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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

5K notes · View notes

quiet-onset · 3 years

Text

New Suit

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: it’s been forever since I’ve posted, but I have been writing since I was stuck at home with covid 😅 Hopefully I can post something else next week too! ANYWAYS, this fic does not have any TFAWS spoilers and (as usual) does not give a fuck about Endgame, meaning our favorite dysfunctional couple Tony and Steve are alive. Steve simply passed on the mantle. Enjoy!

So Sam was Captain America. And he was proud of that fact.

The day that Steve decided to retire and give him one of his most prized possessions was a day Sam would never forget. A whirlwind of emotions had swelled in his chest. Shock, unworthiness, gratitude. But after talking it over with Steve — and surprisingly enough, with Bucky — Sam agreed to take in the role.

The thing was, no one knew yet. At least, no one outside of the Avengers facility.

Immediately after Thanos, there weren’t really any Avengers level threats. Most threats could be handled by one team member, and it was usually one of the newbies — Peter, Scott, even Wanda. That being so, Sam didn’t have much of a reason to even make public appearances. So he didn’t.

Sometimes, he’d stand in the training room, the red, white, and blue shield strapped to his arm, and just stare in the mirror. Something felt wrong. Out of place. Like the reflection before him was almost right, but he still couldn’t tell what was wrong. Tony had caught him one time as he stepped into the room, a sports bottle full of ice cold water in his hand. “Mid-life crisis?”

Sam jumped at his loud voice and almost scrambled to detach the shield from his arm, like a kid caught with his grubby little hand in the cookie jar. “My bad, I’ll just—“

“No no, keep it on.” Tony waved a hand. “I gave it to Steve, he gave it to you. It’s yours, no give backsies.”

Sam nodded but took the shield off anyway. He decided that he didn’t need to train anymore and headed toward the door. “I’m just gonna go put this back.”

“What is going on with you, Wilson?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony raised a brow, “What do I mean? You staying cooped up in this facility. Barely training with the shield. Opting out of assignments. That’s what I mean.”

“There’s not much of a need.”

“There is. You just don’t see it yet.” Tony walked toward him. “Look, I know being the new Cap has you freaked out—“

“I’m not freaked out.”

“Sure. But Steve chose you and that should be good enough.”

“It is.” Sam huffed as he turned the shield in his hands. “I don’t know, man. I just… It’s just hard to believe. Hard to put in action, I guess.”

“Well, seeing is believing.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Head to room 626 when you get a chance.”

“What’s in room 626?”

“You’ll see.”

—

Sam exited the elevator on the sixth floor to loud muffled music. Looking around, he realized he’d never even been to that part of the facility before. The white walls and obscure art seemed strange and misplaced in a building full of superhumans. Too clean, too elegant.

Each of the rooms seemed that way too. Sam paused in the hallway, glancing through some of the glass doors with people’s names painted neatly at the top. Hardwood floors and marble countertops in each room. So impeccably clean that even dust bunnies wouldn’t dare step foot inside.

Yet, when Sam approached room 626, he realized this was where the loud music was coming from. Different from the other rooms, this one was messy and colorful. He slid the glass door open, flinching at loud volume.

He recognized the track — his father used to listen to it all the time when he was growing up. He could almost hear his dad’s deep voice teasing him: “You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this, son. This was before your time.” Of course Sam knew the song. His dad was the one who put him on. Still, Sam’s dad always got a kick out the playful fight he put up.

The long, seemingly endless hallway was painted a blinding white. He could make out a peculiar smell as he walked toward the end of the hall. Wet paint or fumes, he wasn’t really sure. He just pulled his shirt over his nose and kept looking for… well only God really knew.

Finally, he arrived in the main room and saw you and your controlled chaos. You had ten or twenty different fabrics pinned to one wall and sketches of different outfits pinned to the opposing one. Against the back wall were mannequins wearing your works in progress. And just in front of Sam on a large wooden desk were schematics and what looked like engineering tools. Soldering iron, wires, circuit boards, and the like.

Everything seemed like a tornado of colors, clothes, and fabric. But you? You were as cool as a cucumber with your expensive looking spray painting mask strapped on as you sprayed the back of a jean jacket with bright pink paint. Sam chuckled when he heard your muffled voice sing along to the song, not noticing his presence. “Sherry bay-yay-by. Sherry, wontcha come out tonight.”

Sam pulled his shirt back down with a small grin on his lips, debating whether he should disturb you. In the end, he decided to save you the embarrassment, but by then, you’d already moved on to the next verse. You dropped your voice down low in an attempt to sound just like Nick Massi, singing, “Why don’t you come on.”

Sam let out a loud laugh, only covering it with his hand as you jumped, finally realizing someone else was in the room. “Sorry.” Sam chuckled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your concert.”

You pulled the mask over your head, revealing a nervous smile. You jogged to the desk and grabbed the remote to switch off the stereo. “Concert’s a flattering choice of words.”

“Well you were really nailing that Massi.”

You raised a brow as you set down the can of spray paint. “You listen to Four Seasons?”

“Growing up, it was a staple in the Wilson household.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You shook it, an impressed smile on your face. “So what can I do for you, Sam?”

“I’m actually not sure. Tony just kinda sent me up here.” He raised a brow when you gasped, amused with your excitement. He smiled as the cute squeal that pushed past your lips. “I assume you know what that means.”

“I’ve been asking him forever if I could design your new suit!”

“New suit?”

“I mean, if you’re okay with it.” You added.

“I just don’t see why I need a new suit is all.” Sam shrugged as he looked around at all your work. He knew, way deep down in the rational part of his consciousness, that he needed a new suit. There wasn’t anything wrong with his Falcon suit, but wearing a new suit seemed too definite. If he put on a new combat suit, it meant that he was fully stepping into this new role. That he would be Captain America in more than just name. People would look at him, at his suit, and recognize that he was the Captain America.

“How about this?” You stepped toward him, prepared to bargain. “Let me make you a suit. If you don’t like it, I’ll just give your Falcon suit an upgrade. Deal?”

He let out a nervous chuckle at your offer. He had nothing to lose, really. Either way, he got upgrades. Still, he looked over at you and decided he couldn’t be the one to snuff the ambitious look in your dark eyes. He shook your hand, smiling softly at the triumphant grin that broke across your face. “Deal.”

“Great!” You were bouncing on your toes when he agreed. You practically raced back to your desk and started shuffling through your sketches and until you found the folder you were searching for. You handed them to Sam, “You can come back tomorrow morning so I can take your measurements. Till then, look through these sketches and tell me what you like.”

“So you’ve been working on this for awhile?” Sam asked, briefly flipping through the many colorful sketches.

“Ever since Tony told me about you.”

He let out a breath of amusement through his nose. Of course it was Tony, trying to set things in motion before Sam was even sure of what he wanted. Still, he knew Tony was trying to help. Sam gestured with the folder. “I’ll take a look.”

“Cool. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

—

When Same woke up the next day, he found himself immediately thinking about meeting with you later. He felt weird. Nervous, even. Whether it was due to the idea of a new suit — of being Captain America — or seeing you, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt like a swarm of butterflies had flown from his stomach to his throat and decided to make a home there.

After stepping out of the shower, which took twenty more minutes than usual, he fumbled around for something to wear. What was he supposed to wear to fitting anyway? Sweats? Jeans? As his mind wandered, he thought of you. Rather, he thought of how you would see him. Maybe I should wear the green shirt, he thought. Girls always seem to like the green shirt.

He paused. Why was he thinking that?

He’d just met you. He knew a total of two facts about you: your name was Y/N and you listened to Four Seasons. That was hardly enough for Sam to be worried about how he looked for you. Yet, there he was, slipping on the dark green shirt that seemed to stretch ever so slightly across his broad chest. He settled on a pair of dark jeans before heading down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

As he stepped into the communal kitchen, Bucky was already sitting at the island, back facing Sam. He had just returned from his daily run, still in his sweatpants and white T-shirt with a cup of coffee in front of him. “There’s still fresh coffee in the pot.” Bucky mumbled into his cup as he flipped to the next page of the newspaper.

“Thanks.” Sam walked past him, slapping the newspaper into Bucky’s face as he walked by. “Why are you reading a newspaper?”

“To keep up with the news. Like a normal person.”

“There are these great new things called cell phones. Most people read the news on those now.”

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?” Bucky lowered the newspaper and furrowed his brow at the sight of Sam. “What girl are you trying to impress?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Green shirt.”

“What about it?”

“That’s your ‘I want a girl to like me’ shirt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam scoffed as he poured a second cup of coffee. “This is just a shirt.”

“The shirt.”

“I’m not having this argument with you.”

“Not much of an argument when you know I’m right.” Bucky smirked. “Who’s the second cup for?”

Sam paused as he realized he’d been caught, but quickly recovered with an eye roll. “For me. So I don’t have to come back and hear your annoying ass voice.”

“Mhm. Tell the girl I said hi.”

“Screw you.” Sam left the kitchen to the sound Bucky’s chuckles, reluctant to admit that he was right. Moments later, he was waiting for the elevator, tapping his shoe to distract himself from the butterflies that were starting to flutter around again. When the doors slid open, Tony briefly greeted Sam before stopping and pulling off his glasses. “Green shirt?”

Sam stepped past him. “Shut up.”

Every step closer to your workspace had him jittery. Not only was he forced to deal with these unfamiliar feelings for you — if that’s what they were — but he was finally being confronted with his new position. One step closer to replacing Steve. To being Captain America. Yet, he couldn’t deny, he could envision himself in some of the suits you had sketched for him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When he entered 626, there was loud music playing once again. Another old song he recognized, Van Morrison. He smiled at the thought of you dancing around your space again, singing along to Brown Eyed Girl. It wasn’t so much about him catching you in the act. It was nice, a privilege really, to see the natural you. Eyes closed, arms up, hips swaying. Seeing how you act when you believed no one was watching was like strangely endearing.

And there you were, almost matching his wandering thoughts to a tee. You were setting up for work, once again not noticing Sam’s arrival. You danced across the room as you moved things from place to place. You began to sing out the words as you prepared to lift your tri-fold mirror. Sam broke from the trance and called out your name. You jumped and placed a hand over your heart, laughing quietly when you saw it was only him. “Caught me again.”

“To be fair, you seem pretty easy to catch with the way you get lost in music.” Sam smiled, placing the coffee cups on your desk, far from any of your papers. “Let me get that for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“It’s no problem. Just tell where you want it.”

You stepped away from the mirror, tossing a stray braid over your shoulder with a smile. “Just over there, in front of that pedestal. Thanks.” When he went to lift it, your eyes were drawn to his arms, watching his biceps flex. You caught yourself before you could begin to stare, heat rising to your cheeks as you went to look for your measuring tape.

“Oh, by the way, I brought you a cup of coffee.” Sam mentioned as he set the mirror down. “You know, if you drink it? I didn’t know what you put in it, if anything, so it’s black. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect, actually.” You sighed happily. “I’ve been trying to replace coffee with loud music in the mornings, hence the dancing.”

“Of course.” He chuckled in response.

“And while I love to blast Morrison at nine in the morning, it’s not the same without a hot cup of coffee.” You took the cup he offered with a smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

Sam couldn’t help how his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t mention it.”

You took a sip, “So, you ready to get measured for your new suit?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Great, just step onto the pedestal for me, and relax.”

“Got it.”

It was quiet as you brought the tape measure under his arms and around his chest. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Sam was sure his nerves had to be radiating out of him. The butterflies were beating against his ribcage as you pulled just tight enough on the tape measure. You took note of the number and bent over to write it down on your notepad. Being so close to you, Sam felt himself tense up as you measured around his waist. You chuckled and looked up at him. “You gotta relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“If you don’t loosen up, your new suit is gonna be super tight in all the wrong places.” You joked. “Talking usually helps.”

“About what?”

“Anything.” You shrugged. “Like why are you so opposed to a new suit?”

Almost as if it was a reflex, Sam tensed up again with a nervous and playful chuckle. “Way to get me to relax.”

“I’m just saying.” You laughed, adjusting the tape once again. “It’s not like you’re not qualified. I mean, Steve chose you.”

“Yeah, he did. I wish it were that simple in my mind.” He admitted.

“What’s your mind saying?”

“What isn’t it saying?” Sam rolled his eyes at himself. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t want to put that on you. That’s not your job.”

“It’s not.” You agreed with a chuckle. “But that’s not why I asked. You can tell me.”

Again, with a wave of confusion, he felt the tension melt away. He didn’t know why he felt this way, like he could tell you anything and everything. There was a familiarity about you, like you were someone he’d known his entire life despite only meeting twenty hours ago. His father probably would’ve called you an old soul. Maybe in some other lifetime, in another universe, you knew each other. Or maybe, this was just fate coming to pass. Destiny finding, not two halves, but two wholes — putting them together like some sort of experiment to see what would come of it.

“It’s just… how am I supposed to follow after Steve?” He asked. “He has such a huge story, this legacy just hanging over my head. He’s been saving people since before either of us were born. And now here I am, some dude from the Air Force that met Steve completely by accident, about to take up his shield. It just seems unbelievable. Literally.”

You nodded as you measured around his left thigh. “First, let me say that your feelings are completely valid.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to decimate everything I just said?”

“Not decimate!” You laughed. “Just gently prove wrong.”

“Oh, in that case.” He smiled down at you.

“Shut up.” You snapped him with the tape measure before measuring his other thigh. “Steve is not the only one with a story. I mean, Sam Wilson, the guy who grew up in Harlem, lost his parents and his best friend, and still managed to not give up? The guy Steve Rogers trusted with his life almost immediately after meeting him? The same dude who stole a top secret government project and used it to become a superhero? I think that’s pretty badass.”

Sam considered your words with a small smile. Sure, he may have seemed normal — maybe even mundane — to himself, but the fact is that he had also been through a lot. Just like Steve, Sam realized that his life was no walk in the park. Not many people couldn’t have lived Sam’s life and come out the other side not just okay but strong. He wasn’t Steve Rogers, but that didn’t matter. He was Sam Wilson, and maybe that was okay.

“You’re good at that.” He commented quietly, looking down at you. He just about caught himself staring at you. The bright smile across your ruby shaded lips, the almost childlike excitement in your eyes. And your eyes — jesus. They were the same color as his, a dark brown. Yet, he couldn’t help but find yours so much more interesting.

“At what?”

“Talking to people.”

“Not everyone. Just...” You shook your head as you stood up straight. There was something indecipherable in his eyes — or maybe you wanted to believe it was. Still, it was there. Admiration, confusion, gratefulness? You weren’t sure. But the intensity of his stare made heat spread across your cheeks one more, and you ducked your head, moving to the side to measure the length of his arm. “Just people like you.”

Minutes later, you finished his measurement and moved on to the designs. You and Sam went through each and every one, noting his likes and dislikes. As time went on, it became very apparent that he was ready to be Captain America. Even if he wasn’t sure yet, you were. Much too soon, every detail of his new suit was planned out, and it was time for Sam to go.

“If I make this my top priority, I can have your new suit finished in two weeks, tops.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam said bashfully. “I’m sure you have other work to do.”

“None as exciting or as important.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego.” He joked.

You scoffed painfully, “Like you need me to do that.”

You walked beside him, down the hall and to the elevator. He couldn’t help but wish he had some sort of excuse to stay, but leading the Avengers meant a mountain of responsibilities. Still, he wanted to see you again. Not for work and not for designing a new suit. He wanted to get to know you away from the fabric and tape measures. He wanted to find out how someone as sweet and breathtaking as you could even exist in a world filled with such evil left and right. So, he rocked back and forth for a moment before turning to you.

“And um, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Sam fully intended to ask you out just then. But he felt like he couldn’t move. A feeling of nervousness he hadn’t gotten since he was a teenager, he was frozen. Staring at you like a deer in headlights, his brain screamed at him: Just ask her, you dumbass! Then, the elevator announced its arrival with a ding and broke his concentration. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously. “Thank you again. You’ve been a huge help.”

You blinked in confusion but stammered out, “Glad to be of service.”

It wasn’t until a few days later that Sam had gained the courage to do what he should’ve done in that moment.

The city was in danger — some high-level Hydra threat — and the Avengers were needed. Everyone rushed off to suit up, including Sam. That’s when he saw it. You had just finished his suit, and it was more than Sam could’ve ever imagined. A shiny white breastplate with red decals on the torso, blue pants lined with bulletproof material, and to top it off, his signature red wings. That was something he wanted to keep. They reminded him of his humble beginnings, of what made him the man that Steve chose to be Captain America.

And Captain America he was.

Sam was aware of all the stares he got as he fought the Hydra agents and ended the crisis with the rest of the team. He knew it would take some getting used to. But he was pretty sure — no, extremely sure that he could do this. He could be the symbol that the public needed.

He strolled back into the Avengers Complex, handing a handcuffed Hydra agent off to be questioned, when he saw you. You were usually there waiting, ready for feedback on your new toys and inventions. But what Sam said surprised you.

“Hey Sam,” You started. “Did your new suit fare well? I was already thinking of some modifications based on —“

“Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?”

You blinked, lowering your clipboard in shock. “What?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?” He smiled wide and unabashedly. Then, with no hesitation, you smacked him on the arm with your clipboard, making him bark out a laugh.

“Took you long enough.”

#sam wilson x reader #cap!sam wilson x reader #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #sam wilson x black!reader #cap!sam wilson x black!reader #marvel x black!reader #sam wilson fanfiction #cap!sam wilson fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x black!reader

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namjoonchronicles · 4 years

Text

finer arts | th

↳ genre fluff, slice of life, domestic, husband-Taehyung ↳ words 4.6k ↳ summary inspired by the Baumgartner Restoration channel on Youtube, Taehyung is written as a fine art restorer. This fic centres on the point where arts and science collide. Also, long haired Taehyung. Unedited. :’) ↳ song miley cyrus ‘when i look at you’ slowed ver.

Very soft. Taehyung’s hair, at this length, had always been soft. It’s been awhile since he told you he wanted them to grow longer, and it’s finally paying off. He looks terribly soft with bangs going just a little over his brows and poking his eyes. Gathering his hair into one apple sprout and tying it up has always been your favourite way to start the day. He was humming Frank Sinatra's in the living room as it played on the bluetooth speaker when you found him. Always so hardworking. You leaned on your side by the wall, folding your arms and watching your husband pouting at the document he was reading as his head hung low. Big round glasses sliding down the slope of his Godly carved nose he learned to hate, growing up. Parker Fountain Pen in his slender fingers, cross crossing, underlining, circling the paper in a professional manner makes you remember why you had fallen for him. Slowly, but surely.

He lifts his eyes, noticing another presence in the room, and briefly smiles before returning to his writing pad again, greeting in a deep voice, “You’re awake?”

“Yes, I am…” you nodded, indulging the view still. When he starts to repeatedly push his hair away from his face, you take off your own hairband and have him sit down on the floor, with his back leaning against the couch. And you gather his hair with your finger raking the locks gently, tying an apple sprout hair. His eyes were glued on the work he brought home.

“I take it that you’re leaving home for the studio today?” you tipped his head back, chin pointed upward, demanding his attention. He chuckles through his nose as you leaned in for a chaste kiss on the lips, where his beauty mark is and then the tip of his nose and the skin between his brows. With the chuckles alone, you knew you were right. Judging from the wrinkles on his forehead when he crosses out the plans he had, you knew that he was handling a semi large painting.

Taehyung is a fine-art conservator-restorer and because of it, his work consumes him. He treats his client’s painting like his own wife; each with their own time, loving and care. Instead of being envious towards the time he puts in them, you weigh more on the term ‘admiration’, towards his work and dedication. He truly is invested in his line of profession. It was only natural for an art lover like him to eventually become an artist himself, but after some unfortunate series of art blocks, he began to turn to conservation midway through college. You were always supportive of his aspirations. Although you don’t share the same passion for arts to actually go to a college as an art major like him, he always says you should have been an artist rather than scientist when he saw you sketch a lion behind your notes, after being frustrated about writing papers on your research.

Ever since then, you and Taehyung shared an art studio at your shared home after marriage.

“Polyurethane,” he let out a deep sigh. One word is enough.

A big part about restoration and conservation is perfection. When the previous conservator uses polyurethane as varnish, the next restorer, in this case is Taehyung, will have endless scrapings to do. Polyurethane becomes embedded in the paint, which makes most restorers emotionally frustrated. This poorly chosen varnish not only becomes a part of the paint, it makes it difficult to remove because it is scraped along with the original paint by the painter and artist. This then, leads to more restoration work because the objective of a restorer, is to… restore. Using polyurethane just adds into the time working on it. The last time he dealt with polyurethane paintings, he went home with colors drained out from his face. He spent a week on them because he needs to be extra careful to get most of the polyurethane out with minimal damage on the painting.

After the scrapings, he will have to remove the paintings from the old plywood it came with and it was glued with rabbit-skin glue which is the most tedious process, one after the other.

“When it came to the studio, I was holding my breath because the state of it... was just,” Taehyung puffed his cheek and deflated it. Where does he even start? Dented surface, skewed plywood frames, rabbit skin glue, and polyurethane varnish. The owner’s cat sat on the painting. And this painting was already fragile at this time. It was a very old painting auctioned for at least a million dollar. Taehyung almost fainted.

Right. That was how he is. When Taehyung works on a painting, any painting for that matter, of any values of any age, he is consumed by it. Giving it his all, but careful not to leave traces of him as to respect the original painter.Taehyung, as an artist, is mind blowingly authentic. He has unique perceptions towards everything he sees and he was the first few artist you knew that began with taking photographs. Actually, he was the only artist you knew all your life that was intimate enough to have this talk. Back in the days, art students don’t really mingle with science nerds due to unforeseen differences seniors claim to have. You personally were told that art students are too superficial to really want to understand the world and that they see you as a fuss in human form. You believed none of that bullshit.

You have always been the kind to look deeper than what is on the surface, always skin deep. Taehyung noticed this from the first time he laid eyes on you. There was something worth uncovering.

Just like today, when your eyes tunnels into the magnifier to see the photographed version of the painting he was supposed to restore, he gets giddy at the fact that his wife, his forever girlfriend takes so much interest in so many things and is well-versed in all kinds of art despite not being a member of the field. It was at moments like these that he relentlessly wonders why you never considered to seriously take art degrees just like your science stuff.

“Looks flaky, and the dent is so deep…” you commented, craning your neck on his desk as he watches fondly from the side, “You’ll have to patch it up and sew it together…”

The smile melts away and he averted his eyes, tapping his index finger on his knee at the same time. By his demeanor alone, you know that he dislikes this. The work just keeps piling on, and more and more of the original paint is lost. Like a wet on wet painting work, that keeps bleeding color, the painting will have more of Taehyung than it would of its owner. Taehyung let out a sigh you understood so well. You leave the painting’s print on the table with the magnifying glass set away on the corner with the rest of his tools. You bring yourself next to him and put your arm around his neck and the other palm rests on one side of his face, sliding down his chiseled jaws and thumb, tracing his lips. His cologne swims around your nostril, and the smell of his hair that you love, engulfs you. He gathers his arms around your waist, rests his head under your chin and stays like that as long as you both need.

He will be away for long and intimacy of such degree would be difficult to execute. Long tiring week ahead will make you drift you both apart, only to hopefully meet each other like the first time again.

You remember the first time you laid your eyes on Kim Taehyung. He was helping the waitress picking the pieces of fallen tissues after a minor accident. He looked like he walked out of someone’s innate dream. Clean-shaven, dark brown comma hair, boring a dark brown suit and pants to match. The selfless act was something intriguing to you. It’s so rare to find someone who would take the time to help others in such a fast-paced era where everything has to be quick and perfect. You remember turning away and smiling to yourself, grateful that there’s such men still in the world. You never planned to find any attachments that night, it was just a casual formal gathering that you had to attend in order to remain in the social circle. You actually wanted to leave after thirty minutes, and probably watch a late night movie at a nearby movie theatre to appease yourself.

A drink in your hand, a small talk about how good the eclairs were, and a little bit about your short-term plans; apart from that, there was nothing much. You were never the kind to approach people first, finding more interest in the food than you do the people attending. But not your best friend, not Jimin. He is the loudest, most animatic figure out there, talking about all kinds of things, doing a lot of gags and just, a walking entertainment channel, with his addictive laughter and outgoing personality. Jimin would make friends with a broomstick if it attended. It was because of him that you were dragged into this little dinner party. He said if you come, he will join your presentation that he called boring and asked relevant questions. After careful consideration, and losing a couple of friends because of your hectic college schedule, you had no choice but adhere to his demands.

“Hi,” a succulent honeyed deep voice greeted you from behind, “Where did you get those jelly desserts?”

You glanced at him and when you recognised that he was that dude who helped the waitress, you shot your eyes back to your plate instantly, then jerked your head back up, “From the dessert corner, next to the pillar… I think they haven’t refilled them,” you said to him through a smile. Wow, he was so much taller than you expected. And, smells so nice.

“Oh thank you,” he tutted his tongue and nodded once, before he walked away grinning, “Over there right?” He walks sideways to talk to you still. He almost trips over the folded carpet and you got instantly worried before replying in a haste, “Yes! Oh careful, please!”

He gave an okay sign and puffed his cheeks.

Finding the back of your calves began to strain from the long period of standings, you had to find yourself a bar stool and ate your food alone, while Jimin was throwing his head back at a joke one of his new friends were telling. Someone took the empty seat next to you and sat with a huff.

“We already met twice and I still don’t know your name,” he peels his eyes off of his plate and turns sideways to you, “I’m Taehyung, Kim Taehyung.” You said your name in a hurry with an awkward giggle at the end, before poking your fork into the grapes and shoving them into your mouth.

“Did you come here alone?” he asked. “No, but he looks like he is having fun,” you didn’t specify who it was and Taehyung hung his head low with a dry, “Oh.” “You?” you replied. “Alone,” Taehyung said, “Didn’t plan to stay very long…I was going to catch a movie.”

Your eyes light up, “What movie? Because I’m not staying too!” Taehyung pouts, “Haven’t decided… I was going to decide there and then.”

“It’s nice to watch movies alone ha…” “Helps me recharge…” “What major are you? We’re from the same uni, correct?” “I am. I am an art major, and now more to restoration and conservator.” “Oooo, interesting… Meticulous work. That’s amazing.”

Taehyung then learns that you’re a science major, pharmaceutical technology. It sounded foreign to him, he had never known anyone with a science major, let alone talk to one. They always seem so…

“Fussy? Introverted? Closed up?” you listed. He shakes his head, jutting his lower lip out trying to think of a better adjective to describe, shooting his eyes to the ceiling then to the right. “Guarded,” Taehyung tipped his head to the side, looking at you as he spoke. “I get why we seemed that way,” you swirled your fork around the plate of spaghetti you took and nodded in agreement, “But we’re probably thinking about our gazillion unfinished reports and stressed out about why the results aren’t tally, and forgetting our breakfast, lunch and dinner, being high on caffeine…” you shrugged your shoulder, explaining.

“Doesn’t seem like a healthy way to live,” Taehyung commented, “But I understand the struggle.”

Discussing about the stereotypes, the polar opposites of a science versus art majors lasted longer than you expected. Art majors and science majors actually share more in common than you’d think. For starters, both are extremely meticulous and precise. Taehyung spoke about the specification of colours and blending of several techniques into one art requires an extensive studies of observations and practice. As a conservator, he must recognise personalized styles of close to thousands of painters to differentiate a genuine piece from a copy--a skill that would take years and decades to perfect.

For science, specifics come in the definition of science. There has to be hypotheses to be proven, and theories that aligned with the results. Making medication has several strict rules; and the process, the testing are endless. From the drug is being formulated, to the way it is processed, and how it reacts when it enters the human body, to how long it takes to be expelled and whatever happened in between must be noted. Uniformity, size particles, bottling, storage, etc. are all taken into custody when it comes to making drugs. You told Taehyung about the exhausting 48 sets of 100mL volumetric flask being used in order to determine the complete dissolution of 100mG of paracetamol.

“I get cross-eyed having to stare at the mark, trying not to make mistakes,” you smiled and Taehyung giggled. “I understand about getting cross-eyed,” he added. He continues about having to re-color a varnished painting with a limited set of light in the studio, and not being able to determine what pigment it was until daylight reveals that he was wrong.

“I think art and science are two things humans can’t live without,” you started, looking down at your semi empty plate, “I mean, life depends on science, but art is what makes it worth living.” “Rebecca Atwood,” Taehyung cited. Then you both looked at each other for what seemed the longest time, as if you both had found home in each other.

Your heart clearly whispered, “Where have you been all my life?” And for a period of time, you actually believed it was one-sided. How could someone like Taehyung want to spend time with you. But you guys eventually went to the movies together.

Jimin called midway through the movie. You excused yourself and took the call outside the hall.

“Yo, where art thou? The party’s over, don’t tell me you went home without me,” Jimin nags.

“I’m at the movies, I’ll get the Uber, don’t worry,” you hissed, “No, Jimin, I’m going to be fine. It’s not that late, I’ll call you when I get home. Yes, I know there’s class tomorrow at 2pm, alright bye,” you hang up and rush back inside.

Taehyung looks at you with wondering eyes and you felt inclined to explain, “Jimin. Asked me where I was, and wanted to go home. I said I’ll take the Uber.”

“Uber? No, I can drive you home,” Taehyung offered. You don’t think you should be in a car with someone you barely know so you politely declined. Taehyung however, waited with you for the Uber, and waved you goodbye. He didn’t ask for your number, much to your disappointment. But maybe it was a one night thing for him. It’s not like you expected anything, so why do you carry yourself heavily to your dorm?

It was rare to find someone you could connect to in such a short time. Tonight was a miracle at work, and it was short lifted. Laying down in your bed with the light from your phone shone over your face, you scrolled down Instagram to see your married highschool friend cradling babies. Another friend just got married. Another is half a world away. A few are taking pictures of cute dates they went on. And then there’s you, who is now staring at each one filled with envy and discontent, wondering if anyone will ever find the time to notice you and hopefully fall for you. Deep inside, all you ever wanted was to be in love. Despite you plunge yourself into heavy work in the most strenuous field out there, you were inexplicably lonely. It gets increasingly difficult as you grow older, and your options for men decreases.

They say, everyone has a soulmate. But for some reason, you think God forgot to make yours. Real connection is possibly impossible to find. The love you seek probably doesn’t exist.

And as you turn your phone face down next to you, it vibrated a message in.

Jimin: Are you home yet? Hello? Jimin: So you found Kim Taehyung? From arts? Jimin: He texted me the Uber car’s plate number to make sure I know where you are…

You replied,

You: yes.. You: you know taehyung??

Jimin: uh yeah. Orientation week together. Campmates. Jimin: how was it? You: he was nice… Jimin: You cold-blooded women. You: XD

The next day was your presentation. After spotting Jimin in the crowd, you immediately felt better. Some familiar faces would be nice. Final year project presentations can be brutal. Some of the questions you expected would be the purpose, the motive, the need for this project to be funded and why it carries such significance. Sometimes what you expect doesn't happen, and because of that you get very disheartened and disappointed. No matter how brave you decide to be, your body protests and rebels against your wishes. The way the bottle tremble in your hands shows how much this is hammering your dignity. It is as if you expected to be humiliated. You glanced down to your heavily arrowed notes and scribbles, closing your eyes as you stood in the back stage, mentally preparing yourself. How to be bulletproof?

Had he not helped the girl to purchase a canned coffee from the vending machine, he would not have been late, Taehyung thought. Now he creeps in the back of the lecture hall, carrying his own opened canned drink. There was an extra unopened canned coffee drink he snuck in. You had already started your presentations. Does he have the mental capacity for this new information? Of course. There were a few terms he wasn’t familiar with, but it was not enough to bore him. Your simpler explanation the night you met actually helped a lot. The oozing charisma you carry and the calm way you carry yourself was something worth looking up to. It was the kind that he actually envied about you. He had a feeling that you weren’t showing all parts of you and because of that, he was intrigued. Even as he sat there as an audience, completely at awe of your presentation, you were magnetic.

Not a single one person in that auditorium was paying their attention elsewhere. Being able to draw such dedication and passion is a talent. And it was all Kim Taehyung wished he could do.

“With all the existing medication with the same purpose, what good would a research in the same area pose? A renewal?” “And what about the gene-specific cancer studies that are already initiated since 2004? Haven’t we spent enough on that?” “What about the ethical issues surrounding the existing CRISPR, the so-called genetic-specific medications?”

The questions from the PhD holders you presented were all valid. You agreed.

“As a scientist, we understand that our research will continue far after our death. Many researches are done without a clear view of where the finish line is. If we want to talk about ethical issues regarding gene modifications, we have done them on all the things we could consume, grow and breed. If we have the power to prevent abnormality before it becomes one, why do we second guess ourselves? Isn’t the purpose of science to better understand, and then to prevent? To create a better living?”

The room fell into a deathly silence, and you were inclined to go back to your statements but when you dragged your eyes to the corner of the room, you saw some juniors nodding in agreement to what you’ve just said, you regained a little ounce of confidence. “But we haven’t truly understood the after effects of gene modifications. And through all prolonged research thus far, it doesn’t suggest a good result. How do you guarantee a perceptible study in the development of the medication you’re proposing?”

. . . Sniffles greeted Taehyung at the door he pushed opened gently. You were standing by the handrails on the faculty’s rooftop, the papers you brought in scattered around the ground. Some are drained into the pool of water puddle from last night’s rain. Digging the heels of your palm into your eyes, you heard the door creaked open and jumped.

“I’m sorry…” Taehyung whispered. You glanced over your shoulder at him and then turned away. Not because of anger or fear, but from shame. You have never shown anyone this timid side of you. You’re always expected to be strong, and you took that mask on literally. Having someone witnessing your vulnerability is as foreign as the sight of a shooting star. How unlucky for Taehyung, you thought.

“I bought you…” he placed the canned drink on the ground, next to where you placed your backpack, “A canned coffee.”

“How did you,” you sniffed, “How did you know that the presentations’ today?” “You told me the night we met?” he answered, in a confused tone.

And you gave him a lopsided smile, “Oh right. I’m not used to people remembering my errands. Jimin never does. No one ever does.”

“I am not actually good at remembering. But for some reason, yours was unforgettable,” he added an awkward chuckle at the end, scratching the back of his head not sure why he finds conversation with you feel homey. Sincerity and honesty comes naturally like breathing the air in.

“I did a crap job at presenting, didn’t I?” it was a statement, pretentiously laid out as a question.

But Taehyung knew better than to cement the depressive thought. Then he scooted near to you, and coil to your side, to give you a puppy eyed bright smile.

That was when you first knew a Kim Taehyung. Everything else that happened after that seemed like a story written just for you. But loving Kim Taehyung didn’t come without challenges. When you love a man as attractive as that, there will be wandering eyes directed towards him. And you have your own fair share of evil eyes directed at you. How can a science nerd catch the attention of an art student? It was totally unheard off. Had Taehyung paid any attention to those thirsty hyenas, you would have given up the fight. However, this is Taehyung you’re talking about. Once he had his eyes set to a person, he developed tunnel vision only to that person.

For years, you struggled with perfection. And the thing about the struggle is that it was common to everyone, but so few would understand. Perfection quickly becomes a disease to over-achievers. Had it not been Taehyung, you would probably engage in an insufferable discontentment towards life and everything it has to offer. Everything changed when he handed you a paint brush and a 200-sized plain white canvas and a studio to yourself.

You felt liberated.

Not knowing where your illustrations will take you was the first taste of freedom you had ever allowed yourself to feel. Because in the arts, there are no wrongs or rights. And it's uniquely yours. And the look on Taehyung’s face when it's done? Priceless. To the point that you think you began drawing because of him and that he was just saying the things you wanted to hear. Then he hangs your drawings in the open hall, and brings home the comments written by the art lovers to prove that you are wrong.

When it comes to relationship turbulences, Taehyung and you personally respect each other’s space, friendship choices and principles. Such maturity is again rare so you’d like to think that you’re lucky in that sense. However, Taehyung’s family proved to be a massive hurdle. While you were raised in a humble home, and accustomed to having sleep as dinners, Taehyung’s family owns a collection of farms that produces vegetables and fruits, and Taehyung’s favourites happen to be strawberries. He surely is raised in an upper middle class well into his elementary years and then catapulted into first class around his high school time. Not to say that he doesn’t know what it’s like to starve, he has a fairshare of that in his rebellious years; but he was not used to the life you lead. The part-time jobs, the tutoring weekends, the errands. He never had to do those.

When he brought you home to his parents for the first time, you felt out of place. His penthouse, his army of maids, sports cars and spacious area. His parents, they were wonderful. They welcomed you with open arms. Even inviting you to a family-only event, introducing you to everyone, and then letting you see their family photo albums. Taehyung has a massive support system, a healthy relationship compared to yours. No matter how much he wants to convince you that his life isn’t perfect, it was a whole lot better than yours. You remember how he snuck you into his bedroom in the middle of the night when his parents were asleep, the snickering, the whispers and the night you shared, cuddling. You had tears in your eyes that night, because you never thought you’d be this fortunate.

Watching him fall asleep in your lap so soundly really made you think about the last time you ever made someone this comfortable. Is this how it feels to love and cherish? Finding a middle ground is not always easy, and most people take time to reach there. For Taehyung and you, sacrificing a lot comes without say. Your internal conflicts and his willingness to understand your perspective, and vice versa--it all takes time. You can owe it all to Taehyung’s ultimate patience. Just like the way he handles his work. Meticulously, and carefully. Like how chemicals are precise, the paints are too.

In every phase of life, we are being prepared for the phase that comes next. In accordance to what we are made of, we continue to evolve, continue to grow. And it is in this stage that we feel most vulnerable, most bare, most uncomfortable. Sometimes you dread the things that you weren’t allowed to have, much like the doctorate you sought after (that took much longer than others), the way it was withheld from you because life said you weren’t ready yet, even when you thought you were. Waiting patiently becomes the hardest part of it all. Although Taehyung might not understand half the things you went through, isn't he still here? Isn’t he still holding your hand? Isn’t he still singing to you?

Fine arts are creative art, especially visual art whose products are to be appreciated primarily or solely for their imaginative, aesthetic, or intellectual content. If that’s the case, then Taehyung must be finer arts.

:. I wrote a bit about the things I do in university, I’m sorry if you find that boring... it’s the only world I know... I am currently going through mid-semester exams, and I’m not doing well, spark up a fever with 3 more papers to go. Anyways. Have a great day!

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jackalgirl · 3 years

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Commissions

[ Image description: Commission sheet with four head and shoulder portraits with prices: B&W sketch and wash: $20. Color sketch & wash: $25. Ink and color: $25. Ink & Limited color: $20. Overall is the text “FULL” End ID. ]

---=== UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE ===---

THANK YOU everyone from the bottom of my heart -- all slot are all full! Let me knock out these commissions, and if all goes well, I’ll plan on doing another round. THANK YOU!

Bottom Line Up Front: I’ve got unexpected veterinary expenses (see the story below the cut), so I’m opening up five (5) commission slots for digital oc portraits. It’s fairly limited in scope (head & shoulder portrait of a single character, though I’m willing to negotiate within reason), as I’m a) horribly out of practice and b) trying to make sure I can ensure you’re happy with what I produce.

It’s most helpful if you can provide me with reference (e.g., you’ve got a faceclaim for your OC, you’ve got clothing references). I’m willing to do research to help me help you reach the vision for your OC, again within reason (no fashion shows, please).

What I can’t do right now: mecha. NSFW. Furries (I need to get back to speed with animal anatomy first). Complicated backgrounds (yet. Once I get my feet under me, I’ll be able to expand my offerings).

Tweaking and changes: once you’ve approved the preliminary sketches and I’ve produced the final, you get three tweaks/changes for free -- beyond that, it’s $5 per change. UNLESS it’s my fault -- if you told me something and I missed it, then I’ll fix the artwork at no charge to you.

Payment: through PayPal when I’m ready to send you the approved final (sketches and drafts will be thoroughly watermarked, please don’t take it personally, the final piece will have no watermarks beyond my signature).

The Story

Since I retired and moved into a fairly small country town, we’ve acquired a porch cat. I think she’s feral -- failing that, she’s neglected -- because once I finally coaxed her to let me touch her, it was fairly clear that under all that soft, soft fur, she was too thin. And it was fairly obvious that she was pregnant also.

The Better Half prepped some chicken for me to tear into strips so that I could make friends with her. It worked. She was (and still is) very enthusiastic about chicken, so I’ve named her Leeloo.

She basically set up house on my back porch, and I’ve been making sure she’s fed and has clean water. I cannot bring her into the house because said Better Half is dangerously allergic to cats.

Sometime on the evening of July 4th or the morning of the 5th, Leeloo had her kittens -- two adorable little beans -- and I had no idea where they were, until I realized that she was nesting inside a large ceramic pot we’ve got on the back porch. So she’s a smart kitty: it’s spacious, it’s cool, and it offers protection from other neighborhood wildlife (although the approach of other, larger, animals such as dogs is limited by the fact that our yard is fenced).

[ Image description: a medium-haired, sweet-faced calico cat with two little spotted kittens, all cuddled up in the bottom of a large ceramic pot. End ID. ]

So, I’ve got an appointment for her this week at the vet. Goals: find out if she’s chipped (if she is, I don’t know what I’ll do, aside from lose my mind with rage), get her vaccinated, get her dewormed, all the other things you need to do with a brand new cat, so as to get her ready to be spayed. Also, I’ll be picking the brains of the vet to find our local foster community (if there is one), and I’ve been reaching out on Facebook, as well -- ultimately, I would love to see her homed as an inside cat with a decent family, hopefully with the kittens, but also obviously I want to make sure they’re cared for and properly homed with people whose immune systems won’t eat them alive. This means I will probably be setting up a spouse-free room in the basement to be a cat house temporarily, especially for when she’s had her operation and needs a safe place to recover and take care of the beans.

So there it is, dear reader: having recently retired and also having had a number of bills hit all at once, I am in need of some extra funds to offset the cost of taking care of Leeloo and the littles, and that is why I’m opening up my commissions.

Thank you for reading my story, and I hope you’ll consider reaching out to me to help me get you a portrait for your OC!

#commissions #jackalgirl #illustration

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puppipy · 3 years

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‪This one is taking longer than I thought even though is just a redraw of an old comic I made a year ago or so. Since I have a project due soon I might not finish this this week, but at least I started working on this again and I am coloring now!‬

I also been losing motivation or have no ideas of what to draw sometimes, which is something that’s been bothering me a lot lately. Anyways, hopefully I finish this one soon so I can draw something else or finish another of the sketches I have saved.

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #nene yashiro #yashiro nene #tbhk #jshk nene #jshk #八尋寧々‬#地縛少年花子くん #myart

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that-one-bi-wizard · 3 years

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First chapter of my first Animaniacs fic! It’s mainly centered around my OCs and their backstory, so I apologize in advance for the lack of canon characters. Here’s the link to it on my ao3! The first chapter is under the cut :3

“Ms. Norita, you wanted to see me?”

The newest CEO of the Warner Brothers studios turned to face the young man that was entering her office. She grabbed a tablet off her desk and started scrolling. Once she found what she was looking for she nodded.

“Ah, yes. Alan Harris, right? Close the door behind you and take a seat,” she told him.

Alan closed the door and slowly walked toward the CEO’s desk. He sat down, but she remained standing.

Alan was a bit nervous. He had never been called into the boss’s office by name before. With that, he couldn’t help but feel like this couldn’t mean anything good.

Was he about to be fired? Maybe he had made a mistake somewhere? Had a toon done something and blamed it on him?

Worst case scenarios flooded his mind.

Nora walked up to him, not looking up from her tablet. “Harris, I’ve been going through your profile. Graduated as the top student in your animation classes. Has been working here for three years now, and has worked on several animated projects, correct?”

The young animator swallowed and nodded quickly. “Uh, yes ma’am.”

“Perfect,” she said. “I’m a very busy woman, so let’s cut to the chase. I need someone with your set of skills to tackle this next project I have planned.”

Alan nodded again to show that he was listening. He leaned forward.

“I need you to bring back the Warner siblings.”

Alan sat there for a moment, then blinked. “Um… the Warner siblings, Ms. Norita?”

“That’s what I said.”

Alan adjusted his glasses. He cleared his throat. “Oh… but, um, didn’t they disappear a few years after the show ended?”

Alan was somewhat familiar with the Warners. He hadn’t been here when they were around; however, he did hear stories about them from others that had been around at that time. He also knew about the show.

He hadn’t been the biggest fan, but when reruns of the show came on, he’d sometimes watch it or just have it on for background noise.

Nora looked up at him for the first time since he walked in. “I know. That’s why I want you to bring them back… as a remake.”

“Remake the Animaniacs, ma’am?”

“Did I stutter?”

Alan opened his mouth, then closed it again.

The CEO sighed in frustration. “Look,” she said, scrolling through her tablet and turning it for the young man to see, “See this?” She pointed at a graph. “This is a graph showing the popularity of the studio back in the nineties. And if you’ll notice, one of our more popular franchises was the Animaniacs. It’s what the people want to see, and if that’s the case, then we have to recreate its success.”

Alan ran a hand through his long, brown hair and scratched the back of his neck. “Aha… well, I guess I can try to redo them. It’ll just take a while since I’d need to do some research and get their personalities just right-”

Nora held up a hand to stop him. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Huh?”

“I want you to make them but differently. They need to be hip. They need to cater to the kids and teens of today, not that nineties crap.”

“Oh,” Alan sighed, “uh, I guess I can do that-”

“Also,” she continued, “I don’t want them running around causing chaos in this studio. We run a business, not a circus. I want you to take out all the zaniness and wackiness of the original ones.”

Alan blinked. “But, then they wouldn’t be the animaniacs anymore. They’d just be…” He thought for a moment. “...normal kids.”

Nora waved a dismissive hand. “Well, we all have to make some sacrifices. Now, you think you can do that for me?”

“I-”

“Perfect! Have them ready in three weeks. See you then.” She shooed him out of her office and slammed the door shut.

The tall man stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

He was just asked… to remake the Warner siblings… without the traits that made them the Warner siblings…

Alan blinked and stared at the office door for another moment. “Oh, okay,” he called to her, even though he doubted she was listening, “Uh, see you then!”

He turned and left the building.

He didn’t exactly know what he was going to do or how he was going to do it, but he knew one thing.

One way or another, this was going to be a mess.

The days flew by all too quickly.

And Alan had nothing. He had drawn a complete blank.

He had a few sketches and drafts of characters that might’ve been what the boss was looking for, but they just didn’t feel right.

He didn’t watch the show all too much, but he knew that this wasn’t the Warners. All toons had their own charm to them that set them apart from humans. That’s what made them, well, cartoons. So taking away the chaos and zany nature didn’t seem right.

If it’s what Nora wanted tho, he would have to come up with the perfect replacements somehow.

More days passed, and the deadline grew closer.

Alan was running out of time to finish these characters.

He worked day in and day out to try to find the perfect mix of cartoony and realistic. Every work seemed to lean too far to each side. It was hard to strike a balance between the two.

As the deadline got closer, Alan began losing sleep, trying to perfect these toons that were supposed to replace the Warners.

Finally, there were only two days left.

Alan had nothing. All he had were a few drafts that he had thrown to the side. He didn’t particularly have anything he was proud of. Nothing too noteworthy.

He might have to ask Nora to extend the due date…

He sat at his desk at home, trying to think of something, anything really, that would help him get an idea.

He sighed and set his head down on the table. It didn’t help that he still had to actually color and actually animate his characters.

He turned to look at the bin where crumpled papers laid scattered everywhere with sketches scribbled all over them. None of them had been what he wanted, but he guessed three of them would have to do with the deadline being so close.

He walked over and reached down to pick out a random design. Hopefully, one of these would suffice.

He opened a crumpled piece of paper and looked down it.

Well, these would have to do. Maybe they would even buy him time for the moment being until he could make new ones.

He brought them over to his desk and began tweaking them up a bit.

These three didn’t seem anything like the Warners. In fact, they seemed like exact opposites.

They wouldn’t be Alan’s best works, but something was better than nothing.

The three were nothing like the Warner siblings. The only thing they had in common was their species. Not clothing. Not personalities. They didn’t even have the same child-like charm the originals had.

They weren’t the Warners.

They were completely different people.

#animaniacs #animanics 2020 #animaniacs ocs #animaniacs fanfiction #my ocs #jay tries to write #my writing #the warner siblings #nora rita norita #oc fanfiction #oc stuff

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lemonpeter · 3 years

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Day 17 - Secret Santa (Peter/MJ)

Sorry this is out later than usual, it’s been a long day and I’m exhausted. But it’s here now! I hope everyone enjoys 💙

Warnings: morbid mentions (when about MJ’s interests)

————

Maybe they were a bit too old for the whole ‘secret Santa game’ but Mr. Harrington thought it would be good for team building.

Peter also had the sneaking suspicion that he just wanted to actually have someone give him a gift as the teacher himself was involved in the game.

He really hoped he didn’t get that name. And he pitied whoever did.

But as he pulled the little strip of paper from the hat and read who he got, he wondered if maybe the teacher would have been easier.

Michelle.

Peter lamented about the pick to Ned the entire time they walked to his building. “What do I even get her? She’s so....”

“Dude, if you say mysterious, I’m going home.”

“Okay, maybe I’ve overused that word. But she’s just kinda unreadable sometimes!”

And it was true. No matter how much Peter talked to the captain of their team, no matter how relaxed she seemed around him, she never let much slip.

There was very little that he knew about her.

He knew she liked books. She liked crime stories and morbid bits of history. And she liked art.

Was there a gift that combined those?

———

They each had two weeks to get a gift.

It took twelve of those fourteen days for Peter to actually find something that he figured MJ would like.

In the end he decided on a book all about different female serial killers (he even got a signed copy!), a new sketch pad, and a necklace with a silver anatomically correct heart charm.

He just really hoped she’d actually like it all.

The day of the decathlon holiday party came and he awkwardly held onto the gift as he slowly made his way around the room.

“Hey, loser,” Michelle greeted as she looked at him.

“Hey, Michelle!”

“MJ,” she corrected.

Peter nodded quickly. “Right. MJ. Sorry.” He grinned at her.

“You, uh, you can put the present with the other ones.” She nodded towards a small tree in the corner with presents all around it. “So you don’t have to keep carrying it.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s...that’s smart.” The boy smiled a little, just watching her for a moment before going to put the gift under the tree.

Michelle stood leaning against the wall until he came back, eyes following him. “So. This is kinda boring.”

Peter nodded, looking around the room. Maybe he couldn’t have said it so outright, but she wasn’t wrong. “Hopefully it’ll be more upbeat soon. Or hopefully we can just leave,” he joked.

Her eyes seemed to search his face for a moment before she smiled. “Yeah. Hopefully.”

They kept talking, losing track of the time until their attention was caught by Mr. Harrington calling everyone over for the gifts.

Peter’s stomach flipped when his was the first one chosen.

“Let’s start off with...Michelle,” the teacher read off the name tag, handing the gift bag to the girl.

She took it, eyebrow raised as she looked at Peter. But she set the gift in her lap and pulled out the silvery tissue paper.

He watched her face closely to try and read her reaction. But, of course, she gave nothing away as she surveyed each part of the present.

“Thank you,” is all she said before tucking the items back into the bag.

He was crushed. He didn’t know if she liked it or not. And he was worried that she hated it and just didn’t want to say anything.

He went through the rest of the game in a bit of a cloudy mood, only smiling when he saw that Abe had gotten him a miniature Iron Man lego set. “Dude, that’s so cool!”

The party started winding down and everyone got ready to leave.

Peter anxiously held onto his gift, walking towards the exit when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Michelle pulled him away from everyone else, letting go of him and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear once they were in a more hidden spot. “I just wanted to say thank you. What you got me is really...really cool. I’m gonna start the book tonight. And the necklace is really nice.”

He gave her a small smile. “You really like it?”

“Yeah. It was really thoughtful and all that. I’m sorry if this is weird. Just didn’t know how to thank you around everyone else.” She smiled. “I’ll let you go now.”

She left after glancing up quickly. He watched how her cheeks colored and curiously looked to where she had.

Huh. Mistletoe.

Maybe next time.

Smiling to himself at the thought, he started leaving the room too.

Maybe he knew her better than he realized. And that was enough to put a bigger smile on his face.

#spideychelle #petermj #peter x michelle #Peter x MJ #peter parker x michelle jones #fluff #bri’s december event #secret Santa #I hope that’s all the tags #I’m tired

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ohwickedsoul · 3 years

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06/06 round-up

I put this up on twitter, asking if anyone would like a weekly sort of round-up of things I’ve found this week, and enough people said yes that I decided to do a couple test runs. I think this might work better as a newsletter type deal, but let’s see if the first few fly, hm?

Round up One (5/31-6/06) :

Let’s start off with what I’ve been listening to. Really get you the atmospheric nonsense.

It’s SOUR by Olivia Rodrigo, because of course it is.

But I mean, come on. It hits. There’s even a New Yorker article I read that I really enjoyed about it.

This week I forced myself to finish “The Soft Machine” by William Burroughs and Did Not Like It. Read The Phantom Tollbooth instead. They’re not even remotely similar books, but I needed a short, easy palate cleanser after that and this is what I turned to. If you haven’t read it, it is a children’s book- sort of- but it’s incredibly clever and I think very reminiscent of Gaiman and Pratchett’s style- the same sort of word-play and looking at things left-wise that the Phantom Tollbooth does.

Why not buy it from Kramerbooks which is a LGBT friendly independent bookstore?

I also finally started watching Shadow and Bone in earnest, and oh god. I get the Darkling hype. I do. I’m so embarrassed about it. And still laughing over the idea that all the witches are named Greg.

Speaking of Russians (sort of), a friend got me a gorgeous copy of Skazki, Tales and Legends from Old Russia, circa 1926, for my birthday, and that will be giving me butterflies for months to come. Hopefully next week I’ll have some stories to share from that.

About other things I’ve been watching- Word of Honor, the Chinese drama on Netflix, has had me losing my mind. I love anything with high flying magic martial arts.

If you’re in New York, the Cezanne drawing exhibition at the MoMa opened today, June 6th. I highly recommend it. There’s something about seeing the sketches and line work of an artist who I, at least, associate so much with careful blocking of shapes and color that’s really lovely. There’s at least four or five studies of the same plaster bust of a cherub that I was really struck by- the idea that he drew things over and over and over again is fabulous.

Take a look at the exhibition page, and please watch the video. It’s lovely.

And, darlings, I would not leave you without some fanfic recs or art to look at. I know my audience.

For those in the know, Tierfal, a seminal Roy/Ed author, posted a fic that brought me to tears through sheer domesticity on the subway.

Let’s talk about this ridiculously hot Kaeya/Aether daddy kink fic from loachpearl

And we’ll finish it off with some EndHawks healing fic by one of the greats, imho, surveycorpsjean

Wait, I lied, the final thing is this link to a piece of Haikyuu/FMA crossover art that made me shove my entire fist in my mouth.

Thanks for reading, and maybe I’ll see you next week.

-Wiz

#newsletter #mine

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gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights · 4 years

Link

Rating: G

Summary: Kagami and Nino plan a surprise party for Adrien's seventeenth birthday. With help from their friends, nothing can go wrong this time. Nino's even invited an extra special guest who's sure to make Adrien's night. (Nino & Kagami & Adrien friendship, with a side of Ladrien)

Word Count: 3101 | Chapter 1/3

Notes: written for @marinetteplztakeabreak through the @mlbforblm charity drive! The donations go directly to Color of Change, an online organization for racial justice centered on the Black Lives Matter movement. I highly recommend checking them out and reblogging/donating the mlbforblm posts if you’re able! I have one fic slot left as of 7/23/2020, and many other talented writers and artists are offering incentives as well! There’s even a giveaway going on; see the mlbforblm blog for more info!

XXX

“Hmm.” Kagami’s brow furrowed as she stared at Nino’s Operation: Totally Swank Party binder. The two of them sat on a bench in the park, where she had agreed to meet him after slipping away from her fencing lesson. “Bribing the bodyguard is a proven technique. Get me a list of action figures his collection is missing, and I’ll have them by tomorrow.”

“Way ahead of you, dude.” Nino tore a piece of notebook paper out. He’d done his research last night after a long phone call with Adrien. “Glad I can count on you.”

“Of course.” She neatly folded the paper and slipped it into her jacket pocket. “I’ll have them shipped to your apartment. Do you have a plan to dispose of his babysitter?”

Nino sighed and flipped to the page with a doodle of Nathalie with horns at the top. It was a much more tentative outline than what he’d prepared to deal with the Gorilla. Hopefully Kagami would be able to help him with that.

“Nathalie’s whole job is to suck out all the fun in my bro’s life. We’ll never be able to throw this party with her in the picture.”

He’d tried the past three years. From Hawkmoth transforming him into the Bubbler, to Nathalie locking him in a closet, to Gabe himself nearly arresting him for trespassing, each had been a total bust. At this point Adrien probably wasn’t expecting Nino to try.

But Adrien was his best bro. Nino would never give up on throwing him the most poppin’ party ever.

Plus, this year, he had a secret weapon. One that even Kagami didn’t know about.

“You seem quite prepared.” Kagami squinted at the page. “You’re sure Max can play his part? The Agrestes use my mother’s security technology.”

“Positive. He and Markov can hack anything.”

Max had already wired into the speaker system last time they threw a party for Adrien. Of course, on Adrien’s birthday, the mansion would be too obvious a target. That’s why the plan just required getting his bro out of the house altogether.

“I’ll trust you, then. What exactly is my role?”

Nino grinned, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You, my good bro, will be sneaking Adrien away from his fake fencing lessons. Adrien says you’ve done it a thousand times, and his pops still barely knows who you are. You’ve got like, some kind of invisibility superpower.”

“I simply have practice. That’s all.” She took his pen and began making notes in his binder. “Nathalie will realize we’re gone approximately forty-five minutes after we leave. The Gorilla has set patrol routes for finding Adrien when he goes missing, which I can map out for you.”

“If he takes the bribes, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Kagami was already sketching out a map of the city on a clean sheet of paper. Geez, how did she remember all that? He doubted he could even draw the path from his apartment to Alya’s.

“I don’t want to take any chances. We cannot fail Adrien. Do you have a venue reserved already?”

“Huh?” Nino scratched under his hat. Kagami was pretty rad, but it was hard to follow her train of thought sometimes. “Oh, right! I was thinking the hotel. Now that Chloé’s not a total jerk—”

“No. Too obvious. Nathalie will find us within the hour.” Kagami frowned and tapped the pen against the back of her hand. “The ice rink will be our best option. It’s out of his bodyguard’s patrol zone, and it can accommodate all of Adrien’s friends. We hid there all the time when we were dating, and no one ever found us.”

“Sure, sure, there’s just one problem.” He grinned nervously and tapped his fingers together. “I, uh, don’t know how to skate.”

Kagami tilted her head and. “Really? No matter. His birthday is twenty-one days away. You have plenty of time to learn.”

Over her shoulder, he watched her write “Teach Nino to ice skate” in her crisp print.

“Uhh… well, I guess that works.” Hopefully everyone else knew how to skate already, or they could just enjoy the food and cake from the seats surrounding the rink. Nino could technically do that too, but he didn’t want to miss hanging out on the ice with his best bro.

“I’ve seen you parkour with Alya. You seem like you’ll learn quickly.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Nino chuckled. “Just get ready to watch me starfish out there.”

Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “If it proves too difficult for you, I can try to find a backup location. I doubt one exists that will fit everyone you’ve listed, though.” She flipped back to the guest list, which included all of their classmates from the last few years, Adrien’s whole fencing team, and a few other friends like Luka and XY. Pretty much everyone Adrien had ever interacted with was on the list.

Except for one special guest, but Nino had left her out on purpose.

“No, no, it’ll be fine! I’m just joking, dude.”

“Oh.” Her face pinked a bit. “How are we going to deliver the invitations without alerting Nathalie or Adrien’s father?

“I’ve started planning that too.” Nino flipped forward a few pages. “The most important guests—ones who aren’t gonna snitch on us—will get their invites a week in advance. The rest will get theirs by text on the day of. If they can’t come, they can’t come.” It was the best solution he’d been able to come up with. He was sure that even if people did have plans, most would drop them for a chance to party with Adrien Agreste.

“Hmm. It still feels too obvious. The fencing team in particular may give us up.” She frowned before scratching a few names off the list. Well, she was on the team herself; she would know better than anyone who could be trusted. “You’re right though. This does seem like the best plan.”

Nino grinned. One nice thing about Kagami was that when she gave a compliment, he knew it was sincere. If she agreed with his birthday plan, then it was as close to foolproof as it could be.

“Sweet. I think that covers everything for now.”

“A very productive planning session.” Kagami nodded before holding out her fist.

Nino laughed and bumped knuckles with her. After a year of hanging out with him and his bro, Kagami was finally getting the hang of fist bumps.

“Meet me at the ice rink at eighteen hundred on Saturday. We’ll begin your lessons then.”

She closed the binder and handed it back to him, then stood and walked away.

“Skating lessons with Kagami, huh…”

This was either going to be a legit time, or he was going to make a total idiot of himself.

XXX

“Come on, Nino, you’ve got this!” Alya called encouragement as she and Marinette lapped him again. He frowned at their backs. How was it that even Marinette, certified clumsiest girl in Paris, could be a better skater than him?

“Focus, Nino.” Kagami snapped her fingers. She stayed near him, slowing her pace even though she could’ve skated rings around him. “Your girlfriend’s praise will only become reality if you practice proper technique. Keep your weight centered.”

“Right, right.” He pushed off from the handrail and tried not to flap his arms. This time, he made it a solid twenty seconds before he slipped and went skidding across the ice. His hat slid off in the opposite direction, but Kagami quickly retrieved it.

“Don’t try to go so fast. Catching up to Marinette and Alya isn’t your goal.” Kagami’s advice was blunt, but helpful. Nino didn’t mind her getting to the point. He knew his skating needed work, and no matter how many times he fell, she didn’t lose patience with him.

It was nice that Alya was so far ahead, honestly. It meant she didn’t see him look like a total dorkasaurus every time he fell.

I’m doing this for Adrien, he reminded himself each time. He didn’t need to be a pro skater. He just needed to be able to stay upright.

“You make it look so easy.” He frowned as Kagami glided backwards.

“I’ve been skating since I was six. It makes a relaxing hobby.”

He snorted. “How is anything about this relaxing?”

“Hmm. Perhaps you’re thinking too hard. It makes you hesitate, place your weight incorrectly. You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Yeah, you know I’m DJ-ing for the party.” He had no clue why Kagami was asking, though.

“Skating has a rhythm. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable timing your strides with music.”

He tapped his chin. “Y’know… that’s not a half bad idea.”

“Not half bad? Does that mean only half is good?”

“No, no, the whole idea’s good! It’s just an expression.”

He slipped his headphones over his ears and picked one of the slowest songs on his playlist. It was a waltz in ¾ time; hopefully that wouldn’t trip him up.

“Alright, here goes.”

He took a deep breath and pushed off from the wall.

One-two-three, one-two-three. The music was smooth as the ice under his skates. Kagami kept pace with him, smiling as he counted the beats under his breath.

Something about it did feel different. Maybe it was that he stopped overthinking; maybe it was just the magic of music. Either way, he went the whole six-minute song without falling on his butt.

“Not half bad.” Kagami smiled. “...Did I use that right?”

“Heck yeah, dude.” They fistbumped.

“Way to go Nino!” Marinette gave him a high five as she and Alya caught up.

“Thanks for teaching my boyfriend, Kagami. I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing, Alya.” Kagami’s cheeks turned red. “We’re all working together to ensure Adrien’s birthday is perfect. Teaching Nino is just one step in that plan.”

“Well, I still think it’s really cool of you. Oh! And speaking of the party, my mom says she can cater. I’ve already sworn her to secrecy.”

“Awesome! What about you, Marinette?” Nino took his headphones off to better hear the conversation, but his legs still knew what to do. “Are you gonna get Adrien a totally rad birthday cake or what?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” She nodded. “I’ll just have to drop it off before the party.”

“You’re still sure you can't come, girl?” Alya asked her.

“No, sorry. I promise I would if I could, but I—I’ve already made a commitment. But I’ll have the cake here on time, I swear!”

“And one of his fifty birthday presents, right?” She nudged Marinette with her elbow. Marinette nearly fell, but Nino wasn’t sure if that was from Alya’s bump or her words.

“I—I don’t have those anymore!” Her shoulders slumped. “It turns out, planning presents fifty years in advance works a lot better if you can see the future. They’re all out of style by now.”

Alya laughed at that. Nino couldn’t help noticing that Kagami had gone silent, though, her gaze locked on the ice in front of them.

“Something wrong, bro?” He asked her.

She shook her head. “Adrien’s party won’t be perfect if Marinette isn’t present. I thought she of all people would understand how much she means to him.”

Marinette gasped. “I… I’m sorry, Kagami. Adrien does mean the world to me, and… I promise, I’ll make it up to him.”

Nino was forced to stop as Kagami grabbed the handrail and locked eyes with Marinette. Some kind of silent conversation seemed to pass between them. He looked to Alya for help, but she just shrugged. By now he thought he’d understand the girls, but maybe some things would always be a mystery.

“See that you do. He deserves that much.”

This wasn’t some kind of love triangle over Adrien again, was it? Kagami had stayed good friends with all of them after she and Adrien broke up. Marinette was probably still crazy in love with him, but that was nothing new.

“It’s okay, dudes. The party’s still going to be perfect. I’ve got a special surprise planned for our favorite bro.”

He winked at Alya, who grinned back. She’d been the one to help him pull it off.

“A surprise?” Marinette clapped her hands together at the same time Kagami raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t factor any surprises into our plans. Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“It’s not much of a surprise if everyone knows, is it?” Nino said. “But you’re right, I should have told you, Kagami. I just wasn’t sure if it would be awkward for you, knowing who Adrien’s crushing on now and all…”

“It’s not an issue. Adrien is a wonderful friend. That is more than enough for me,” Kagami replied.

“Adrien’s... crushing on someone?” Marinette asked, her eyes wide.

Oops. Kagami might have taken it well, but Nino should’ve waited until Marinette was gone.

“What’s the scoop, babe?” Alya raised her eyebrow, and Nino threw his hands in the air.

“I thought you already knew! Why do you think we worked so hard to get Ladybug to show up for his party?”

Marinette caught hold of the hand rail before her legs slipped out from under her.

“Adrien has a crush on Ladybug?”

“Oh. That’s all?” Kagami asked. “I’ve known that for months.”

“You have?”

“Was it supposed to be a secret? He keeps posters of her in his fencing locker.”

Marinette still looked like she was blue screening. Alya glared at Nino, and he gave a nervous smile. What was he supposed to do? Kagami had a point; the dude wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Anyway.” He coughed. “Our bro likes Ladybug, and she’s coming to his party, so he’s going to have a totally cash money time.”

“Cash money? You’ve been hanging out with Luka and XY too much, babe.”

Marinette giggled at that. She got her feet back under her, and they started skating in unison again. So… she wasn’t that upset? Whew.

“Oh, speaking of XY, I gotta get him here to help set up the special effects,” Nino said. “I already got permission from Phillipe. We’re going all out, courtesy of the actual cash money Kitty Section and XY’s last collab made.”

“How did we end up friends with so many rich people?” Alya mused under her breath.

“It sounds like the plan is in motion, then,” Kagami said.

“Yeah, it’s going to be perfect! Adrien will love it.” Marinette grinned. “Thank you two for putting all this together.”

“Anything for my best bro.” Nino shot her finger guns.

“He deserves a party worthy of his friendship,” Kagami added.

And he was going to get one. This year, of all years, Nino refused to let anything go wrong.

XXX

Three weeks later, on the night of September twenty-first, Nino paced the blue chairs surrounding the perimeter of the ice rink. His friends wove between the chairs, setting up tables of food and games. His turntables were already in place at the head of the rink, and XY was hooking them up to the speaker system.

“Nathalie’s schedule?” Nino asked as he passed Max.

“Hacked and adjusted.” Max flashed a thumbs up.

“Great job, dude.” He clapped him on the shoulder before moving on to Rose and Juleka’s station.

“Presents?”

“Stacked and organized!” Rose saluted.

“Sweet. Make sure to leave some extra space, there’ll be more where those came from.” He continued his path to where Chloé was lounging in a chair and scrolling through her phone.

“Chloé, status report.”

“No trace of Adrikins on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, or YouTube.” She flipped her ponytail. “You should check your tone, though. I’m not some peon you can just order around.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. Classic Chloé. At least she was taking her job seriously, though. “Thanks for all your hard work.”

“You’re welcome.” She smirked.

Her job was one of the most important. If the media caught wind of Adrien’s location, the party would have to split before he even got here. To prevent that, Max had jammed the wifi and cell service so that only his computer, Chloé’s phone, and Nino’s phone had wifi. If anyone wanted to post about the party on social media, they’d have to wait until after it was over.

Everything was looking perfect. There wasn’t much else to do but wait for updates from Kagami.

19:00. Arrived at the court. No sign of Adrien.

19:04. Adrien has arrived. Bodyguard bribed and driving away.

19:05. En route to ice rink. Adrien was suspicious, but believed my excuse of buying him birthday orange juice.

Nino shook his head with a smile. How did Kagami type all that without Adrien noticing? At least everything seemed to going smoothly on her end, too.

He started pacing again. According to Kagami, a casual stroll from the school to the ice rink took twenty minutes. It was longer than Nino wanted to wait, but the location had to be far enough away to avoid notice.

His phone beeped again. He unlocked it to see a selfie of Kagami and Adrien smiling wide, though Adrien was practically unrecognizable in the oversized hoodie and bright blue wig Kagami had borrowed from Juleka.

Alya’s chin rested on Nino’s shoulder. “Aww, look at them. All grown up and ready to rebel.”

“Psh, Kagami’s been rebelling for ages. Adrien could still learn a thing or two from her.”

“Oh look, she sent another one!” Alya clicked his phone.

In this photo, the two of them were pulling funny faces. Adrien stuck out his tongue, while Kagami puffed out her cheeks and gave him bunny ears.

Nino laughed and put an arm around his girlfriend. “We did a great job with them, didn’t we?”

“Absolutely.” She smiled before zooming in on the background. “Looks like they’re in front of the parking lot. They’ll be here any time now.”

Sure enough, Kagami texted, 19:25. Two minutes away.

“Right!” Nino gave her cheek a quick kiss before running to his turntables. He snatched up the microphone, and his voice blasted through the speakers. “Alright, dudes! Adrien’s about to walk through those doors, so everyone hide!”

Their friends dove behind tables and chairs. All of them except XY, anyway.

“What’s the point, dude? He’s gonna see all our sick lights.” XY pointed to the laser lights next to the turntable.

“That’s why we switch them off,” Luka said, pressing the button. The rink fell into darkness.

“Ohhhh.”

Nino pulled the two of them under the table with him just before the double doors opened.

#what an ice surprise #fic tag #miraculous ladybug #kagami #nino lahiffe #nino #tali writes #mlbforblm

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soyouareandrewdobson · 4 years

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The biggest post yet: Analyzing a multipage story

Before I begin, I like to thank every follower so far and the ones who helped me over the course of the last weeks to build this tumblr up. This is for you and in a way the first test run for future, hopefully more elaborate reviews of Dobson’s comics. Hope you enjoy it and learn something.

Without further ado, ladys, gentlemen and the colorful rianbow inbetween, I present the unpublished “So you are a cartoonist?” story about the King of Queens trying to become a comic artist

Okay, this is not quite right. What is going to happen is as followed:

A few years ago Dobson released via his patreon the unpublished sketches of a multipage comic story about the struggles of a webcomic artist by the name of Kevin James, with no relation to the famous comedian who as of recently is also playing a neo nazi in a supposedly pretty damn good home invasion movie.

What I want to do is now go through this comic and point out some of the flaws in the writing/progression, okay? Cause honestly, this is not going to be the worst thing Dobson ever published. But it unfortunately has more than a few little hiccups that show Dobson’s flaws when it comes to creating a story.

So off to the next pages

Now as you can see, it is pretty obvious that the story is heading into a direction where Kevin seems to be a down on his luck creator. Having to work at the blandest named Burger Joint since Good Burger, with discount Doctor Wily as his manager and getting pretty little money into his account. Seriously, only 206 $ plus? I don’t know much about minimum wage in the states, but are you really getting that little even after taxes have been accounted for? Or is it likely Kevin is pretty deep into the reds and his deposit was even putting it into the plus again. If so… yaiks.

And now we are getting into the pages where a few slight problems may show up, depending on your own interpretation of things.

See, in my opinion it is obvious that we are meant to feel sorry for Kevin, cause he lost his minimum wage job now for simply being late. Something that can happen to all of us. And yeah, losing your job when you have not really much in the bank, that sucks. So I would wish for the character to get at least a new job soon. However, we also need to acknowledge that the manager is not in the wrong here. After all, Kevin supposedly has shown up late for work for some time and his excuse that he was late because he had to work on his comic is not reasonable. For a lack of a better word, making this comic is just his hobby, not his job. His job is to make burgers and sell them, because the manager of the burger joint is paying him for that. So excuse me if my sympathy is not that much with him

Not really much to say here. I just want to point out two things: One, the countdown that showed up also in previous pages and goes further down the longer we get into the story, two that it actually may be a good thing that Dobson has not drawn the copy shop employee in more detail. Cause one thing I came to realize over time with Dobson is, that often times his sketches have more of a softness to them than the final product, where e.g. faces are more harsher and frankly, uglier than they need to be, in addition to being a bit oversaturated thanks to the colors. And with Dobson’s tendency to make also angry faces genuinely spiteful, I wonder if the copy shop owner would have come off in the final product as more “strawman mean” than necessary. Cause it is very obvious that “poor Kevin” seems to suffer from the indifferences of his environment.

One month since he was fired and one more month till we are in the present and he loses his electricity cause he has not paid his bills. And this is where I slightly start to lose my sympathy with the character. Again, it is obvious that the story wants us to feel bad for Kevin because he is down on his luck although all he wants to do is just create his comic.

But at the same time, only halfway through the comic I have to ask, how much of his shitty situation is not just him doing nothing against it?

I mean, he has obvious money issues, he can’t pay the electricity bill and he has been fired a month ago. Shouldn’t he at this point not have attempted yet to get a replacement job? Or ask for unemployment support? Do commission work for fans in exchange for money?

I am just saying, his woes become a bit less relatable if he does not really attempt to at least try and fix the situation.

And unfortunately, this development continues still

Gesh, this comic is really old when Kevin still owns a flip phone…

Also, I need to give his mom credit. 500$ send to her son so that he can pay his debts off and live well enough for a few days. Sorry, but 500$ is actually enough for me to live for a month and pay my groceries and major bills if I am careful enough. Lets hope Kevin is the same and that he looks out for a job

… nope, he does not look for a job. Two weeks after he got the money he still does not have a job to support himself and assure he has a roof over his head. In fact, he likely loses more money than he necessarily needs to by going to a diner.

Look, unlike other characters created by Dobson, I really do not hate Kevin. Primarily because he does not show any of the despicable or idiotic traits other characters by him do. But Kevin is not doing anything to improve his situation, period. And that is not really how you should write “down on their luck” characters, cause that doesn’t really make them sympathetic. The sympathy a reader gives those characters stems primarily from the fact, that though they really try their best, fate is not working into their favor for different reasons beyond their control. But here the problem is, that Kevin has to a certain degree control over his situation. He can decide what he wants to do with the money, he can decide to either do or not do anything to improve his situation at least slightly. And he doesn’t do anything.

Dear lord, Kevin is essentially Dobson when it comes to the laters overall situation and how he does little to improve anything when he is stuck.

Then there is also the entire thing about the waitress calling Kevin’s work amazing. For starters, I kinda doubt that that in our modern day society and work environment her acting like that in front of a customer, even if the customer does not mind, would fly with her employer. After all, professionalism and all that. Next, her praise feels shallow. The typical cardboard speech praise checkmark lines you can give to any piece of work, that don’t really mean anything if you do not elaborate on what it really is you find amazing about the characters in terms of personality or what it is about the story that hits home (e.g. can you realte to the characters, are you genuinely thinking the story is funny etc)

In fact, what even is Kevin’s comic?

I get that his work is not the center stage of this story, but think about it: we are supposed to think that Kevin is talented and that he needs his lucky break. But would his work even justify success and admiration? All we know is that the comic features a character called Kat (not really an original name) who for a lack of a better word and based on the sketch outline may just be the bastard offspring of Bubsy and Talus from Alex ze Pirate. And that is it. For all I know, and taking for shit and giggles a made up meta narrative into account, his work may actually be on the same level as Alex ze Pirate itself. And if that is the case, let me just fill out an application as janitor for Kevin right now. If he is lucky he can make around 1000 dollars a month soon.

This right here is actually a prime example of a common problem in Dobson’s longer story: Him breaking the old rule of “show, don’t tell”. The narrative tells us e.g. via the words of the waitress and the fact he has fans, that Kevin is a good cartoonist. But we do not see it for ourselves. And I am not suggesting here Dobson should draw 20 additional pages of Kevin’s creations and comics, because that would be freaking overkill. But imagine if this comic started off with the first page being part of a a very fantastic fight scene or story. Something rich in color and characters. Only for it to be revealed in the next page to be actually NOT the story we are supposed to read, but something Kevin creates right now. By doing so Dobson could not only show for the actual main story that Kevin is justified in having success, Dobson could have also shown for himself how he can be imaginative. How he can toy with tropes and expectations, while also creating something “new” out of nowhere just for fun. But that is not what we got. And all we have now are four more pages.

Again, ONE MORE WEEK passed and he still did not get a job. And in fact, he is also overdue on his rent and wants to ask his mother AGAIN for money.

Dude… I am all out of sympathy. Sell your freaking kidney for all I care, offer your landlord oral sex or that you are going to do work around the house for him, just try to do something except beg mother to help you out again. Especially as she has already send you 500 dollar. What have you done with that money anyway? Did most of it get spend on your electric bill? If so, how huge was it? And did you fail to pay rent for a couple of months now that even your landlord is having enough? I ask the later in part because I genuinely do not know how fast a landlord can vacate you in the US. See, where I live you can get vacated too when you don’t pay up, but most landlords are by law forced to at least let you stay for a few more weeks till you either find a way to pay up or another place to live. Forceful removal of a tenant can mostly only happen if the person causes severe damage to the apartment or is facing criminal charges.

So NOW you are looking for a job. Good luck getting 700 dollars in three days though. I can’t imagine that even if you get hired, that anyone will pay up that amount of money upfront to help you. Again, do you have no other options, Kevin? Also, for how long was that sign up there? How often have you gone by that diner? Also dear lord, the waitress really is not the smartest if she thinks being a webcomic artist pays all the bills

So if the manager has already found someone, even if it was “just” now, why was the “now hiring” sign even still in the window? And he assumes there are even more bills? Kevin… do you have a genuine problem when it comes to handling finances? Would you do better, if you only get an allowance? Just one more page. And with it my biggest complains

And so our comic ends with all the build up of how down on his luck Kevin is, being essentially pointless, because at the end of the day he is still lucky and all his problems get resolved not by his own doing but by deus ex machina.

Okay, this is not entirely accurate.

After all, Kevin DID create this comic. He wrote it, he drew it, he send the script to multiple publishers, he got rejected multiple times and now he is also going to finally get recognition for it all. You can say he worked to get his foot into the industry. The problem is, that none of that work is really shown in the story presented to us. We do not see him work on the script, potentially rewrite or fix up mistakes, get the impression that even with the bad situation he is in, he still wants at the very least this passion project to succeed. All we know is he worked on something and now because it is convenient for the story, his misfortune is going to end and he gets a happy end that is way too convenient for my taste.

Look, I know nothing about how publishers work. If someone reads this and has genuine experience in how publishers approach you if they are interested in your work and how much money you can really make through it, you are free to tell me what you know or have experienced directly or indirectly. Cause frankly, I find it hard to believe that any publisher would immediately do the thing Kevin now experiences here. First off, why would they not attempt to call him or get into a more convenient contact with him than the mail? Second, advanced payment? Shouldn’t you at least try to handle out basic deals before you send him a paycheck over?

I get it is supposed to be a happy end for Kevin here, but honestly, with the way how even if people are getting published, success may not be immediate or not to a degree Dobson actually hopes for. Sorry, but I am also just jaded enough as a person to know that even otherwise acclaimed work does take time to really hit a certain level of popularity. Luke Pearson e.g., wrote and drew the first volume of the comic series Hilda in 2010, just a few months after he finished college. The comic was a success and resulted in him publishing up to four more books till 2016. But only with his comic being adapted into a Netflix series in 2018 did he also get recognition outside of Great Britain, from which he is likely going to make enough money to have a comfortable life for the next couple of years. Mind you, I said comfortable, not “luxurious”. Cause this is actually one thing I fear with Dobson to a degree: That he thinks that being a successful comic creator equals also becoming stinking rich. Cause as far as I know, this is not really the case for many comic creators around the world. But I digress.

This post is not about the potential delusions of Dobson when it comes to how much of a fortune he could make through a successful publication, this post is about judging a SYAC story that got never published.

And frankly, the story of Kevin James… I don’t hate it. Honestly, I think there is potential for a decent, even longer story about a webcomic artist trying to get his big break. The problem is, this is not a story about the challenges Kevin faces in creating his comic. This is not the story about someone being determined to get his work out, even if he struggles in real life. This is not the story of someone facing and dealing with his real life struggles in a mature way, making the happy end all the more feel rightfully earned. This is a story where honestly there would be no drama at all (or at least less drama), if Kevin even attempted to do something halfway logical most other people in real life would do, if they found themselves in his situation (like looking for a job, trying to work commissions etc.) . And a drama where the dramatic event would not happen if some basic logic even a kid can think off would be applied, is at least for me not really a drama.

So yeah, it is not the worst thing by Dobson, but it is very flawed to say the least.

#so you are a cartoonist #syac #andrew dobson #storytime #comic review #webcomics #comics #multi page #criticism

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dennydraws · 4 years

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Hello Summer!

I was really determined to do a little life update post every month but here we are, mid July and I’m behind :D;;;

Please, feel free to skip ye olde Denny rambles if you like, dear reader!

But what’s the occasion to, in fact do a post? Why it’s a whole week off work! Which is now... close to be over. Apparently I hit pretty cold weather and some clouds, no beach for me yet :c The world is still on fire and I do my best to carry on without giving in to scary thoughts (it is way harder than I thought..) So, my week off has been mostly furniture removing, buying new front door, more furniture hunting, gotta order new bedroom today, buying paint and now painting the bedroom, I feel so tired argh XD I hope I won’t get back to work twice more tired now lol

All these repairs of course cause so much dust and I’ve been taking allergy meds which make me feel so, so groggy. What even is art these days? I was so confident about drawing and I barely sketched a few things. Not that I have much room to draw even. Everything is like a huge store house and I barely have any space on my desk >.>;;

(Can you imagine a box more 90s than this!?) Speaking of, in mid of moving things I found my inktober 2018 sketchbook! I had just about 3 prompts to finish :D;; two years later...ahem. I may actually finish it! I want to record a flip through so bad when I’m done cause I loved what I did with the theme to bits! Please look forward to it.. ... hopefully this year?? :D;;; are people even interested in art videos? It’s something I always wanted to get into but... time!!

But wait, there is more! I’m so happy I’m close to finishing another sketchbook, though it’s mostly just my DnD bard drawn 10 or so times there lol, I’m just happy I’ve filled the sketchbook! \o/ and excited that I will start a new one soon... from my pile of new, unopened sketchbooks, ahem... I may have a sketchbook hoarding issues. :D;;;

OKAY SOME ART TALK NOW! So, my friend from Japan brought me more copic markers and I now I better see the divine power these lil juicy things hold. They blend, so, so so so so well and they are so, so, so juicy. I’m trying to use them more but I’m also afraid of spending them too fast, yet compared to the spectrum noir they seem bloated with ink! Not that spectrum noir are bad, no no, but I felt like their ink goes out faster, or maybe I drew a bit more with them? Hmm! Either way I’m in need of burgundy color... XD;

(realizes can’t share latest arty-works due to possible spoilers for my DnD group and I know they lurk here, hmm >->)

A friend also recommended me Steadtler color-erasable pencils and they are very very good, hella cheap too. I was lucky I spot them in a local book store of all places XD It’s so nice sketching with a colored pencil. These are definitely going in my fave tools pouch!

And of course new comic project is taking so much time and energy between everything else. I’m determined to take my time but also try and not lose my spark. I’ve written down chapter 3′s script but yet to sit down and begin sketching the pages. I may do so in the weekend or at least start! Friends’ support and comments help me so much, ty ty !! Reminder you can check chapter 2 here! >> Click <<

FF14 has been a bit of a lull due to lack of updates and I’ve got little inspiration to log and do much ... beyond sit and take truck load of screenshots. But I hope this will change when patch comes! Meanwhile I’ve played a lot of Animal Crossing and now playing SoS: Friends of Mineral Town which is remake of my first Harvest Moon game and boy it’s my childhood right there! I was lucky to be runner up on Marvelous’ fan art contest so I got the game for free! :’D!! I was over the moon happy! I should post my entry later! Can you guess whom my farmer girl is going after?

(You should know by now, my type is short shady merchants!) And this post got long enough. Thank you for reading through! :D I hope you have an amazing day full of inspiration, good news and not a single cloud to rain on your parade!

#Good Morning!#I'm alive!#just buried in boxes and dust

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creativejourneysbct · 3 years

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Studio 1 Week 2/3 First Project: Hacking a Board Game - SLAP ATTACK

At the end of our week 2 studio session, we were assigned the task of "hacking" a board game, using some of the skills we had learned that day, to make it more interactive.

First, my group and I considered different board games that we would use as a template to start with. We settled on using an alphabet bingo board. It appeared simple enough; a circular board with a pointer that could be spun to randomly select a part of the board.

We then started brainstorming possible ways in which we could alter the game to make it more interactive. We agreed that it would be beneficial to create our own interface to replace the alphabet bingo one, as this would allow us more freedom to create our own rules and ultimately come up with our own game. So, we started sketching ideas on what our new board interface would look like.

This involved us thinking critically about the overall gameplay and having to come up with some sort of a finalized idea of what the end product would be.

After several iterations, we landed on a plan to create a game where the spinner is spun by a player then, depending on where it landed, all the players would have to do an action IF the lights on the board are turned on. This way the lights are adding an extra element of surprise, as not only is it impossible to predict what part of the board the spinner will land on (and therefore what action the player may have to do), but also whether or not that action would even have to be carried out at all, depending on the light's status.

It then came time to think about what skills from the day we would use to achieve our new gameplay and therefore make the game more interactive.

It was clear that papertronics would be necessary to create the circuit beneath the board that would allow for the lights to turn on when the spinner touches certain areas of the board.

So, we got to work using the copper tape to create a small test circuit as a proof of concept before moving onto anything larger. Since the goal was to have a few lights around the board light up when powered by a single battery, we tested this out by making a smaller, simpler version of the final product, using copper tape, two LEDs, and a battery to make the circuit pictured below.

As can be seen, one of the LEDs didn't seem to work. But, after some more testing, we discovered that the LED was just faulty, and it did work when being pressed. Thus, the concept of a single battery powering more than one LED had been "proven"!

We then took it a step further by making a circuit using the copper tape that went from one side of a sheet of paper (emulating the board) that housed the battery, to the other side of the piece of paper, where the spinner was. We stuck copper tape to the underside of the spinner. This allowed it to effectively close the circuit when passing along the copper tape area on the board, and therefore light up the LEDs.

While the pointer still had to be pressed down for the circuit to be complete and light up the LEDs, it was still enough to prove that the circuit could go from one side of the surface to the other, which is exactly what we needed for the final product.

We then got to work on our first iteration of the board's surface.

Since we didn't have a compass or any other tools that could be used to make a perfect circle, I used a technique I knew from high school art to draw a large circle that was relatively the same size as the original Alphabet Bingo circle to go on top of it.

We cut out the white circle, stuck four colored sheets of paper over it in the alignment we wanted for the board game design, and used it to cut a perfect (ish) circle around the four colored sheets of paper.

We now had a rough prototype of the game we wanted to create. Since the main circuitry hadn't been created yet, we used some random objects to simulate the areas of the board that would activate the LEDs should the spinner land there. We then playtested the game, to see whether or not it was even enjoyable. We wound up quite enjoying the competitive nature of having to react fastest or else face elimination. It was a simple concept, but one that we believed would work and prove engaging for players.

Next, we started implementing the full-sized circuit. We initially attempted to only use one battery for all four LEDs but this proved to be too complex, so we started over and made a new circuit that used two batteries with each battery responsible for only 2 LEDs.

From the top side, we can see that the spinner still had to be pushed down to activate the LED. This was quite a substantial concern for the project, as the desired effect was supposed to be effortlessly spinning the spinner and having it light up the LED automatically.

Determined to persevere anyway, Matt and I split up from the group to work on designing a proper layout for our board game. As photoshop wasn't working on either of our laptops, we used a word processor to create a simple but aesthetically pleasing board that we then printed out in a3. We wanted to make sure the font used was legible and that the board wasn't too cluttered. One of the main design principles we tried to focus on was maximizing the intuitiveness of the game so that anyone could have an idea of how to play it with little to no instruction. We also added simple hand gesture illustrations as iconography next to the corresponding action word to further guide the user's understanding.

With the new board face printed out, we used it when coming up with ways of solving the issue of the light not automatically lighting up.

We went through a range of different methods, such as using a motor and a wheel to reduce the friction and provide a better spin.

We finally settled on simplifying the design so that we would only use one LED situated on the top of the spinner. This worked on occasion but still wasn't lighting up consistently enough.

With the circuitry proving to be much more problematic than expected, another member of the group and I got to work on creating a clear set of rules for the game, which was still a very important part of the game design. At the end of the day, we still wanted to have a finished game that our classmates could play, even if our light-up spinner wasn't operational. This also involved us coming up with a name for the game. Out of thin air, I pulled out the words "SLAP ATTACK" and since no one else had anything better, this was the name that stuck. In fairness though, the name grew on us and accurately reflected the fast-paced nature of the gameplay.

I enjoyed the design aspect of creating the rules quite a bit. We tried to keep it in theme with the board, using the same colors, icons, and fonts to maintain a cohesive aesthetic and design language.

As the circuitry didn't look like it would be operational in time for the showcase, we decide to create a "concept" edition that would act as a model of what we had intended for the board game. It was to be our clean, "best-case scenario" version.

We printed out another copy of the board game design and glued it to some wood to create a firm, stable base. We then drilled a hole through it to make room for the spinner.

Fortunately, this allowed enough room for the rules to go on the side, so we glued them down next to the main circle. I will say, design-wise, I was very pleased with the result we got. The overall look of the board and rules matched in a nice, simple colorful manner and looked very clean.

While we could still get the lights to turn on on the other board, it still required us to press down on the spinner, which defeated the purpose of the game. Or it would light up, but not always, and for the game to work as intended it would need to light up every time it went over a copper tape part of the board.

It was difficult to accept but we were unable to achieve the concept we had envisioned. As it turns out, using a spinner was not as simple as we thought it would be. When seeking help we were advised to use a "slip ring". At the time it was too late in the game to change direction, but next time that's definitely something we can look into.

Finally, for the showcase, we added some blue, green, red, and yellow chips (the same color scheme as the board game itself) to the mix to act as physical representations of the lives of players. Even if it wasn't related to circuitry or the makey makey, the tactile chips added weight to the concept of losing a life every time a player had to give one away after losing a round.

Overall, even though we couldn't implement the interactive elements we wanted to, the classmates who tried our game seemed to really enjoy the fast-paced, competitive nature of the game as our table was almost always occupied with players. So, if nothing else, we were still able to develop a concept that was engaging for players, so I'm happy about that. Plus, our circuit still technically worked, it just needed to be pressed down which didn't work as intended for the board game.

(PS - I wanted to add more photos towards the end but hit the Tumblr photos limit so this should hopefully suffice. Just another thing to keep in mind when making these posts going forward.)

Update - After writing this long, almost step-by-step recount of the creation process, I have been introduced to the "Gibbs Reflective Cycle" in our Intro to Creative Technologies Lecture so I think I'd be remiss to not include it at the end of this.

While I could technically go back and reduce everything I've written to a paragraph long "description of what happened, I have chosen to keep it for 2 reasons; the first is that it took me a great deal of time and effort to make so I simply don't want to delete it all. But secondly and most importantly, even if it's not the best, most effective reflective blog post, I see these posts as a working, evolving skill that I want to be able to look back on and see how much I've changed and improved. So yes, I'm keeping it if only for the fact that It's a piece of history on how I reflected on my first creative project.

So, without further ado, here are my more structured, Gibbs Reflective Cycle paragraphs.

Reflecton

Description

This has been covered in depth in the prior paragraphs but we effectively were tasked with "hacking" a board game to make it more interactive using the skills we had learned in class. This resulted in two final board games being made by my group - one that used the circuitry to allow a spinner to make lights on the board turn on but wouldn't work consistently enough, and another cleaner version that functioned as a board game but didn't incorporate all the electrical elements.

Feeling

During the process of creating this board game, I felt a variety of emotions. When coming up with ideas for the game, I felt a sense of creative burnout. This is a feeling I'm relatively unfamiliar with. In most academic cases coming up with a solution involves further readings and eventually, the solution will become apparent. When coming up with an original boardgame idea, however, I was certainly put out of my comfort zone.

Another part that put me out of my comfort zone was working in the workshop, using the drills, saws, hot glue gun. All of these tools are relatively simple but given my highly limited experience working in this kind of environment, I quickly realized that I had a lot to learn.

All that said, however, I felt a sense of joy when even though we couldn't implement the desired electrical element when the board game concept that we had created actually turned out to be engaging.

I also felt positive about collaborating with my group and using our different skillsets to the advantage of the project. I like designing things on the computer, so I dealt more with the creating of the board and rule sheet designs.

Evaluation.

The positives of the project, as mentioned earlier were the overall coming together and teamwork. The biggest positive would have to be the final game concept that we envisioned actually proving engaging to players.

The negatives, as mentioned, is the obvious one of our main electrical component not working as desired. But that's all a part of this early creative process. Learning to fail. And we definitely learned from it, so it was a valuable failure.

Analysis

I suppose the biggest lesson to learn from this is to identify the "marshmallow" at an early stage. As learned in the marshmallow challenge, it's essential to identify the unknown aspect of the project early on, as if left until later it can be too late and render the project incomplete. In this case, the spinner was the unknown and we left it until too late to ask for help Its simple appearance blinded us to the fact that we were unequipped with the knowledge to achieve our desired outcome with such a new concept. '

Conclusion

As mentioned, getting help for unknown elements in the early stages definitely would've helped improve our final result. We found out about the slip ring too late but had we gone down that route in the beginning it probably would've resulted in a working, functional boardgame.

Regardless, at the end of the day, we still enhanced our understanding of circuits, got creative with game dynamics and design, and created something that was enjoyed by our classmates. And, most importantly, learned how to improve on this next time.

Action Plan

Next time we'll be sure to identify the Marshmellow sooner and get the required support when there's still enough time to implement changes.

All in all, this was still a great introduction to the creative process. We learned a tonne and know how to improve so I'm excited to see what we do next time!

#ctec501

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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years

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Petals for Armor || Ariana & Luce

TIMING: Prior to Bea’s ressurection PARTIES: @divineluce & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana goes by the shop when Luce happens to have a cancellation. A new tattoo is gifted and the girls get to talk. CONTENT: Some sibling death mentions and general descriptions of tattooing (needles and blood)

“You can take the wrap off in the next two or three hours. No pools, hot tubs, or swimming for the next two weeks.” Luce said as she escorted her latest client out, handing them a little bag of Aquaphor and printed out aftercare instructions. They’d gotten a geometric calf piece that, any other time, would have made her really excited to work. But, her nerves were still raw from her experience with Felix and she felt frayed at the edges, like she might just unravel. Which is why she was throwing herself into the more menial aspects of her work-- she cleaned up her room with even more vigor than usual before returning to the lobby to look at her bookings for the day. As she looked at the screen, the bell over the door dinged as someone walked inside. Fuck. Her 4 o clock had rescheduled. Which meant she had nothing to do for the rest of the day. Her cabin was all repaired and she wasn’t… she didn’t want to go back to Bea’s house. Not yet. Not until she was back. Not until all three of them could walk through that door together. Realizing she’d been lost in thought, Luce forced a smile and looked up from the computer. “Welcome to Ink, Inc. Do you have an appointment or are you here for a walk-in?”

After a couple of weeks off from training under Shiloh at Trusty Wood, Ariana found it felt better to be back again. There was a lot less time to get stuck in her own head when she was busy soaking up all that Shiloh could possibly teach her. As heavy as things felt some days, she knew she had to keep pushing forward. It’s what Celeste would have wanted and she still wanted to be someone Celeste could be proud of. It was all she could do to keep part of her alive. Things were slowly getting easier, she still let herself feel her way through the waves. She still found she preferred to not go back to the trailer alone after work today and Ulf had said he wouldn’t be too much later. She could hang out at the shop a bit, look through some of his newer sketches and watch videos on Tik Tok while she waited. Her air pods had still been in her ears as she walked through the door, but she could still hear a familiar voice over the music, so she took a bud out. She smiled when she realized it was Luce though a wince followed shortly after. She wondered if Ulfric had mentioned what happened to Luce. The last thing she needed right now was questions about her hot sister. She quickly recovered and waved, “Hey, Luce. Not here for an appointment or anything. Ulf had said he’d be done for the day soon, so figured I’d hang around a bit so I don’t have to walk home.”

Looking up, Luce’s expression faltered for a moment as she saw Ariana waving at her. Fuck. Fuck. “Ariana. Hey,” She looked down at the computer and grimaced. Ulf was still in his appointment, but that meant that Ariana was going to be stuck waiting around for a little bit. The night Ulfric had told her what had happened to Celeste, Luce had been… floored. Her heart had broken for Ariana, for what she was going through-- she understood the pain of losing a sister, of the cruel reality of death. But, unlike Ariana… She could bring Bea back. She was actively working towards it. And while it would take sacrifice and magic Luce had never thought she would ever degrade herself to doing, here she was. Preparing to murder a man. Swallowing, Luce stepped out from behind the counter and leaned against the receptionist’s desk. She clenched her jaw for a moment before glancing at the clock. “You need a ride? My next appointment bailed on me, so I can give you a lift if you want.” She said with a shrug, tilting her head out to the 4x4 that was parked out back behind Ink Inc.

While a ride sounded better than waiting around the shop for Ulfric to finish with his appointment, Ariana perked up at the mention of her appointment bailing on her. With her first tattoo, she found she kind of liked the sensation of the needle and it’s constant buzzing. She liked the finished product even more. More often than not, she’d find herself admiring her own tattoo literally any time she wore shorts short enough to show it off. As fun as the 4x4 looked, a new tattoo sounded even more fun. “Thanks,” she said, a small smile present, “A ride would be cool, but taking your appointment’s place actually sounds even better. I’ve been kind of wanting another tattoo anyway.” She looked to Luce hopefully. She totally understood if she preferred to go home as planned, but it was worth a shot. “If you’re ready to head out, that’s totally cool, too.”

At Ariana’s words, Luce nodded. A ride, a tattoo? Fuck, if the girl had asked for one of the art pieces off the wall, she would have given it to her. “Sure, no problem. You got any ideas that you’re thinking about? Or do you wanna take a look through some of the designs I already have? C’mon, we can chat in my room.” She said, walking back to her workspace and grabbing the binder full of stencils and designs that she carefully curated. While her designs lately hadn’t been the most inspired or the ones that she liked the most, she’d done well to make sure that she kept a wide selection for people to look through. And, for the most part, people seemed to like them. Geometric tattoos and floral patterns, blackwork and animals, neo-traditional, those designs were pretty well received amongst the others. “You can check this out to get an idea of my style and talk me through what you’re thinking.” She handed over the binder before settling down in front of her laptop.

Being genuinely excited for something after weeks of feeling like life was a haze was a welcomed feeling. Ariana eagerly followed Luce to her room in the shop and answered, “I was thinking of doing some wildflowers in black ink. Color ink is kind of lost on me because color blind and all. I’d love to look through some of your designs though!” There was a hint of sadness at the mention of wildflowers and she decided to not explain her choice. Maybe she should have told Luce about what happened so she didn’t think Celeste ghosted her or something, but as many times as she already had to say it, she didn’t find it getting any easier. It still felt like a kick to the gut every freaking time. She thumbed through the pages of the binder and found she enjoyed Luce’s style. A lot of the floral patterns seemed to fit perfectly for what she wanted, but one in particular reminded her of a hike with Celeste. The shapes of the flowers and how the flowed across the page reminded her of the ones that grew around Dog Mountain in Washington. She’d suggested the spot for hiking based on the name of the mountain alone, but she could still remember the beaming smile on Celeste’s face as they ventured into a clearing that was filled with flowers as if it was yesterday. It was hard to think that was nearly six years ago and they’d never share another hike like that again. She looked a bit more wistful as she looked back to Luce, holding the binder up and pointing, “I like these. They remind me of--,” she started, ready to say Celeste but quickly cut herself off and said, “One of my favorite hikes.”

“Well, you’ve got the right artist for that. I prefer to do black and white tattoos in general.” Luce nodded as she gestured to a couple of the charcoal art pieces on the wall, the stencils in the binder, and the larger designs she’d tacked up to her corkboard. While she waited for Ariana to make her selection, Luce set to work prepping her workstation. Even if nothing caught Ariana’s eye, there was nothing wrong with wiping down the chair, making sure the drawers of her tool chest were neatly organized. It was just good practice. When Ariana held up the binder, showing her the delicate wildflower patterns, Luce nodded with an approving grin. “Where are you thinking of putting it? So I can size up the pattern for you. And would you want to add anything else to it? I’ve got plenty of time, I can make a couple small tweaks if you’d like.” She said as she opened up the stencil on her computer. She heard the slight falter in the girl’s tone, the way she paused. A part of her suspected that… no-- she wasn’t going to pry. Not about the death of a sister. “Nice. Where’d you go hiking?” She asked conversationally.

“Why am I not surprised that the artists here are werewolf friendly,” Ariana joked before admiring the charcoal pieces on the wall. She enjoyed Luce’s style. Art that wasn’t filled with lots of color was a lot easier for her to process and make sense of. Plus, it was totally an aesthetic. She took a moment to think over where she’d like to put it. Since this one didn’t scream I’m a werewolf, she wanted it somewhere more visible. She scanned over her arms and answered, “My left forearm. I think that’d work nicely. I want to be able to just look down and see it whenever I want to. I’m always bummed when I wear pants because I can’t see my wolf tattoo.” She briefly considered adding something specific to Celeste on there, but ultimately decided against it. The design as it was was already perfect and a subtle nod to her sister. “I’d like to keep the design as it is, but thanks.” Luce was being really nice, noting she had plenty of time to customize it however she wanted. There was even something more gentle about her than normal that Ariana couldn’t quite place, but she figured Ulfric must have told her. That would explain it. It didn’t make her feel too inclined to talk about it just yet. Instead, she focused on the happy memory with a fond smile that slightly deflected from her sad and tired eyes. “Lots of places, but these flowers remind me of the ones Celeste and I saw on a hike through Dog Mountain in Washington. There was this one clearing that was just filled with them. I swear you’d think Celeste had just won the lotto or something with how happy she looked.” The dull ache that came with remembering Celeste was present. Still, it felt better to keep her memory alive than to simply let it fade away with her.

Letting out a wry laugh, Luce shrugged, “Werewolf friendly businesses are few and far between in this town, we gotta maintain our reputation as a safe space for all. Besides, a happy boss means a happy me.” She said as she pulled up the stencil. With a cursory glance over at Ariana’s arm where she directed her, Luce nodded, mentally sizing up the area. Shrinking it down a little, she printed out the design before holding it up to the girl’s arm. Needed to be a bit smaller “I get that. I like my leg tattoos a lot, but yeah, they don’t spend as much time in the spotlight as my others.” She said. Under her black shorts, fishnet tights made criss crossed patterns over the tattoos on her legs, obscuring them slightly from view. That’s what happened when you had an aesthetic and stuck to it. As Ariana mentioned Celeste by name, Luce kept her face neutral. She couldn’t help the twist in her stomach at the thought of the woman, someone she’d only briefly known but was Ariana’s whole world. “Yeah. You see a lot of these in the Pacific Northwest. Not that I’ve ever been there, but I like the flowers that grow there.” She said with a nod as she went back to her computer and adjusted the stencil so it was just the right size. “Alright. You ready for this?” She asked, gesturing for the girl to take a seat in her chair.

Ariana knew she one day wanted both her arms to be covered in tattoos though she hadn’t gotten as far as what all she wanted. She kind of figured she liked enough of Ulfric’s random sketches that she could just point something out she thought was cool and he could just tattoo it on her. It didn’t need some special meaning. It being the art of someone she cared about was enough meaning for her. Plus, doing things just for aesthetic reasons were fun. It was her body. She didn’t need to justify her tattoo choices to literally anyone. Hell, she had half a mind to get the stupid tattoos her and Nell were joking about getting. Those would be more fun to get together anyway. With a small laugh, she mused, “Listen, your arms and legs are both goals.” She took a seat in the chair as directed and swallowed back a bit of the giddy energy that was building up inside her. She tried to position her arm so it was easy for Luce to work with and said, “Oh, I’m so ready. I’ve been dying to get another tattoo since I got my first one.” She kept still as she spoke, not wanting to mess up the outline Luce was preparing for her. “I liked the Pacific Northwest a lot. There’s a lot of places to go where it’s just nature which is basically wolf paradise. Do you do a lot of hiking here? I really love all your floral designs.” Focusing on something that wasn’t the Celeste part of the memory was a little easier. Soon, there’d also be the nice dull buzz of the needle to distract from that, too.

At the girl’s words, Luce offered a crooked smile, glancing down at her arms as she pulled on a pair of gloves. “Thanks. I’ve worked on them for the past eight years. Ulf, he did your first one, right?” She said as she wiped down the area and applied the stencil, stepping back to take a look at it. Hm. “He did my first tattoo, this one.” She said, extending her arm to show Ariana the lightbulb and bouquet that decorated the inside of her right forearm. “Fast forward eight years and… well, I caught the bug. So I get that.” With a smile, she redid the stencil a few times until it was lined up, so that the flowers were angled just so. Measure twice, cut once-- it applied to tattoos in a manner of speaking. “Let’s get started.” She said and turned on her machine, the familiar buzzing comforting in her hand. At Ariana’s words, Luce spoke up, “Yeah, there are a lot of good hiking trails around here. Probably can’t compare to Oregon or Washington or anything like that, but they’re solid.” Working on the outlines first, she smiled, “Thanks. Flowers are kind of a family thing.” She said, though the smile faded slightly from her face as she did so. “I had a lot of references around the house when we were growing up.”

Ariana figured it would take her about as long to work up to a tattoo collection that mirrored Luce’s and Ulfric’s. At least she personally knew two awesome artists and was more than happy to support them in any way she could. “Eight years, I’m sure you’re not done yet either,” she scanned over Luce’s arms and smiled at the lightbulb bouquet Ulfric had done on her forearm, “Oh, I love that one. He did do my first one, too. Though it’s unfortunately covered by jeans right now. It’s a big wolf in a nature motif surrounded by the moon phases because clearly I was going for subtle.” She did her best to remain still as Luce applied the stencil, not wanting to mess the artist up by moving around. Already, she loved the design and the placement. It’d be nice to have something she can glance down at more readily and it’d be nice to have another small piece of Celeste to carry around with her. A small pang reminded her of the sadness that seemed to constantly linger these days, but she wanted to keep those memories alive. She wanted to remember and be someone Celeste would still be proud of. Her focus shifted back to Luce. “The hiking here is actually pretty good, at least in the Outskirts. Although I will say, way more dangerous than the pacific northwest, at least the parts I’ve been too. Never saw a hedgehound out there. Or murder mimes. I’m sure you can hold your own out there though,” she mused, still kind of in awe of the whole witch thing. The hum of the tattoo machine soothed her even as the needle hit her skin. It was a dull pain and it served as a good distraction. “Oh yeah, I remember your sisters had a lot of flowers in the house. I actually got Nell a nice little arrangement of succulents since you said she likes plants. She seemed to love it… or at least she hasn’t cancelled our matching face tattoo idea yet.”

“Definitely not.” Luce agreed as she dipped the needles back into the small tub of ink before continuing her steady linework. “There’s a lot more I want to do. But, I also want to save space. Don’t want to fill things up too soon just in case there’s something else I want.” She said. Listening to the girl speak, Luce focused on the tattoo, mentally planning out where she wanted to add the shading around the petals and the leaves. “That’s really cool that he did that for you. And a super solid design. Ulf does good work, he always has.” She nodded. “And yeah, it’s always a good idea to be prepared for any and everything when you’re out in the woods around here. But, what with your wolf situation, I’m sure you can handle yourself.” Luce said. At the mention of Bea’s house, a lump formed in the back of her throat, but she did her best to ignore it. “Mhm. Nell has a whole greenhouse all to herself, full of all kinds of plants. Doesn’t surprise me that she liked the succulents, I don’t know how many of those she has.” She replied before lifting an eyebrow, glancing at Ariana as she wiped some of the excess ink away, “Matching face tattoos, huh?”

“That sounds like a struggle,” Ariana mused with a small grin. Self control had never been her strong suit and her tendency to act on impulse would make it hard for her to save space for new ideas that came up in the future. “That makes sense though. Saving room for new fun things. I still have a lot of room, so I figure I can go a little crazy with it for a bit. Well, as crazy as my wallet will allow anyway.” She kept her breathing slow and steady, focusing on both Luce’s words and the feeling of the needle in her arm. Even the gentle buzzing of the tattoo gun going had a soothing sound to it. “Yeah, I love the piece and I got to meet Ulf… who’s been totally great. Bet he didn’t expect to end up taking care of a teen werewolf, but he’s a pretty good sport about it. At least, I think he likes having me around. He’s working on getting a cabin built for us,” she rambled a bit, which wasn’t normal for her, but she kind of realized that him taking care of her hinted that Celeste wasn’t around anymore. She felt the slight jump her heart made in her chest and nodded, “Oh yeah, it’s hard to sneak up on or fight a wolf.” The greenhouse thing sounded pretty cool. She hoped to get her own garden going once they were settled into the cabin. “That’s so cool. I’ll have to ask her to see it some time. We’re supposed to be sparring soon, which should be fun.” She laughed a bit at the matching tattoo part, “Yep, they’re going to say ‘My Wolves, My Witches, & My Bitches’, but they gotta be like Post Malone style you know. Alternatively, it’s ‘spicy witch shorty’ and ‘shrimpy salsa wolf’ even though Nell is probably the only person who could call me shrimpy and not get punched… Well, and Blanche.”

“Not gonna lie, some days it is. Particularly when I’m surrounded by great artists.” Luce admitted as she filled in the next area. When was the last time she’d just talked about what kind of art she was looking to put on her body? Not since she’d talked to Dot, when the woman had been sitting in this very chair. Months ago. Must have been. But… it was nice. To pretend as though nothing was wrong. As though it was all normal. “Oh yeah, you’re young. You’ve got a lotta time and space.” At the mention of money, Luce kept her mouth shut as she continued to tattoo. The second Ariana had said she wanted a tattoo, Luce knew that she wouldn’t let the girl pay. A gift, in a way, in remembrance for Celeste. It was only the more fitting that the tattoo directly related to the woman. Swallowing, she pulled away and took a look at the outlines that she’d drawn. It was all coming together, looking even better inked on the skin than it had on paper. “Yeah? Well, not that I think either of you will need an extra hand, but I have a cabin of my own. Didn’t build it, but I’ve done some repair work on it. Some interior remodeling too.” Her jaw clenched slightly at the memory of herself, hurling fireballs at the ruined countertops of her cabin after she’d heard the news of Bea. Not one of her finest moments. “If you need someone who’s decent with a power drill, you can always give me a call.” She said as she drew one of the long stems of the flowers. “Yeah, I’m sure she’d be happy to show it to you. And, have fun with the sparring. Give her a good punch for me.” Luce said with a wry grin that was only half joking. A part of her really wanted to beat Nell into the dirt for all the secrets that she’d been keeping from her. At the sound of their planned tattoos, she snorted. “Sounds like a fantastic idea, I approve as both an artist and older sister.”

“You’re valid. Do you ever go to like conventions or stuff like that,” Ariana asked, genuinely curious if that was even a thing and if she could attend one. Her eyes were still on her own arm, watching in awe as Luce finished up the outlines of the flowers there. Somehow, her arm already felt a little more complete and they weren’t even done yet. The directions the flowers flowed in seemed to follow along gracefully with the curves of her arm. They looked as if they were just always meant to be there, meant to keep a part of Celeste with her always, even on days where she felt even further away. She nodded, “You right, you right.” Talking about the cabin did make her happy though. She’d finally have a permanent home, even if it stung that it wasn’t with Celeste, she was glad to have Ulfric. It wasn’t the same, but it didn’t make his role in her life any less meaningful. “Dude, that’s so cool. I mean, I know that’s literally what I’m going into, but it’s always awesome to see other women who are good at wooding, too. I’m sure one of us will let you know if we need an extra hand. Either way, you’ll have to come by and check out the finished product,” she said as she grimaced slightly as Luce worked on the part of her arm closer to her elbow. It wasn’t unbearable my any means, just more sensitive that the other parts had been. “I’m sure she would, we get along pretty well. Comes with the being short and always ready to fight. Think I can do that for you. Nell did insist I called woodworking wooding around you just to see your reaction,” she explained, smiling fondly as she remembered just how ridiculous 90% of their conversations were. “Well, now we have to get it.”

“I’ve been to a couple of expos, yeah. A couple in Boston. One in Montreal a few years back, one all the way down in New York.” Luce nodded as she moved onto the shading. She wanted to keep it delicate, to match the fine lines of the flower petals that she’d made. So, light, careful strokes were key. “Nah. You’re actually gonna be learning big time woodworking, framing stuff. I’m just a DIY kinda gal when it comes to the smaller stuff. Very stereotypical of me.” She said with a wry grin. The jokes about lesbians and Lowes had some merit to them. But, that’s just what happened when you lived on your own in the middle of the woods. You figured out how to take care of yourself. You learned how to live without needing another person. When had that changed? She hadn’t even realized that she was a different person from the girl who’d first moved into the cabin until the day she’d heard the news. That was when she realized just how… fucking stupid she’d been. To cut her sisters out. Clearing her throat, she focused on Ariana’s words again, “Yeah, for sure. I’d be happy to check it out, if only to fuck with Ulf and tell him the joints aren’t lined up right or something.” She laughed and wiped away some ink once more. Nice. It was all coming together into a beautiful arm piece. “I figured she’d put you up to that. Or maybe Blanche. Either of them have a knack for being little shits sometimes.” But, the words lacked some of the fire she’d normally have. They were both working just as hard as she was in their joint endeavor to bring back. She couldn’t be too hard on them. They were just trying to have fun, to be kids, in this fucked up town.

“That’s so cool. Do they ever do any near here? I think I’d like to check one out,” Ariana replied, still super intrigued with the whole thing. Getting to see a bunch of artists and their work. The prospect of also leaving with a new tattoo was fun. She was still intently focused on this one and was entranced watching Luce work. Her hand was definitely gentle and steady as she worked, never holding the needle to her skin for too long to bear. The flowers were looking better than she could have even imagined. At the mention of stereotypes, she laughed a little bit. “I guess we’re both stereotypes in that regard. Does that one still apply if you’re bi? Oh well, I’m claiming it. You can 100% catch me in a Lowe’s… or Trusty Wood.” At the mention of messing with Ulf, there was a devious grin on her face. “Please do that, I love that. I’ll even go along with it.” She let out a soft sigh at the feeling of the cool paper towel wiping away the excess ink. This was only her second tattoo, but she’d quickly realized what a satisfying feeling it was. “Blanche and Nell? Little shits? They would never,” she retorted with a small smirk as she lightly shook her head, “We have to make up for what we lack in height with pure anger and chaotic energy. It’s the law.”

“Boston’s about the closest one to us. Five hour drive. It’s not terrible,” Luce said with a nod. “If one comes up, I’ll let you know. I’m sure you’d be able to have enough time off to come down for a weekend at the very least. Expos are cool places to see other artists, network, figure out what sorta stuff you like.” As Luce looked at the tattoo, she leaned in to finish up the last few areas of shading. Other than that, the tattoo was done. As she added a few speckles to one of the leaves, she realized that the time had passed by far quicker than she’d thought. Huh. Maybe it was just because she had someone to talk with, rather than being talked at. That must have been it. “”You know, I feel like it’s just a big queer woman mood. So you know, you can own Lowe’s.” She said with a slight laugh. Wiping down the tattoo, she leaned back. “What do you think of it? The offer from before stands. If you want me to add anything, now’s the time to say so.”

“That’s not too bad. I’ll hopefully have enough for a used truck by the end of the summer,” Ariana explained, “But totally let me know. I’d love to check one out.” She watched as Luce added the finishing touches to her tattoo and admired her new piece. There was no doubt in her mind that it would look perfect once it healed up. All in all, it was a win. She’d enjoyed getting to talk with Luce some and she had a dope new tattoo to show for it. She laughed along with the joke and added, “I love that for us. It works either way because we don’t need a man to do our home repairs for us.” For a moment, she thought over if she wanted to add anything to the tattoo when Luce asked and she couldn’t help but admire it just the way it was. “I think it’s perfect as is,” she said confidently. It was a subtle dedication to Celeste, one she wouldn’t have to explain over and over. It was just for her. She watched as Luce wipes away the last of the excess ink and wrapped her arm. She vaguely remembered the instructions Ulfric gave her last time and was sure he’d also be able to remind her at home if she forgot. “So aquaphor and antibacterial soap for the after care, right?”

“Nice. And yeah, for sure. They’re cool places.” Luce said with a grin and waited for Ariana to voice her approval. The way the girl’s eyes flicked over the tattoo, taking in the design-- these were moments that she lived for. When clients got to see the art she’d created, this new part of who they were. It was gratifying. Especially when it was a design she liked. “Awesome.” She said, tossing away the used bits of machinery and gloves into their designated disposal bins. Stretching, she walked Ariana back out to the main office, grabbing one of the bags with Aquaphor and instructions for her. “Yep, you know the drill. And besides, you can always ask Ulf, he knows best.” Leaning against the check in counter, she nodded, “You’re all set to go. I’m glad that you liked that one. It turned out really well, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh yeah, living with a tattoo artist definitely has its perks,” Ariana replied with a small laugh. If she did by chance forget something on tattoo care, she probably didn’t even have to leave the room she was in to ask him. Small place paired with werewolf hearing did have some advantages. The fact she relied on voice to text and audio texts software for half her messaging endeavors was not one of them. She’d slung her bag back over her shoulder and gave Luce a puzzled look. “It does look damn good, but how much do I owe you?”

“You’re all set.” Luce repeated, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at the young woman before her. “The tattoo’s on the house. For your sister.” She said with a nod, her jaw tightening slightly. Ariana would never know it, but she was very aware of what kind of grief the girl was going through. The unique pain of losing a sister. And if getting a tattoo would help, if it could ease the pain just a little, she was more than happy to foot the bill.

It took Ariana a moment to process what Luce had just said. She had a feeling Ulf may have told Luce, but she still hadn’t been expecting the tattoo to be on the house. She nodded slowly, trying to push back the feelings that the mention of Celeste brought up. “Thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper, “Really-- it was… well, it’s to remember her by.” Not wanting to get too emotional in the middle of the tattoo shop, she gave a wave and a small smile before she made her way out the door. The tattoo was still wrapped, but she knew it’d being her a sense of peace in the months and years to come. She’d definitely remember the kind gesture from a friend as well, somehow giving the piece even more meaning to her.

#wickedswriting #luce #petals for armor #sibling death mentions?

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