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keelywolfe · 3 years

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 16 (Mafia AU)

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warning: Lemon goodness!

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Read Chapter 16 on AO3

Read it here!

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As heated as Edge’s kisses were, the warmth dissipated quickly when Edge led him out of the green room. Standing outside the door was one of the Dog guards, his expression the same blandly impassive as they usually were and that was enough to set Rus firmly back into reality.

Rus stole a single glance at that furry, emotionless face before he looked away, a stupid blush rising in his cheekbones. He couldn’t help wondering if this Dog were part of the security team that had seen him dancing on the cameras, but there was no way in hell he was going to ask. Better to banish that idea from the ol’ memory place and move right on.

Maybe Edge felt sort of the same or maybe he was still feeling a little handsy after everything. Instead of leading the way, he slid an arm around Rus and guided him to walk beside him, settling a large, warm hand at the base of his spine like a sort of backwards leash. Edge was wearing gloves, but they weren’t much of a barrier and the light touch against his exposed vertebrae made Rus shiver.

This was…this was fine, and he trotted along beside him as quick as he could without outright running, partly to keep up with Edge’s long strides and partly because the floor was damn cold on his bare feet.

If there was one thing he’d learned from all this it was that sexy didn’t have much in common with comfort, and that was the truth.

The path they took was different from the one this morning and led to an elevator instead of stairs. Crowded into the lift, Rus didn’t think he’d ever felt more awkward in his life as he stood there between Edge and the Dog, tarted up in the clothes Mona chose for him like the shiny jam-filling between two claustrophobically oversized slices of bread. He practically darted out when the doors opened, waited only long enough for Edge to gather him up again, herding his lost sheep through the hallways.

Edge didn’t seem to feel the need for all the tricksy backwalking that the Dogs usually did and led a straightforward path around the corner to a door in the middle of the hall.

Rus blinked, confused. “this isn’t my room.”

He was pretty sure about that, anyway. All the doors were exactly the same and Red’s tricksy tricks made it hard to keep tabs on anything, but as confusing as the corridors were, Rus knew for sure that there was a wall sconce across from his room, not a painting. Probably both were rigged with spy cameras or microphones, angel knew what.

“It isn’t,” Edge agreed. A press of his hand against a panel opened up a familiar keypad and Edge tapped in a code, the numbers obscured from Rus’s view. “It’s mine. Your brother can wait a little longer to see you.” He slanted Rus a knowing look. “I’m gathering he didn’t take your chat about us very well.”

“not really.” Rus blinked hard against the sudden stinging in his sockets, trying not to think about the accusations Blue flung at him.

He followed Edge into the room, the same room as earlier, had it only been a few hours since he’d been sitting on that wide sofa, healing Edge from the burns whose marks were still faintly visible on his bones? This entire week was rushing by at lightspeed, so many things coming at him at once.

Earlier, he hadn’t gotten a very good impression of the room past ‘posh’, more than a little distracted by Edge being, you know, burnt up. Now as he was looking at it, the expensive vibe was still winning the race but there was a close second coming up from behind of…unimpressive.

Yeah, the sofas were huge and plushy, the bed frame and side tables ornate wood carved in curlicue designs. Oriental rugs lined the floor, decadent cushions and pillows carefully placed. What it really screamed was a lack of any personality whatsoever. Like it hadn’t been five minutes since a designer came in and did their thing, leaving it coldly uncluttered and stark.

There was no personality, no shoes half-kicked under the sofa, no books piling up on the nightstand with a glass of water for the midnight thirsties. The sofa was nice, but there wasn’t a single anomaly in the cushions, a slight indent that revealed which one was the favorite. Back home, their walls were covered with pictures, Blue loved photographs, and there were so many of them; from when they first came to the surface and those first six months that all Monsters spent in quarantine, pictures of them working in the garden, from the grand opening of the shop.

There was plenty of art here, all of it probably expensive, not that Rus knew the difference between museum quality and dentist waiting room, but not a single photograph, not even a family shot on the nightstand. Which, okay, a candid shot of Red staring at him all night wouldn’t give him sweet dreams, but that was Edge’s brother, not some psycho stranger who’d abducted him right off the street.

Even their current borrowed room had a touch of clutter after only two days. This one was so impersonal, utilitarian despite the implied comfort. There was nothing of Edge here, nothing whatsoever, as blank as an expensive hotel room. This was nothing more than the place Edge slept and dressed, it wasn’t a home, and that seemed so wrong.

His impromptu assessment short-circuited when Rus realized that Edge hadn’t paused to sit at the sofas. He walked past those cushy seats to the bed, toeing off his shoes and lining them up precisely next to it, then impatiently shoving the curtains back as he settled to lay on top of the plush comforter with a loud groan, clothes and all.

Rus hung back, unsure. If Edge was planning on going to sleep, did he expect Rus to lounge around his room and…what? There wasn’t a television that Rus could see, not so much as a paperback lying around, and Rus didn’t even have his phone to play a couple rounds of Candy Crush.

Before Rus could plop down on either of the sofas to spend some quality time twiddling his thumbs, one of Edge’s sockets cracked open to show a gleam of crimson, his unscarred brow bone rising pointedly as he held open an arm in invitation. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a question and not precisely a demand. More like an expectation and when Rus didn’t move, only shuffled his bare feet against the carpet undecidedly, that brow bone rose higher still. “I only want to hold you,” Edge said, “it’s been a very long day. Can’t you give me that much, flower shop?” One corner of his mouth lifted in that half-smile of his, settling at a near smirk, “Considering that I was getting ready for bed when I heard about your latest disappearance, I think you owe me that much.”

The last thing Rus wanted to get into was a conversation about debts, seriously. He had no idea which side was in the red anymore, but he knew which side Red was on and Rus wasn’t liking his odds. He still waffled, lingering back. “like i haven’t been losing sleep over you, asshole?” Rus muttered.

That half-smirk only widened, unoffended. “Well? Make a choice.”

Somehow, Rus didn’t think he only meant this bizarre version of snuggle time. He shuffled closer, slowly climbing onto the wide bed, crossing the plains of it like a damn wagon train heading to California. But his reluctance vanished by the time he settled cautiously against Edge’s side. He was big and warm, the spice of his cologne sharp in Rus’s nasal passage, and one arm looped around his back, a large hand settling to rest almost chastely on the upper curve of Rus’s hip.

Both of them were still fully clothed even if Rus was a little more exposed in his dance outfit, intimate without being intimidating. As much as he hated to admit it, it felt…nice. Safe.

Rus gave in and snuggled closer, settling his skull cautiously on Edge’s chest. Felt the rise and fall as he took a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh. Edge’s arm tightening around him, his hand rubbing a gentle, soothing circle against Rus’s hip. There was a soft touch against the top of his skull, a kiss, coupled with a gust of warm breath.

As tired as he was, Rus found that he wasn’t anywhere close to drowsing off. His thoughts were still agitated, questions bouncing around on the inside of his skull. Without letting himself think too hard about it, Rus blurted the safest one. “how did you get involved in all this? the club, i mean. you know what i mean.”

Edge’s gloved fingers dragged an absent path up Rus’s spine, leaving a tingling trail behind them. “Hm? That’s a long story.”

Of course it was. “give me the reader’s digest version.”

He felt Edge smile against his temple. “All right.” For a long moment, he said nothing, only gently pet the many bones that Rus’s clothes left exposed, but if he was hoping to lull Rus to sleep without answering, that was off the table. Rus shifted restlessly and he finally spoke, slowly, as if selecting each word with care.

“There were four of us when we first came to the surface,” Edge said. With his head resting on Edge’s rib cage, Rus could hear the vibration of his deep voice from within his chest, the words coming in strange stereo. “My brother and myself, Blaze, and Gaster. I’ve known Blaze since I was a child and Gaster was…I suppose our godfather, that’s as good a word as any. He raised us and he was the one who set up this little empire, he started nearly the moment we stepped out into the sunshine. He gave the orders and we followed them, without question.”

Referring to someone as ‘was’, yeah, that was kind of a big hint, but Rus asked anyway, haltingly, “so...um. what happened to him?”

“He disappeared one night.”

“he left?”

“I don’t know,” Edge said, and something in his tone warned about asking any more questions about that, “He was simply gone. Red took over after that and we finished building up this place as a home base.”

Their godfather up and vanished one night and no one looked any deeper into that.

Yeah…

Rus was no Sherlock Holmes or even a Watson, but that seemed, oh, what was the word, really fucking suspicious?

Then again, like he had room to talk, their pop had done something pretty similar before they ever came to the surface. Went off to get drunk, same as always, and never came back. In his case, the whole town went looking and never found so much as a speck of dust; for all Rus knew, his pop was out there somewhere alive, maybe starring in an Underground music review with this Gaster guy.

He wondered if Edge had been scared when Gaster disappeared, like Rus had. Or if he’d been guiltily relieved that it was over, and he wouldn’t have to deal with all that shit again…like Rus had. But in their case, with one man down, that left three.

“and blaze?” Rus asked, cautiously.

“That’s an entirely different discussion.”

Hmph. “that wasn’t the reader’s digest version, that was barely a tik tok video,” Rus complained. “when do i get the long version?”

“You don’t,” Edge said, and the coolness of his voice belied the heat of his fingertips fondling their way back down Rus’s spine. They teased at the waistband of his pants, barely skirting beneath the fabric. “I told you once, I am a very bad person. I wouldn’t taint you by telling you all that I’ve done. All I can say is that for every deal with the devil we make, some good comes of it, and if the price of helping our people is my soul, I’ll gladly pay it.”

Difficult as it was, Rus shook off Edge’s hand, sitting up enough to scowl back down at him. “nice speech, but if you don’t want me knowing anything about you, where does that leave me?” Ignoring his inner voice shrieking that it was better to stay in the dark, safer, ignorance was the only path back home.

“Right here.” Edge rose up on one elbow, his other hand gentle on Rus’s chin as he leaned up for a kiss and, damn it, someday Rus wasn’t going to fall for this. Someday he wasn’t going to melt like a pat of butter on fresh toast at the heat of Edge’s mouth, the curl of a tongue against his own, gently coaxing. For a moment or so there was only that, a cautious meeting of mouths that slowly turned more insistent, parting for gasps of breath before hungrily meeting again.

The world seemed to spin suddenly, revolving, and then the mattress was soft beneath him. Rus dazedly realized Edge was above him now, knees nudging his legs apart as his heavy weight settled between his femurs.

Wait, Rus tried to say, the word catching in his throat as Edge abandoned his mouth to bite a delicate line along his jaw

“oh,” he whimpered aloud. He fumbled for words that skittered out of his reach, unsure if he even wanted to speak them. He couldn’t focus, his attention torn in a dozen directions; the pressure of Edge’s weight pushing him harder into the mattress, the tease of his mouth sucking at his mandible joint, and his hands never stopping, roaming over him from his skull to his hip, touching, coaxing, soaking him in pleasure so quickly. Too quickly, days’ worth of pent up desire shaking loose of their bonds to follow that touch.

Edge shifted against him and knee slid higher to press firmly at the join of Rus’s legs, rubbing at his pubic arch through the too-tight trousers. He cried out, a half-voiced whimper of protest twisted up with an almost alarming need. “wait…i…i don’t…”

“Shhhhhh,” Edge breathed. His mouth was searing hot against the side of Rus’s skull, crooning into his auditory canal. “Let me, pretty. My pretty little flower shop.” His hand slipped down into the cradle of Rus’s pelvis, not into the agitated swirl of magic gathering there, but tracing his ilium in an agonizing tease. He could hear the smile in Edge’s voice as he murmured, “You’re trembling.”

If he’d had a single wit still in his possession, Rus would have snapped out, ‘no shit!’. He could hear that he was trembling, the muted rattle of his bones as shivers wracked him. But mere thinking was far past his skills right now as that teasing touch suddenly became so much more pertinent, fingers gliding down to rub circles against his sacrum, a matching rhythm to the rocking pressure of his knee.

Rus nearly sobbed as he tried to arch up, struggling against Edge’s weight holding him down. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, his breath panting harsh and the pulse of his soul so loud inside his skull he barely heard Edge whisper, crooning to him, a request and a demand as one, “Come for me.”

His knee pushed hard against his crotch at the same moment his fingers dipped down, fitting against the groove of his pubic symphysis, the rising wave of his pleasuring cresting with a garbled cry, “oh, oh, OH!”

His whole body quivered, carried along by sudden ecstasy and Rus could only whimper and let it take him. Shivering and choking out little cries even as he sagged weakly into the mattress, wrung out and undone.

Damp breath gusted against his temple in a fervent groan, “There. So beautiful, my beautiful flower.”

Rus only lay there gasping, limbs gone weak and limp. He squinched his sockets tightly closed and waited for Edge to strip away his pants, waited for a hand to take his own and guide it down to the hard shaft he’d felt pressed against him. Long moments passed and eventually, anticipation melted into confusion. Rus opened his sockets to see Edge still hunched over him, taking long, slow breaths to settle his aroused magic.

With a grimace, Edge rolled off him and the loss of his weight left Rus strangely bereft. He reached out unthinkingly.

“Don’t,” Edge gritted out. He caught hold of Rus’s hand before he could snatch it away, softened his words with a light kiss against his palm. “Not right now, not tonight.”

“oh, but,” Rus could only blink in dumb confusion, “why?”

“Because when I make love to you, you’ll spent the entire night in my bed.” Edge’s voice went lower, deep and dark, and a renewed flush of heat lit inside Rus, a kindling spark. “I want to be sure I can see your face when I make you come.”

A blush flamed across his face, burning hot, and Rus was almost ready to beg for that, even with little twinges of pleasure still lingering, but Edge’s smirk soured. “I don’t believe your brother would accept that tonight, I’ve been advised he’s anxious for your return.”

Been advised? How and by who? Reluctantly, Rus sat up, wondering if his trembling knees were even going to hold him. At least he could be grateful that his pants were black, it would hide the dampness he could feel between his legs. He really hoped they’d give the clothes a wash before taking them back to Mona.

Edge slid off the bed, frowning down at his wrinkled suit. He shed his jacket, tossing it on the bed and hey, his first piece of clutter, Rus could be a good influence yet. With a practiced yank, Edge untucked his shirt, pulling off the tie and loosening the top few buttons. It lent a casual appeal even as it exposed the lines of his collarbone, the slender bones oddly delicate on his large frame.

Great, he looked cool and casual, and Rus looked exactly like he’d just been rolling around in someone’s bed. That was a little more honest than Rus felt like being with his brother right now and maybe Edge agreed, because he disappeared behind a nearby door and when he came back out, he was carrying a shirt, a close match to the one he was already wearing.

He helped Rus slip it on and Rus couldn’t help a laugh at the way the sleeves fell far past his fingers. Between the two of them, they rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, Edge’s side neat and precise, and Rus’s a lopsided attempt. He stood like a child while Edge buttoned it and now shyness was creeping in, leaving him a little uncomfortable. He was grateful to be covered, his spine and ilia hidden behind the oversized shirt.

Rus bit back a yelp as Edge suddenly dropped down to crouch at his feet. He took hold of Rus’s bare foot with both hands, urging it to rest on his knee as Edge plucked loose the glittery ribbon still wound through his tibia and fibula.

Yeah, that was probably a good idea. The once-crisp bow was drooping sadly by now and it would surely bring up questions that Rus didn’t really want to answer. He honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to Blue at all and the urge to ask Edge to let him stay the night after all was strong. But this was his problem to deal with, not Edge’s and it wasn’t fair to ask him to step into the middle of it. Edge was already cobwebbed into the center of enough webs.

The rough feel of the ribbon gliding against his bones as it was pulled loose distracted him, making him shiver, his toes curling. He braced his hands against Edge’s shoulders, leaning against his solid support and it was a good thing he did because as soon as the ribbon fell away, Edge ducked his head to press a kiss against the newly sensitive bones.

“There.” Edge let go of his ankle and Rus set his foot back to the floor, trying to ignore the renewed wobbliness of his knees. “Let’s get you back to your brother.”

His sudden trepidation was harder to ignore but Rus managed, nodding and he said as firmly as he could. “Let’s go.”

The walk was a short one without the pretense, his room was only two turns down the corridors away. Rus hesitated in front of the closed door and turned back to Edge, looking up into his bright, crimson eye lights.

So much had happened that a simple good night seemed kinda pathetic. They were way past the conventions of a first date, hell, they’d skipped that part of the manual entirely. But there was a Dog standing on one side of their door as a guard and his brother was just inside, and Rus’s mind was a blank page.

Edge saved him with a brief, soft kiss, huh, saving seemed to be his personal kink and holy shit Rus did not just think that. He banished the thought, rising up on his toes to return that light kiss and sighing unhappily as Edge broke it and stepped back.

“It’ll be all right, flower shop,” Edge told him softly. Rus nodded stiffly and turned away. He took a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the door.

“blue?” Rus barely had time to close the door before a blur flew across the room and attached itself to his legs. He flailed back a step, only saved from falling to the floor by the door behind him.

“I’m sorry!” Blue blurted, “I’m so sorry, brother, I didn’t mean it.”

Rus blinked hard against the sudden well of hot tears, dropping down to his knees to pull his brother into a fierce hug. “it’s okay, bro.”

“It’s not,” Nearly a sob and already the front of Rus’s shirt was growing damp. “It’s not at all!”

That was probably truer than Rus wanted to admit. A hasty apology wasn’t going to heal his aching hurt at the memory of his brother’s accusations. But it was a start and he couldn’t bear to listen to his brother crying, not now.

“look, let’s just get some sleep, tomorrow we can have a long talk and i’ll tell you everything.” Rus hesitated, took a deep breath, and forced out, “I promise.”

He meant it. He was going to tell the entire story from the beginning and if it made his brother hate him, then so be it. Whatever else happened, the lies and hidden truths between them were going to end.

Blue nodded, his chin digging into Rus’s sternum, “All right. But it doesn’t matter, Papy, none of it matters except that you’re back.”

They sat there together, caught in a tight embrace, until the cold of the floor started to seep its way in. “bro, i love you,” Rus said ruefully, “but my ass could use a new seating arrangement.

“Language,” Blue said with a watery laugh. He let go then, turning away so briskly that Rus frowned, watching his brother bustle away. “Why don’t you go get changed into your pajamas, everything will seem better after some sleep.”

He kept his face turned away, not looking at Rus and that was more than a little strange. He was used to Blue looking him over like he was studying for a test. “bro?” Rus asked, hesitantly, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” That single word bordered on maniacally cheery and he kept turned away, angling his head oddly, and yeah, okay, they weren’t going to get out of one set of lies by diving into a new one. Exhausted as he was, it didn’t take much to sidestep into a shortcut and come out in front of his brother, catching sight of him before he could spin away.

“what the fuck!” Rus gasped. He grabbed Blue by the shoulders, ignoring his feeble resistance as he forced him to turn around. There was a darkened bruise running down the side of his brother’s face like the shadow of a bluejay’s wing, from his eye socket nearly to his chin.

“what happened?” Rus demanded. The unpleasant thought came that while he was fooling around in Edge’s bed, his brother was out here alone, no, not alone, someone hurt him, and the list of suspects was vanishingly short. “it was him wasn’t it, he-“ Rus broke off, too furious to speak. He was going to kill Red, he didn’t know how, but somehow he was going to dust that low-rent Scarface bastard for daring to hurt his brother.

“No!” Blue shook his head frantically. “It wasn’t him, I swear, I promise, it was…” Blue sighed, tiredly. “I did something stupid. It seems to be an ongoing trend these past few days. Please, little brother, I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Dirty pool, that, tacking the ‘little’ onto brother.

“okay,” Rus agreed, slowly. “but we’re talking about everything tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Blue hurried over to gather up Rus’s pajamas, practically thrusting them into his arms. “Now let’s get some sleep.”

Blue was trying to sound reasonable and it mostly worked. The endless flood of exhaustion was rising up over the sandbags and Rus was ready to get some sleep.

He went to the bathroom to wash up, trying to ignore the way his pants still felt uncomfortably damp at the crotch, a match to the tearstained front of his shirt. But it was an absent glance in the bathroom mirror that had him blushing up to his browbone.

Unbeknownst to him, he had a new bruise of his own, vivid against the pale bone of his jaw. It couldn’t be called anything but a hickey and there wasn’t a single chance Blue missed seeing it.

He’d seen it and hadn’t asked, not a single question about that or Rus’s sudden change of clothes and his obviously borrowed shirt.

Looked like neither of them were talking about their fresh bruises, not that that was anything new. Not talking about things seemed to be their current state of being; shouting, yes, avoiding, got it, but no talking, not really. Tomorrow was going to change that, Rus decided firmly, for better or worse.

Rus sighed and stepped into the shower, washing away the long day with hot water and heavenly scented soap. This place might smell like a choir of angels, he thought sourly, but the sulfur was sure starting to creep in.

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tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia AU

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feyminho · 3 years

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you’re a witch.

@feydojun

He looks through the peep hole in his front door. The hallway is dim and bland with exposed concrete walls and stained linoleum floors. Minho has to squint to make out the person at the other side. A man, definitely, with dark hair and a familiar, rabbit-like face...

With a spark of realization, he undoes the deadbolt and opens the door, greeting Dojun with a huge, 100 watt grin. “Dojun! What are you doing here?” he asks, forgetting all about the debt he owes. Minho steps aside, allowing enough room for his guest to squeeze by. It’s early, but he’s already dressed in trousers and an aggressively rainbow Hawaiian shirt.

Minho’s half-basement studio is small and scarcely furnished. The entrance opens up to a square room with one tiny, rectangular window, of which hardly any morning light passes through. The right side somehow fits a cramped kitchen with old, plastic looking appliances. There are no photographs, or paintings, or artsy decorations. Just take out menus on the beige fridge, a small collection of house plant, and a half-filled bookcase.

To save money he sleeps on a futon, which is still spread out on the floor next to a worn, cedar tea table. There’s a carton of milk on top of it beside a French press and a single mug. Underneath, an orange cat sleeps on a snow white comforter. It stirs, wakes, and watches them at the door.

“Come in! Do you want coffee?” he offers, ushering Dojun inside. “Or, I could make you tea?”

#*you're a witch #feydojun #*threads

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mrsdobrik · 3 years

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My Name Jeff - Chapter 5

“Please tell me again, why am I letting you do this?” David sighed, trying to stay still. The light was pouring in from the window in Y/n’s dorm room, filtered only by the thin white curtain, and illuminating David’s features as, across the room, Y/n sat with her legs crossed and a big sketch book, tracing the way his jawline curved at his chin.

“Well, Jeff, we are doing this because you want to get into my pants and you know the only way you’ll be able to do that is if I pass this class. Therefore, you are letting me sketch you so we can both be happy.” She smiled behind the sketchbook, her pencil not leaving the paper.

“Fine” David squinted his eyes “But, I want to see your paintings once we are done”

Y/n thought about it for a long moment, no one had ever seen her work, not even her closest friends. It just always felt too personal. She sighed and said “Fine, we’ve got a deal. Now stop moving.”

As she observed him he took the time to closely observe her. Her hair was up in a lopsided bun that had strands of hair and pencils poking out. He smiled internally at the way she stuck her tongue out as she focused on the drawing. His attention then shifted to her lips and the way she would bite on them when she was unsure about how a certain detail was turning out. Finally his eyes dropped to her legs and he admired how they seemed to curve softly. At that point she said “I’m drawing you, what’s your excuse?” as she noticed his obvious stare. He could see her cheeks were flushed slightly as he focused back on her face.

“I’m sorry.” He chuckled, guiltily and a bit embarrassed of being caught. “Go on, draw me like one of your french girls” He quoted, making them both laugh. “Can we answer some questions while we are at it?”

“Sure, go for it” She giggled.

“We were on question 18. What is your most terrible memory?”

David watched as her eyes darkened and the pencil almost fell off her hand. Her lip quivered slightly, she closed her eyes and sighed before replying. “One… one of the times my sister was hospitalized, it must have been like the third or fourth time. It was pretty ruthless. We didn’t know if she was going to make it… my parents cried for days and days straight. My youngest sister was too young… she had no idea what was going on. Definitely not a time I like reliving.”

The room went quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for your entire family.” David whispered.

“It was. What’s yours?” She said wanting to change the subject. “Probably the same as my most treasured one. Flying here on my own.” He replied before asking. “If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”

“I don’t think so. I would like to keep doing what I love, which is making art, learning and reading a lot. I would also not want to be a burden on my family and I would want to help with their debt as much as possible so I wouldn’t quit working. If anything I would try to spend more time with my loved ones and maybe try to show my work at a gallery or something. What about you?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. I think I would want to just spend time with my family, my hometown friends. I really don’t know…. Question 20: What does friendship mean to you?”

“Friendship means everything with the right people and nothing with the wrong people. I can have great chemistry with someone but if they’ll bail on me when I need them the most then they aren’t real friends. I think valuable friendships are rare and that people use the word too lightly. What about you?”

“I would be nowhere without my friends. I think friendships are a huge part of my life and I’ve had the same friends since high school and I know we would all be there for each other if something were to happen.”

“That is so cool that you have such great friends! I wish I was still friends with people from high school, sometimes life just stands in the way of that” She shrugged. “What’s next?”

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?”

“Hmmm… let’s maybe find that one out later” She said with a wink, lightly biting on her lower lip.

“Sure” David’s voice broke, making Y/n giggle. He cleared his throat before asking “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.”

“So… Jeff, I like how funny you are, I like how attentive you are, I like your hands… a lot actually, I like your smile and above all I love how honest and true you are as we answer this questions”

David felt that familiar pang of guilt stinging at the base of his stomach, even more noticeable than ever before. He looked down embarrassed.

“Oh, come on don’t act humble now. I know you have a huge ego and you are breaking your pose” Y/n chuckled.

“Sorry” David said, going back to his pose. “Wait, that is not it.” Y/n crawled across the room to where David was sitting. Her soft hands quickly adjusted the way his head was tilted. Then she focused on making his hair look like she wanted it for the portrait. As she finished she looked into his eyes for a moment, making sure every detail was right. “Perfect” She let out in a breath before leaning in and softly kissing his lips. “Now don’t move”

She crawled back to her sketchbook and said “You still owe me five compliments.” as she got back to work.

“Right,” David agreed with a smile. “Y/n, I like your lips and the million ways they seem to change with every expression your face makes, I like your eyes, I like how thoughtful and caring you are, I like how straight forward you are and I like how every hour I spend with you seems to last a minute and yet I feel like I could stay here with you for days just talking and looking at you.” The whole scene seemed very intimate, Y/n’s eyes left the sketch before her and focused on his, trying to read whether he was being honest, she felt her lips curve up into a small smile and the heat rising up to her cheeks.

They were silent like that for a moment until David cleared her throat and said “Right, next question, How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

Y/n looked down and kept sketching. “The short version, yes we are very close and no, I feel like my childhood was average. Lots of good things and some bad things. You?”

“I feel like I could be closer with my family and… I feel like my childhood was great but not necessarily happier than most.” He shrugged “How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?”

“Pretty solid, she is like my best friend” Y/n smiled. “And you?”

“I love her. I should probably tell her that more, but she is great.

“I’m nearly done. One more question?”

“Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling …””

“Okay. We… are both kind, we both like romcoms and we both like fast food way too much” Y/n giggled.

“We are both feeling comfortable with each other” Y/n nodded. “We both like spending time together.” She smiled and nodded again. “And we are both falling for each other” David said, making it sound more like a question. Y/n smiled for a long moment and then nodded, a little sparkle lighting up her eye. “It’s.. it’s done” She said a moment later. David crawled to her side and looked at the picture. He loved the way she had captured the light coming from the window and his expression as he smiled carelessly. It looked like a really good candid photograph. She was definitely very talented.

“This is amazing! I want to see the others” He exclaimed excitedly. Y/n sighed, bracing herself and showed David a bunch of sketch books and full on paintings she had stashed under the bed.

David looked through them, at the way she captured lightning, at how the portraits showed emotion and thought at how it seemed like every single brush stroke had a purpose. “These are all amazing, like gallery levels of amazing. You should be proud of this, you should be showing them somewhere.”

Y/n smiled and looked down “You have to say that because you care about my feelings. I’m not ready for the kind of criticism that comes with that kind of exposure. They feel too personal”

“I get that. Putting your stuff out there can feel… scary. And people aren’t always nice… but you are really talented. You shouldn’t feel nervous about what others will say. Art is subjective, isn’t it? The right people will know to appreciate it.”

Y/n smiled up at him. “Thank you, Jeff. For everything. I have a hard time opening up to people and I with you it just feels… easy”

David leaned down to kiss her but as he did he could taste the poisonous guilt on her lips.

Later that night as she swooned about him to her sisters he tossed and turned knowing that the truth might set him free but it would also make him lose the girl he was falling for.

#david dobrik #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik x reader #david dobrik x you #david dobrik x y/n

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inventsuperiorityamazon · 3 years

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Amazing Amazon Products

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We'll cover all these concerns and more, and we'll show you precisely how to look for winning item concepts. I started attracting concerning eight years back and also it altered my life. It led me to take a trip, to fulfill people, to get books released, yet most of all it transformed the way I see the globe around me as well as just how I experience each day. You'll discover just how to choose products to sell, how to check books to Amazon.com, ideas on buying from China, and also how to listing products to the site. That's not all. The extremely ranked professor, that has shown greater than 111,000 students and gotten greater than 13,000 favorable evaluations, will certainly additionally explain just how to make use of Amazon.com Vendor Central. We think you'll obtain your cash's worth. The incorporated remedy is a ready-to-use assimilation between Vend HQ POS System and also world's superior buying cart platforms consisting of - Magento, Woocommerce, Shopify and Bigcommerce. The company has also established Vend's two-way combination with leading industries Amazon.com as well as eBay, and niche-marketplaces such as Souq, Fancy, Farfetch and SmartEtailing. 5. Wide choice of products to offer Given that you don't have to pre-purchase the products you offer, you can offer a range of trending items to your prospective consumers. If providers supply an item, you can provide it available for sale on your on the internet store at no added expense. I acquired a DVD online at Ebay from a seller. I sent the damaged DVD back to the vendor. They told me I was not going to get a refund or replacement DVD. They closed my problem instance and was putting the vendor first. So he or she reaches pocket the cash extracted from me and I obtain nothing. Seems like a rip-off between eBay and also sellers. The very best way on exactly how to generate income marketing on Amazon is by offering your items at budget-friendly prices. Check your rival's prices and change accordingly. Though this could not get you a substantial profit margin in the beginning, it is the best method to obtain and also preserve even more customers. You can take the pictures on your own, but we suggest using an expert photographer in order to provide your item to prospective clients better than your rivals do. The very first step is to see the business's web site (the one made for your country) to discover the product that you desire to purchase. All the nations' internet sites are easy to navigate, so you will certainly not have any type of difficulties browsing the items. Amazing Seller

#amazon

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thelastchair · 3 years

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Powder Magazine

(Written by Sam Cox - December 28, 2020)

Growing up in Montana, my winter free time was consumed by skiing. Big Sky was the destination when I was barely old enough to walk. Eventually we made the move to Bozeman and Bridger Bowl became my second home. During the early years, my family made the trek to a handful of Warren Miller movies when they were on tour in the fall and Snow Country was the magazine subscription that landed on the coffee table. I was vaguely aware of Jackson Hole, Snowbird and Squaw Valley and my father would occasionally regale me with tales of skiing (read Après) in Germany when he was in the Army. At some level, I already understood that there was something special about Bridger, but realistically, my sphere of outside influence was quite small. Christmas of 1989 turned my entire world upside down. My aunt and uncle are longtime Salt Lake City residents and Brighton skiers. Typically they would send a package each year with the customary cookies, toffee and a card. However, this year they sent two VHS tapes and a magazine - Ski Time, Blizzard of Aahhh’s and a copy of Powder. Things would never be the same for me. Scot Schmidt became my hero, Greg Stump was taking skiing into uncharted territory and above it all, Powder created an eloquent voice for our sport and was the fabric that held things together. Even at my young age, everything that I’d intuitively sensed before was distilled into a potent desire to devote myself to the simple pursuit of being a skier.

Johan Jonsson, Engelberg, Switzerland - Photo: Mattias Fredriksson/POWDER

Powder was founded in Sun Valley by the Moe brothers in 1972 as an annual portfolio of The Other Ski Experience. After several years of running the magazine, Jake and David Moe sold Powder to the owner of Surfer Magazine. A repurposed aircraft hangar in San Juan Capistrano became the new home of skiing’s most prestigious publication. Over time, there was an ebb and flow to the size of staff and cast of characters, each person leaving their unique mark. For decades Powder weathered corporate acquisitions, office relocations and the constant metamorphosis of the ski industry - never losing its voice, Powder remained the benchmark. It was a source of creativity, inspiration and a defacto annal of history. For many it was also a shining beacon, a glimpse into a world filled with deep turns and iconic destinations - even if this world could only be inhabited inside the constructs of your imagination.

My story and the impact Powder had on the direction I would take is hardly unique. The magazine left an indelible impression on countless skiers. When the news broke this fall that operations were being suspended indefinitely, a heartbroken community took to social media to pay homage to the magazine and how it changed their lives and in some cases, careers. This is my version of a tribute and it’s definitely not perfect. In order to gain some perspective, I reached out to former staff members - a collective I admire and respect. It’s an attempt to articulate the essence of Powder, capture its influence on the skiing landscape and give credit to the people who made it come to life.

Bernie Rosow, Mammoth Mountain, CA - Photo: Christian Pondella/POWDER

HANS LUDWIG - The Jaded Local

“Skiing has always been really tribal and one of the last vestiges of having an oral history. Powder was a unique concept, because they weren’t really concerned with the family market. They were just concerned about being really into skiing. Growing up in Colorado and skiing moguls, my coaches Robert and Roger were featured in the early Greg Stump films. Being in their orbit, I knew a little bit about skiing culture and what was going on out there, but didn’t have the whole picture. The Stump films resonated with me, but Ski/Skiing Magazines didn’t really do it for me. Powder was the door that opened things culturally, it was the only entry point before Blizzard of Aahhh’s.”

“Something that nobody gives Powder credit for, is sponsoring the Greg Stump, TGR and MSP movies and giving them full support right from their inception. It legitimized those companies and helped them become one of the catalysts for change and evolution in skiing. Ultimately this change would have happened, but at a much slower pace without the support of Powder. Getting support from Powder meant they’d weeded out the posers and kooks and what they were backing wasn’t something or someone that was “aspiring” they were a cut above.”

“Powder brought a lot of things into the mainstream, raised awareness and helped to legitimize them: Jean-Marc Boivin, Patrick Vallencant, Pierre Tardivel, telemarking, monoskiing, snowboarding, the JHAF, Chamonix, La Grave, Mikaela Shiffrin, fat skis pre McConkey, skiing in South America….the list goes on.”

“I had some rowdy trips with Powder. Writing “Lost In America,” I went Utah-Montana-Fernie-Banff-Revelstoke via pickup truck, only backcountry skiing and camping in the mud. It was a month plus. I did another month plus in Nevada, which was after back to back Jackson and Silverton. Total time was two plus months. That was fucked up, I was super loose after that whole thing. So many sketchy days with total strangers”

“People forget that Powder was around long before the advent of the fucking pro skier. Starting in 1996, the magazine was in the impact zone of the ski industrial complex. There is limited space for content each season. It was a challenge to balance the pressure coming from the athletes and brands to cover something that was going to make them money vs. staying true to the Moe brothers original intent and profiling an eccentric skier, a unique location or even fucking ski racing.”

Full Circle - Photo: MJ Carroll

KEITH CARLSEN - Editor

“When I was young, Ski/Skiing didn’t do anything for my spirit, but Powder lit me up. It ignited a passion in diehard skiers and gave them a voice and community. It was focused on the counter culture - the type of people who rearrange their lives to ski. This was in direct opposition to other magazines that were targeting rich people, trying to explain technique, sell condos or highlight the amenities at a ski area.”

“Skiing has always been my outlet and mechanism to get away from things in life. My two talents are writing and photography, so I enrolled at Western State with the direct goal of landing an internship at Powder. Even at 19, I had complete focus on the direction I wanted to take. If it didn’t work out, my backup plan was to be a ski bum. 48 hours after graduating, I was headed to southern California to live in my van and start my position at Powder. When the decision was made to close the magazine, it was really personal for me. Powder had provided me direction in life for the last 30 years and I needed some time to process it. In a way, it was almost like going to a funeral for a good friend - even though it’s gone, the magazine lives on in all of us and can never be taken away.”

“It was, and will always remain, one of my life’s greatest honors to serve as the editor-in-chief for Powder Magazine. It was literally a dream that came true. I’m so grateful for everyone who came before me and everyone who served after me. That opportunity opened literally hundreds of doors for me and continues to do so today. I owe the magazine a massive debt of gratitude. Every single editor was a warrior and fought for the title with their lives. They were doing double duty - not only from competition with other publications, but the internal struggle of budget cuts, staff reductions and trying to do more with less. Powder never belonged in the hands of a corporation. The magazine spoke to an impassioned community and never made sense to an accountant or on a ledger.”

Trevor Petersen, Mt. Serratus, BC - Photo: Scott Markewitz/POWDER

SIERRA SHAFER - Editor In Chief

“Powder celebrated everything that is good and pure in skiing. It highlighted the old school, the new and the irreverent. The magazine also called bullshit when they saw it. It was a checkpoint, a cultural barometer and an honest reflection on where skiing has been and where it’s going.”

“My involvement with Powder came completely out of left field. I was never an intern or established in the ski industry. My background was strictly in journalism, I was a skier living in Southern California and editing a newspaper. I knew that I wanted to get the fuck out of LA and Powder was that opportunity. It was a huge shift going from my job and life being completely separate to work becoming my life. Literally overnight, Powder became everything - friends, connections and part of my identity. It derailed my trajectory in the best possible way.”

Brad Holmes, Donner Pass, CA - Photo: Dave Norehad/POWDER

MATT HANSEN - Executive Editor

“Keith Carlsen was a man of ideas, he had tremendous vision and influence. He came up with the ideas for Powder Week and the Powder Awards in 2001. In some respects those two events saved the magazine.”

“Powder was the soul of skiing and kept the vibe, it changed people’s lives and inspired them to move to a ski town. As a writer I always wanted to think it was the stories that did that, but in truth it was the photography. Images of skiing truly became an art form, 100% thanks to Powder Magazine and Dave Reddick. Dave cultivated and mentored photographers, he was always searching for the unpredictable image from around the world and pressed the photographers to look at things from a different angle.”

“It sounds cliche, but writing a feature about Chamonix was the highlight for me. Sitting on the plane, things were absolutely unreal. I linked up with Nate Wallace and the whole experience from start to finish was out of my comfort zone. Ducking ropes to ski overhead pow on the Pas De Chèvre, walking out of the ice tunnel on a deserted Aiguille du Midi right as the clouds parted, late nights in town that were too fuzzy to recall. The energy of the place taught me a lot. I didn’t have a smartphone and there was no Instagram - I had time to write, observe, take notes and be present with who I was and with the experience. As a writer it didn’t get any better.”

“The true gift of working for Powder, was the once in a lifetime adventures that I wish I could have shared with my family, I was so lucky to have had those opportunities. It almost brought tears to me eyes.”

Peter Romaine, Jackson Hole, WY - Photo: Wade McKoy/POWDER

DAVE REDDICK - Director of Photography

“Just ski down there and take a photo of something, for cryin’ out loud!” “I’ve found that channeling McConkey has been keeping it in perspective. Powder’s been shuttered. That sucks. What doesn’t suck is the good times and the people that have shared the ride thus far and I’m just thankful to be one of them. There’s been some really kind sentiments from friends and colleagues, but this must be said - Every editor (especially the editors), every art director (I’ve driven them nuts), every publisher and sales associate, every photographer, writer, and intern, and all the others behind the scenes who’ve ever contributed their talents get equal share of acknowledgment for carrying the torch that is Powder Mag. There’s hundreds of us! No decision has ever been made in a vacuum. Always a collective. At our best, we’ve been a reflection of skiers everywhere and of one of the greatest experiences in the world. It’s that community, and that feeling, that is Powder. I’m not sure what’s next and I’m not afraid of change but” “There’s something really cool about being scared. I don’t know what!”

Scot Schmidt, Alaska - Photo: Chris Noble/POWDER

DEREK TAYLOR - Editor

“Powder was the first magazine dedicated to the experience and not trying to teach people how to ski. It was enthusiast media focused on the soul and culture. It’s also important to highlight the impact Powder had outside of skiing - today you have the Surfer’s Journal effect where every sport wants that type of publication. However, prior to their inception, everybody wanted a version of Powder.”

“Neil Stebbins and Steve Casimiro deserve a lot of credit for the magazine retaining its voice and staying true to the core group of skiers it represented.”

“Keith Carlsen is responsible for the idea behind Super Park. This was a time when skiing had just gone through a stale phase. There was a newfound energy in park skiing and younger generations, this event helped to rebrand Powder and solidify its goal of being all inclusive. Racing, powder, park, touring - it’s all just skiing.”

Joe Sagona, Mt. Baldy, CA - Photo: Dave Reddick/POWDER

JOHNNY STIFTER - Editor In Chief

“What did Powder mean to me... Well, everything. As a reader and staffer, it inspired me and made me laugh. I learned about local cultures that felt far away and learned about far away cultures that didn’t feel foreign, if that makes sense.”

“But I cherished those late nights the most, making magazines with the small staff. Despite the deadline stress, I always felt so grateful to be working for this sacred institution and writing and editing for true skiers. We all just had so much damn fun. And it didn’t hurt meeting such passionate locals at hallowed places, like Aspen and Austria, that I once dreamed of visiting and skiing. The Powder culture is so inclusive and so fun, I never felt more alive.”

Doug Coombs, All Hail The King - Photo: Ace Kvale/POWDER

HEATHER HANSMAN - Online Editor

“Powder is a lifestyle and an interconnected circle of people. It’s about getting a job offer at Alta, opening your home to random strangers, locking your keys in your car and getting rescued by a friend you made on a trip years ago. Through the selfish activity of skiing, you can create a community of people you cherish and can depend on through highs and lows.”

Ashley Otte, Mike Wiegele Heli, BC - Photo: Dave Reddick/POWDER

The contributions of so many talented individuals made the magazine possible. I would like to express my sincere gratitude to everyone who shared their experience at Powder with me. Also, I want to thank Porter Fox and David Page for crafting inspiring feature stories that I enjoyed immensely over the years.

After the reality set in that the final issue had arrived, a void was created for generations of skiers. I’ve been focused on being thankful for what we had, rather than sad it’s gone. It’s a challenging time for print media and I wholeheartedly advocate supporting the remaining titles in anyway you can. In a culture driven by a voracious appetite for mass media consumption and instant gratification - I cherish the ritual of waiting for a magazine to arrive, appreciating the effort that went into creating the content and being able to have that physical substance in my hand. Thanks for everything Powder, you are missed, but your spirit lives on.

Captain Powder - Photo: Gary Bigham/POWDER

#skiing #powder #last chair #powder magazine #the other ski experience #the skiers magazine

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scottphotoco · 5 years

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In honor of The Race of Gentlemen 2019 coming up this October 3-6 in Wildwood, NJ I will be sharing photographs for the next short while from TROG history. Unfortunately, it is not in the cards for me to make it this year so I will have to survive on memories–for now. - - This is a photo from 2017 and is a group of friends, Carter (aka Dick DeLuca), Jon and Drew of the Rolling Bones Circus. One of my absolute favorite things about the world of hot rods and racing culture is the family of people that are a part of it all. The people like Mel and the Oilers who work so hard to make an event like this kick serious ass and people like Ken, Keith, Matt of the Rolling Bones who build (I’m my opinion) some of the best hot rods on the road today, are some of the most passionate, driven, crazy and kind hearted people that I know. They have each and every one welcomed me and my work into their worlds and I am richer for it. Truly, I wouldn’t be able to experience and capture on film the work that I love so much without their help and friendship. A HUGE thanks to all of you who are involved in this passion that we all share and for supporting me over the years in capturing so many incredible moments and stories. I owe a deep debt of gratitude to you all. - - #trog #theraceofgentlemen #racingculture #hotrod #speedculture #wildwood #newjersey #racing #family #rollingbones #friends #timeless #analog #film #mediumformat #scottphotoco #beach www.ScottPhoto.co (not .com) (at Wildwood, New Jersey) https://www.instagram.com/p/B27u7CeH-Dw/?igshid=1c3hpwxcbywm1

#trog #theraceofgentlemen #racingculture #hotrod #speedculture #wildwood #newjersey #racing #family #rollingbones #friends #timeless #analog #film #mediumformat #scottphotoco #beach

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houseofvans · 5 years

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SKETCHY BEHAVIORS | INTERVIEW WITH CHRISTIE SHINN

With the sharp-edged graphic feel, high contrast color palette, and a modern twist on traditional Hawaiiana, artist Christie Shinn’s paintings offer a fresh interpretation to life in Hawaii. Her beautiful works have not only appeared as a Vans shoe design, but also as the artwork for the Vans 2013 Triple Crown of Surfing event. Not only one thing, Christie is also the art director and collaborating artist at Surfer Towel, where her two towel designs will be released this summer. Find out more about Christie’s artwork, inspiration, and favorite collaboration by taking the leap below!

Photographs courtesy of the artist. | Portraits by Joel Terron Photography

Introduce yourself? My name is Christie Shinn. I’m a resident of the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii. I’m Canadian but I’ve called Hawaii home for over a decade.

What kind of work do you create? What medium and what would you say it is about? I work in acrylic paint on canvas, wood, leather.. really, anything the paint will stick to.

I’d say the style of work is a modern version of traditional Hawaiiana (Hawaii-inspired art/craft).

I taught myself to paint, and my favorite art at the time was early skate graphics and silkscreened concert posters so I think there is a sharp-edged graphic feel to my work because of that. I like to go high contrast with color and pick subjects that are a little off-typical. I live in a place that is so familiar to people all over the world, even if they’ve never been here. I feel like it’s my job to find a fresh interpretation of life in Hawaii.

How did you start from doodling and drawing to what you do now? Where did your love of drawing and creating stem from? My grandma taught me how to paint when I was a kid. I remember being fascinated with making marks on a canvas. It starts off blank, then it’s something and each choice is totally up to you. Some are good choices, some aren’t, but they’re all yours. I still love that about making art. I get to sit at my easel and create a thing that did’t exist before I thought of it. So cool.

Who and what were some of your early artistic influences? My favourite artist as a kid was Henri Rousseau who created massive tropical themed paintings, even though he’d never been outside of France. He created an entire lifetime of artwork exploring his tropical fantasy world. His work is so weird and wonderful.

When I started getting serious about art, my absolute favourite artist was (and still is) Andrew Pommier. I love his characters, I love his style. I feel like I can look into the eyes of one of his characters and see an entire backstory. One of his pieces is on my studio wall for both inspiration and as a barometer for my own work. Even though we have different styles, I try to make sure each new piece that leaves the studio is worthy to be hung next to the Pommier.

What are some things that inspire the drawings you make now? What are some of your favorite things to draw? What about them makes them something you just find yourself re-creating or re-capturing over and over again? I’ve spent a lot of years living on the North Shore of Oahu and about 4 years ago I met my boyfriend who lives on the South Shore. His place is an hour drive , and it’s like a whole new island visually. The colors are different, the ocean is different, the sunsets…everything is new and fresh. I think a lot of my work over the past 4 years has been inspired by the contrast between the two shores.

Take us through your artistic process? What’s a typical day in the studio like? I wake up at 7:30am, get some cuddle time with the cat, make coffee and wait for my assistant to come over. He packs orders while I paint. Usually a friend drops by at some point because I live on a property with several houses and my neighbours are all friends. If it’s a surf day, we break for a surf. The afternoon is a mix of planning out new pieces, answering emails, prepping orders and generally taking care of the business side of art. I’ll do an evening beach run if I’m feeling energetic. Watch the sunset. Usually with a beer. After dinner, I’m back at the easel until about midnight. Nighttime is my favourite time to paint because there are no distractions.

I always take weekends off to maintain the work/life balance. It can get obsessive, especially when I’m struggling with a piece. Mandatory time off helps me reset.

What art tools will we always find in your creative space? Is there a medium you want to try that you have yet to get your hands on? I keep it pretty minimal when it comes to materials. I have one large brush for lay in, 3 flats and 2 liner brushes. I always have several blank canvases hanging at all times. Since inspiration is hard to control, I think the key is to be ready for when it strikes.

I’ve always been fascinated with screen printing. I’d love to dabble in that one day.

What’s been one of your more rewarding collaborations or projects? What about it was so rewarding? What would your dream collaboration be? I first worked with Vans in 2013 as the poster artist for their Triple Crown of Surfing event here on the North Shore. I did a bonus design that they turned into a limited edition capsule collection. It was on button up shirts, bags, hats, towels.. I didn’t know any of this until I opened up the box of samples. It was so unexpected, I actually teared up a little. What a crazy feeling to see your art on a Vans product. That moment really made a lasting impact. After that, I started to really believe it was possible to have a career doing something I was good at and that I loved. I owe a huge debt to the Vans design team of ’13.

A few years later I got to collaborate with Vans again on a shoe design for the Japan market. It was my favourite collaboration to date because they let me customize everything: the shoe, the insole, the box and even the tissue paper!

A few months later I’m in Tokyo doing a signing event next to a wall of my shoes. It was surreal.

I think my dream collaboration would be collaboration shoe for Vans USA. I love to hand-paint Vans and I have a couple favourites from the hand painted series I’d love to see as a production shoe. Also, the Japan sizes were so small I never got a pair I could actually wear myself!

What do you do when you’re not drawing or working on projects? When I have a lot of down time, I love to travel. Japan is my favourite destination right now. When I have a little space in the day, I’ll log some hammock time, go for a surf, run, take photos…not in that order.

What’s the art community like where you are? What kind of avenues are there for artists in your area or is it more of a DIY type of thing? Hawaii is a great place for artists. We have a lot of galleries, local shops and businesses that feature the work of local artists. There are so many interesting opportunities outside the gallery scene too. For example, some big hotels in Honolulu have been doing rebrands over the last few years and nearly every one has hired a local artist to help refresh their look. There is also a lot of love for Hawaii in Japan which has lead to some really cool collaborations between local artists and Japanese companies. It’s a really great place to be an artist because there is no one measure of success. There are so many ways to have an art career here.

What’s your art tip that you want to share with folks? I try to keep the usual stuff in mind as I work: contrast, energy, balance. If there is a lot of warmth, add a splash of cool. If you go high-detail, balance it with some negative space. Dark/light etc…

My favourite pieces are the ones that still have the energy of the first strokes when they’re finished. Overworking is so easy to do. I try to take breaks and walk away or put it away for a while. I usually have several pieces going at the same time for this reason.

What are your favorite style of VANS? My favourite Vans are Slip-Ons. It’s customary to take your shoes off outside of homes and some offices in Hawaii. I take my shoes on and off a lot in a day so the slip-ons are the way to go. Also, they have more surface area to paint on, so they get an extra point for that as well.

What do you have coming up that you can share or are super stoked about? My newest collaboration is with Japanese airline ANA and LeSportsac. I created a series of bag designs for LeSportasac that will be available exclusively on ANA flights. I’m on my way to Japan in May for an art festival so I’ll actually get to see the bags on the flight.

I’m also pretty stoked on 2 new towel designs I have coming out this summer for Surfer Towel.

FOLLOW CHRISTIE | WEBSITE | INSTAGRAM

#Art #Vans #Vans Art #Vans Girls #Vans Surf #Christie Shinn #surfing #painting #acrylic #SKETCHY BEHAVIORS

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thefilmsnob · 4 years

Text

Glen Coco’s Top 10 films of 2019

2019 was one of the better movie years I’ve experienced. It was no 2007 or 2013--we all know that--but it was pretty damn good. People who say ‘they just make crap nowadays’ probably aren’t really into movies and are definitely out to lunch. Dammit, now I want lunch. Anyway, here are my picks for the ten best films of 2019 which, as always, follow my runners-up and the traditional bonus track...There’s always a bonus track.

Runners-Up

-Bombshell

-Booksmart Full Review: https://thefilmsnob.tumblr.com/post/185427895290/booksmart-out-of-5

-Ford v Ferrari

-The Irishman

-Joker Full Review: https://thefilmsnob.tumblr.com/post/188571262775/joker-out-of-5

-Parasite

-The Peanut Butter Falcon

-The Two Popes

And here are my top 10!

#10b. (Bonus Track) Avengers: Endgame

Director: Anthony Russo, Joe Russo

Starring: Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans, Scarlett Johansson, the rest of Hollywood

Maybe, like some people in the industry, you don’t consider Marvel films to be ‘cinema’. Well, that’s a legitimate and long debate for another time. But, you can’t say that weaving a narrative through 22 related films isn’t an impressive feat. That’s what Marvel Studios did and with the help of the Russo Brothers, and despite the countless moving pieces, they ended this chapter of the franchise almost perfectly with just the right balance of action, human drama, twists, turns and some surprisingly poignant moments. If you didn’t get goosebumps--and maybe even pee your pants a bit--when those portals opened up at the end, bringing to mind Gandolf’s triumphant entrance into the Battle of Helm’s Deep, then maybe movies just aren’t for you, my friend.

Full Review: https://thefilmsnob.tumblr.com/post/184694412545/avengers-endgame-out-of-5

#10. Marriage Story

Director: Noah Baumbach

Starring: Adam Driver, Scarlett Johansson

Ironically, Marriage Story is actually about a divorce. But, writer/director Noah Baumbach imbues this civil-turned-nasty separation with all the complexity and aggravation that come with being married with child. He treats the divorce like the grueling process you’d expect it to be, one which involves real, flawed people whose needs and desires don’t align, making the situation increasingly distressing for all parties involved. In turn, Driver and Johansson make this distress increasingly palpable for the audience until it feels like we’re in the room with them during one of their several heated arguments. Both actors give some of the best work of their careers, yet it still may be overshadowed by Laura Dern and Ray Liotta who shine as the two ruthless lawyers representing them. Baumbach has been churning out these gems for years, but his latest, which may be his most accessible, may also be his best so far.

#9. Jojo Rabbit

Director: Taika Waititi

Starring: Roman Griffin Davis, Thomasin McKenzie, Scarlett Johansson

What do you get when you mix Nazi Germany, the ghost of Hitler and a poor Jewish girl trying to survive the second World War? You get one of the funniest and most touching movies of the year, of course. The surging writer/actor/director Taika Waititi, who specializes in quirky films filled with quirkier characters, hasn’t made the typically grim melodrama about Nazi Germany nor is he doing anything close to promoting Nazi culture. Instead, he uses the tale of a young boy who attends a Hitler Youth training camp to highlight the absurdity of this horrible movement while promoting tolerance. He delivers this powerful message by introducing a young Jewish girl who seeks refuge in the home of Jojo and his mother, played by Scarlett Johansson (who clearly had a good year). This leads to Jojo’s crisis of conscience which is complicated by his imaginary friend...who happens to be Adolf Hitler! Yes, the movie is different.

#8. Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood

Director: Quentin Tarantino

Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie

It’s no surprise that Quentin Tarantino would make a film about 1960s Hollywood starring one of the most prestigious celebrity trios in the business; the guy’s passion--obsession even--for film is unmatched. Here, he uses the medium to take a horrific moment in history like the murder of Sharon Tate at the hands of the Manson Family and gives it the stereotypical Hollywood happy ending. In doing so, he showcases the wish fulfillment of the movies and their power to comfort us with optimism while simultaneously warning of their ability to shelter us from our cruel reality. DiCaprio and Pitt give brilliant performances as characters who add to the perception-vs-reality theme, DiCaprio playing the huge movie star full of anxiety and doubt in real life who relies heavily on his stunt double, Pitt, who’s the actual confident hero. All this and much more takes place in a meticulously recreated Hollywood of the ‘60s that sweeps you up in nostalgia and immerses you in a world of make-believe.

#7. Knives Out

Director: Rian Johnson

Starring: Ana de Armas, Daniel Craig, Chris Evans, Jamie Lee Curtis, Christopher Plummer

Yes, there have been many murder mysteries. No, Knives Out isn’t just like the rest of them. Writer/director Rian Johnson does a masterful job at crafting a labyrinthine story that’s just complex enough without overwhelming and strikes a perfect balance of suspense and comedy. Featuring one of the greatest casts assembled in 2019 playing a dysfunctional family of despicable yet intriguing individuals of means, the story is full of truly surprising twists and turns and, more crucially, some well-integrated and astute social commentary. This isn’t a two-hour lecture, though; the film is undeniably entertaining. The stand-out here is detective Benoit Blanc, played by Daniel Craig with a delightful southern drawl and an attention to detail that rivals Sherlock Holmes. Craig transcends his James Bond persona while the film itself transcends a genre.

#6. 1917

Director: Sam Mendes

Starring: George MacKay, Dean-Charles Chapman

If this were a few years ago 1917 would be, without question, my #1 pick. However, as the long, uncut tracking shot has become more common over the years, it’s also lost a bit of its luster; 2014′s Birdman, one of the best films of the decade, also had the appearance of a single take. Nonetheless, to make a war film, with all its tricky choreography and pyrotechnics, look like one long take is still a phenomenal achievement and an absolute marvel to behold. And, although it obviously couldn’t be filmed in one shot, Sam Mendes and master cinematographer Roger Deakins still had to shoot long takes and stitch them together digitally while stealthily hiding the seams. It all helps tell the story of two young soldiers tasked with traversing treacherous territory to warn a Battalion of British soldiers about an impending German ambush. We follow the pair in real time amidst a story of remarkable bravery, enhanced by the fact that we’re with them every step of the way, at once experiencing everything they do up close while being reminded of how removed we really are from the danger they face.

#5. Uncut Gems

Director: Benny Safdie, Josh Safdie

Starring: Adam Sandler, Kevin Garnett (hey, why not?), Julia Fox

There are several talented actors in Hollywood who’ve gained a bad reputation for poor career choices. Ben Affleck and Will Smith come to mind. Perhaps the king of this group is Adam Sandler. He’s excelled sporadically in movies like Punch-Drunk Love and The Meyerowitz Stories, but he gives a truly Oscar-worthy performance in this--ahem--gem. As Howard Ratner, he’s a gambling addict who runs a jewelry store in New York’s Diamond district when he gets his hands on a rare Ethiopian black opal which he hopes will help pay off his many debts. In fact, he owes so much to so many people that he struggles to keep track of it all and we cringe every time he does. The tension builds to an almost unbearable level as a host of dangerous men seek payment. If that’s not enough, he’s on the verge of a divorce as he continues seeing a mistress who’s also his employee while owing $100 000 to his own criminal brother-in-law. If you were stressed just reading that, try watching the movie...or being Howard himself. The Safdie brothers don’t let up either, filming it like a documentary to add to its realism and immediacy...as if it needed that extra boost.

#4. The Lighthouse

Director: Robert Eggers

Starring: Robert Pattinson, Willem Dafoe

The first thing you notice watching The Lighthouse is that half the screen is missing; Robert Eggers, who also wrote and directed The Witch, shot the film with a 1.19: 1 aspect ratio, making the picture square, like an old-timey photograph. It feels limiting at first until you fully appreciate the feelings of confinement and anxiety it evokes. That’s important in a film about two lighthouse keepers, or wickies, who are forced to live together in insanely grungy and cramped quarters of a lighthouse on a remote island off the coast of New England. Considering the harsh conditions and the fact it’s a horror film, they soon clash and seemingly lose their grip on reality which manifests in macabre images and supernatural occurrences. Or does it? Ha! This is one of the most unique and beautifully filmed movies of the year with the grainy black and white 35mm making it seem like it was made closer to the late 19th century, when the film takes place. Like many recent horror films, this one relies more on mood and imagery than jump scares and is buttressed by only two actors who give award-worthy performances. Alright? So, go to hell; Pattinson can act.

#3. Little Women

Director: Greta Gerwig

Starring: Saoirse Ronan, Florence Pugh, Emma Watson, Timothee Chalamet, Eliza Scanlen, Laura Dern

You might assume that Little Women is a stuffy period piece and even unnecessary considering it’s the seventh adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s iconic 1868 novel, but the prodigious actor-turned-writer-turned-director Greta Gerwig is too adept in her craft to settle for conventional story-telling. She gives this classic story a fresh, modern take with a non-linear approach and a feminist angle that enhances without overwhelming. Like her work on Lady Bird, she keeps scenes brisk and to the point with decisive cuts. She also adds her unique wit and snappy dialogue. Every conversation, no matter how superficial, leaves you enraptured. So, too, do the characters; it’s a pleasure following these complex girls through the ups and downs of their lives as women of little means and even fewer rights. They’re portrayed by a stellar cast, particularly Jo March who’s played by Saoirse Ronan, perhaps our greatest sub-30 actress. This may be a little movie about little women, but the payoffs and sheer enjoyment are truly grand.

Full Review: https://thefilmsnob.tumblr.com/post/190231754125/little-women-12-out-of-5

#2. Us

Director: Jordan Peele

Starring: Lupita Nyong’o, Winston Duke

I know it’s blasphemous, but I might be the only person on Earth who not only thought Get Out was a tad overrated, but that Jordan Peele’s second feature, Us, is the superior picture. It’s easy to look at this film as merely a unique take on the slasher genre, but it’s so much more than that. Like any good horror, it’s creepy as hell, but it’s also brimming with foreshadowing, symbolism and metaphor. There are three or four ideas that Peele sets up at the beginning that seem disconnected to the story, yet they each have a specific purpose and when that becomes evident, it’s incredibly satisfying. Even more impressive is how Peele turns a movie about a vacationing family encountering their doppelgangers into a brilliant commentary on the current state of America, specifically in regards to class division and its relation to the Nature vs Nurture debate. And the movie’s neat twist at the end isn’t just added for shock value; it’s actually the final puzzle piece and essential in conveying the film’s message. I struggled with ranking Us at #1 or #2, but its over-reliance on slasher film action around the mid-point (a minor flaw) was the deciding factor. It’s near-perfect, nonetheless.

Full Film Interpretation: https://thefilmsnob.tumblr.com/post/184073868405/interpreting-jordan-peeles-film-us

#1. Midsommar

Director: Ari Aster

Starring: Florence Pugh, Jack Reynor, William Jackson Harper, Will Poulter

If there’s one thing for which the 2010s should be known, it’s great horror films, a refreshing development after decades of mediocrity. But, just like movies in general from the ‘New Hollywood’ ‘70s, horror films are more creative and ambitious than they’ve been in ages thanks to a handful of visionary filmmakers. Three out of the top five entries are horror movies and that’s saying something.

Midsommar is a mesmerizing horror film that hearkens back to the 1970s when the genre relied more heavily on atmosphere and pacing and sheer creepiness than on jump scares and gimmicks. It takes one hell of a talented writer/director to make a movie shot almost entirely in daylight feel so utterly sinister, but Ari Aster, who also made the acclaimed Hereditary, does just that with ease. What’s more, the film contains no monsters, nothing supernatural and an astonishingly minimal amount of violence, yet when we do see bits of blood and gore, it’s a complete shock to the system. What Aster does rely on is his mastery of lighting and framing to produce images that are unexpectedly eerie.

This is a movie that starts with a group of anthropology students looking to take part in a once-in-a-lifetime festival at a commune in the Swedish countryside and ends in an unspeakable nightmare. It’s a long and sometimes grueling experience that steadily snowballs into horror, but that slow burn is crucial for this delightfully nerve-wracking series of events. Oh, and it’s also a breakup story...possibly the scariest breakup story of all time. It’s certainly the best film of 2019.

#2019 films #top 10 of 2019 #movies #movie review

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the-roanoke-society · 5 years

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What's the story behind the Agents of Sass and Class tag? How did Seraphim and Succubus meet within the society even tho they were from two COMPLETELY different agent circles? P.S I love you, bitch. 💖💖💖

now you did get the initial beginning down pretty square—seraphim had heard, on the periphery, that oh, we had a new necromancer, and man, her origin story was equal parts bizarre and intriguing (with the normal touches of tragedy that seemed to paint the narratives of everyone at the estate from time time—but such is the human and non-human condition of this plane, unfortunately).

let’s talk about it.

between the emotional aftermath of enoch’s abrupt departure, the city in the hills, all on top of routine missions that she was still being handed from lilith, there was a lot that seraphim missed. it wasn’t because of apathy. it was because of exhaustion. (and then there was still the matter of agent whiskey, of statesman. she was… still working on figuring that part out. but jack loved a good chase. and a good fuck.)

a large part of that was succubus’s training and entire initiation. but even as it was, for some reason seraphim couldn’t quite discern, lilith had been very keen on the senior agent being at least a bit aware that she was around.

very keen.

“hey, it’s—clementine. right?”

those were her first words to her. she’d overheard poltergeist a few days ago, talking to wendigo and mothman about his newest recruit. that he’d done the grave test, as he’d done with other field agents in training before her.

seraphim didn’t hate him. not exactly. but he reminded her so much of john who sparked such a deep anger and hurt inside of her that it was difficult for her to physically be around him for long. and it broke her heart to see another person being spiritually shattered in this way.

she’d pivoted abruptly, leaving the lounge before any of the three had seen her. fuming.

we aren’t wild horses. this is all so goddamn unnecessary and exhausting.

it didn’t feel like they were being broken and remade into something better. it just felt like breaking.

looking back, seraphim was grateful that rae had let her carefully lead her to one of the stools by the center island, get her tissues, a wet towel for her face, and food that was actually plated. she was hardly the first person seraphim had seen weeping in an odd place in the manor, although crying in front of an open fridge was a first.

clementine wasn’t clementine for long. soon enough, she was raeanna. then rae. but a lot about her was… guarded. that first conversation in the kitchen that night was very much a weird kind of dance. seraphim had to learn where to press, where not to press. the shapes of what she was willing to share versus what she wasn’t. and succubus, for her part, had only a vague idea of who seraphim even was.

“my name’s morgan. uh, seraphim’s my handle. it’s nice to finally meet you.”

an exorcist, fine, a senior agent of apparent high regard, sure, but succubus didn’t know her and didn’t exactly relish the idea of a sleepover-tier get-to-know-you conversation in the middle of the night with the witch that poltergeist had constantly used as a standard to decimate her confidence.

the closeness and seamlessness they share as a duo on the field wasn’t formed overnight.

but it was engendered in one.

because succubus found that for the life of her, she couldn’t withstand the barrage of kindness.

they ran into each other a few times after that, always in passing. succubus still had her training to finish, and seraphim had her normal fieldwork.

but one day, shortly after succubus had finally graduated out of poltergeist’s authority to become an agent in her own right, lilith called seraphim into her office. all of her usual calm smile and gentle—if not a little suspicious—demeanor.

“morgan! there you are! i see the color’s gotten back into your face since you came home. did mr. daniels have something to do with that? … aaannnddd look, now there’s even more pink there, i’m taking that as a yes.”

“lil, please. look, did you need to ask me something? i’m assuming you called me up here for a reason.” seraphim took a seat in one of the plush armchairs on the other side of lilith’s desk, watching her superior thoughtfully twirl a red apple in the space above an open hand. it had a bite out of it.

“you know me well. i did have something that i wanted to assign you, and agent succubus.”

“agent? oh, she got through training! thank god, i was scared that adam was going to run her off, or worse, and—wait, both of us?” seraphim lifted one brow. it wasn’t that she’d been hit with dread, but she’d never worked with rae afield before. she wasn’t sure what to expect.

“yes, she’s become quite the gifted necromancer under ‘geist’s—particular brand of tutelage. … morgan, would you like an apple, or are you just jealous that you haven’t quite mastered the art of object levitation?”

seraphim sighed. “both, if i’m honest, but joe’s been teaching me energy manipulation.” she caught the apple that lilith tossed to her from a bowl on the small table behind her and eyed the manila folder she slid onto her desk towards her. “granted, it’s not like i have a separate universe at my hands. our magic doesn’t look the same. but it’s…” her voice softened. another sigh. this one was sadder. “… it’s nice to be able to explore what i can do. after everything. you never really stop learning, i guess. not really.” she poked at the folder. “but uh, i’m a little bit more curious about that, ma’am.”

lilith smiled kindly. she’d have to speak with mothman later, see what exactly they’d been up to. “we’ve had—reports,” she began, flipping open the folder. seraphim took a bite out of her apple, reaching forward to touch one of the photographs that was on top of a stack of scanned newspaper clippings. “of something interesting happening around the outsides of las vegas.”

seraphim picked the picture up, frowning at it. “uh—lil, uhm, what, what am i looking at?” she spoke around the apple bits in her mouth. the only distinct shapes she could make out in the photo were the mountains in the distance and a police cruiser. but this black blur in the middle…

whatever it was, it was massive. easily at least ten, twelve feet, comparing it to the car. big, dark, and—were those antlers?

“we’re not a hundred percent sure. but we’re afraid that given the damage its caused and an uptick in insomnia and night terrors around the part of the city where it’s been sighted, it may be something demonic.”

“which is why you’re sending me. okay, i follow you.”

“we also think it might not be completely alive in the traditional sense.”

“… it’s not what now?”

lilith rubbing her hands together. not a good sign. “we don’t think it’s—living. no mundane weapons seem to slow it down, which isn’t necessarily a huge surprise, but other members from the nevada office that were dispatched had similar misfortune. granted, their specializations aren’t quite like yours, or like rae’s, and we’re wondering if maybe we just need an approach with… let’s say a dynamic more like the one you two have.”

“lil…”

“i don’t mean anything as shallow as a game of holy versus unholy. i only mean that both of you are walking different sides of the same road, going the same way. you have a decent handle on being, as luca has said, a ‘light-bringer,’ and rae makes a weapon out of darkness. between the two of you, this thing doesn’t stand a chance, and the vegas mayor will, once again, owe me a debt.”

“uh, once again?” why was it that she consistently left lilith’s office with more questions than answers?

“it’s a long story, i’ll tell you when you get back. now go find rae, please, i’d like to speak with her. take this file with you to review. our dear darling quetzl just got back from visiting his mother, he’ll fly you out tomorrow morning at six a.m. sharp.”

“yes ma’am.” seraphim bit down on her apple, holding it in her mouth as she used both hands to shift through the file.

this would make for some interesting afternoon reading, but first, to find succubus…

* * *

“did you eat breakfast?” seraphim asked the next morning, hoping that a pair of dark capris and a light grey button-up wouldn’t end up being too hot for the desert. she couldn’t bring herself to just wear a tank-top. she didn’t like how people looked at her scars.

“… what?” succubus was rubbing sleep out of her eyes, almost tripping up the steps into the jet. almost. “oh shit—uhm, no, i opted to get as much sleep as possible. kind of regretting it.”

“what, sleeping in or not eating anything?” seraphim got up into the plane first, slinging her duffel bag upwards onto the rack over their seats.

the good witch—which seraphim thought was a fuckin’ weird name for a plane—was one of the nicer jets in roanoke’s hangar. the flight from kentucky to nevada wouldn’t be tremendously long, but it’d give them a few hours to rest, and if seraphim had her way, to be better friends.

this would be the first time they’d be stuck together for an extended period, and she wasn’t sure what to expect.

succubus laughed, and readily handed her own bag to seraphim’s outstretched hand. “both.”

“then boy do i have a surprise for you two!” seraphim and succubus both jumped at the booming voice of quetzl, who was the most intense morning person seraphim had ever met. all dark eyes, dark smiles and a demeanor that could be likened to a nuclear reactor.

before either of them could quiet react he’d already stuffed pop tarts into their hands—smores flavor into seraphim’s, strawberry into succubus’s. “you’re welcome. now please, go sit down, i’ve got to radio phoenix and get him to open the hangar up for us, but as soon as the gate’s up, we’re outta here!”

and as soon as they sat down: “dude do you want to trade? that one’s my favorite.”

“seriously? hell yeah, that one’s my favorite too.”

okay. off to a good start.

but seraphim closed her eyes as soon as they hit cruising altitude—she’d watched succubus take out a worn copy of carrie, and had to hide her smile—and when she opened them again, it was to the tune of quetzl’s voice over the p.a. system. “ladies! and—other ladies! all of the two ladies on board. we’ll be landing on the airstrip by our nevada compatriots here in like, thirty minutes. we’ll be right on the outskirts of henderson, which means around a thirty minute drive to the site that lilith wanted you to investigate first. so please return your seats to the upright position, do the thing with the tray tables, you’ve been on a plane before, just don’t run around the cabin, that’s literally it. … thank you for your patronage.”

succubus rolled her eyes. “is he always like this?”

seraphim laughed in response. “welcome to air quetzl. never boring, and sometimes just—real fuckin’ annoying.”

“better annoying than boring, though?”

the senior agent hummed, nodding. “i—yeah. better annoying than boring.”

* * *

agent tahoe met them in the hangar. blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and all six feet of her like a ray of sunshine. seraphim thought she was going to bruise her knuckles with the strength of her grip. where the hell does lilith keep finding all these morning people?

“seraphim! good to see you again, look how long your hair’s gotten! and you must be our newest crowned, agent succubus! i’m senior agent tahoe. our ah, staff’s stretched a bit thin at the moment, what with all the monster bullshit, but don’t worry, i’ll be the one making sure you get to where you need to g—“

“emilia! baaaabe! how’s it hangin’?”

“… clark.”

her tone went deadpan and succubus was trying desperately to keep some sense of professionalism.

“oh come on, you’re not still mad at me, are you?”

“if you two will follow me, our ride’s waiting in the garage juuuuust down this corridor here—“

“oh sweet, what did boss man upstairs lend us?”

“i said you two. meaning them. you are going straight inside where someone can keep an eye on you. and don’t touch anything.”

“emilia!”

“go fucking upstairs.” but all the venom in her voice disappeared when she turned back to the team at her shoulders, following close behind her. “in all seriousness, we’re really glad y’all are here. whatever this thing it, it broke jarbridge’s legs, compound fractures, too. i mean, she passed out, which is good, she says she doesn’t even remember it happening, but i’m pretty sure lovelock’s gonna have to take some kind of sabbatical, you know how squeamish he is around blood…”

succubus glanced at seraphim once. her face was a little pale.

but seraphim just put a warm hand on her shoulder, and leaned closer to her. “hey. this asshole hasn’t met us yet. we got this.”

* * *

tahoe was the kind of woman where, if you didn’t make any attempt to steer the conversation, she could talk gore and guts for literal hours (seraphim had heard her do it enough times before).

once they’d gotten into a shiny black falcon coup (that, despite how clean it looked, was straight out of 1975) seraphim watched succubus’s face become more and more drawn.

she’d survived poltergeist. that spoke volumes in and of itself. but even the confidence bred from that firewalking brand of training, well…

seraphim remembered her first mission solo, without enoch at her side. all she had to do was envision that bright yellow doorway on lincoln street and it all came flooding back, visceral but short-lived. the nervousness. the fear. and for her, at least, an acute case of being overwhelmed.

but then… poltergeist hadn’t left.

would it have been so bad if he did leave, really?

seraphim shook her head. “—emilia! emilia. uhm. look, now, you know i love a war story as much as the next agent, but ah, rae looked a little confused as to why you were being so cold to clark, and frankly, i am too, i thought you two had patched things up?”

if there was one thing tahoe liked talking about more than body horror—it was her exes.

succubus didn’t want to let on that her heart was in her throat, and she had her hands balled into fists in her lap so no one could tell they were shaking. what had she gotten herself into? double compound fractures? were her bones about to see the light of day as well? she suppressed a shudder.

she loved bones. she loved her own bones. she loved them most when they were safely under her skin like they were supposed to be.

but succubus also loved gossip, and seraphim, as it turned out, was an excellent enabler.

also turned out that quetzl was just as awful to date as succubus had judged beforehand, according to tahoe. “and okay, i’ll concede that maybe i shouldn’t have been looking through his phone but damnit, rae, it was my own sister! like, both of my sisters! who does that?”

* * *

their arrival point was hardly anything climactic—although ‘cinematic’ was still a word that seraphim would’ve used. in a very regional gothic sort of way. the sun was high by that point, not a cloud in the sky and it was so blue that it hurt her eyes. she could see roaring vegas in the distance as she stood by the front of the coup, taking a drag off of her cigarette. her usual pre-mission ritual these days.

“i didn’t know you smoked,” succubus said quietly, but even as soft as her voice was, seraphim jumped anyway, coughing. “oh shit, sorry, i didn’t mean t—“

“it’s okay! it’s okay. it’s a gross habit. i keep telling lilith i’ll quit, but…” she stared at it in the v of her fingers, shrugged, and then took one long final inhale before flicking upwards, snapping her fingers, and—where the hell did it go? “i don’t know. i don’t have a lot of motivation to stop. and anyway, that’s not why we’re here, we’re here!” with a grand flourish, she turned, motioning to the spread of desert before them. “to catch a monster.”

succubus grinned. “i do like the sound of that.”

“hell yeah you do! we are the fuckin’ veil!” tahoe had a mapped spread out over the car’s hood, covered in various markings. “shit, iiiiii am utter garbage at location work, i wish jarbridge was out of medical already—“ she laughed. “man she’s probably high as a kite right now anyway. she’d be useless. okay, look just—you two come over here.”

seraphim and succumbs watched at her shoulders as she pointed with one black-painted nail to a part of the map marked with three sharpie x’s, all in a triangle and all on the other side of a low, craggy ridge about a mile or so from where the dirt roadside where they’d parked. “based off of all the intel we’ve been able to gather, we think that it’s home base is right around here. now, it’s daytime, and this thing is one nocturnal son of a bitch, so the strategy is to get a jump on him on his home turf. catch him with pants down, or whatever.”

succubus hummed, “oh, now those are my favorite kind of missions—“

tahoe lifted her eyebrows. “remind me to ask you some questions when this is all over and we get celebratory shots on the strip or something. now!” in a few wide strides she was at the trunk, popping the lid with the wave of a hand as she walked. “these are yours.” she handed seraphim her usual pistol, and succubus a standard issue handgun marked by the roanoke insignia and a few sigils she couldn’t quite recognize.

“there’s my baby!”

“uh, morgan, what kinds of babies have you been around…?” but seraphim was too busy taking practice swings with a large wooden bat, embedded with nails, wrapped in barbed wire and prayer beads.

“rae, meet virgil. virgil, rae. most trustworthy man i’ve ever met.”

succubus lifted her eyebrows in approval. “will, uh, i get one of those—?”

seraphim had the audacity to wink. “if you make one yourself. i’ll tell you virgil’s story over all those shots tahoe said she was going to buy us here in a second.”

but tahoe was back studying the map. something about her posture was different. her back straighter, her lips in a tighter line. there was a beat before she lifted her eyes to the agents, sighing. “i wish there was something more i could give you. anything more. but this is it.” another short exhale. “we don’t know what, exactly, this is. but you two are going to be the best crack at it that we’ve taken so far. if things get hairy, just head back here. i’ll stay here with the ride. my office is a button-press away. don’t—“ she swallowed. seraphim felt nervousness tug at the base of her stomach. this wasn’t like emilia. “don’t be scared to bail out. might’ve saved jarbridge her legs. i’ll be here, okay? comm’s on. you’ve got your specs. call me beep me, whatever.”

succubus lifted a hand, reflexively tracing the frames that rested across the bridge of her nose.

“… good luck.”

seraphim had one hand on the top of the holster strapped across her thigh, the other on virgil’s base. he rested easily across the width of her shoulders. she knew where the grooves were to keep the barbs from digging into her work jacket (although a few still did anyway). succubus realized the weird straps of leather stretching across seraphim’s back were just another holster as she took one more swing, then popped the back into the curved sockets. “we won’t let you down, em. rae—stay at my shoulder.”

but she waited until they were a ways down, making their own path through the sand before she kept going: “—but when i say get behind me, get behind me.”

succubus frowned. “what, you think i can’t handle it?”

“rae—“

“no, no, please, enlighten me.” they didn’t stop walking. their path started to descend down, and succubus could see the rocky edge they’d have to hike over to get to the triangle marked on tahoe’s map. she wondered if it’d be like the monster movies she’d watched as a kid; would there be a cave? a dark, yawning maw on a hillside, looking like it’s full of nothing but pitch, like how sophie walked into the cavern in howl’s moving castle?

seraphim didn’t answer immediately, but then: “this is our first time. not to make this sound all euphemistic and shit, but i’d prefer if you didn’t, i don’t know, get a part of your neck bitten out, get your bones broken—y’know. work stuff.”

succubus blew out a breath. “right. … right. i, uh. i’m—“

“don’t.” seraphim smiled. succubus realized how easy it looked, sliding onto her countenance.

it didn’t make sense.

she’d seen this same woman look absolutely haunted when she thought no one was looking.

“i’m here to act as guardian angel. this is a part of your training.” and softer: “… and mine, too.”

“hmm?”

“nothin’. just stay close, okay?”

“‘kay.”

* * *

the rest of the walk was fairly quietly. seraphim kept singing under her breath, but succubus couldn’t make out anything familiar. she thought she heard something like “it’s rainin’ tacos…”

they came up on top of the ridge, and succubus squinted, staring down. it was a sheer drop, and while it wasn’t like they were on top of the grand canyon, she was pretty sure a fall from this height could kill someone. or at least make sure they never walked again. seraphim whistled lowly, motioning off to the left. “looks like there’s a path that goes down.” her voice was soft, but solid. “if i had to guess, we’re probably standing on top of this thing’s house. ten bucks says there’s a cave or something similar down there.”

“deal.”

and as it turned out, there was a cave.

well—‘cave’ might’ve been too kind of a descriptor.

to seraphim it looked more like a giant had straight up just clawed a huge whole into the side of the rock. the entrance was marked by sharpened, jagged stones that looked too much like teeth for her liking.

they approached painfully slowly. as soon as the ground had evened out, seraphim had drawn her pistol, and succubus mimicked the movement. but there was no sound, nothing, save for the wind whistling over the ridge.

“look like about how you expected?”

“with a bit more cacti, yeah. and the police cruiser is a surprise.”

the saguaro looked like they belonged there, but that car did not. seraphim wondered if it was the same one she’d seen in the photo lilith had shown her, but this one had definitely been through the wringer.

all the windows had been shattered. the sun caught the shards of glass that surrounded it, making it look like someone had spilled stars onto the sand. it was covered in dents, the place where the engine was had been hit downward (whatever engine there had been was now probably less engine and more just… car parts scattered underneath the cruiser), but what caught her eye the most was a set of six long lines dug along the length of one side.

claw marks? teeth marks? it was anyone’s guess.

—oh. and we’re about to find out.

succubus suppressed a shiver underneath a full sun. “what do we do?” she whispered. she could see seraphim’s jaw working, brows furrowed.

“should’ve brought a grenade…” a short sigh. “well, too late now, and this isn’t exactly joe’s last d and d campaign. i don’t think charging in there is a good idea. we have no idea of the layout, and ‘strength in numbers’ doesn’t apply to every situation, especially not ones like this.” she lifted a hand and ran it along her chin. “… okay. okay. i have an idea.”

“what’s the idea?”

“you go wait by the cruiser. i’m gonna whistle and try to draw it out.”

“… are you being serious?”

seraphim grinned and it looked borderline maniacal. “sure am. something tells me it might have a weakness to sunlight, hence why we only see it at night. if it is demonic, like lilith thinks, i’ll be able to bind it. and if it’s undead—also like lilith thinks—then you’ll just dispatch it.” she nodded to the handgun at succubus’s hip. “those bullets are holy. should do the trick. now get over there. i’m going to see if i can pull off a tom and jerry, get the jump on it from behind if we can just lure it out.”

so. succubus found herself on her knees behind the front part of the cruiser, sheltering behind the busted metal. she watched as seraphim had walked a far, wide circle, coming back to the ridge face and slowly edging her way along the rock, her spine pressed as flat against the stone as it would go. virgil, abandoned for the moment to make space, leaned against the rock some ways away. succubus was already regretting that decision.

it felt like ages passed as she side-stepped. side-stepped. side-stepped. side-stepped again.

until finally seraphim was close to the cave’s mouth. but she didn’t draw her gun again, like succubus had expected. it stayed holstered alongside her thigh. but she did roll up her sleeves to reveal—were those tattoos? where had those come from? succubus couldn’t remember seeing them before. had she found time to mark herself somehow?

but she didn’t have enough time to ponder. because seraphim met her eyes, nodded once, and turned her neck.

there it came, a whistle, low, long and, succubus reasoned if she could hear it from all the way behind the police car, loud. seraphim abruptly jerked back, flattening herself again. her palm spread wide against the stone, trying to feel the vibrations of movement, the vibrations of anything.

but an entire minute passed. then two. then five.

seraphim blew some air into her cheeks, and with trembling legs, finally began walking back towards the car. “look, rae, i think maybe the recon team got the wr—“

it came so quickly that seraphim immediately collapsed to her knees. it was a high-pitched banshee wail of a shriek, so cacophonous and blaring that even when succubus jammed the heels of her hands over the shell curves of her ears it did nothing to soften the sound. she screwed her eyes shut, and just as abruptly as it started, it was done. when she opened them, trying to remember how to breathe, how inhaling and exhaling felt, seraphim had collapsed onto her rear on the other end of the cruiser.

succubus swallowed. “what. the fuck. was that.” her voice was quiet. a jet plane would have been quiet in comparison to what they’d just heard.

seraphim had no color in her face and couldn’t immediately answer. “… okay. that’s uh. probably the target. i apologize, i completely gave in to the monkey brain flight-or-fight response there and didn’t pick the right one.”

“i don’t know if i necessarily agree.” they stared at each other for a few beats of silence. both were afraid to move. it wasn’t something either of them were trying to hide that moment. “—what do we do now?”

seraphim took a breath, her mouth moving to answer, but was interrupted by—succubus didn’t know how to describe it, not straight away. it had different parts, all moving and all happening so close together it was hard to pick them apart. the whoosh of air, the clean cut of metal on metal, that short of shink noise that a knife made up against a whetstone. succubus blinked.

she thought she’d seen sparks between them.

literal sparks, as if the side of the car had been hit with something.

her mind was trying to catch up.

… are those claws?

the fingertips—nails, talons, claws, all of them—of a hand (‘hand’ was a generous descriptor in this instance) were sticking out of the side of the car. not opening the door. they were sticking out having gone through the outer frame of the cruiser.

tap. … tap tap.

succubus was going to be sick.

taptaptaptaptaptaptap—

seraphim abruptly fell backwards as the half of the car she’d been leaning against was wrenched back, and she found herself staring upwards, right into the face of the monster of the photograph.

“jesus christ you are so much uglier up close.”

“morgan for fuck’s sake—!“

succubus was reaching, grabbing, trying to grasp her pant leg, something as this thing let out another scream. it threw the chunk of cruiser down where seraphim had been lying in partial shock just seconds earlier. the crash was deafening and before seraphim quite knew what was happening, she was sprinting across the sand with her elbow in a grip that was almost bone-crushing.

“run!”

it didn’t matter that they were armed. it was too close too fast. there was no time. no space. it was on them like–what was it poltergeist had liked to say? white on rice.

that thing didn’t have to make a noise, they could both hear the hoofbeats behind them, could see the too-long, too-prickled shadow catching up to overtake theirs on the desert ground.

“what the fuck! what the fuck! shit!” succubus wasn’t leading them back to tahoe, then there’d be three dead agents instead of just two, and she absolutely believed that there was for sure going to be two.

“—i have another idea!”

“oh fucking great!”

“no no no, this one’ll work i’m positive!”

“isn’t that what you said last time?!”

“if you remember correctly, i said no such thing! trust me, old school always works! let me go on three, okay? one—three!”

succubus hadn’t planned on turning around, but then the—demon? zombie? old forgotten demigod or someone’s bastard offspring? who knew?—started to make a new sound. she ran until its shadow wasn’t touching anything in her sight, ending up back against the ridge. only then did she turn.

… wow.

what she hadn’t seen was seraphim pulling off what she’d honestly considered a hail mary.

they couldn’t outrun it. in the time it would take them to draw their guns, it probably would’ve sliced them open at the elbows. and as any necromancer, or exorcist, or witch, or sorcerer can tell you: it’s very, very difficult to concentrate enough to do anything, let alone put up a decent defense or guard, when you’re actively being chased and doing the opposite of gaining ground.

not for seraphim, anyway.

not yet.

as soon as succubus’s grip released from her arm with a push, seraphim dropped like dead weight onto her back and prayed—prayed very, very hard, and focused, just like she’d been taught.

she forced her elbows to meet, right up to her wrists, as she was very, very narrowly missed being stepped on (which would’ve been lethal—apparently she’d missed the velociraptor feet the first go-around). and as she did so, the marks on her arms made a shape—a circle, decorated with smaller symbols, around and around and around…

a seal.

“a capite ad calcem.”

from head to heel.

freeze, motherfucker.

succubus turned in time to see the target upheld over seraphim, who was flat on her spine against the dirt, directly underneath it. it almost looked like it was being suspended by the thinnest strands of razor wire—succubus kept catching glints as it thrashed, and something black began to ooze out of it.

seraphim had some drip right onto her flushed cheeks, struggling a bit to keep the seal intact.

succubus began to understand why poltergeist had brought her up so often. for a beat, she could only stare.

and with a bit of surprise, she realized she didn’t feel envy, or any kind of spite—because that’s just what adam would have wanted, isn’t it? to break a thing before it got a chance to breathe?—she felt awe.

she felt pride.

which quickly melted into panic as soon as seraphim’s voice cut through her haze, upped a pitch in the chaos. “rae? buddy? a little help? this dude’s—oh shit, no you do not, asshole mcgee—just a smidge stronger than i first thought. show me what you’ve got! deport this fucker!”

every line blazed into a brightness that hurt her to look at for too long, and it suddenly all snapped into place. every single thing poltergeist had taught her, flooding back. perhaps her learning retention was better than she thought.

as another of the monster’s cries echoed against the ridge wall—this one perhaps a bit more pain than rage—she ran closer.

those were petrov lines—which meant that was an azrael seal. azrael was an archangel who had special dominion over retribution; his marks (and succubus understood that oh, those are what seraphim had on her arms, i just couldn’t recognize them in broken pieces—) aided in trapping demonic entities that had manifested onto the physical plane. this was one of the first seals that seraphim had been taught, and for good reason.

okay. so a demon.

but petrov lines, those only appeared for beings that were demonic just in part. something that came from some of the in-between worlds, an underworld that was a hell but not a hell.

something that succubus merely recognized as undead.

fuck, it’s both.

but succubus suddenly felt a surge of confidence at the light of the lines, and she lifted her hands, gun forgotten, darkness already beginning to twine out from her elbows, down to her wrists. she stalked, predatory, and seraphim tried to both watch her partner and keep this thing under control.

she may not have seen succubus’s hand motions, the intricate movements of her fingers in rapid succession followed by a definitive slicing motion.

but she heard her, speaking in the same tongue she had.

“ad initium—asshole!”

seraphim watched as cords of black intertwined with the lightlines, and kept watching as they found the creature’s neck.

it was both forces together that bore themselves down and quite literally razored the being into little chunks. no more black fell on seraphim’s face. it simply dissipated, as if it had turned to ash.

what was it that lilith had said?

walking different sides of the same road.

it took about a minute for it to disappear completely, and when it did, for about as long, neither agent moved. seraphim was exhausted. muscle fatigue manifested as tremors in her arms. she stared up at an empty sky as succubus slowly walked towards her, finally kneeling down by her side.

“… you good?”

“… yeah. you good?”

“yeah.”

“groovy.”

seraphim closed her eyes. she could’ve fallen asleep if she hadn’t started to hear distant yelling: “oh my god what did you two DO?!” tahoe was scrambling down towards them, yelling, looking equal parts horrified and elated. “i heard—oh my god, i—morgan, rae, you’re alive, you’re both alive, hallelujah, and no bones! morgan, what the fuck is all over your face? whose blood is that? is that blood? holy shit i can’t believe you—woah woah!” she caught succubus as she flopped off to the one side, threatening to collapse. “rae. rae, stay away. morgan. … morgan!”

she slapped the exorcist on the bicep, and the exorcist in question swore but in a much more whiney tone than she’d originally meant, to which tahoe just quipped: “oh walk it off you big baby. we’ll have a beta team come out and cleanse this area, it’s still tainted, which means if you’re gonna faint, you can’t do it here. c’mon now, up we go—“

succubus, as a newer recruit, had the luxury of tahoe’s arm around her waist, helping her to stagger to her feet. seraphim had a few false starts before she managed to first roll up onto her knees, then finally, to stand. her first few steps were shaky. but she shook her head, blinked a few times, and glanced over at succubus and tahoe walking back towards the car.

and they grew steadier, as she went.

around thirty minutes later, time found them all sitting at the bar of a classic, neon-tinged greasy spoon diner, complete with black-and-white checkered floors and a jukebox in the corner that apparently knew three songs: rocketman, dancing queen, and under pressure.

not a bad mix, honestly.

“ladies!” tahoe was the first to lift her shot glass. the three of them swirled with some cheap well tequila, given a pink sheen from the lights. “what do we want to toast to?”

“… uhm.” seraphim mumbled, staring at her glass. “weee… should toast toooo…”

“… new friendships?” succubus had spoken so softly that at first, seraphim wasn’t sure she’d heard her. but once she understood, she grinned, broadly.

“to new friendships—and to the first of many victories.” succubus smiled back at her. … i think i could really like it here.

“cheers!”

their glasses clinked to the tune of sir elton john, crooning softly: “and i think it’s gonna be a long long time… and i think it’s gonna be a long long time…”

#the roanoke society #agent succubus #agent seraphim #agents of sass & class #agent quetzl #agent tahoe #agent lovelock #lilith #agent poltergeist #once upon a time in nevada #(what's this? morgan actually created content? the madness!)

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