Deadeye, right to the back of the head, a knock-out for a lesser man. Except Kenny Omega was Kenny Fucking Omega, and he kicked-out. The match rolled on, Adam lost, he’d seen the ending twenty-thousand times. The One-Wing Angel was a punctuation point at the end of a statement. Yet, each time he watched through the recording he paused on that one pin after the Deadeye. Adam had Kenny stacked, his full weight on his shoulders. The bell should’ve rung. Except Adam only hooked the left leg. He only hooked the left leg on Kenny Omega. He only hooked the left leg on Kenny Fucking Omega. The best pin he got the whole match. Right after Omega ate: a half-dozen elbows, too many chops to count, a starching power bomb on the ramp, three boots to the face, and got dropped on his head from four feet in the air. The planets aligned, the Scorpio was in Aquarius or whatever, and Adam only hooked one leg.

“It was the-- it was the right leg!”

Tony’s voice shuttered through the phone in Adam’s lap. The screen paused on the collapsed forms of the combatants in the ring. Adam face down in the fore-ground and Kenny clutching his leg not far behind. In that moment he hadn’t thought about the right leg. Kenny had kicked out by some miracle but it wasn’t sheer luck. Kenny exploited Adam’s error. Of course, unbeknownst to Adam the comms were carefully picking-apart Adam’s critical mistake. The legs weren’t neutralized. Kenny could swing his right leg and leverage his weight-out. If Adam had hooked both legs the match would be over, he’d be facing Mox. Instead, he made a stupid mistake so obvious even Tony Schiavone, who would break his hand before he could throw a good punch, pointed it out.

A headache formed behind Adam’s eyes. He tore his gaze from the screen and glanced-out the window. The dark night streaked black, reflecting back his hotel room and his bedraggled body propped-up in bed. A limp hand fluttered out to find his bourbon on the night stand. He lifted the glass to his lips and found no relief for his parched throat. Adam scowled and returned the glass to where he found it. The bottle was empty too. He couldn’t tell if he was buzzed, drunk, or hungover. Just a dullness, settling in with the ache and exhaustion. Adam used the tip of his finger to edge the glass away from him. A final statement that he was done for the night. He slid down from his upright position against the pillows and sprawled out the bed covers The fan swirled in lazy circles above him. After months of blistering heat Florida had cooled to a tolerable temperature but this room was cooking him alive. His hair was still damp from the shower. He glanced at the clock, 1:43. No phone calls, no texts, no twitter updates, he put his phone on airplane mode hours ago. It was just him, the recording of his life’s greatest failure, and an empty bottle of bourbon.

Adam lifted his phone from his side. He turned onto his cheek to glance at it again. He hit the play button and the recording rolled. The two men recovered, Adam was up first. He set-up for the buckshot but Kenny anticipated it and rolled him into a crucifix. He was so fucking predictable. Adam used a boot between the ropes to stuff Kenny’s charge three times that night. No wonder he had his leg well scouted. That twisting move on his knee obliterated his chance in the match. Can’t stand, can’t fight. Oh, Adam had a couple more signs of life in him but two knees to the face, well. He was up on Kenny’s shoulders now. Kenny caught the head and Humpty Dumpty took a great fall. The leg hook was a formality. Adam wasn’t even sure he was conscious for this part. One, two, three, and Adam paused the video again. He haphazardly tossed the phone and it clattered off the edge of the bed. Adam had a life proof case for a reason.

There was no point in watching any further.

For a head-spinning minute, Hangman Adam Page was somebody. He was the tag team champion, alongside Kenny Fucking Omega. He was on top of the world. It was all so good. Training with Kenny, fighting with Kenny, sometimes, fighting with Kenny. Getting distracted by another tag-team-- No, Kenny literally dropping Adam like a sack of potatoes was inevitable. He had held Kenny back, made stupid fucking mistakes, hit his partner on accident, got drunk and wandered around arenas like a moron. Bickering with the bucks and ruining his friendships. Adam was an arsonist, he only burned down bridges and never built them. Now he was alone on his Island, just like he always wanted. And he had a lost tournament to prove how ‘accomplished’ Adam Page truly is. Matt and Nick were right about him. For all his bluster, all his big talk, believing in himself when no one else would. Empty words, Adam could talk the talk, but he couldn’t walk the walk. Because he ran-up against someone like Kenny Fucking Omega.

And he forgot to hook the left leg.

He didn’t need the video for the next part. Kenny’s head and hand lifted high. Kenny, haloed like an angel of death by the Dally Place lights. Kenny, knelt above him like a prayer at the altar. Cheeks blushed in rose, breath spilling from his chapped, pink lips. Curls like spun gold, framing his sculptured features. Like something out of a renaissance art painting. Out of a great tragedy, Lucifer, Achilles, Gabriel. His lips against his forehead in a kiss as delicate as a flower petal. Paul Turner helping Adam limp out of the arena. Fuck Hangman, and then taking the Uber back to his hotel alone, in utter silence with the guy working the graveyard shift. Alcohol, shower, alcohol, video self-pity marathon, alcohol. He wished his dog was here. Wait, what was that last bit?

Adam lunged across the bed. Kicked into action as if bitten by a Hell Hound. Belly against the comforter his hands searched the floor until he found his phone lodged by the head board. Half-his chest off the bed he hit the play button. Adam slammed against the ring mat. The fall-out, the replay, the play-by-play, the comms chattering, (”Kenny came out the better man”), blah, blah, blah. Paul Turner helped Kenny up. Then he was back down, knelt over Adam, and with great reverence, Kenny stooped to kiss Adam’s forehead. The he rolled out of the ring. Adam paused the video. Then he played it back. Then he paused the video and then he played it back. he paused the video, he played it back. Inch-by-inch Adam slid off the mattress until he was slumped against the floor, legs hooked on the bed above him. He watched that little end sequence on loop until it was emblazoned against his memory. It was so quick the comms didn’t even mention it.

A kiss. Kenny kissed him. Kenny Fucking Omega kissed him. Adam laid his hand over his sternum. His heart shuttered in his chest, pounding, tight, and agonizing. Pure pain, looking at the blurred pixels on his phone screen. It wasn’t near enough, the taste of it was like a morsel of food for a starving man. Kenny lingered over Adam in nothing but obscure pixels. What was his expression like? What did he do with his hands? And most important, something the phone could never tell him, why?

Adam and Kenny were out. Now that his obligations to the tag title were done, Kenny returned to the single arena. Tired of dragging dead weight, tired of the noose around his throat. Kenny walked out on the tag team Adam prayed to stay in. Adam screwed over the Bucks. He spitefully entered a tournament to prove he didn’t need Kenny anyway. Adam didn’t even shake his hand at the start of the match. Not just because he was angry --Adam was pissed in that unshakable focused way-- but because he was afraid. Taking Kenny’s hand, never letting go, too tempting a possibility. The longer he stared at the screen the longer this shameless act of devotion eluded him.

For the first time in hours Adam turned his phone off airplane mode. He shuffled through the deluge of notifications by dismissing all of them without reading any. He pulled-up Kenny’s contact, drafted a text message.

“Hey, man, good fight today-- well, yesterday, I guess. I just wanted to ask, out of curiosity, did you kiss me at the end? I mean, it’s no big deal. I was just wondering is all like i thought it was a little odd is all. Are you ok? You know you can always count on me, no matter what. I’m sorry i’ve been such an ass. I need to start drinking less, much less. It’s just that everything, the tournament, the belts, it’s been getting to me, I only wanted to prove to you guys I could keep up. I want you to know, I feel the same.”

Adam paused, his thumb hovering over the send button. The last line stained in black font against his vision. He then selected the entire text, cut it, and pasted it into a note’s app. Adam sighed and turned off his phone. His arm slung over his eyes. Five minutes later he was passed-out cold, still on the floor, snoring, and with the lights on.

#ofgrief #‘The Hangman’ || Adam: IC #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse #if adam was in a better head space or had better coping mechanism #he would rephrase this #such that the only thing standing between him and Kenny Fucking Omega #Kenny Fucking Omega who is easily one of the best in the world and has 8+ more years of experience than him #is a single minor error #if Adam had hooked that leg #he would've won the match #he was that close #instead he's stucking in this negative downspiral thinking about how terrible and awful he is #glass half empty #instead of seeing actually #his glass is 9/10 full and he's bemoaning a quarter inch of emptiness

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thecorteztwins · 4 years

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These are all scenes from my longass ALT-MARAUDERS FIC PITCH and you don’t need to read the whole pitch because it’s huge and a fic in itself, but basically what’s going on is Xavier ordered Miss Sinister, Madelyne Pryor, Pyro, Haven, and the Shaws to work together as a crack team accomplishing bringing “home” mutants like the Marauders but probably also other stuff too. I don’t really care what their mission is though because it’s about their relationships. Also it looks like ALICE is now the adopted team baby, at least for Madelyne and Haven (maybe Pyro too, I like to think he looks out for her) sorry I don’t make the rules OH WAIT I DO AND I SAY SHE’S TEAM BABY honestly she really fits the theme/the team, given her history? So I’m down for it. Tagging @sammysdewysensitiveeyes since you showed interest in it and since it’s got YA BOY PYRO and @hexiva since you asked about it too, though no obligation to read it, or to read all of ‘em! I feel like you might like “Scientists” though, Hex. CONTENTS A Box Full of Darkness - Sebastian/Haven Canvas - Madelyne/Alice Scientists - Claudine/Haven Like An Old Married Couple - Group Parties, Pleas, and Promises - Pyro/Shinobi Sea & Sky - Madelyne/Haven Awkward - Pyro/Sebastian Stories - Madelyne/Pyro Out of the Frying Pan - Sebastian/Shinobi Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream - Pyro

*** A BOX FULL OF DARKNESS "Do you care at all for poetry, Mr. Shaw?” The ship had a small sitting room that also served as a library, shelves lining three of its walls. The wood, the carpet, the small chair, the atmosphere, all made one forget that one was at sea, and not in fact in the nook of some old college’s study. One had to wonder who had chosen the books. ”No, Ms. Dastoor, I can’t say it has ever appealed to me. Most of the arts do not, particularly the ones that are not visual in nature. I do not see the point of endless stanzas and pentameters to say in metaphor and allegory what could be said much more clearly and succinct in a single sentence of plain simple prose.” ”Then I hope you shall forgive me for sharing a bit---it reminded me of you, you see.” There was one in her hand. ”Ah, what was it? Something from the Decadent movement? Or perhaps some pretencious Bohemian lampooning the upper class from which he came himself? Dare I hope for Ozymandias, perhaps, and will it be Smith’s or Shelley’s?” He was smirking slightly. Perhaps he thought he was being funny. Or it might just be his face. ”You seem to know much about the subject despite a disinterest in it. I rather admire that you took the time to learn,” and she did sound genuinely approving, encouraging, “But, no---Mary Oliver, someone much more recent, and much more recently deceased. I am paraphrasing her here so that my meaning, my reason for seeing you in this, is not confused: Someone once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” He smiled wryly, “Is that how you see me, Ms. Dastoor, a box full of darkness?” “No,” she said, her gaze rising back up from the open pages to meet his, her large dark eyes unreadable as they drank him in, boxes of darkness in themselves, “And I do not agree that evil and suffering---if we must use ‘darkness’ to mean those things, which I also do not agree with, but is what I believe Ms. Oliver may have meant--is ever a gift, no matter what we may get out of it through our own power to come back from it...but I believe you see it this way, do you not?” There was no accusation in her tone, no disapproval. There seldom was. She was only asking, only observing. At least, Sebastian thought, that was what she wanted to seem like. He always suspected her motives were more, and that she was simply trying to disguise the fact she was trying to needle him, rather than making it pointedly obvious as, say, Emma, might. Coward---but then, he knew that of her. “Perhaps in less poetic terms, yes. I’m a practical man, Ms. Dastoor. I used to work in a steel mill. I saw how heat and pressure forged the worthless in the valuable, how the smelting process pulled the precious iron from the rest of the ore and shaped it through force into something useful. The same can be said of people---and I do indeed say it. You have heard me. Is that the darkness of which you speak?” ”The steel you speak of and the shapes it was forced into were valuable and useful...by the definitions of what the humans shaping it needed and wanted. But ore and iron and metal and stone, all these have no intrinsic value, or lack there of. There is no objective difference in the value between steel and granite, glass or diamond, gold or plastic. Thus, too, I believe that when it comes to people, you are deciding what is valuable according only to your standards. But is there objective worth to your perception of strength over your perception of weakness, beyond what is merely your perception?” And yet again, her voice was calm, not accusing, merely observing and asking. Sebastian returned, just as calm, if slightly smug, “Is there objective value in your perception of kindness and morality, Ms. Dastoor, beyond that it is merely your perception?” “I believe it has practical applications, but I have also never claimed an objective standpoint in our discussions, have I? Whereas you have, if I am recalling corrective,” Again, there was nothing aggressive in her tone. She was polite as could be. “I have and I do, but if I am to have it be put to a test of authenticity, I must require you to subject your own beliefs to the same scrutiny. It is not fair for the burden of proof to only fall on my shoulders.” Still also calm, still slightly smirking in his turning around on her. “That is quite true. I apologize,” she relented, ”But, to my original point---while I may disagree with Ms. Oliver’s sentiment, is it not one that appeals to you, one that you share?” Sebastian, too, relented with his smirk becoming a smile, “Yes.” The smile widened, knowing and amused,

“And despite your claim of not sharing the poem’s sentiments, I believe you see me as your box of darkness---and you are excavating me in search of some gift.” He put one hand in his suit pocket and began to depart, though he turned once, the smirk returned, and said, “Do let me know if you find it.” *** CANVAS “It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Alice, interrupting Madelyne’s angry rant, “I’m not real.” Madelyne Pryor had just explosively dragged the girl away from Claudine, insisting that the child shouldn’t have to see that...that...MONSTER...at any point on the voyage home. And if Haven hadn’t stopped her, she’d have ensured that Alice wouldn’t have a chance to, by KILLING the other woman, whom Madelyne now realized was aptly named “Miss Sinister” for fare more than her looks. She might still do it... But first--- “Don’t give me that!” Madelyne suddenly rounded on the girl she had just been comforting, been supporting, been swearing she’d never have to see her abuser---that was what it was to breed and clone someone just for the sake of their violation, abuse, beyond abuse!---again. But Alice had hit a nerve. And for the same reason Madelyne Pryor had so much empathy for her, she now had ire too. Madelyne’s snapping did, at least, stop Alice from crying. She’d been about to start, but the shock of Madelyne’s sudden change halted her in mid-tear. “You’re made of real flesh and blood, right?” Madelyne demanded rhetorically, “And you have thoughts and feelings right? Well you're real! The flesh being shared doesn't make it less real, just not unique. So you’re no less real than someone’s identical twin. And even they’re not really copies, because they have different personalities. So the only way you could be a copy---which you’re not---is if you had the first Alice’s same genes AND same thoughts and personality and everything! And you don’t, right” “Um,” Alice sniffled, a little afraid to correct the woman, who was so fierce whether she was defending Alice or berating her (or at least, it seemed like that was what she was doing...Alice wasn’t sure), “Actually...actually...I get all the memories of the previous Alices, so...so....I am a copy, actually...” “Oh,” Madelyne felt her argument just get ripped out from under like a trick rug someone had pulled. Her empathy came flooding back from the girl...and shame for shouting at her. Especially since she knew who she had REALLY been shouting at. “Well...” Shit, what did she do now? She’d just as good as told the girl she WAS a copy! How did she salvage this now? Come on Maddie, she told herself, What did you need somebody to say to you when you found out? “Listen, Alice,” she put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, firmly but gently. Her tone matched. “Yeah, you’re a copy. So am I. But we’re still real people, for all the reasons I said. No one gets to treat use like Claudine---or Colcord---treated you. No one should, anyway. It DOES matter. Being a clone, a copy, it doesn’t make you less alive. And so what if you’re a copy? You’re still YOU. You become more and more your own person with every moment you’re alive. Think of it like...like...” A Xerox. It was what she had compared herself to when she’d told Jean what she was. A Xerox that lost a lot in translation. What memories she’d had were either lies manufactured by Sinister...or worse, remnants from Jean that had bled into her mind when the Phoenix brought her to life. “Think of it like a Xerox machine, okay?” she said, more gentle than ever now, voice soft, and little tears of her own welling up, “When it first comes off the copy machine, yeah, it’s a duplicate...but then you can draw on it. You can write on it. You can crumple it up or throw it in the bin, or you can paint over it until it’s something new entirely on the paper. It’s up to you. It won’t stay a duplicate for long though. Either you can change it...or someone else will. But it’ll happen either way. And you know what?” Madelyne put a hand on Alice’s face, looking into her eyes, “I bet you can paint a real masterpiece.” *** SCIENTISTS “Are you alright, Claudine?” Madelyne had whisked Alice off. Haven had been going to do that originally, but since Madelyne had stepped in, Haven would leave it to her. She didn’t need to be the hero every time, and Madelyne...Madelyne had much in common with Alice. She might be better for Alice. And Alice might be good for her. But Haven’s next concern after Alice and Madelyne was Claudine. Claudine was the victimizer, yes. She had done awful things to Alice, to the Alices before her, to the other children. She had also been a victim too, and no one else here had pity for her now that they knew what she’d been besides that. No one else but Haven. “No moral outrage, Radha?” Claudine smirked slightly. She’d retreated to her lab, and it was hard to tell if she’d been expecting Haven to follow or not. “Of course,” said Haven calmly, “It horrifies and revolts me that those girls were bred only to be used as their hosts, their entire personalities, their souls, displaced for yours. Horrifies and disgusts me. Just as it horrifies and disgusts me, on just as deep a level, that the same was going to happen you if you did not escape in such a way.” “So because I was in danger of something terrible happening, you can excuse what I did?” Claudine sounded curious, mocking somehow, tapping one red-pink nail against a porcelain cheek. “Not excuses,” said Haven still calmly, “But I understand. And I still care if you were hurt just now.” “It’s more than that, isn’t it though?” said Claudine, still sounding amused, “You want to see if I’m wracked with guilt or not, if I hate myself. You want to see if I’m remorseful or tortured like you, like you want me to be maybe. Like you hope I am because it proves I must have some good in me, and you can comfort me and feel good about that. And if I’m not remorseful at all, you want to see why that is, if it’s because of Sinister or if it’s just me. And then if it’s just me...you want to figure me out too. Like you do with dear Sebastian.” Haven blinked, her sole sign of surprise, “That’s quite a lot of conjecture, Claudine. But...you are not incorrect, no. We do like to divide things neatly into victims who could do nothing, who had no power, and the victimizers who are wholly monsters...but that’s not wholly true, is it? Sometimes, the victims can do something. And sometimes, the only thing they can do is a monstrous thing. They’re caught in a Catch 22---either they don’t do the one thing they can, and thus will feel they are to blame for what happened. Or they do it, and they must live with the guilt. I can’t tell you if you were right or wrong Claudine, because---” “---sometimes there is no right or wrong, because the entire situation was wrong, and that’s not your fault.” Claudine finished, “I’ve heard how you talk with the kiddies, Haven. Like those little ones we pulled out of the fight pit. Or the one who pushed his friend forward at the flesh market so he’d get taken instead. You’re just oh so understanding, aren’t you? Seeing things from all sides.” “I would hope so. I certainly try to be. But, I admit, I’m not seeing something right now...why do you say that with what sounds, to me, as a mocking tone? Am I misinterpreting you, Claudine?” “A bit. I’m not mocking you, really I’m not---but I am teasing a little. It’s just so funny, you know?” Claudine’s index finger was next to her smiling mouth, “How you’re always thinking, always watching, and how I’m the only one who notices. What do you think the others would think, if they knew?” “I’m afraid I’m still not understanding you, Claudine. Would you mind helping me by putting it a bit plainer?” “Ever so polite. Come on now, Haven---as well as you know people, you must know they don’t like being put under a microscope. Everyone likes the IDEA of someone who “gets” them, who knows just what they’re feeling and what they need without them ever needing to open up all their vulnerable little insides like clams willfully tearing themselves out of their shells...but when it actually comes along, they don’t like it. Especially if it doesn’t feel earned, or specific to them. Because when they say they want that, they’re thinking of a partner, a lover, one single person who knows them that well because they’ve been with them that long, and love them, just them, that much. But telepaths like me, we get all that without having to see them as special at all. We don’t have to love them or spend time with them to KNOW them. We don’t have to open ourselves up in exchange. That’s why people don’t like us. And that’s---” She stepped close to Haven and bobbed her fingertip just above the other woman’s nose, “---why they wouldn’t like you. Oh yeah, you’re great when you’re sensitive and empathetic and all that, when you just know when someone needs a cup of tea or a shoulder to cry on...but it’s only to a point. Underneath all that soft silk and sweet words, you’re a lot like me---a scientist. We see the data. We gather it. We examine it. We analyze, we classify, we theorize. People call Xavier creepy these days but I think he’s just finally being honest.” She picked up Haven’s right hand, and raised it up, Haven allowing her. “So,” Claudine met her eyes, still smiling, “When are you going to be honest too?” Haven smiled back, with kind sincerity as always, “May I be honest now, Claudine?” “Of course.” Haven put her other hand on top of Claudine’s, sandwiching the unnaturally pale paw between her two soft brown ones, “Everything you say is accurate. But it’s also a deflection. You could have told me that you just did not wish to talk about Alice, you know. I would not have pried or pushed you. You know I never do.” Claudine laughed, and it was the laugh of someone who had just been proven completely correct. *** LIKE AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE “We’re going to need you to go undercover for this mission,” Xavier explained to the team, “It’s been decided that Sebastian and Haven will do best in this environment. Naturally, you will be outfitted with image inducers, and provided with all the false documentation required.” He slid a folder across the table to them, explaining, “You will be posing as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. King.” “King. I’m sure you thought that was very clever, Charles,” said Sebastian, picking the folder up and perusing it, “And I see our first names are...Abraham and Lakshmi. Is that a reference to something?” “Lakshmi is the goddess of which Radha is an aspect,” Xavier explained, “And Abraham...well, that just sounds slightly like Hiram, your middle name, or so I thought. I thought it might help the pair of you remember your identities, without being obvious to others.” “Well, thank you Charles. It’s good to know you put a man on the Quiet Council of whom your opinion is so low you think I can’t remember two names for a single night,” said Shaw, getting up and taking the folder with him, without excusing himself. The rest of the team follow suite, save Haven, who of course said the politest of goodbyes and thanked him for arranging the false identities. clever, and our first names “We’re leaving in the next five hours, so there’s hardly any time to prepare,” Sebastian said, plainly speaking to Haven even though he was looking ahead, not at her, “Ms. Dastoor, come with me so that we may discuss the details of our ruse.” Pyro watched the pair like a hawk as they went in a different direction from the rest of the crew. “Jealous, Pyro?” Claudine quipped, “I confess, I didn’t think Sebastian was your type...then again, he does have a certain resemblance to Dom I suppose...” Pyro was in no mood to play, however. “If he touches her I’m a-toast him from the inside out, see if his stinking GUTS are fireproof!” he proclaimed, a small jet of flame emanating from his wrist-shooter for emphasis. “Husband and wife...what’s Xavier thinking?! And she’ll be all alone with him and have to keep up the act if he does anything!” “Don’t sweat it,” Shinobi assured, “ I know my dad. She’s like ten years too old for him to be interested.” Pyro looked confused, “Isn’t she YOUNGER than him?” “Yeah,” said Shinobi. A look of disgust came over Pyro’s face. “Don’t look shocked,” Madelyne told him, “Don’t forget, he dated someone under ten once.” And that garnered...about the expressions you’d expect. Even from Claudine. “Me, you idiots! I was making a joke!” Madelyne clarified, seeing their shock and horror on their faces, “I’m technically like twelve years old max! God, you people...”

Meanwhile, Sebastian and Haven’s conversation in the former’s ship office was not far off. “With all that covered...” Sebastian finished as the last of their act was hashed out, “I have to bring us to what will likely be the most difficult part of this for you. Ms. Dastoor, I am not sure what the norms are for married couples in public in your country, but at some point in the evening...I will most likely put my arm around your shoulders.” “I understand,” said Haven, with the solemn gravity required for such a thing. “There will hopefully be no need for anything else, but if dancing occurs, there is a chance that a hand on your waist will be required as well. Can you allow and “act natural” this without displaying any discomfort?” "This will be tolerable if need be, Mr. Shaw, though not preferable. Will your hand be on mine, outside of potential dancing?” Sebastian cracked a smile, amused, “Husbands and wives don’t hold hands, Ms. Dastoor. I’m shocked you’ve never noticed that. It’s far too intimate for a married couple.” “I’m afraid you lost me, Mr. Shaw. Too intimate for a married couple? Is this a Western peculiarity?” “Men don’t slap their wives bottoms, Ms. Dastoor, “Sebastian explained, “They slap the bottoms of waitresses and flight attendants when their wives aren’t there. Does that help illustrate it better? “Yes, I think I see, Mr. Shaw.” “We probably haven’t had sex in the last 25, 35 years. At least not with each other.” “Thank you, Mr. Shaw.” “ Our marriage bed is as dry as the Sah—” “Thank you, Mr Shaw.” It was the first time that Sebastian had ever heard Haven cut him, or anyone, off. He would have taken offense from someone else, but he actually liked this, and smiled. He found it amusing he’d managed to get under her skin enough to prompt such a, for her, dramatic reaction. He’d have to make a note of this. *** PARTIES, PLEAS, AND PROMISES These Krakoa portals were truly a godsend. For many mutants, that was because the X-Men and other agents of Krakoa could now come to them easily and bring them to a safe place. For others it was because it enabled them to keep contact with their family and friends while also not having to leave what they felt was at last a place they could belong. But for Pyro and Shinobi...it meant bar-hopping from Manhattan to Moscow to Mexico! to Bulgaria to Bangkok to Taiwan to Timbuktu! In Manhattan, a cute guy with a nose piercing bought them beers and guided them through the city with his friends, boyfriends, and cousins til 5 AM when the guy’s cousin decided she really wanted spahgetti, so they all went to her house in the Harlem projects where she made them some and then they watched 90s hip hop music videos together. They stayed til 10 AM, then hopped a portal to Mexico, and went to a resort strip, where they got piss drunk again by doing shots with a guy covered in tattoos who might have also been involved with the cartels---Shinobi said he knew him from his dad’s black market business---and then Pyro got in a fight with the bouncer while Shinobi snorted molly in the bathroom stall. Got drunk again in Shanghai, fell off the bouncy dance floor, made friends with some Ukrainian tourists and went back to their hotel, walked in on an orgy, and when in Rome... Next thing they knew, they were in downtown Tokyko, drunk again, running on foot from the Japanese police, each of them holding a marijuana plant in a pot, laughing uncontrollably. Shinobi grabbed Pyro’s hand and they phased through a wall, only to fall down through thin air into an underground parking garage. Their potted pot plants shattered as they hit the concrete, and this just made them laugh more despite their own bruised tailbones as they lay there between a couple of cars. Eventually, when the giggles ran out, Shinobi slurred, “Man, I’m so glad...so glad our last night is awesome.” “Wha?” Pyro said, not sure he’d gotten that right. He was pretty boozy right now, after all, “What’d you mean, last night?

"Well, I, uh,” Shin said, obviously uncomfortable, “I decided...if I can’t hang out w’you anymore...gonna make the last time a good time.”

”Wh--” Pyro started, then his expression soured, “It’s yer dad, isn’t it?”

No answer.

”I knew it! He told you...tol’ you you couldn’t...be mates with me no more...that it?”

Shinobi mumbled.

”Listen Shin...forget him! You a grow...grown man! Y’don’t have to do what that old douchebag says! He’s just a...just a cunt, a right cunt, y’know? Fucking cunt...” Pyro wobbled back and forth, so vehement was he in his support.

”Well, we’re workin together now...” Shinobi said weakly.

”Yer workin WITH him though not for him! And why’re you even doing that? C’mon, he he wasn’t any good to you why should you do anything for him?”

Shinobi looked shocked, then angry, demanding, “How d’you know that?!” "Pfft, I’m not as thick as your old man thinks, you know! I can pick up a hint or two! Especially when it’s you telling me.” Shinobi looked shocked again, and Pyro, still swaying in place, clapped him on the back and explained, “Ah, I don’t expect you to remember but you’ve said a few things when you were as full as the back of a plumber's ute.Don’t worry, weren’t nothing too personal, no specifics, so don’t look so scared alright?” Pyro knew how it was to want to keep some things private, things that hurt, and even drunk he was trying to be sensitive to that, sensitive as someone like him could be. He continued, “And anyway, would have still guessed. He’s such a right bastard to everyone, can’t imagine him being some warm old papa bear behind closed doors. “He’s---” Shinobi started, about to tell Pyro about just how horrible his father was, and then remembered how ‘sympathetic’ Warren had been, and instead went back on the defensive, “Well it’s none of your business!” Pyro shrugged, not deterred, “Sure it’s not but I’m a journalist, so what do I care? It’s been my job to go where I’m not wanted. And you can do what you want, Shinobi me mate, but you can’t expect ol’ St. John to just keep his trap shut on anything, you know that. Calls it likes I see it, me. Thought you liked that.” There was a sobering silence between the pair for a moment, sitting on their butts in the silent garage while the noise of the Tokyo nightlife sang beyond the concrete walls of what they were missing. “Don’t...don’t tell him I said anything,” Shinobi said at last. Pyro promised him he would not. For he heard the plea in his new pal’s voice. *** SEA AND SKY (Context: Happens just after THIS) “Haven?” Madelyne arrived to the rescue, praying she wasn’t too late. She’d thought she was when she saw the wreckage, but she also saw Haven within it. And she wasn’t lying there like a body, she was sitting up, kneeling over...something. “Haven, thank god! Are you injured? Stay right there, I’ll come over and help---oh dear lord.” As Madelyne had begun to move forward, she’d seen what Haven was kneeling over, its half-charred head in her lap. “Is he---” “Yes,” said Haven, calmly, sadly, distantly. Madelyne didn’t ask how; it was obvious, the explosion killed him. She’d thought his powers would protect him from that kind of thing; it must have been specialized to combat that. Freaking Pierce. She didn’t bother to question how Haven was alive, but if she had, she’d assume maybe it was something also designed only to kill humans and Haven had been in a safe place during the explosion and then found Sebastian’s remains after. Something like that. “Alright, come on,” she said gently but firmly, taking Haven by the arm, trying to pull her up, “There’s nothing you can do for him now. He’ll be reborn on Krakoa by the time we go back to pick him up anyway. Wait, what are you doing? Haven, put that down, that’s disgusting!” Haven was carrying the...torso. She was tenderly cradling the great hunk of lifeless meat, needlessly supporting the neck and head as one would for an infant. The sight out Madelyne in mind of a bizarre Pieta scene. Madonna of the Charnel House. “Haven, he’s dead!” “I know, Madelyne, I know. But isn’t it...wrong to just leave a body here? I know he will have a new one on Krakoa, but it still feels obscene to leave the old one unburied, unconsecrated, uncared for.” “Haven...” Madelyne started, not sure what to say. And she thought of something she never had before. What had happened to her body? Her first one? The original? The one that died at the end of Inferno? She’d come back first as a being of pure psychic energy disguised in a human form, a very solid ghost, essentially. That was all she was for a long time, walking and talking and fucking, all while TECHNICALLY still being dead. It was only recently that she had really become flesh and blood again, Jean Grey’s DNA spliced by Arkea into the body of a woman named Ana Cortes, altering the physical appearance of the young Columbian into that of the redhead and allowing Madelyne Pryor’s consciousness to take up residence in it...meaning Madelyne was still, as ever, occupying a body that wasn’t really her own. And her first hadn’t been her own either, just a copy of Jean’s, but she wondered now, what had been done with it? Knowing the X-men, they gave her a perfectly proper funeral. Maybe they even cried. But she wished, perverse as it seemed, that they had thrown her out with the garbage, had the HONESTY to treat her in death as they ultimately had in life, than PRETEND that they really saw her as a loss. She knew they didn’t. Even the ones who knew her FIRST, Rogue and Psylocke and Longshot, who had met her BEFORE they met Jean, even they had wanted that witch instead of her at the end.... “Yeah, okay, just...just put it somewhere it won’t...rot,” she said uneasily, “And we’ll call Sebastian when he...when he wakes up. See what he wants to do with it.” It should be, Madelyne felt, his choice, and Haven agreed. When he did get the call, his reply was firstly being rather disgusted they had kept it, and then, without any emotion, said they should just thrown the “damn thing” overboard. “Funeral at sea then,” said Madelyne as she turned off the phone, “You want to do the honors, Haven? Since it was your idea.” Not like anyone else wanted to be a part of it. Well, except Shinobi, who had suggested launching it like a cannonball and then having Pyro set it aflame in the sky. They thought they were funny. “Would you mind helping me terribly, Madelyne?” Have asked, “I’d rather lower it down gently, and if your telekinesis could that, I would appreciate it...but I also understand if you don’t wish to touch something so gruesome, even psychically.” “I’m not squeamish,” Madelyne smirked. As she performed the task, she noticed Haven was silent. “You’re not gonna...say a few words, or anything?” “Mr. Shaw has told he isn’t religious, so I don’t think he would want it. And he isn’t...well, he isn’t dead. So what does one say, really?” “Hell if I know,” said Madelyne, “It’s funny---I’ve been dead a lot, you’d think I would be an expert on it.” As she began levitating the chunk of meat that once house Sebastian Shaw’s mind and soul, if he had the latter, she continued, “I never even thought about what should be done with my body...which isn’t really even mine now actually, don’t ask...I guess cremation is most appropriate. Fire, you know. It’s kind of my thing, whether I like it or not.” “I’ve always wanted a sky burial, myself,” said Haven. “I’ve never heard of that,” Madelyne sounded very interested. The word ‘sky’ had piqued her interest as a former pilot. “It’s a practice among my mother’s people, the Zoroastrians, as well as many other people, such as Tibetans. The body is placed on a mountaintop to be decomposed naturally by the elements and the animals. In Ancient Zoroastrianism specifically, it was placed on the Dakhma, the Tower of Silence, to be desiccated by the sun and consumed by birds of prey. I realize this sounds ghastly to a Western point of view, but--” “No, no, I get it. You’re just...going back to nature, becoming a part of everything else again, right? That sounds like your kind of thing.” Haven smiled at her, “It is.” Below, the body gently broke the surface of the waves, and Madelyne released her hold, allowing it to sink. “I guess that’s sort of what we’re doing here. Just with fishes instead of birds. Me though...that’s not for me. I don’t want to be a part of everything. Not when I’ve fought so hard...to just be ME.” *** AWKWARD “Hey! You got a problem with me, fuck knuckle?!” Calmly, Sebastian turned his head in the direction of the insult just hollered at him from the the far end of the deck, “Why, several, Mr. Allerdyce. Though most of them stem from the back you quite clearly have a problem with ME.” The Australian was drunk, but Sebastian knew from experience that the scrawny little bastard didn’t need THAT to be rude and belligerent, in particuliar rude and belligerent to Sebastian. Sebastian could ALMOST appreciate the balls on him, if only he could back them up. But without his fire to intimidate---and it could not intimate Sebastian---he really was just like one of those irritating little rat dogs peeking from ladies’ purses to bark challenges at true canines. “You’re damn right I do!” Pyro returned, “For starters, you’re---” And then continued with a really rather impressive listing of all his opinions on just what made Sebastian Hiram Shaw, Black King of the Hellfire Club---er, Trading Company---just such unbearable company. Sebastian listened in a detached, blaise manner, quite unruffled by the display of uncouth unruliness, and ready to simply throw the fool overboard should he come close enough to grab. “And on top o’ all that, yer a homophobe to boot!” What. Sebastian blinked. Nothing else had surprised him in the entire rambling rant, but this? This he had not seen coming. “Come again, young man?” “You heard me! Don’t think I don’t know why you’re always tryin’ t’get between me and your son! You don’t want him catchin’ the gay any worse than he’s got, eh?” Sebastian stared at him for another moment. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he turned away, and put his fist up to his lips, as though stifling a cough, “Excuse me.” Did that fucker just laugh?! Pyro wondered. “Excuse my boot up yer arse, you old dicknob! Listen, it’s 2020, and you can’t get away with---” He is laughing! He was indeed. Pyro had not been prepared for this. “Hey...hey what’s so damn funny, huh?!” “Nothing, nothing,” Sebastian waved a hand, but it was clear from his voice he was still trying VERY hard not to laugh again, “Please, do go on about my bigotry. After all, I’m very conservative when it comes to sexual practices, as I’m sure you know.” Something begin to click in Pyro’s intoxicated mind. Something that suggested...he might have made a mistake here. And an admittedly pretty hilarious one. “Oh god yer in the fucking Hellfire Club, “ he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “Of course you don’t care about that...” “Well, it was funny though,” Sebastian said, and the bastard was actually SMILING, “Thank you, Mr. Allerdyce, I haven’t been that tickled all week. But, no, I know about my son’s egalitarian predilections with regards to sex and gender----he inherited them from me, after all.” Oh. Oh god. Of all the things Pyro HAD NEVER WANTED TO KNOW OR IMAGINE. A moment ago, Sebastian had been planning to throw Pyro overboard. But now? Now Pyro was considering just doing it to HIMSELF. *** STORIES “And then I got to Cambodia and let me tell you---food is great. People say don’t ask what’s in it but me, I got to ask---it’s my job, see---and yeah, they eat things ‘Mericans never would, or most Aussies, but I say, why’re we judging? We eat pigs and those’re way more intelligent than spiders or half-hatched duck eggs, seems we’re the savages for that, y’know? Not that I’m givin’ up pork any time soon but you know what I’m saying?” Pyro and Madelyne were sitting on the ship’s edge, watching the sun go down over the water, sharing a few beers, talking about what they’d done before all this. “You don’t look like you ever ate pork in your life, string bean,” replied Madelyne, “ But yeah. You say Cambodia? What part?” “ Senmonorom, capital of Mondulkiri Province.” “No kidding! I dropped cargo off there once!” Madelyne exclaimed, “When I was a pilot! Spent the whole rest of the day there since I had the time. Couldn’t understand a word but I loved the---oh no, hahaha, I loved the food!” “Ha! I’m sure it was just noodles you got, love.” “Mmm...pretty crunchy noodles, then...” She paused, and looked pensieve, more serious, “It’s crazy. I can really remember the texture. Not the taste though. He must not have known what it tasted like.” “He?” Pyro asked. Madelyne was suddenly sober in more ways than one, as she explained, looking away, “I never went to Cambodia. I never flew that plane. That cargo never existed, and neither did whatever I ate.” “Well, y’don’t need to lie to me get me to like you, Madelyne.” “No, you don’t understand---they’re not lies. I mean, they are, but---they’re not to me, I---but they are---I hate them, but I forget that they’re not---” She was clutching her hair now, and looked distressed. “Whoa, whoa, hey there mate, what’s the matter?” Pyro placed a hand on her back, trying his best to calm her down, something he wasn’t great at even for himself, “Listen, Maddie...I been through some crazy shit. And I heard crazier on Krakoa from people. We mutants...or, people who are, I dunno, mutant-adjacent like you...we live weird lives. You don’t GOTTA tell me but I’ll believe you.” Madelyne took a deep inhale, “It’s not that. I know you’ll believe me. It’s just...I never really talked to anyone about it, you know?” Pyro was uncomfortable now. He braced himself. He didn’t like going deep, he wanted everything to just be fun and casual. But he wasn’t going to run away or brush it off either. He owed his friends better than that; when he’d been on his last legs with the Legacy Virus, his friend Avalanche had been everything. He knew their value. Madelyne, too, needed to amp herself up for this. “So you know I’m a clone, right? Of Jean Grey?” “It’s come up, yeah.” “I was grown to full adulthood in a...in a vat, basically. But Sinister---the man who did it---didn’t want me to KNOW what I was. Would spoil the plans he had for me and...for me and Scott. So he gave me some false memories. Mostly I had “amnesia” but I could remember being a pilot. To explain the memories of flight and fire that I got from Jean----what memories don’t come from him, are from her. Well, the Phoenix actually...it’s complicated.” “Yeah, I’m getting that. That’s rough, buddy,” oh god he sounded like an idiot, “ But in my book, you still went to Cambodia.” He was answered with an eyebrow quirk from his friend, and so he elaborated, “Look, I’m a journalist, and I’m a writer, and I...I write stories. Even when it was something true, I’m still making a story about it. And when I make it up entirely, it’s as real a story as when I wrote the one about the real event. Ah fuck, I can’t talk, can write a damn novel but I fuck up all the words when I try to SAY it...look, Maddie, what I’m saying is,” He put a hand on her shoulder, “When I met you, it wasn’t who you are now, or who you were when you came out of that vat. It was some human bird running with the X-Men in Dallas. Yeah, I noticed you looked a hell of a lot like Jean and I thought that was who you were the whole time. Then I saw the broadcast they made, where you talked to your husband---shit, wait, he married you and Jean, what the fuck---telling him to find your baby---oh fuck I’m just realizing why you’re so mad at him, holy hell--before you gave up your life to save the world. That’s who I remember. And your memories, real or fake, well they’re a part of you, they’re your stories. Stories...they make us who we are. And even if they were made up, who you are, what you did, isn’t. You’re a story, yeah. So are we all. Fuck I’m really mangling this but you know what I--- oh.” Madelyne was hugging him. Holy shit. Well, he must have done something right, then. Damned if he knew what, though, he thought he’d fucked it up royally with that Trump-level rambling. And when she released him, she looked up at his shocked face, and said, “St. John?” “Y-yeah?” “Eat some damn pork. You really ARE a string bean.” *** OUT OF THE FRYING PAN Sebastian Shaw was indeed generally immune to explosions. And also to fire. He simply absorbed the thermal energy, rendering it harmless to him, if annoying. Afact that a certain Australian had exploited mercilessly. But Pyro was not here now, and so he could not stop the blaze that Shinobi was trapped in, that Sebastian had escaped but Shinobi had not yet. He’s not out yet, Sebastian thought nervously as he watched the blaze, waiting, Must be unconscious, must have hit his head, the fool, idiot boy, told him to stay in super dense form, stupid stupid stupid child He’d burn to death, if smoke inhalation didn’t get him first. He would die, and be reborn on Krakoa. It would be fine. And the suffering, the death, would serve him right, for being so foolish as not to listen to his father, to do the sensible thing and stay dense, why had he let himself get caught there? If you were weak enough to die, you deserved it, deserved it for KEEPS. Sebastian could say that, and admit it applied to him too. He would not DENY the second chance given to him by Krakoa, but nor would he pretend that Emma didn’t earn his death by virtue of being ABLE to do it. If you could do it, if you did do it, then it was within your rights to do it, was how Shaw saw things. Right of power was the only right that mattered, and you did no favors by RESCUING someone, you only prolonged their weakness. Any moment now, he thought, Any moment...if he’s going to make it out, it will have to be soon. There was a horrible cracking as a wood beam crashed down into the flames. The building was coming down. And Sebastian Shaw’s feet were suddenly moving. But was it by his deliberate decision? Or his own accord? He didn’t know. He sprinted into the structure, careful not to let his body bash through what supports remained---it might not hurt him but it would crush Shinobi if the boy was still alive---heedless of the fire, though the smoke stung his eyes, and he knew he was not immune to the effects of breathing it. If he was going to do this foolish, stupid, NEEDLESS thing, he had best do it fast. He scanned the room through the gray haze, and caught a glimpse of purple obscured by some rubble. He tossed it aside, digging through it like a terrier on the scent of a rabbit, until he found his boy, unmoving but still breathing, and hauled him from the wreckage. His body hair sizzling against his heat-proof skin, the sweat turning to steam the moment it left his brow, he gathered the limp form of his son into his arms, and ran from the flames, this time not caring about the beams he knocked aside, ran right through as though they were as intangible as Shinobi could be. When they were out, and a safe distance away from the blaze, Sebastian laid his son down, and waited for him to wake up. As soon as Shinobi did, as soon as his eyes opened, and he began to speak, and to realize what had happened, to start to express his shock at the fact his father had just saved his life at risk to his own... Sebastian’s fist landed against the boy’s ashy face. And again. And again. Until Shinobi was dead. He left the battered corpse where it was, and begin making his way to find the other Marauders, and tell them they needed to head back to Krakoa when most convinient, that Shinobi had died and would be waiting there. And when they arrived and picked him up, Sebastian knew he would have the good sense to say nothing to anyone. And he’d have a talk with him about the importance of handling oneself in such future situations. He really did try with the boy, dammit, but there was just no teacher like experience, he supposed. And painful experience worked best. *** NIGHTMARE DRESSED AS A DAYDREAM

"Look it’s the Marauder!” everyone cried out in awe and admiration as Pyro entered the party. His grim, stoic expression, his majestic stride, were in contrast to the lascivious frivolity around him of the swimsuit-clad crowd, but this difference only made the girls come swarming to him faster. He accepted their fawning adulation, but only cooly, as it was just his due. He was, after all, the handsomest, most power, Supreme Mutant, and this was all normal and natural. It was only when he began passionately lip-locking with Jean Grey on the hood with Jean Grey that-- Wait, what? This was wrong. This was so wrong. It had to be a dream, but even then it was WRONG. He’d never had a dream of this kind about a woman in his life, let alone Jean Grey. And if he was going to, why would it be JEAN? That felt extra wrong, given that he was pals with Madelyne now, was this some kind of weird-- “GET OFF ME!” cried a man’s voice, and Pyro broke away from the embrace, looking up. Some several dozen feet away, Fabian Cortez struggling with an amorous Avalanche, who seemed to have been engaged with the same activity with the redheaded ‘Supreme Mutant’ as Pyro just had with Marvel Girl...and Dom was wearing the same outfit Jean was. “Oy, what in the--” Pyro started to demand, when suddenly a huge head ---Mr. Sinister’s head, specifically-- erupted from the ground. It was bedecked by yet more scantily clad girls, with a throne on top it in which sat Claudine, being accosted by them, and she looked as confused as Pyro and Fabian were, confused and horrified. Then the rain began, endless rain, and Pyro was all alone, all alone in the mud as the rain came down, rain and pain, so much pain, coming from parts of his body he’d never had in his life, his womb, his-- “All right, that’s quite enough of that!” the voice of Emma Frost echoed throughout all of existence, and the lights came back on in the world again as Pyro woke up. “Freakin’ kids,” he muttered, as he realized what had happened. There was a baby telepath in the latest batch of rescues, and the little bugger had gotten their dreams all mish-mashed together. Happened more than once before. Grunting, he turned over, and went back to sleep...though a little uneasy this time. He wondered, who had that last part come from?

#fic #writing #alt marauders #out of cortez

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suicidalcatz · 5 years

Text

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 11

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8 ; Chapter 9 ; Chapter 10

Masterlist : here

AN : It is wednesday, my dudes! This part and the next ones are like 90% fluff, 10% angst... like bittersweet. You’re still heartbroken but try to keep your friendship with Jake, while doing all of your homework... A lot to handle. Actually I had to cut the chapter in half because it was too long (9-10 pages). I really hope you’ll like this chapter because I liked writing it! Feel free to tell me what you thought of it, send me dms or questions, and thanks for reading me x

Chapitre 11 : Would you cook for me ?

Ignoring Jake's texts or avoiding him was useless. But hanging out with him was a challenge I wasn't ready to handle, never asked for, and yet was pushed into. Pretending I didn't see him when we crossed paths in the hallways, or that I didn't receive any of his texts was petty, there was no point in doing so. I couldn't avoid him without giving him any reason, and I couldn't tell him why I needed some time far away from him either because it meant revealing the truth and 1) I wasn't ready, 2) he'd be the one avoiding me like the black plague if I did. It brought me to the conclusion that I would simply pretend nothing happened at all. Jake hadn't noticed the whole situation anyway, so to him it'd already be like everything was normal, just like it always had been between us. It was the best I could think of. For him, for Josh, for anyone. For me ? Not so much. Of course I was still heartbroken, of course it'd take me some time to get over him, and staying by his side would be like rubbing salt on a wound while demanding for it to heal. But I wouldn't risk to break our group's dynamic for selfish reasons. So I sucked that in, everything. The sadness, and painful pang of my chest every time I saw his face, while repeating myself it was for the best.

That aside, I had some other things coming. For the worst. My useless self got so into self-pity and deprecation that I had totally forgotten about homework... And my drawing teacher would be less than pleased as we were all supposed to hand her five new portraits on Monday. Realization hit me during breakfast with Josh who had slept here, when I saw Mandy pack her things and idly noticing out loud that I wasn't carrying a lot of stuff for once. This. This was the cue. But it was too late now, I thought as I walked down the halls by their side. On our way to the amphitheater we saw Jake, waiting in front of the door for the teacher to come. Other students were here too, chatting and yawning with their backs against the walls or sitting on the floor. Josh looked at me like he wasn't sure if he should greet him but the brunette was the one spotting us, gesturing us to come join him. My eyes were probably still a bit puffy but with the makeup it could pass for lack of sleep. Of course he knew Josh stayed at our place last time, I had made sure the boy texted him, and the jerk had taken this opportunity to ask his brother to bring him all his school supplies, backpack included. Unbelievable.

- Your stuff, said Jake handing Josh his bag.

- Who's the big brother again ?, I jokingly asked with a raised eyebrow.

- He's 5 minutes older, replied Jake.

- You'll never live it down !

We all chatted quietly, and I never felt more conflicted in my entire life. My heart didn't know if it should beat faster or hurt like hell, so it seemed to do both, making me feel weird just by being next to Jake. My body was in total contradiction with itself. I couldn't hold back the smile that crept across my face, but at the same time wouldn't meet Jake in the eye, disguising it by cracking joke after joke while my stress level kept rising the more time passed. My thoughts were running wild. In a few hours the drawing teacher was going to yell at me in front of the whole workshop and I couldn't handle it. I'd surely burst into tears and feel even more ashamed. I'd probably-

- Hey, you alright ?

A soft touch caressed my back and I involuntarily jerked forward, out of its grasp, before realizing and suddenly feeling bashful at my reaction. I could tell Jake was surprised by it but it lasted only a second before his face showed concern.

- Yeah, I just didn't finish my work on time... That witch is gonna murder me and ask the others students to draw a perspective of my corpse I'm sure.

I heard his chuckles before the tutor cut him off, passing by us with the keys in hand to unlock the door, separating the sea of students in half like an artsy Moses. Jake was at the other side when the crowd engulfed through the small door, letting us no choice but to keep our bodies to the walls.

- Do you wanna sit together today ?, asked Jake above the loud stomping noises.

Because of the students between us I couldn't really see his face, but was glad because it meant he couldn't see mine whitening. Josh and Mandy on the other hand were just next to me and clearly witnessed my expression change. To think that a week before I would've been on cloud nine being able to sit next to him for two whole hours... Oh how things could change fast.

We were now the three last people left outside and Jake held the door for us, continuing speaking.

- You guys are always exchanging notes, we should just, ya know ? Sit next to each other and... quietly chat.

As backup to his words, he murmured the last part in a very exaggerated fashion, in a failed attempt to make me smile. I couldn't just say no to him without looking weird because I had no reason to. Even if I knew he wouldn't push the matter, there was no way he wouldn't question it, right ? Josh came to the rescue, playfully elbowing him.

- But then where's the fun in that ? Right girls ?

Both agreeing, we rushed to our usual seats, letting a dumbfounded Jake close the door behind him. In their habitual fashion, Mandy and Josh threw paper balls at each other, while I was for once too focused on the lecture to participate in their shenanigans. I needed to get my mind to focus on something and right now Gilgamesh sounded like a good deal, so I took as many notes as possible. A task proven even more difficult because in the corner of my eye, I could see Jake staring at me.

Saying my drawing teacher killed me was a little bit of an understatement. She scared the shit out of me with her scolding. To be fair, even in a normal mood she was a scary woman. The already quiet class went completely still and silent when she barked at me, admonishing me with charming names such as « useless », « disappointing » and the timeless « lamentable ». A classic. Truth to be told it hurt much less than I previously anticipated, mainly because I was already half dead inside, with the emotional range of a cactus, and my self-esteem nearly reaching zero. Nothing much to attack, really. Nevertheless, she demanded that I hand her all five portraits plus the five others we had to do this week by the next monday. Meaning I had ten to do in a week. It physically hurt just thinking about it, and I could hear a quiet « oof » escaping some of my classmates' mouths. It's with a huge relieved sigh that I found my bed this afternoon once school was over. This day had been a catastrophe so far, so there was no other thing I wanted to do more than put on my Pjs, put some music on, and slowly work at my desk, thinking Tuesay will be a better day.

Tuesday was not a better day. Wednesday either. All my homework slowly started piling up on my desk to the point where it was starting to be difficult to keep track of it. And sleeping four hours a night wasn't doing my mental health any good. I knew I had two possibilities now ; sleep less but do my work, or skip some classes to work. It was beginning to get ridiculous, skipping classes so I could do my homework. I knew art schools were difficult, awfully so, but like most people I hadn't realized until then, in this very moment, standing in front of my desk completely covered in paint, canvas, my computer, sketches, inks... some brushes had fallen on the floor, staining it in their passage. My laptop was so dirty it wasn't in its original color anymore. There were blotches of paint, ink, and charcoal here and there that I couldn't remove the harder I had tried to, forcing me to give up. At some point I got so tired I put my paintbrush into my cup of tea/coffee, mistaking it with the goblet of water.

- ...Are you alright ?, enquired Mandy on Thursday night.

One look at my face and she had her answer. Bless her soul, she didn't need any more to bring me an energy drink from the fridge.

- I still have five portraits to do. Four pencil ones, and one painting. They all have to be from different angles, and I can't find any models, I complained while throwing my hand in the air in an act of pure desperation.

Mandy knew better than to sit at the edge of my risky desk with her designer clothes, so she leaned on the doorframe, slowly nodding her head in a pensive manner while I kept explaining the situation.

- All week I couldn't find anyone because they all had homework to do, and now most of them are skipping tomorrow's lecture to go home early so nobody's available !

My rommate crossed her arms, thinking hard. I already did almost all my paintings, asking for both her and Josh's help. Both of them were glad to help and even more so to figure on a monochrome painting on a canvas.

- Can you draw the same person multiple times ?, she finally asked.

- Actually... I don't know. I don't think that would be a problem as long as the work is done ?

Hopping on her feet, Mandy lifted an eyebrow before dragging a chair to sit on.

- Let's get into it then, we only have one lecture tomorrow, you can skip it I'll take notes for you.

Having a good night of sleep never felt this good. No. Waking up at 8, slowly realizing everybody was sitting on a lecture except me, and then getting back to sleep was way better. I sketched poor Mandy two times last night but the results were good, and she looked pleased herself. I didn't have time to redo any of these anyway, I still had other work to do. Waking me from my well deserved nap, my phone vibrated under the pillow, the screen blinding me despite the sun peaking through the curtains.

« The boys asked where you were. Told them about the portraits situation. Jake wants to help. Couldn't stop him. »

If the beginning of the text made me smile, the end completely shook me awake, making me sit hurriedly on the bed, rereading the words multiple times. Scratching my face, I quickly glanced at the hour. They were out in a few minutes. My fingers tapped the next message as soon as they could, asking her how and when, while I ran to the showers with my towel, soap and toothbrush in hand. At this hour, and a Friday, they were all available. The other residents were all either drunk as hell and passed out in their room, or in their hometown with their family and friends. The buzzing of my phone vibrating reverberated against the shower walls and it almost got drowned in the sink when I caught it to look at the screen. It was Mandy.

« They kinda invited themselves over to eat. Josh's idea.»

What the hell Joshua we're not your moms ! Throwing my phone to the nearest flat surface, I jumped on some discarded overalls and put on a sweater, wet hair dripping everywhere on the floor, table, but mostly on my clothes, making me sneeze in the process. The whole week I was so overwhelmingly busy with work that not only did my fingers hurt but I didn't have any time to see the Kiszkas let alone think about them since our shared lecture on Monday. I even skipped the Lunch Club in order to get back to the dorms and work on my assignments. Which thankfully saved me a lot of time, but I still had 2 pencil drawings to do and one painting. Once I had put on some makeup, I took a moment to look around me. Our place looked like a dump, no less. Clothes and art furniture were everywhere, the trash was overflowing with empty cup noodles and fast food leftovers, it smelled like perfume and soap mixing with rotten food, paint and cold tobacco. It was terrible, and made me shocked that I even got used to that. A life achievement of some sort. Everything on the floor I put it on a trash bag, running in the stairs to throw everything outside with the others'. My phone vibrated in my pocket, a new notification popping on the screen.

« They bought some stuff at the store, they wanna cook us something. Jake's idea. »

Okay, time to clean the kitchen.

By the time they got here, I looked even more tired than before, owing my guests looks of concern. If was funny, how they put on the exact same face while seeing me. It was like I just mirrored a picture. Their similar features would never cease to amaze me.

- Mama you're very pale.

- Did you not sleep well ?

- I did, don't worry, I dismissed their concern. Had to clean up a bit.

Mandy bit his lip, knowing damn well the place had been a war field when she left. Unaware of anything, the boys put the bags of groceries on the table before apologizing for intruding. We all sat around the table to have a pleasant talk, my friends always making sure I wasn't next to Jake to avoid any brutal peak of awkwardness / sadness. But some habits died hard, I realized when Jake asked if he could have a tour of our dorm. Ignoring glances, I stood up and gestured for him to go first, into the biggest room, were Mandy and I's workshop and beds were. The boy let out a low whistle that flattered me. He looked impressed by everything around him, touching odd looking brushes and browsing illustration books. I knew better this time, and had put his painted portrait under my bed, wrapped in an old sheet. Just as his brother did, he liked to take in his hands everything that came by, caressing it with his fingertips or idly lifting the weight of it in his palms like he was discovering an unknown world. Unmoving, I let Jake do his little tour, watching the street view by the window, sitting on my disheleved bed, jumping slightly to make the mattress bounce like he was testing it before buying.

- So this is where you're gonna paint me, he said, pointing at a chair between my desk and me.

My pale face grew some colors at the thought of it before I nodded quickly, in a childlike way, caressing the wooden chair's back.

- I'll try to be fast so you won't get bored, I assured without looking him in the eye.

It was this moment Josh chose to appear at the corner of the doorframe.

- Jakey we should start cooking or the potatoes will never be ready on time. Come on, doll.

He took me by one of my overalls' straps, pulling me inside the kitchen, making me laugh and pushing my shoulders so I stayed on my seat. Mandy and I gazed at them with awe as they poured us drinks while Jake asked where the spatula was, and Josh was washing the vegetables, already familiar with his surroundings.

In silence, I looked at Jake removing every one of his rings to put it on top of the fridge where no one could kick them, before tying his hair in a tight ponytail. Maybe it was because I only ever saw him with long brown locks framing his face, but he looked even better than usual. If he caught me staring, he didn't adress it, only smiled at me, turning his back to us to help his brother.

- Do you need any help ?, I asked while showing them where the frypans were. You guys are our guests it doesn't seem fair...

Of course the kitchen wasn't a real one, there was only a microwave and some hotplates fixed to a cabinet by the sink. Putting more than one person behind the counter was impossible without bumping into each other, and I could smell the accident from afar when Josh maneuvered the hot water filled pan at the same time Jake opened up a cupboard right above his curly head. Curiously so, probably because they had way more cooking experience than I thought, the boys handled the situation neatly, and Jake was the one preventing me from bumping into his brother.

- Go sit and relax, we've got this, he said while turning me around by the shoulders.

Watching boys make lunch had got to be some sort of ASMR because just watching the muscles of their back move while they were chopping onions and peeling potatoes had some real therapeutic effects on me. We continued chatting together, all the while answering their questions on « Where are the knives ? » and « Where do you keep the salt ? ». Kind of surprised that Josh had the permission of holding a kitchen knife, by the way, this part made me feel the absolute opposite of ASMR but he did a pretty good job, from what I could see. Mandy put on some music on the speakers, argued with Jake over the sound of it as to what was acceptable or not music-wise, and Josh made a show of crying because of the onions, yelling about becoming blind until Jake gently slapped the back of his head. It was all laughs and good conversation, like we've been friends for years, and at the same time I couldn't shake these feelings I had towards Jake. There was something extremely erotic about seeing a dude wearing a dishcloth on his shoulder. Or was it just Jake wearing it really well ?

They refused to tell us what we were eating, muttering to themselves and sometimes asking if we were allergic to this or that, only announcing it while putting the plate on the table, with Josh making grand gestures as usual, using his best waiter voice.

- Crêpes au zucchini accompanied by a fresh salad decorated with feta and its apple slices, ladies.

- Bon appétit, added Jake.

The table was already set because it was the only thing we were allowed to do, so at least the boys could now rest. It looked really good. Way less fancy than what Josh had announced of course but it smelled wonderful, the sweet scent settling in all of our dorm. And the taste, oh Lord. Everything melted in my mouth, the onions they fried were just crispy enough to add something to it, and I learned this day that cheese and apple were really good and refreshing together. A new snack idea I'd keep for my sleepless work nights at the desk. And as dessert, the boys brought beers. Of course.

#gvf fic #gvf x reader #gvf imagine #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet #jake kiszka

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thoseofgreatambition · 6 years

Text

art

description: you're an art student who is posing nude in a class for a very large amount of extra credit. george happens to not only be in that class, but is quite enamored with you. unbeknownst to him, you fancy him as well. professionalism reigns supreme, but that doesn't change the awkwardness of the situation all that much.

warnings: nudity, obviously. some sexual undertones. ur usual stuff. i don’t think this is sexual enough to warrant not tagging minors, but it is solidly pg-13. proceed with that in mind.

pairing: george x reader

au: art student!college au

tag list: @artemiserenity @fainting-fancy @scumbag-joker @rexster10 @oh-the-snowinthemoonlight @hermione-who @geeksareunique @phantomhive-shadow @thephelpstwins @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @siriuslyimmoony @yourslytherinprincess @bloomweasley @gobletofweasley @stillwater20-blog @dramatic-and-young @starlitmoony @blusnowflakee @l-am-tired @lovelaughlivesmilebright @wizardingworldwaitforme @imaginethis-st @xinyourdreamsx @velvetdownfall @marauderskeeper @wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @gredwheezy

You were normally a very modest person. Not for any reason in particular other than simple comfort and necessity. As an art major yourself you'd ruined one too many nice clothes to wear much more than cheap jeans and t-shirts. Your hands were almost perpetually stained from oil paints or pastels and you often found odd bits of clay underneath your nails.

However, you had very little qualms about posing nude. You’d done it a few times before-- it was a good way to make money or extra credit. You’d had to paint nude portraits several times for your own classes, it was almost like a rite of passage.

So you didn’t mind it. There had never been one instance of unprofessional behavior, and you felt rather safe. Really, the most uncomfortable thing was holding a pose on what was often a small stool for such a long amount of time.

Other than that though? You were fine.

The only thing that had ever shaken you the smallest bit had just happened. You were about to unrobe before the class, and you noticed a very familiar shock of red hair that belonged to a very special person.

George Weasley.

There was a long sigh from you as you both maintained what could only be described as nervous and surprised, before you took off your robe and sat on the stool.

This wouldn’t be too bad-- right?

Out of habit-- George ducked his head down to look at his canvas to give you some privacy, before he remembered what the hell he was doing here today. He was in class because the assignment was to paint a nude portrait.

Just because you were the model didn’t change that fact.

Even when that meant he’d be painting someone who he was quite attracted to.

Which did put an odd sense of guilt in his stomach.

The look George was giving his canvas would have probably set it on fire.

He took a few deep breaths. He was a grown man, he could be professional, especially when you were the one who’d chosen to be in the more-- quite literally-- exposed position here.

With that in mind he looked back up at you and gave you a small smile, which he was happy to see reciprocated. His long fingers picked up a pencil to start sketching out your figure, George’s lips parted to let out steady breathes as he centered himself, and you could feel his gaze focus on you.

The most difficult part of posing was always staying still. Without fail, no matter what you did it always felt as if you got a hair on your nose that was just itchy enough to make you want to scratch at it.

As discreetly as you could, you attempted to blow the hair off of your nose. For a moment you thought you were successful-- the itching had stopped but you heard a soft chuckle from the back of the room. Your eyes flitted towards the source, a rather amused looking George Weasley who was trying to hold in his laughter.

Your brows furrowed, and you mouthed a rather exaggerated ‘sod off’ towards him so he could properly understand, to which you only got another chuckle and a shrug of George’s broad shoulders in response.

It wasn’t until you saw the student next to George look confused at your expression that you went back to trying to make a stoic face.

Something that George did his best to try and make hard for you. Whenever he looked back up at you-- which was frequently, he’d make another funny face to try and get you to crack.

Somehow, as time went on, this situation felt more and more normal. Sure, George had just been complaining the other day to Fred about the rather large amount of sexual tension you two could have and how it made things difficult, but the longer you were posing and he got to work on your portrait, the better he felt about the situation.

Even at the moment, he found himself more focused on how to get the shading on your hip just right more than anything else.

His tongue peaked out from between his lips, something you were quite quick to pick up on. Unconsciously you felt yourself start to heat up, and it wasn’t until George looked up did he notice that your chest, right above your heart had become flushed-- the color creeping up towards your throat and your face.

George’s expression pulled into a rather confused and curious one until he realized that there was only a few minutes left to wrap up on his portrait. Choosing to tease you about whatever it was flustering you later, George did his best to wrap everything up in the small amount of time left.

When the timer went off you visibly sagged in your seat, happy to finally get to properly relax. You stood up and stretched before tugging the robe back onto your shoulders and tying it up. Students all around you were either putting away their supplies or adding the finishing touches to their works. You rather quickly, bounding on the balls of your feet crossed the room to peak at what George had painted of you.

“This better look nice Weasley, Or I’ll be throwing a strop.”

He gave you a nervous grin, as you peered at his painting. “Hopefully it’s up to snuff then.”

You stared at the painting in quite a bit of surprise-- you’d done this several times at this point. Posed nude quite often, seen plenty of people’s renditions of you. Clearly felt well enough in your own skin to pose nude in the first place, but you’d never really seen a portrait of yourself that filled you with such a massive amount of warmth.

It was nearly impossible to explain, but there was something about how he’d made you come alive on the canvas. You seemed to glow from within. Your expression seemed alive enough that someone could almost follow your gaze off the page and see whatever was making you look so amused.

“George this is beautiful.” your voice was soft, with just a tinge of awe in it. “I can’t believe you were able to make this...”

He seemed a bit flustered at your praise-- “I just painted you how I saw you.” When he looked back up at you, and saw your expression something in his gut told him that he’d given himself away but looking back at the painting he wasn’t entirely sure what he had done. With a cough to clear his throat, George stood up to put his painting up to dry for the night.

Turning back to you, in your cheap terrycloth robe that didn’t quite hit your knees. Your neck still looked flushed, and the nipping you’d done to your own lip while you’d been posing had left it looking rather red.

Just like that, the sexual tension was right where it always was.

Thankfully, you were there to break the silence, “Do you want to come back to my place for dinner? I can order in Chinese.”

Really, George wondered if there was any other way for him to answer. “Of course.”

Back in your clothes, you felt quite at home. Sure-- you didn’t mind posing but that didn’t compare to the comfort of worn in jeans and your favorite t-shirt. You’d ushered George into your small student apartment-- glad that your roommate was out to visit her parents. Immediately a flush came to your cheeks, it wasn’t a good idea to assume anything was going to happen tonight. You and George tended to have a rather intense back and forth, but it had never gone very far.

Aside from one pleasant night where you’d situated yourself on his lap for the entirety of a board game when you two were on the same team.

That was fun.

You set your keys on the kitchen table and flicked on the light. For a moment you struggled with what to talk about, until the obvious choice came to your lips. “I had no idea that was going to be your class.”

George immediately laughed, and sat himself down, “Well to be fair I didn’t know it’d be you there either. I thought you knew I had a night class on Fridays?”

“I did! I just didn’t know it was that one--” you grinned as you tossed a takeout menu towards him. “Quite the shocker seeing you out there.”

He flushed just a bit, “I think I’ve got a right to say I was the more shocked one don’t you think?”

You gave him the best flirty smile you could muster, as you sat atop the kitchen table in front of him “You know this is the part where you say it was a pleasant surprise, you know?” George felt his own face start to turn red, though noted that your neck and cheeks had begun to flush as well.

It seemed that George had gathered a pretty good guess as to what had made you so red earlier while he was painting you.

All of a sudden you saw a far too attractive lopsided smile appear on George’s face. “Of course it was a pleasant surprise.” When you grew more flushed he stood up and all of a sudden you found yourself looking up towards him. “Your blushing.”

“Dunno if I’d be pointing that out in other people there George-- especially since your face was almost as red as your hair when I first got undressed.” you grinned as you saw the blush start again once more for him. You pushed the menu into his hands, “Now c’mon, tell me what you want.”

Like most times after having a large meal with a friend, Netflix playing ‘The Office’ in the background, you found yourself fairly drowsy with George not looking too far behind. A glance at the clock showed it to be 2 A.M and with that you gave him a small frown, “Hey do you want to just spend the night? It’s pretty late for you to walk back to your place.”

He gave a small nod, as he rubbed at his eyes, “Thank you. Though if I didn’t know better I’d say you were just trying to get inside my pants.”

“No-- I’d be a lot more obvious. Like that time I sat in your lap all night.” there was a twinkle in your eyes as George looked at you in surprise. Something about late nights always made you more truthful and this was no exception.

“You were trying to seduce me then?”

“Why else do you think I’d have sat in your lap?”

Your tone was just lighthearted enough that he wasn’t entirely sure if you were being serious. However, there was an easy enough way to test that. Gently he tugged you into his lap once more, and watched as the playful expression seemed to melt into one with more trepidation. “Is this not alright?”

Quickly you shook your head, “It’s alright.” Once more you found yourself shockingly close to George. Enough so that you could count all the freckles on his face even in the dim light from the T.V.

“You’re sure this is alright?”

Your nod was quite enthusiastic this time, with a tiny yet excited grin on your lips. “Yes.” You changed your position so you were properly straddling him, “Are you sure this is alright?”

His hands fell to your hips, and the second you heard George say ‘Yes’ you leaned into crash your lips against his, and your hands gripped fistfuls of his shirt to keep him close to you. You were grinning all the while, as his hands on your hips kept you firmly against him.

George broke the kiss only to press his lips against your throat, an action that led to you letting out a breathy laugh. “We should have been doing this sooner, Georgie.”

“You’re telling me.” He tugged a bit at your shirt, before nipping at your neck. “Now tell me-- what’s the chance of you letting me appreciate your art some more?”

#george weasley #george weasley oneshot #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #college au

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ask-svt-hearteu · 6 years

Text

All The Stars ` Wen Junhui

Anon requested: “ hey! can i request a jun oneshot where the reader is an artist? like how does he deal with reader having a breakdown over some small mistake and their way of thinking? basically just what he thinks about having an artistic partner. oh, if it's not too much can you write it in jun's pov? thanks a lot 💕 “

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1928

to Jun

you were radiant

there had always been something

a feeling

that made him know

you’re the one

he remembered that first day

when he had been wondering the classrooms of the university aimlessly

ditching English literature was a favorite hobby of his

the class was too easy

the easiest A to get for a general education class he knew

not to mention as a theater major

he already ate, breathed, and lived literature

there was no need for him to show up to such a useless class

and so

English lit 101 was spent wondering the campus of the university

finding the best spots to read for an hour

or discovering the unexplored corners of campus

or going out to town to try all the local restaurants and determine which ox tail soup was the best

and it was on one of these faithful days that he stumbled across room 610

a dark shady classroom rarely ever in use

he quietly opened the door and slipped inside dropping his bag

pulling aside some of the curtains from the front of the room

he revealed a few floor-to-ceiling studio mirrors

and gave himself a small smile

as he reached into his bag and pulled out a small CD player

and clicked play

the music gently filled the room

Jun breathed in

letting not just air to enter his system

but the music itself

let the notes fill his lungs and his head

let the music lead his actions

as he carefully

but surely

confidently

danced through his own routine of his own creation for the song

one he spent hours trying to perfect

until it became second nature

until it was no longer a dance

but merely an extension of his thoughts

and he felt like flying

with the music

he gently laid down on his back smiling up at the ceiling after it ended

what a high

the best feeling in the world was when he was dancing

he couldn’t imagine doing anything else

he didn’t seem to notice someone standing in the doorway to that very classroom

that Jun wasn’t the only one who took refuge in room 610

but you did too

and as your voice broke through the silence

Jun likes to think it was that moment

the very moment you first spoke to him

that made him fall in love with you

he likes to tell it that way

the look of surprise on his face clear as day when you caught him

“How long have you been standing there?” He said

“The whole time.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in here.”

“Neither did I”

Jun stared at you passively at that moment he knew

the way the slit of sunlight rested right on your face

illuminating your eyes

and the look of pure amazement

that you gave him

“I’m really sorry to ask if this sounds weird but... Can you stay here for a few minutes?”

Jun raised his eyebrows but didn’t object

after all you were the one who had caught him having a moment

he stood frozen in his spot as you ran across the room and slid onto the floor uncovering a pile of canvasses he had never noticed before

his breath caught

on the canvasses were some of the most beautiful paintings he had ever seen

he watched quietly as you pulled a sketchbook from the pile of art supplies and sat crisscrossed on the ground

the tip of your pencil gliding easily across the surface of the page never pausing in hesitation once

and he suddenly thought

that perhaps that pencil was dancing too

that you drawing was like him dancing

an extension of a person and their thoughts

an expression of something that no words could ever describe

he was mesmerized as your fingers flew across the page

slowly taking form and matter

he couldn’t look away

this is why he names the moment he fell for you

because from this moment he saw more about your heart

saw just how meaningful that pencil on the paper was

as the music and dancing was for him

you both had offered up a piece of your hearts right there

he watched as you sighed

satisfied for once as you lifted the sketchbook for him to see

and he was breathless

on the sketchbook page

was him

but it was more than just Jun himself he thought

the figure in the drawing was him

but it was him freed

a sketch of his figure mid dance

as the curtains fluttered in the background of the drawing

his clothes loosely flowing around him before forming wings

a picture of an angel

lost to the happiness of mid flight

“I know it’s not very good...” you sighed quietly turning the drawing away from him before ripping the page out and putting away the sketchbook and the pencil

you walked over to him still standing there

but he couldn’t stop staring at you

as you gently placed the drawing in his hand

“You can throw it away if you want.” You shrugged before turning away

Jun grabbed your arm quickly and turned you back to face him

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N”

“Do you... maybe wanna grab a coffee or something?” He said rubbing the back of his neck nervously

“I’d love to.”

it was one of those storybook meetings

one for romance novels or the movies

the two of you sort of just clicked

you were both pretty different in some aspects

but made up for what the other was lacking

and you both were also similar too

he became something like paradise for you

after a long day of classes and work

you’d plop down on the sofa and he’d make you something to eat

even if he was tired

or you’d both just lay together in bed staring up at the ceiling and talking

about anything

about everything

about how stupid that one chemistry professor was before they fired them

or how that freshman accidentally pulled the fire alarm

or about Jun’s latest show adventures

or about this showcase you entered artwork for

Jun would just hold you in his arms

let you rest your head on his chest

as he played with your hair

and listened to you talk

you were nearly inseparable

he’d hold your hand whenever he got the chance

“Jun, I can’t do any integral calculus if you’re holding the hand I write with.”

“Hmm that’s too bad for calculus then...”

“Jun...”

“Yes Y/N my love? Hehe...”

“I need my hand to get my stuff”

“That’s really too bad for your stuff...”

“JUN OH MY GOSH JUST LET GO FOR A SECOND.”

“NEVER HAHA.”

and how the classes without him literally stretched into infinity

he would stare at the clock thinking

“only half an hour before I get to see Y/N...”

yes you were that couple

and when he finally was free

he’d literally run up to you

catching your face in his hands

before his lips brushed yours

“Jun we’re in public-“

“I’m ok with being that couple if you are.”

giggling into his next kiss as he pulled you closer

“Ok ok really we have to go to class.”

“Awwww but whyyyyyy.”

“Because we have to come on.”

there were moments where he’d just stare at you

thinking how incredible it was

how incredible you are

and just staring fondly at your smile

and ruffling your hair playfully every time he passed you in the halls

or tapping your left shoulder only to appear on your right side

and ordering Chinese food takeout to eat on the floor of class 610 when you were both ditching

and running around in the early morning when he dragged you to run through the sprinklers

“JUN I’M WEARING CLOTHES THAT AREN’T WATER PROOF.”

“AWWW come on it’s fun!!!”

and laughing like crazy at the water droplets across your gray sweatshirt

or how he’d randomly show up with stuffed plushies and flowers on those days where you weren’t feeling your best

almost as if he could read your mind

when stress and sadness washed over you

he seemed to know and would cheer you up somehow

whether it was by his little pranks

or his attention to little details

like your favorite ice cream to get if you failed an important test

Jun saw you through it all

the good and the bad

because he loved you

Jun noticed things

about people and of course about you

those moments when you were working on an important piece for class

or when you were just painting in your free time

he noticed the little frown

the sigh of frustration

the dozens of crumpled sketches you had deemed “not good enough”

and ended up as trash

the little furrow of your eyebrows when something wasn’t going the way you wanted them to

or when you had spent hours working on something

only to throw the canvas on the ground because of a mistake and sit and cry

he noticed

and he knew

as someone who had attempted to perfect his own skills

he got equally frustrated with himself over the smallest of mistakes

but seeing you tear yourself apart

the snidest self deprecating comments

it broke his heart

“Why can’t I do anything right?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

the words that fell from your lips about yourself

the words Jun hated hearing the most

and the nights where you would lock yourself in the bathroom because the colors and shapes had started to swim around your head

float off the pages

contort and twist in your nightmares

you didn’t understand

couldn’t get why you couldn’t do anything correctly

and it was Jun on the outside of the locked bathroom door

quietly singing your favorite lullaby

making sure you had something to eat when you stayed up all night in the studio

who held you in his arms when you said you weren’t enough

and told you he loved you over and over again

and that your art was beautiful

that mistakes defined who we were

that mistakes could be beautiful

he knew what it was like to get torn up by yourself in your own thoughts

and so he did his best to tell you that you were worth all the stars

Jun was your stars

he brightened up the darkest nights

made you laugh

maybe that was naturally what those who create think

he couldn’t think he was enough

until he saw that first sketch of him you ever did

and suddenly he felt whole

like this was who he was meant to be

and you had helped him too

Jun led you out one night

“Where are we going?”

“Haha you’ll see.”

the two of you walked along together hand in hand

until you reached the beach

it was cold at night

but the city lights sparkles off the water

and if you squinted

you could sill see the stars

he laid out a blanket for you to sit on before holding you in his arms for warmth

“Are you a camera?”

“Oh my god Jun no stop.”

“Because I smile every time I see you.”

“Please no more cheesy pick up lines”

“Oh come on you love them.”

“No I really don’t .”

“You do too.”

“Pfft no.”

“Fine But you love me right?”

“Oh my gosh.”

“ADMIT IT!”

“Yes I love you of course.”

and he would respond

“I love you.”

he was your angel

and you were all the stars

MASTERLIST

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magma-paint · 6 years

Text

Tutorial Tuesdays--Getting Started

Tutorial Tuesdays is a new block on my blog in which I give art advice and tutorials for anyone looking to improve their art. But before we get into the good stuff, a quick obligatory background.

I know it’s tempting to look at my art and the art of people you look up to and come to the conclusion you’ll never get to that level no matter how hard you try, but it is possible to get to that level. You just gotta practice regularly and before you know it you’ll have it down-pat.

These posts will be pretty long, so to save Dashboard space, I’ll put the meat of things under a Keep Reading link so you can visit them in full. Alright, with that out of the way, are ya ready kids? Let’s go get some art tools!

I only say this because I’ve seen people make fantastic things with very limited materials and people with some of the finest tools but don’t use them to their full capacity. Again, it’s not what you use, but how you use it. When I talk about art tools, I’m mostly going off of what I use since those are the tools I’ve worked with a lot.

Pencils. Your most basic writing and drawing tool. For sketching and drawing, I use a 0.7 mm mechanical pencil with a good eraser. It’s quick, it’s convenient, and I often stick it in my ponytail when I’m not using it so I have easy access to it. They’re also pretty cheap. For commissions and grayscale shading, I use drawing pencils that come in various hardnesses. The hardness of your pencil will be noted by a number and a letter. A pencil with an H stamped on it will be harder, won’t smudge very easily, and has a very light load when the graphite is on the paper. A pencil stamped with a B will be softer, smudges very easily, and has a darker streak on the paper. The number on the pencil following the letter lets you know how hard or soft it is (4H is a very hard pencil, 8B is a very soft pencil). Your typical No. 2 pencils from school are in the HB category, which is middle of the road. You can find them individually at art stores or in packs. Walmart in my town offers a package of 6 drawing pencils bundled with two animation colored pencils, two markers, and an eraser for about $9. Pretty good deal. Speaking of...

Erasers. A pink rubber eraser will do you just fine, though make sure your pencil has a nice one on it for finer details and while you’re drawing. You can use a kneadable eraser if you have one, they’re squishy, you can mold them to how you see fit and they don’t leave any crumbs to clean up, but I’m not quite fond of them.

Markers and ink pens. Let me tell you, once you use a pen like one of these, you’ll never go back to ballpoint, which often has far too many broken lines to be practical to use and make your lineart look like trash. I use a Fine Tip Sharpie Pen, preferably in the no-bleed variety so the lineart doesn’t sink into the opposite side of the page. Recently I’ve been using Brush and Bullet tip Prismacolor Scholar markers for comics and good drawings. They’re a bit erratic to use at first, but it takes practice.

Colored pencils. Now these are my go-to for coloring since they give a wide range of color, combinations, and effects. For best results, I stick with Crayola or Cra-Z Art since the color tend to remain consistent from box to box and you can get a big box of them for a pretty good price. Prismacolors would be nice, but they’re pretty expensive and I don’t quite like the feel.

Sharpeners. Electric ones you can just keep at home, but for on the go I recommend a small manual one you can throw in your bag. Bonus if you get one that has a shavings catch so you don’t have shavings making a mess of your space.

Ruler/straight edge. You’ll want one of these for comic panels, perspective guidelines, and, well, straight lines, though in some cases you might want to practice making straight lines without the use of it. I use a metal one, but a plastic will do you good as well.

And now, the most important thing of all, your drawing canvas!

For starters, I recommend you get yourself a good sketchbook. Nothing too fancy, just one of those spiral-bound ones ideal for sketching. For your really good art, copy paper will work just fine. Really any kind of paper (or even cardboard!) will work but I implore you to avoid using loose-leaf notebook paper. I cannot tell you how much it hurts to see something so beautifully drawn wasted on lined paper. Not saying you can’t doodle in your notebook and show off something silly you sketched, but if you’d count a drawing as your magnum opus, your drawing probably deserved being on blank paper where it can shine.

I was considering making this an entry for Digital Art tutorials, but I’ll put these here just in case.

I do a lot of digital art using my HP laptop built with a touch screen. It can’t stream for sh1t but it runs single player Steam games alright and I use it for homework a lot. Before this, I had a desktop computer and used a mouse. I would like to own a Wacom tablet in the future, but until then this setup is nice enough. Remember, it’s about how you use your tools, not the quality of tools at your disposal.

Now this is a scanner that’s used only for pictures/documents. You can’t print or fax anything with it, but it’s good for just pictures. I own an HP printer/scanner combo, but it is pretty finicky and no longer prints. Alternately, you can just use your cell-phone camera to take pictures of your finished piece, but I do not recommend doing so for comics unless you’re giving previews of one panel.

For my programs, these are the three that I use:

Good for doodles, already on your computer (probably), and I use this program to make authentic looking Homestuck drawings (like, you could mistake it for being an actual panel in Homestuck).

My primary art program. Operates much like Paint Tool SAI and photoshop. Very good for general art and comics.

Still learning this one, but it’s just like Medibang and is equipped with tools for animation.

And yes, these three programs are downloadable for free. I do want to try out Clip Studio Paint EX, but the cheapest I can get it is $80 when it goes on sale during the holidays. Normally, it costs $250.

Next time, we go over some drawing basics and some tips that will save your sanity while sketching. Stay tuned!

#tutorial tuesdays #art tutorials and refs #sh1t magma-paint does #getting started #art supplies #art software

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sasuhinasno1fan · 6 years

Text

Nail Art Confession

Hi @saltedsaltine, I’m your gifter for the @vldshipexchange. I’ve been watching this k-drama about a nail shop and I like the headcannon about Lance being really good at all the stuff like that. I also noticed that you like FFXV, Prompto especially so I thought, why not throw them in there? I hope you enjoy.

Keith knew he should be working on his homework, but his fingers were itching to get messy from charcoal in his sketch book. Of course, his usual suspect kept turning up on the pages.

Lance.

He and Lance were in the same friend group, friends themselves though not as close as Lance was with Hunk and Pidge and how he was with Shiro. Somehow they would usually find themselves hanging out more. Lance was loud and attention grabbing and Keith was sure that it’d be hard to really bond with him but Lance was extremely respecting of his boundaries. Whenever Keith would blow him off because of personal issues, Lance always made sure he was ok before telling him it was ok and to let him know when he was feeling better. Sometimes Keith would find himself going to find him even if he was sure he wanted to be alone but there was something about Lance’s presence that he found calming when it was just the two of them. He panicked when he realised how he felt about Lance, avoiding him at first until Shiro tracked him down, asking him what was wrong.

“Keith, having a crush is normal. It’s terrifying, don’t get me wrong but you know Lance. He understands and respects you so it’s not like it’d be a horrible idea to date him.”

“But what if I mess it up?”

“I somehow doubt that but I think Lance respects you too much to make your life hard if that does happen. But only do it if you feel comfortable ok? Don’t do it because you feel like you have to. I’m sure Lance is willing to wait.”

“Wait, does he know?” Keith asked panicked even more

“No, no, no. Just…tell him when you’re ready ok?”

Keith avoided Lance for just a bit longer before he decided Shiro was right. Lance respected and understood him, there was no way he’d embarrass Keith if it didn’t go well. Didn’t mean he’d tell him just yet though. Lance had been worried though, which made Keith feel bad but a hanging out session with some of Lance’s favourite foods forgave him.

It was hard trying to have to hide how he felt but Keith was fine just hanging out with Lance. He didn’t want to lose him so he just kept his feeling under lockdown and drew them out on the ever filling pages of his sketch book. No one ever looked in it without his permission, so he didn’t feel so scared about filling pages upon pages of Lance’s profile or different expressions. They were mostly of Lance smiling. He had a really amazing smile that lit the whole room up.

‘God, I’m gay.’

Keith looked over at the sound of a phone buzzing to his roommate waking up from his nap and fumbling around for his phone. Noctis could sleep just about anywhere, yet somehow he was still passing all his classes. Honestly he only ever saw Noctis studying if he was being bugged by Ignis, one of his friends and apparently nephew to his dad’s secretary. When Prompto, Lance’s roommate and Noctis’ best friend, was over they played video games, watched movies on laptops or leave the room for hours on end doing whatever.

“Mmm,” Noctis mumbled sleepily, no doubt trying to get his brain to work, “Prom’s coming over.” He announced

“That’s fine.” Honestly Prompto hadn’t been to their room in a while. Something about a photography internship

Somehow Noctis fell asleep in the span of when he spoke to when Prompto came slamming the door open. Actually, he was still asleep.

“Sorry. Noct, Noct, wake up dude!” Noctis groaned and turned away from his best friend. Keith could sympathize. Trying to wake Noctis up was a struggle yet his phone going off got him up in a second. Prompto pulled the pillow from under Noctis’ head and wacked him with it. “Get up!”

“What?” he whined sleepily, finally turning to his best friend

“Look at what Lance did.” At the sound of his crush’s name, he paid more attention and watched Prompto shove his fingers in Noctis’ face. “They’re chocobos! Aren’t they cute?”

“He painted your nails?”

“Yeah, he said he usually does it with his sisters and he’s been feeling a bit homesick so he’s been looking up a lot of different designs and I offered to be a model and he did this.”

“It looks good. Can I go back to sleep?”

“No! Come on, I wanna show Iggy and Gladio and you’ve been in bed all day since classes ended. Come on! Sorry again.” Prompto apologized as he pulled a protesting Noctis out of bed and out the door, leaving Keith in silence.

Nail art? Keith knew Lance liked things most people would consider feminine, but he knew that his relationship with his sisters made him not care what people thought. He knew Lance could do hairstyles and was usually begged by the girls in his dorm to do their makeup but he didn’t know that he was also good at doing nails. He went with his mom once to a nail saloon once for her birthday and he had been impressed with the almost effortless skills the manicurist did his mom’s nails. Imagining Lance in that spot was almost as effortless. The desire to see the concentrated look on Lance’s face while doing it prompted him to pick his phone up.

Prompt came bursting into my room to show off his nails.

Oh yeah, here let me show you the pic I got

A picture came in of the art on Prompto’s nails. It was the top of the feathered head, the cartoon blue eyes just peeking over the cuticle. It was cute, and it was pretty amazing.

I had no clue you were so good at art

Not like you. Nails are more my canvas. Now that I think about it, I’ve done everyone else’s nails except yours. Would you be interested? There’s a design I want to try but I did mine last night and I don’t want to take it off.

Well, Keith had a habit of chewing his nails sometimes so it would stop him. It would also mean having Lance hold his hand for a certain amount of time.

Sure. Should I come over?

Yeah! Door’s open and I have mom’s cookies.

Like he needed anymore incentive. Lance’s mother’s cookies were to die for.

“I heard cookies.” Keith said after Lance called for him to come in.

“Hi, Lance. How are you? Oh fine Keith, do you want a cookie? Oh I couldn’t. I swear, I don’t know who’s worse. You, Pidge or Hunk and Hunk tries getting the recipe out of my mom while he does it.” Lance said, sitting at his desk and opening the window, no doubt to try and get rid of the smell of nail polish and nail polish remover.

“Your mom’s cookies are good. You can’t blame a cooking god like Hunk to want to learn the recipe.”

“What am I then? Just the delivery boy?” Lance asked annoyed, though Keith could see he wasn’t really.

“And my manicurist apparently. I would have come to see you anyway; the cookies just moved me faster.” Keith admitted, slightly embarrassed but not really. He liked spending his time with Lance.

“Aww, Keith. You’re the only one who cares.” Lance joked, holding up a Ziplock bag half-filled with assorted cookies. Keith was able to quickly find the double white chocolate chip and take a large bite out of it. “Consider that half your payment. You can get the rest after I do your nails.” Lance said, moving the bag out of the way and gestured to the other chair on the other side of the desk.

Keith sat down after shoving the rest of the cookie into his mouth and took his seat. He watched Lance as he filled a small bowl with soap and a few drops of essential oil before pouring water from Prompto’s electric kettle, judging from the chocobo stickers on the handle. Lance brought it over with a towel to rest it on and guided Keith’s hands into the water, which was pleasantly warm.

“So I’m basing this design off something my sister told me. I think you might like it.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” Keith pried but Lance shook his head. “Fine, I’ll wait. When did you learn to do this anyway?”

Taking one of Keith’s hands out of the water and wiping it off before picking up a cuticle pusher and gently pushed Keith’s cuticles back, Lance launched into his tale of how when his aunts would come over, all the older girls would join them in the kitchen to gossip and talk, everyone doing their nails. Lance had one older brother close to his age but at that time he was more interested in trying to hang out with the older boys leaving Lance by himself. Like the mommy’s boy he was, he decided to latch onto his mother who sat in the kitchen with all the other woman. His sister Veronica told him if he was joining them, he had to do his nails as well and he agreed. Even as he got older, he’d join his aunts, sisters, cousins and mother in the kitchen learning the trade, mastering everything until he could do it just as good as getting it done at a salon. Keith had been intently listening, letting Lance move his hands however he wanted to, only really looking at his hands when Lance painted a red similar to Keith’s favourite jacket onto his left fingernails. But for the most part he’d been focused on Lance’s own focused face, committing it to memory to draw in his sketchbook later.

“Alright. I still have to do the design, but how does it look so far?”

Keith looked at his right hand, his nails rounded and red. There wasn’t a spot missing or any polish on his skin, Lance quick to remove it when it did happen.

“Better than I can ever do.” Keith said

“The highest of praise, thank you.” Lance turned on a small fan that sat on the desk. “Put that hand in front of the fan.”

“What about the design?”

“It’ll just be on the left hand.” Lance said, focused on the nails in his hand, strangely having Keith’s fingers curled so he couldn’t see them.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Keith didn’t believe him.

“Lance.”

Lance suddenly looked a bit embarrassed. “So my sister told me about this guy who paid for a girl to get her nails done, he just asked the manicurist to do a certain design. Thing is, he was just friends with this girl but he wanted to become more. So the girl got her nails done and was given the design of his name spelt out on her nails.” Lance put the top coat on and finally let go of Keith’s hand. When he looked at his nails, starting from his pinkie finger and going across, it spelt, L-A-N-C-E. “He told her that he wanted people to know that she was his and he was hers.” Lance put his own hand on the table and even though it was upside-down and backwards, Keith could still see his name spelt out on Lance’s hand.

1-How the hell did he miss that?

2-Oh. Oh!

‘So this is what Shiro meant.’

Keith didn’t notice his silence of his revelation was worrying Lance into thinking he made the wrong decision.

“You know what, never mind, I obviously made a mistake so I’ll just take it off and we can just-”

“I draw you a lot.” Keith burst out. “In my sketchbook. It’s half the reason I don’t like letting people look at it. Also, I really like being around you because you understand me and never push me and I really like you but I was scared I’d mess things up so I didn’t say anything.”

“I thought I’d mess things up with this.” Lance said, looking much calmer now. “I’ve been ranting about you for a while and it’s been annoying the others on why I don’t just say something and Prompto suggested that maybe I do it this way since its subtle and if it didn’t go well, I could play it off as a joke. Which it isn’t, because, you know, I do like you.”

“Me too.” this was new and strange and he was sure he’d need an hour or so to digest everything but Lance liked him, like, liked liked him. He felt strangely giddy. “So is this how you’re going to show me off to everyone else?”

Seeming to be back to his normal self now that he had confirmation Keith felt the same, Lance said as he pulled out a canister of quick dry spray, “absolutely. Just you wait; Pidge is going to never want to be around us with all our domestic love and everything. Ooh, you should let me braid your hair! I mean it’s long enough to put it into a ponytail. I think I can even braid your bangs. Plus I can finally take care of that dry skin of your.”

“Hey!”

“No point in denying it babe,” babe. The name already felt so right to Keith. God, he was gay.

#klance #vldshipexchange #prompto and noctis

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legendofzeldaalinktothepast · 4 years

Text

Pathetic, Clinging Poetry - Chapter 11 (of 25)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

She told me I could be perfect, but I just kept missing my chance. I wore my skirt, sat on the pew, kept my eyes and voice low; but in the end, I was still sick.

Pearl's heart was still racing in her chest as she closed the door behind herself, and her hands trembled slightly from what she'd just done. Sliding a note beneath Jasper's door was probably the most cowardly thing she could have done -- but it was also the only thing she could bring herself to do, in all honesty.

"You good?" Amethyst asked, noticing the uneasy expression on Pearl's face.

"Y-yes, just nervous." Pearl said, making her way back over to Amethyst's bed. "I really hope Jasper doesn't take the note the wrong way..."

"If she does, that's her problem." Amethyst said, placing a comforting hand on Pearl's back. "I read it over a million times and can tell you for sure that you're doing the right thing. You're being the bigger person and that's hard as fuck, so I gotta admire that."

"Alright..." Pearl took a deep breath. "You're right. If she doesn't want to mend things after reading this letter, well... At least we can't say I didn't try."

"That's the spirit!" Amethyst grinned and gave Pearl a reassuring pat. "Now come on, let's do something to get our minds off all this bullshit. That sound good?"

"I think that would be nice..."

"Sweet! What are you up to doing? Wanna go hang out with Dot and Garnet?" Amethyst suggested.

Pearl sadly shook her head. "I'm sorry... But I don't know if that's what I need right now."

"You don't need to be sorry." Amethyst said. "How about... another walk through the park?"

"I think I'd rather stay home, if I'm going to be honest -- even though that probably doesn't make sense, since the source of my anxiety is, well, here." Pearl blushed and fidgeted in her seat. "Sorry to be so boring; I guess I just don't really know what I need."

"I swear, you apologize so much I could make it a drinking game." Amethyst teased. "You don't have to be sorry, okay?"

"Hey, I'm only being polite!" Pearl huffed.

"I know, I know, but you don't need to. You're allowed to say no to things and set your own boundaries." Amethyst said.

"It's a tough habit to break, I suppose." Pearl sighed.

"I can't blame ya." Amethyst ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to come up with another idea. "How about... another art collab?"

Pearl's heart leaped at that suggestion. "Excellent idea! But..." Her expression fell. "I already gave my poetry book to Rose, so I unfortunately don't have anything on hand that you could base your painting on, I'm sorry..."

"That's it, I'm getting the vodka." Amethyst rolled off of her bed, leaving Pearl utterly confused until she'd realized what had happened. "I apologized again, didn't I?" she chuckled and cupped a hand over her mouth.

"Damn right you did, so I'm officially making this a drinking game." Amethyst reached under her bed and dragged out a half-full bottle of vodka; Pearl was tempted to question why she had that stored under her bed of all places, but decided against it, realizing this was Amethyst. She popped off the cap and took three sips straight from the bottle. "There. One for each unnecessary apology you've given me so far. So you better stop if you don't wanna give me alcohol poisoning." Amethyst teased.

Pearl couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Alright, alright, fair enough." she said. Her gaze still lingered on the bottle in Amethyst's hands... "Could I try some of that? I've never had the opportunity to try alcohol before..."

"That doesn't surprise me. Here ya go." Amethyst said, handing the bottle over to Pearl.

Pearl wiped the rim of the bottle off with her shirt before taking a sip. She immediately cringed and shook her head. "Blegh! I guess I wasn't really missing out; this is awful!"

"What are you talking about? It barely tastes like anything." Amethyst cackled.

"It smells like a permanent marker and burns like vinegar. Its only redeeming quality seems to be that it gets you drunk." Pearl said.

"That's fair." Amethyst shrugged. "I guess it's not the best drink for beginners, anyway."

"Sorry, but I guess it's not my thing." Pearl said with a wink.

Amethyst raised an eyebrow as she took the bottle from Pearl again. "I know you did that on purpose. Bitch." she said as she took another sip.

"Sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about!" Pearl responded in a fake-innocent tone, holding in her own laughter. "Sorry to disappoint you, Amethyst! You'll have to forgive me!"

"You little shit!" Amethyst burst into laughter and gave Pearl a playful shove, before taking two more sips of vodka.

"That was technically three apologies, you know." Pearl teased.

"Eat shit, I'm only counting the S word." Amethyst snorted. "Anyway, before you decided you wanted to murder me, I came up with an idea for our little art collab that we can actually do without your notebook."

"Oh? Go on." Pearl said, the smile on her face still lingering from screwing around with Amethyst's little drinking game.

"Just ooone sec!" Amethyst said, jumping to her feet and heading over to her closet. As she waited, Pearl eyed the bottle of vodka again. 'Hmm...' She reached for it again, wiping off the rim once more, and took another sip just to make sure it was as bad as she thought it was one minute ago. 'Yep, still gross.' she mentally remarked, placing the lid back on the bottle and setting it aside.

Amethyst returned with a heavy book in her hand, dropping it down on the bed. "Sometimes when I can't think of anything to paint, I just open up a book to a random page and base my painting off of the very first word I see. So I was thinking maybe both of us could do the same word! So we're still technically collaborating."

"Ohh, I see! That's a clever way to get your creative juices flowing." Pearl nodded. "In that case, since we're trying out something new today... May I suggest something as well?"

"Go for it."

"What if we switched things up a little bit? As in you try writing a poem, and I give painting a shot!" Pearl said. "It might be a little bit easier for me -- I hold myself to such a high standard when I write, but since I'm new to painting, I won't be quite as critical of myself."

"Oh yeah, that sounds fun!" Amethyst said. "I mean, my poem will probably turn out like shit, but I think it'll still be fun!"

"I doubt that; you have such a creative mind, I'm sure you could convey it in words just as well as you do in painting!"

"Pfft, well, let's hope so." Amethyst said. "But first things first; let's get our topic!"

Amethyst laid the heavy book down on the bed and flipped it open to a random page; she placed her finger on a random spot and read aloud the first word she saw. "Butterfly!"

"That's perfect!" Pearl clasped her hands together. Butterflies were carefree and colorful just like Amethyst's paintings, and if she was going to attempt a new medium of art, there was no better subject than this.

The two of them both began to set up their materials; Pearl laid out a canvas and a palette of paint on the floor, while Amethyst sat at the desk with her feathered pen and college ruled notebook. As Pearl reached for the paint brush, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway and felt a lump in her throat as she was reminded of the note she'd left for Jasper. Not wanting to think about that whole situation again, she cleared her throat to speak. "It's funny, I was never too afraid of bugs when I was a child... But butterflies were the one bug that did frighten me." Pearl said, dipping her brush into the sky blue puddle of paint and spreading it across her canvas.

"Really?" Amethyst said. "You had no problem taking care of that centipede at Peridot's apartment, but those girly little butterflies freak you out?"

"Well, I'm not afraid of them anymore!" Pearl clarified. "I guess it I wasn't so much that I was afraid of them, though; I was more... uncomfortable with how delicate they were. My sister once told me their wings were so fragile, they'd break if I touched them. She... was probably just teaching me to be careful, now that I look back on it, but the thought of hurting such a beautiful thing made me want to cry, so I ended up feeling nervous whenever they were around."

"Damn. And here I was throwing worms at girls on the playground who bullied me." Amethyst snorted; Pearl could see from the corner of her eye that she was writing something down as she talked. "I feel kinda bad about that, though. Those poor worms didn't deserve to be chucked at those assholes."

Pearl burst into laughter. "The more you tell me about your childhood, the more I feel like we probably wouldn't have gotten along. It's a good thing we met as adults rather than kids, isn't it?"

"Yeah, guess so. I was kinda awful, so I would've hated me too." Amethyst smirked.

"I didn't mean it like that; I just meant that we were very different..." Once she decided to move on to the next color, Pearl dipped her paint brush into the plastic cup of water, watching the little blue clouds of paint as they fogged up the water. "I was such a goody-two shoes, always focused on being ladylike and polite... You seemed to be so rowdy and carefree, like every kid deserved to be."

"Uh..." Amethyst leaned back in her chair, tilting her head back to look at Pearl. "I mean this in the nicest possible way, but uh... isn't that kinda... how you still are?"

Pearl couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of annoyance. "How is that...?"

"Like I said earlier, you apologize a lot. And you're always sitting with your legs crossed, always looking so dainty, always wanting to clean up after me and Jasper... Almost feels like you'd apologize for breathing too much." Amethyst tapped her fingers on the desk, looking as if she somewhat regretted bringing it up. "And like, there's nothing wrong with apologizing a lot or wanting to be polite and stuff. But I dunno... I guess it seems kinda unhealthy sometimes. I don't want you thinking you gotta be a doormat. Is that shitty of me?"

Pearl bit her lip. "I... I guess you may have a point, but..." Pearl trailed off, absentmindedly swirling her brush around in the water.

"Sorry, I guess I kinda said it in a douchey way..." Amethyst mumbled. "I put you in a weird position. We can, uh, drop the subject if you wanna. Kinda lose my filter when I'm tipsy..."

"I think we should..." Pearl had to restrain herself from punctuating that sentence with a "sorry".

A silence fell between the two that wasn't quite awkward, but not quite comfortable either; instead of making more attempts to converse, Pearl decided it was best to just focus on finishing up her painting. The more she tried to perfect it, however, the more of a sloppy mess it became. That alone was driving her insane, but she put all of her willpower into not worrying about it, simply focusing on relaxing and enjoying herself -- but neither of those seemed to be happening. Paint smudged in places she wanted to be more uniform, and the once vibrant colors mixed into a bunch of murky greys and browns; by the time she was finished (or as finished as she could get), tears had begun to spill from her eyes.

"Okay, I think I got a decent poem down!" Amethyst announced after a few moments of silence, causing Pearl to jump in surprise; she dramatically placed her pen down on the table, turning her body towards Pearl. "How bout you, P?"

Pearl didn't respond, simply staring at the hideous painting lying before her and feeling a wave of shame wash over her.

"...P?" Amethyst said, standing up from her desk and bringing her notebook with her.

Pearl burst into tears and buried her face into her hands. Biting her lip, Amethyst cautiously pushed her chair in and approached her. "Aw geez... I'm sorry, Pearlie. Is this because of what I said earlier? It was stupid, I should have-"

"It's not just that." Pearl sniffled, wiping her face on her sleeve. "Just... the combination of everything that happened today. Not know how Jasper will react to my note, hearing you two fight earlier... And to top things off, my painting is hideous! I'm sorry to be so negative, it's just... so much right now..."

"Aw... Pearl..." Amethyst said, sitting down on the floor beside her and wrapping one arm around her waist. "It's gonna be alright. Everything is gonna be alright soon! But you know... rules are rules..." she continued, her hand slowly reaching over for the bottle of vodka. Confused by Amethyst's words, Pearl looked up from her hands and saw what Amethyst was doing. She tried to hold back her laughter, but that only lasted a for second. "Amethyst!"

"Hey, you're the one that said the 'S' word!" Amethyst teased, winking at Pearl as she unscrewed the cap and took a sip straight from the bottle. "Anyway, show me that painting already! I'm sure it's cool as all fuckery!"

"Ah, alright..." Pearl took a deep breath, still working on calming herself down. She hesitantly handed the canvas over to Amethyst.

"Aww, Pearlie! Are you serious? This is cool as fuck!" Amethyst said, her eyes widening.

"Come on, you don't have to pity me..." Pearl smiled awkwardly.

"I'm not, dude! It's actually awesome!" Amethyst said. "Like, the smudgies kinda make it look like the butterfly was splashing around in the mud. It's a rowdy girl, like me!"

Pearl couldn't help but smile. "Aw... I guess that's one way to look at it, isn't it?"

"And I like that her wings are a little wonky. You know nobody's really symmetrical, right? I got one hand that's bigger than the other!" Amethyst held both of her hands out to Pearl. "See? Lefty's bigger!"

Pearl let out a slight giggle. "I guess that's true, huh? And if this butterfly has a lot in common with you, it certainly must be beautiful like you..."

"Hell yeah it is!" Amethyst said, taking another sip of the vodka. "So don't be so hard on yourself. It's your first time painting, so you're obviously not gonna be Picasso, but that doesn't mean it's not good!"

"I guess so..." Pearl said, sniffling and wiping her face again. "Thank you for being so kind. And hey, why are you drinking again? I didn't even say sorry!"

"You did just now." Amethyst winked. "I predicted the future!"

Pearl burst into laughter. "You really are something, aren't you?"

"You want another try?" Amethyst asked, holding the bottle in Pearl's direction. "No pressure, though; I just don't wanna be greedy."

"Ah... sure!" Pearl said, hesitantly reaching for the bottle again. If Amethyst was going to be drunk, she might as well join her; while she wasn't what anyone would consider an experienced drinker, she did know being drunk wasn't very fun to do alone. She took a hesitant sip, this time not caring enough to wipe off the bottle. "I'm going to be honest, I might have to try a few different kinds before I get into this whole drinking thing..."

"That's fine; you don't even have to get 'into' drinking at all if you don't wanna." Amethyst leaned back against the bed. "Anyway, wanna see my poem?"

"Of course!" Pearl said, feeling somewhat silly; she'd almost forgotten about Amethyst's poem altogether. 'Wonder if the alcohol is already kicking in.' she mentally noted, not entirely sure how much she'd have to drink before actually feeling anything, or how quick it would be.

"Here ya go!" Amethyst handed the notebook over to Pearl; her handwriting was small and a bit sloppy, Pearl noticed, but not so much that it was illegible. She'd even drawn an outline around the poem and surrounded it with little doodles of butterflies.

i can feel their wings pounding on my ribs banging to get out, searching for light. when i was little, people would tell me i had butterflies in my belly. but these little things have furry antennae and mostly come out at night. if butterflies mean i'm nervous, what does it mean when there's moths instead?

By the time she'd finished reading the poem, Pearl was smiling from ear to ear. "Oh my goodness, Amethyst, that is adorable!" Pearl exclaimed, hugging the notebook against her chest. "You have such a creative mind -- you really should do this more often!"

"Aw, thanks." Amethyst said with a slight blush on her face. "You sure you're not just saying that to flatter me?"

"Certainly not! You really do have so much potential -- sure, you're undeniably a beginner, and it could use a little tweaking here and there, but that could be said about any poem on the face of the earth!" Pearl said; her dampened mood from earlier seemed to have vanished into thin air. "Trust me when I say that I love it. I like that you chose to go with a metaphorical meaning of butterflies; I almost feel silly for taking such a literal route, now."

Amethyst gave Pearl a playful nudge. "Nothing wrong with being literal. Sometimes the metaphors get old, and you want a piece of art that just tells you like it is." Amethyst gestured to the painting. "And that, right there, is a sweet butterfly that's going right on my wall as soon as it dries."

"Ame..." Pearl teared up again, pulling Amethyst into a tight embrace. "Thank you so much..."

Amethyst returned the hug, caught slightly off guard by the sudden affection but certainly not bothered by it. "Hey, just telling the truth..." she said, gently rocking her back and forth. "And hey... I'm sorry about the thing I said earlier."

"You don't have to be." Pearl reassured.

"Yeah, but still..."

The conversation trailed off, but their hug didn't. For the time being, Pearl was perfectly content staying right where she was in Amethyst's arms. Part of her felt like she should let go soon to keep from being awkward, but... she simply couldn't bring herself to.

"You're wonderful..." she whispered. Her long fingers grazed against Amethyst's spine, and she heard her draw in a soft breath at the touch. Pearl's heart pounded in her chest as she slowly pulled away from the hug, her gaze melting right into Amethyst's dark irises. Her eyes slowly moved downward to her plump lips; she noticed the faintest hint of sparkle left from lipgloss that she'd probably put on earlier that day. A sudden rush of bravery sprung up in Pearl and she pressed her lips against Amethyst's.

The kiss lasted for no more than a second, and felt so... foreign. Definitely not what Pearl had expected; it had been so long since she'd last kissed someone, she'd almost forgotten what it felt like. As she pulled away, she saw the dazzled look in Amethyst's eyes. "When did you get so brave?" she slurred, tracing a finger along Pearl's jawline.

"H-hah, I guess... Must have been the alcohol..." Pearl blushed, her gaze going right back down to her hands.

"Pfft. You had like, two super tiny sips of it, girlie. That’s not even enough to get a hamster buzzed." Amethyst teased. "Probably just gazebo."

"You mean placebo."

"Yeah, gazebo."

Pearl rolled her eyes, still unable to wipe the amused grin off of her face. "Alright, you’re the expert.” she teased. Her expression softened a bit before she continued. “But, um... was that okay? I-I should have asked first, I shouldn’t have assumed you’d..." Pearl trailed off, her cheeks burning with shame and refusing to look into Amethyst's eyes.

"Lemme see if this answers your question." Amethyst said. She leaned forward and tilted Pearl's head back up so they were facing each other, kissing her once more. Relief and excitement washed over Pearl as she melted into the kiss and wrapped her arms around Amethyst, tugging her even closer.

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stillellensibley · 5 years

Text

The Noise In-Between: An Interview With Ivan Seal

Declan Tan talks memory, meaning, and material with Berlin-based artist and Caretaker collaborator, Ivan Seal

Ivan Seal, adultery bi prenontspliver, 2015

Memory. It’s a funny old thing. And for Berlin-based artist Ivan Seal, memory isn’t only funny – you can throw in beguiling, banal, totally enthralling and infinitely alluring while you’re at it. That’s because it’s this central subject of memory that underlines Seal’s ‘endless alphabet’, a series of paintings – imagined scenes and remembered objects made using no reference materials except for his own grey matter, and the canvases themselves – in a project spanning over six years, with no signs of fading like the neurons that imagined them.

With this style and method, Seal has struck deep into a vein of psychological, nigh on neuro-exploratory art, an intersection where figurative and abstract combine and bloom out like a billowing mushroom cloud of possibility and meaning. But to attempt to explain or classify his work would kind of miss the point.

I first came to Seal through his collaboration with fellow Stockport export, the experimental electronic producer and underground darts maestro Leyland James Kirby (a.k.a. V/Vm), creating the artwork for the latter’s Caretaker project – itself a study of memory and the effects of dementia.

The mysterious hunk of clay, with its single baffling matchstick, sat on the sleeve of An Empty Bliss Beyond This World compelled me to seek him out. And discovering that he’s down the road from me on this now foreign continent (a long-ish road, given), we ducked into a café to discuss where this all grew from.

Over a cortado he settles into the weighty Chesterfield, a kind of fizzing energy coming off him – not just from the coffee. We’re only 1pm and he says he’s already completed a painting today, and worked on several others.

The conversation soon branches out, like one of his paintings, taking in everything from D&D to teaching at the Royal College of Art – in fact, I feel like I get so much material that I completely forget my laptop on the café table, only realising what I’ve done three U-Bahn stops away in a total panic. By the time I’ve switched platforms and sprinted back, cursing (almost crying, if I’m honest) into my elbow bends that it’s happened again, £1,000 dropped, I find the table occupied only by a young German family sharing creamy cakes. The staff haven’t seen it either. It’s gone. Very quickly one of my dream interviews becomes a nightmare.

I think back through the interview. I remember pointing out early that, in terms of subject matter, we’ve had some overlapping interests. I mention that I caught one of his online video interviews, in which he begins proceedings by discussing LSD and ecstasy, apropos of very little. It seems a good a place as any to kick us off. It occurs to me that the mystifying aspect of Seal’s work might stem from that percolation of substances into his often-surreal painted dramas. I dig right in with a favourite Kubrick quote to see where he stands: “Drugs are basically of more use to the audience than to the artist.”

“When you get into your own thing,” he says “then you realise that that can give you a deeper, longer and more frustrating hit. Imagine taking something which has a highly addictive property in it – which for me is making art. It’s something which is not maybe the wisest of life choices – but you keep coming back to it. I didn’t paint for years and then I started painting again when I was 31 or something, and in that found the addiction again. I had that before but gave up painting – for the wrong reasons, I think.”

It was his Sheffield art college tutor Steve Dutton who suggested artists can tackle the problems within painting with any medium. “It doesn’t actually have to be paint. And I still believe in that.” Venturing into installation and then sound, it took Seal ten years to return to the canvas. “I see it as a journey to get back to a moment where you ask yourself, what do you actually want to do? But I think that moment needs working towards and it took a long time, to ask what action has the promise of satisfaction somewhere in it? And I thought the last time that happened was when I used to paint. So I started painting again.”

But he found that painting re-uptake somewhat inhibited. For about four years, he found himself painting over paintings, again and again. “I had about ten paintings, and they’d all be ten not-so-great paintings. But it was more about opening that doorway and slowly getting in – because I didn’t know what to paint.

“Over-painting and over-painting and over-painting – it all felt very academic in a way. Then I was advised to just get a lot of canvases or paper, and just do a lot, rather than try to make some bloody masterpiece. That’s advice you give students when you notice they’re constantly polishing a turd, and it happened to me.” Arriving at this moment himself, Seal had an epiphany. “That’s when I first kind of came to this idea of the disaster, the catastrophe which is inherent in a blank canvas, blank page, or a blank file in front of you. You’re only going to ruin it, but for some reason you have this urge to ruin and you start with that.”

Ivan Seal, allchav tart, 2016

For Seal, the whole activity of painting is entangled with a notion of failure – “a notion of struggle. And struggling with your own failings until something works. I don’t paint from photographs or objects. I constantly return to that moment of blank canvas and ruining it, and coping with it.”

For the first piece of this series, he wanted to paint something: not somewhere, not someone, “because I wanted the somewhere and the someone to be in something. Then I thought, then I’ll paint something that’s kind of nothing, in a way.”

He had been reading a story called The Golem. “It’s this idea that comes from Jewish fables. You have this lump and you form it into a little person and it does things for you. But if it doesn’t have this sticker on its forehead – which I think translated is ‘truth’ – then it just does its own will. And for me, this notion you have something, you create something, but it’ll in turn to attack you and destroy you, seemed very apt to painting.”

It must have been hard to predict how that base material, painted on canvas, would transform into an unending project. “Clay is where a lot of art comes from, a very basic form. I knew I wanted to paint a lump of black clay, but I didn’t want it to be somewhere that was ‘located’. In art, you put things on plinths, like a stage – so I put literally a lump of clay on a plinth in paint. Then I painted a match in it. Suddenly I had drama. And I’ve been working on that series since. In some senses, the action is utterly banal, and the intent is absolutely banal, but there’s the same point which holds, I feel, countless opportunities for somebody to look at it, and for somebody to interpret.”

Now Seal produces this work at an astonishing rate. “Some of them are very small,” he says, now upstairs in the studio, “then other ones I could be working on for like a year. Constantly going back to them.”

This approach means he has twenty or more canvases on the go at any one time, spread across two rooms in what used to be his apartment. They’re stacked up by the dozen in a storage room. The only noticeable piece not by his own hand is a painting of a bridge and town by his grandfather, a source of inspiration for many of his colours, Seal says.

“Rather than having one singular moment, painting like this works more like a brain,” he says as we stroll across the bare floorboards. “It works more like how you think. The studio somehow becomes an active way of thinking, a big head which I’m stepping into every day and basically poking around, like your own head works when you’re thinking about stuff.” He pauses.

“You can’t trust any memories at all, can you? Because it’s all glitched. It’s all nonsense in a way.”

Ivan Seal, the pot complains, 2016

Painting in this way is a meandering thought process, “but whilst moving your hand – and it’s somehow about making this distance between your hand and the head as short as possible.

“That’s what I’ve always loved about improvised music, the immediacy. It’s not people dicking about, it’s just thinking on a really hyper-fast level. Each move is very quick, it’s not like I’m executing tiny bits, and it’s very laboured.” He crouches down and picks roughly at the paint as if to illustrate his point.

“But I’m shifting paint around as well, taking paint off, putting it on, taking it off again. Then you often look at the paintings – and you don’t get this if you look at them online – if you see them physically, the paintings have a lot of scars on them, all over. You can see bits where something else was there, and I’ve just worked through. Instead of trying to illustrate something, I wanted the actual action of painting to be ‘it’.”

“It’s like you concentrate on one thing and you’ve got all this other information coming in,” he continues, “and that stains it. That alters the taste of it, recreates it – like that notion of glitch. They create errors in it. These painted objects are like a sum of these errors and glitches and that’s why there’s a hell of a lot of thick overpainting of things. A lot of the time I’ll start with something and then start layering paint on to cover up my tracks, or to cover up something too personal. Because that’s what we do.”

Ivan Seal, auxch noise reduced, 2016

For the last half a decade or more, he’s been evolving this idea that the action of painting becomes very close to the errors of how we think, or how you remember something – a kind of psychology of painting. “I always have to be careful,” he says. “When you talk about memory, people always think of the romantic idea. But memory is also the memory of meeting you now, or the memory of the Apotheke front window I saw this morning, with these horrible straw faces in. But each time the memory is glitched.”

“If you put the original event next to the memory, they’d be totally different. And I love this noise in-between, what you’ve gone through, your life. And trying to put it down somehow, or trick time somehow by activating it, and I find this noise, this glitch, has countless potentials and paintings in it.”

“Art is always working from memory,” he says. “It’s all questions of – even if you’re painting from something directly in front of you – it’s about that distance to inside you and then out. Like a loop. It’s about what you can do with that and how you pervert it.”

The son of a butcher and a ballroom dancer, Seal finds there are subjects and figures he naturally returns to, as a way of understanding them. His dramas are now more likely to be populated with gesturing porcelain figurines and mysterious, metamorphosing clays transforming like waking dreams from one form into another, as if consuming themselves.

“I don’t want to paint them but I do,” he says of the porcelain pieces – like dusty abandoned objects on some wooden-veneered, fat-back cathode ray TV from the 80s. “And they’re personal things. I can understand them, but they’re more like starting points. The dancers in my paintings are often like that, something I’m familiar with and just somehow know or have a warming to – and that’s the vehicle to get to other things.”

Ivan Seal, syntaksipolontian klapis, 2015

At several points in the conversation, like this, Seal drops a register and explains candidly his suspicion of painting, and of painters. It’s clear he takes his work seriously, but not this romantic ideal of ‘the artist’.

“Images are constantly telling us how to think. If you create, you’re involved in something which rather than saying ‘think this’, you can say ‘think with’. Then the process of looking at the work, I hope, is close to the process of making it. Because it’s just something to use and then to make your own sense of, in the context of your own life and your own memories, and everything which went from being born to being stood right in front of it. All that comes into it, so why not use it.

“As soon as you look at a painting, you’re decoding. But the actual decoding becomes something which becomes immersive. But I don’t want it to be ambient. I have a problem with that ‘drugginess’ of ambience and this ‘letting go’. I want the paintings still to be active. Like this thing that this collaborative outfit Farmers Manual said once: you’re building something to a certain point until you cease to be the makers and you become the audience. That’s how I see the painting, as soon as I get to that point when I’m pushed out as the artist, the maker, that romantic idea, and suddenly I’m just back into being, looking, thinking: ‘Who the hell are you?’ That’s when I know it’s hit on something that it shouldn’t have, and it’s good to go out the door.”

I ask him about his rough handling of the canvas as he crouches down and peels something off a corner. “I don’t think you can ruin a painting,” he laughs, looking up. “There’s always opportunity for them. Even if you’ve terrorised it, or you think you’ve destroyed it, it’s just another opportunity. It’s just another thing to improvise with.”

You’ve never destroyed a canvas? “No, I don’t destroy canvases. I often get to a point where it’s terrible, and then something very quick can happen and you finish it within a couple of hours.” He stands: “Someone asked Philip Gusten, how do you know when a painting’s finished? He said, ‘It stops staring at me.’ And there’s something in that. Work is something you just know.

“Often one talks about truth of material in arts. They say if you make a sculpture out of clay then you have a truth to material, it has all these thumb prints and how the material actually works. But with painting, the truth of the material is its lies. It’s a lying thing. It says ‘I’m this’, but it isn’t.”

He segues quickly into ‘making art’ versus ‘showing art’. “Those are two very different things,” according to Seal. “You can have your reasons to make art, but you’ve got to have your reasons to show art. For me, that was about creating an opportunity where people can all leap, with just this thing on the wall. I like its economy of means. I like that it’s minimal in a way.”

Economy of means. The words ring in my ears. Back to that laptop, now three stops from the café and counting. I think to call up Ivan and ask if he saw the Macbook. I think no, actually, that’s not a good way to end an interview. Now I see my wife’s face in my mind’s eye. She will fully murder me, I’m convinced (I left another one on a bus in Leipzig only six months ago).

It takes a further thirty minutes of cursing into my elbows and at my shoes stood on the now-rush hour U-Bahn to get back to the flat, as the hope of the silver flaps still charging somewhere at home quickens my crepe soles across the dusk snow-slush. I try to grasp firmly onto the memory of it in the café but each time the laptop slips away, the train carriage glitches. Was it ever there? How did I just walk off, leaving it behind? How did I get so swept up in the discussion. Easily, I think. It’s a price to pay for the interview. It’s fine.

I charge into the living room, and there it is. Full battery.

Memory. It’s a fucked, banal, funny old thing.

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