#camille splash art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr Inc. has $15.1M in annual revenue.

escapismsworld · 1 year

Note

Your favorite Impressionist painter?

Hi thank you for asking! It may sound a bit cliché but for me it's Claude Monet. His paintings are of the most beautiful pastel hues and his use of blues (my favourite colour) and after I've read the below article it just made me love him more.

Why did Claude Monet love the colour blue so much? Well, it all began with four friends and a mistake...

The year is 1862, and four young painters at the French Academy of Fine Arts called Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Alfred Sisley, and Frédéric Bazille, realised they had something in common. Academic painting all took place in a studio, much like this:

The four of them found it old-fashioned, unrealistic, and uninspiring. The Academic style seemed artificial (carefully orchestrated lighting) and contrived (it imitated the Renaissance). And the themes - of Biblical and Classical history or mythology - didn't interest them.

So they starting painting outdoors ("en plein air" in French) and, led by the older artist Edouard Manet, embraced a wholly different form of realism. Outside the studio, lighting and human figures were *different*. In Manet's Balcony we can detect the start of this shift:

Soon enough Paul Cezanne and Camille Pissarro joined them, and a movement was born. They didn't paint reality as a camera might capture it, but as the eye perceives it from one moment to the next with all its movement, changing light, sudden glimpses, fog, and blur:

And they started to realise just how important colour was. Even in Monet's early works, like La Grenouillére (1869), we can see this in action. Up close there is no "form" as there was in Academic painting, but from a distance those splashes of colour unite to create reality:

And then, as Renoir said, “one morning, one of us ran out of black, and it was the birth of Impressionism.” This was the big leap: from the black shadows of Academicism to the blue shadows of Impressionism. Their paintings suddenly had an extraordinary brightness and vividity. After all, no shadow is truly black; it comprises a mixture of tones and colours.

And blue is the ultimate shade of the outdoors, being the colour of the sky and from there permeating everything else with its tones, even snow.

But Monet would take this further than anybody else, not only casting his work through a subtle lens of natural blue brightness, but diving headlong into the world of shifting colours and into the fundamental "blueness" of the outdoors. Like the London fog, say:

Or the Venetian Grand Canal, the river Seine, the cathedral of Rouen, or the poplars of Normandy. Another technique the Impressionists adopted was the use of brighter canvasses. Normally they were dark grey, but by the end Monet and co were using white canvasses.

When we think of a painter, one of the first images that comes to mind is a scruffy looking figure sitting outdoors with an easel, palette, and bundle of brushes. And it was Monet, more than any of his contemporaries, who fully immerged himself in *the* colour of Impressionism, the colour of the outdoors: blue.

But, by his late career, we find the Monet so well-known, so well-loved. Blueness has descended, filtered through snow and sunlight and haze, and the world has splintered into brush-strokes of colour. Impressionism had, perhaps, found its highest form.

He travelled to London and Venice, taking that style with him, and painted those cities in ways that, far from what a photograph would capture, seem to contain something truer about them, about how they *feel* to see, the impression they leave...

And, of course, in his beloved garden, where Monet bequeathed an artistic gift to the world with his two hundred and fifty paintings of water-lilies.

And here is Claude Monet himself, one of the most enduringly popular painters of our time, photographed with the bridge and pond made famous by his work, and, as he surely so loved, en plein air...

295 notes · View notes

pearlsoflongago · 2 months

Text

Myths in the Morning

Tales of Long Ago

Apollo and Daphne by Francesco Albani

Daphne

Why do you follow me?— Any moment I can be Nothing but a laurel-tree.

Any moment of the chase I can leave you in my place A pink bough for your embrace.

Yet if over hill and hollow, Still it is your will to follow, I am off;—to heel, Apollo!

—Edna St. Vincent Millay

Pan by Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini

A Musical Instrument

What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river.

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river: The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan While turbidly flowed the river; And hacked and hewed as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan, (How tall it stood in the river!) Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river.

‘This is the way,’ laughed the great god Pan (Laughed while he sat by the river), 'The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed.’ Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! Piercing sweet by the river! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river. Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man: The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,— For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Orpheus Leading Eurydice from the Underworld by Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot

Orpheus With His Lute

Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

—William Shakespeare from Henry VIII

Le Soir: La Danse des Nymphes/Evening: the Dance of the Nymphs by J-B Camille Corot

#literature #poetry #dark academia #light academia #classic #inspiration #books & libraries #classic academia #mythology #greek mythology #greek gods #william shakespeare #elizabeth barrett browning #edna st vincent millay #jean baptiste camille corot

0 notes

prettypiner · 2 years

Text

Just read canary mail

#Just read canary mail verification#

#Just read canary mail free#

There aren’t many giveaways of Canary Wharf’s former trading past but Billingsgate Market stands as a rather sizeable reminder – even if it did only move from its former premises in the City of London in the 1980s. The past is cleverly brought to life via interesting stories and tidbits – there’s even a full-scale reconstruction of Sailortown as it would have stood in Victorian times.

#Just read canary mail free#

Tucked away on North Dock, the Museum of London Docklands is one of the most interesting Canary Wharf sights: a free museum packed with exhibits telling the history of the Docklands area. Need a little nudge? Check out my interview with Gillie and Marc whose sculpture sits a short walk from Canary Wharf station. Taking a wander around the area in search of quirky sculptures and large-scale installations is one of the best free things to do in Canary Wharf. Camille Walala’s mural is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to public art in Canary Wharf. It used to be the case that Canary Wharf was thought of as a cultural tumbleweed but those days are long gone. Stroll underneath the arched canopy and peek at the plants within – organised by hemisphere and representing Canary Wharf’s former life as a port when goods from around the world would have landed right here brought by the West India Dock Company. Crossrail Place Roof Garden Crossrail Place GardenĬanary Wharf might be a big bowl of skyscraper soup, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some lush green spots to hang out in when you want to.Įnter the gorgeous Crossrail Place Roof Garden – bursting with verdant growth mere steps away from the bustle and hubbub below. Blending stark geometric shapes and striking colours, you shouldn’t miss it. Walala, who’s been making quite a splash in London’s street art scene in recent years, created the work as part of the city’s first mural festival. Camille Walala Street Art at Adams Plaza BridgeĬamille Walala’s bold mural on Adams Plaza Bridge instantly elevated itself straight to the top of the list of cool things to do in Canary Wharf as soon as it was put up last year. If you have any doubt, read our FAQ for international students.Delving into the spots you shouldn’t miss. Pay attention to the feedbacks and requests of further actions you will receive via email. Make sure to correctly fill all the fields before clicking on “ Submit”. Once your application is submitted, information in the application form cannot be deleted or changed. Final degree diploma, language certificate). If necessary, new documents can be added after the submission (ie. Once your application is submitted, attached documents cannot be deleted or replaced. Make sure you have filled in all the fields and uploaded all the necessary documents before clicking on “ Submit”. Click on “ Save” to save your application, even if incomplete.Now you are ready to Sign In and complete your application.

#Just read canary mail verification#

Open your email account, click on the verification link you received, type the PIN code and set your password. Please specify an email address you regularly check and do not sign up more than once by using different email addresses (otherwise your application will be rejected!) A single-use PIN code will appear on the screen. If you have never registered before, click on “I’m a new applicant” and insert your email address. Check here the list of documents required to apply, and have them ready for upload. Read the information carefully and make sure you fulfil all the requirements for the degree programme(s) you are interested in Please note that you cannot apply twice for the same degree programme during different calls of the same Academic Year. Select your degree programme(s) – up to 3 per Academic Year – using the Search tool above. If you have been awarded an INTERNATIONAL Bachelor’s degree/Secondary School diploma, please follow the instructions below: You must follow the instructions in the Call for applications, usually published in June on the University’s website If you have been awarded an ITALIAN entry qualification title, you do not have to apply through this platform. Welcome to the University of Padua’s online application platform for international students: your journey with us starts here!

#Just read canary mail

0 notes

thedemonlady · 5 years

Photo

Invictus Gaming skins

#league of legends #LeBlanc #Camille #Irelia #Fiora #Rakan #Kai'sa #Invictus Gaming #official Splash Art

41 notes · View notes

adorethedistance · 4 years

Text

Artist!Harry Styles x reader part 2

Read part one here!

A/n: back by popular demand, here is part 2 of Art student!Harry because the last one was a cliffhanger angst and now it’s sad boi hours. Might do a part three might not. Depends how I'm feeling and how y’all are feeling.

Warnings: implied sex but I’m pretty sure that’s it.

Words: 1112

“I wanna see!”

“No, it’s not done yet. I’m just starting your face, and you haven’t got nipples yet.”

‘“What’s taking so long?” I only have two.” Harry narrows his eyes at me, snorting at my joke in a humorless way.

This is true bliss. I’m laying in bed, topless, as my lover puts my portrait in oil. I want the moment to last forever and I would not trade it for anything in the world. I’m proud to be his muse.

Right now I’m framed between his white bed sheets where we had just spent an incredible night together. When we woke, Harry said he wanted to savor the moment forever and asked if I would sit for a piece for his personal collection. When inspiration hits, it’s like you’ve struck gold, and I wouldn’t dare take that away from him.

“I can paint nipples quite easy. Now hush.” Pulling his brush away from the canvas, Harry pulls his lower lip into his mouth and cinches his eyebrows simultaneously. He adds a few measured strokes before leaning back to look at the canvas entirely. His face relaxes in satisfaction as he plops the brush into the cup of paint water with a splash. Then, he picks up a small, pigment-stained cloth to clean his hands with. His smile remains stagnant as he surveys the canvas in front of him; I see his eyes flick up and down the length of the frame.

“You… are quite a difficult essence to capture, you know that?”

“Why? Because I’m ugly?” Harry lets out a hearty laugh before setting the cloth on his thigh.

“No. Because your eyes are perfect.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m serious!” He defends, “Your eye color is so rich that it’s hard to mix up the right paints.” The compliment makes me smile bashfully. No one’s ever told me my eyes are pretty in such an intricate way before. From behind his canvas, Harry peers at me through full lashes, soaking in the joy of my reaction.

I can tell he’s thinking about something and just doesn’t want to say it. I’ll wait. I’ll wait until the end of time to hear what he has to say, so long as he stays by my side.

“You are so beautiful, Y/n Y/m/n.”

The memory makes my stomach churn in agonizing sadness. We were so happy and in love. I don’t hate past Y/n and Harry. I’m just extremely jealous of them.

Jealous because present Y/n and Harry haven’t spoken in a full week. That is, until...

“Oh, I didn’t know you would be here.” Harry keeps his eyes trained on the floor between us. I should hate him. I should be livid, fuming even. He’s the one who shattered my heart into a billion pieces by walking away.

But I don’t. And I’m not. And I hate myself for it.

“I always go to office hours on Tuesday.” He knows that. He knows I’m always at Tuesday office hours because he knows my schedule. “You don’t even have Dr. Morgan. You could’ve at least tried to be nondescript and gone to a professor that we actually share,” I say lamely. I thought me being an undergrad and him studying for an M.F.A would give us contrasting schedules but it didn’t. If anything, it gave us more time to see one another. We used to spend hours in the studio lab just working side by side. Giving each other feedback on our pieces, and laughing through paint fights before getting yelled at by whichever TA was supervising.

When I look down, I see Harry’s holding a brown moleskin journal in his right hand, and in his left, his usual coffee order.

“Is that a black iced coffee with a half packet of sugar?” Kind of a stupid question to ask. I don’t even care for the answer, I just crave the sound of his voice. The rasp of his vocal fry accompanies the deep timbre of his molasses like pacing. His voice is unlike any other that I’ve heard before, but even if it weren’t, I would still miss it just as much.

“It’s actually a full packet ‘cause you weren’t there to finish it and I felt bad about throwing it away,” he states softly while examining the cup much closer than he would if he could bring himself to look at me. Harry would always dump the excess in my cup just to mess with me. Then I’d pretend to be upset but secretly love it.

“Must be a bit sweeter than you wanted.”

“Yeah…”

Please just look at me. I will him silently. I miss the way his face wrinkles when he smiles. I miss running my hands through his hair as he laid in my lap. I miss him holding my hand while he drives. I miss all the little things, all the tiny gestures that made my heart skip a beat.

I miss you, Harry.

“Christ, Y/n can we just talk?”

“Please.”

“Not here. Come back to my place with me.” “H, I need to talk to Morgan. We can talk another time.” And all he does is nod softly, disappointedly. Does he miss me as much as I miss him? What if he’s been fine this entire time and I’m just a loser who can’t move on? Did he ever stop loving Camile?

Each question floods my brain with an even deeper sadness and tears of anguish begin to well up in my eyes. I’m praying he doesn’t notice, but he does. Of course he does.

Against my will the tears dive from my lash line onto the cool, tiled floor and Harry sets his journal and coffee on the display case next to us. He grabs onto the empty canvas I’m gripping as a way to silently ask my permission. I don’t turn away or hold on tighter which allows him to gently slip it from my fingers and set it on the case next to his belongings.

Harry’s always loved wholly and unabashedly, and even though we’re broken up, that hasn’t changed. He wraps one arm around my back and the other cradling my head in his large hand so he can pull me into a tight embrace.

“You looked like you could use a hug,” is all he says to explain his actions. He smells like the cedarwood, mint, and vanilla cologne that he knows is my favorite, which tells me just how non-accidental his ‘running into me’ really was. I’m too miserable to be mad, so I hug back twice as desperately.

“I missed you.”

***

Part three here.

#Harry #Harry Styles #Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry Styles fanfic #Harry Styles fic #Harry Styles writing #Harry Styles imagine #Harry Styles angst #Harry Styles fluff #Harry Styles blurb #Harry Styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #Harry Styles x you #artist harry #writing #reader insert

159 notes · View notes

seventh-line · 3 years

Text

Camille, (Is Lin Beifong)

Honestly turning into an old lady these days. Every time I think, ‘Who was the last champ again?’ it takes me fifteen minutes to come up with an answer. (My first thought is always Diego.) Then I always tell myself, ‘Well, that ain’t right. Wasn’t it what’s her face, the horse one?’ as I sit in my room playing Rell.

Now, shall we, darling?

Right off the bat, this splash is amazing and I might be in love. The pose is dynamic, and honestly just so cool. (Been watching The Legend of Korra twice in a row and every time any of the metalbenders use the cables I’m so 😻.) Sleek, sexy, refined, elegant. Befitting of a Piltovan lady, distinctly feminine but not too pretty, which fits so well for this character.

Normally I prefer characters with some colour, but here Camille pulls off all these wonderful, delicious shades of grey like no ones business.

The golden accents are delightful to the eye, but they don’t take away from her legs the rest of her outfit. Instead they add a certain dangerous intricacy.

I really like how her the tails on the back gives the feeling that she’s wearing a tailcoat.

Outfit aside, Camille is in my opinion one of the S Tier character designs in League of Legends. (This actually makes me angry because Camille is the second last Piltover/Zaun champion. Seraphine was released two years later, and we all know how much I loved her design. Fucking Riot.)

Part of the reason I truly think she is one of the coolest champions designed is in large part due to her fighting style. As I’ve mentioned above, I go nuts for the cables. But her foot glaives are an idea I was not partial to at first. Now I think they’re brilliant, and rather unique. They are exotic, but they’re all very Camille. I cannot express how much I love the idea of her fighting style, and how she uses the cables I’m conjunction with her foot glaive.

Her in game model is is on par compared to some of the others I’ve seen:

The blue grey reminds me of mist, secrets kept and of course shadows. Deadly, dangerous, steel shadows

Camille’s Wild Rift model is not too different aside from the colours. In general I tend to prefer the cleaner models on the mobile game. In this case I don’t. I do realize that the colours are more accurate to the splash art, but I still prefer her LoL counterpart. The black and gold contrast much more here, making it seem bold. In some ways, Camille is, but I’ve always pegged her as more subtle. The blue mist serves her well, though it is more so a matter of opinion.

One of the things they did rectify here was her hextech heart. In her LoL model, it’s just black, but here it’s blue.

Another was her body proportions. To a certain extent, I can understand her not looking entirely human. She’s changed herself so much, and it shows, but I’ve always felt her thighs and waist were somewhat exaggerated.

Overall Camille is 11/10 in my books. She gets a pass. So cool. So deadly. So Camille!

P.S. Listen to Camille’s theme if you haven’t. Do it. Do it now.

#league of legends #lol #camille #league outfits

15 notes · View notes

groovybaybee · 4 years

Text

Greener - II

Greener - I

(4.2k)

cw: mentions of abuse (not this chapter and nothing too intense but better safe than sorry) also alcohol consumption

There are moments in life that conjure up intense emotion any time you think about them. Happy or sad, whenever your mind flicks through its rolodex of memories and lands on it, you feel that moment come to life. You brain must have logged every detail of that time and packed it away in the back of your brain for you to stumble upon later down the road. Your mind takes you back to that moment and brings your senses along with it. My mother always reaches for these moments in times of strife, dipping her hand into a lucky dip of ‘happy places’ and allowing the sensation to wash over her. Her favourite is a family holiday to Spain, sipping ice-cold drinks as we swung our legs in the chilly waters of the pool below us.

Not all the moments I remember are so positive, but I feel them just as strongly. Instead, I created my own ‘happy place’ to escape to whenever I felt overwhelmed.

I stand, waist-deep, in warm water. Waves lap around me, hugging and kissing my naked skin as I breathe gently under the moonlight. The sky above me is clear and an audience of stars shine down on me. I bare my soul to the universe and feel love and appreciation in return. The night sky watches over me as I let my eyes close, leaning my head back, chin high. My shoulders relax more than they ever have as a warm but refreshing breeze wraps around me, hugging me tightly. I hear trees rustle somewhere behind me, whispering sweet sentences to one another as the sand beneath my feet reaches my ankles, anchoring me securely to the world, grounding and protecting me from floating away.

I let my eyes open and I am back in my kitchen. No gentle breezes or salty air. Just my kitchen, with its colourful, mismatching crockery and photographs blu-tacked to the wall. However, there is a clear change in the room since the time I shut my eyes tightly, my chest feels looser, my throat no longer feels as though it is closing, and my breathing has slowed drastically.

Raising my phone from my side, I return to the source of my sudden panic.

A news article, forwarded from my manager, Jim, a simple ‘Didn’t know you were dating’ preceded the link to the website. Of course, he was joking, not realising the stress I was about to feel.

Quickly clicking the link, I remind myself to breathe deep and slow as I am redirected to a webpage.

BACK ON THE HORSE? HARRY STYLES SPOTTED GETTING CLOSE WITH MYSTERY WOMAN

Hunky heartthrob, Harry Styles, caught canoodling outside hot Los Angeles restaurant, Spago. Despite reportedly having only split with model ex-girlfriend, Camille Rowe, a mere two months ago, the pop sensation was witnessed cosying up to a new woman.

I am skim-reading at this point, desperate to get to the end with some shred of mental stability. My eyes land on the articles singular piece of ‘evidence’, a video taken from across the street. It begins with Harry and I talking and laughing outside the restaurant, follows us as we migrate closer to one another, my head thrown back in laughter before we are nearly pressed together. I had not realised quite how close we had gotten. The video ends when Harry and I are blocked from view, Harry’s car obstructing the camera’s line of sight. No one would be able to tell we did not kiss. My stomach squeezes uncomfortably as I read the video’s caption.

Keep it in your pants guys!

It is all a little dramatic. A small part of me wants to laugh at the way this has all been exaggerated and made into a big deal. That amusement fizzles as I continue to read the article, pausing after reading the final line.

All this has us wondering, has Harry really moved on so quickly?

Good question.

Quickly replying to my manager, I send the words ‘Blind date’, before glancing at the comments beneath the article.

Big mistake.

Despite the article not naming me directly, not something I am shocked or offended by as Harry is clearly the more famous of the two of us, the comment section of the webpage has not mirrored the same unawareness. Almost every comment mentions me by name, the majority questioning how we even know each other.

I allow myself to be sucked into the vortex of curiosity, taking in every opinion possible. Many of the replies to the news make it clear that they do not know who I am, and therefore that is reason enough for me to be nowhere near Harry. A lot of comments debate whether or not Harry has fully dealt with his breakup, suggesting that this was a PR move to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. I make the mistake of googling her.

Well I don’t think the jealousy tactic is likely to be effective.

She is stunning. A French model. Could I be more of a cliched parallel to her? I try not to compare the two of us, however, a few comments bring attention to the bloat of my stomach and it becomes very difficult not to feel vulnerable after that. It was a blind date. Harry and I were set up. That is the only reason he would ever look at me twice.

But he wants to see me again.

I cling to that thought and close the webpage on my phone, pocketing it and deciding fresh air is what I need. Stepping through the patio doors of my house, I peek out into the sunshine, letting the warm rays soak into me instantly. The small house is built on a hill, the garden demonstrating this the most as it is split into two grassy tiers. I walk up the concrete steps until I reach the patio furniture at the top. Sitting myself on one of the wooden chairs, I take a second to appreciate the view; the back of my house shaded by the incline of the hill which allows me to peer over the top of my roof and look out at the hills. As a kid, I had pictured living somewhere warm enough for palm trees, now I am able to watch them arc in the wind.

I did this, and this is far more important than a few words. I am alive, I am good, and I am kind.

Pressing my toes into the soft, cool grass beneath me, I slip my phone out of my pocket and compose a text.

Sat in my garden and I reckon the view would be fun to paint, fancy it?

The soft yellowy horizon gives me a sense of security as the evening creeps in. There is so much beauty in the world and I am glad I took the time to sit out here rather than obsessing over some meaningless gossip. It will all blow over and people will either forget about us or realise that we are not actually together. A small smirk tugs at my lips as I imagine pinning this on Lucy and using it as an excuse to get a free drink out of her.

My phone vibrates twice against the wooden table.

I love that idea. Tomorrow work? (I’ll bring wine) – Harry

I cannot help but grin at the small screen, quickly typing a reply.

4pm? Catch the last of the sun that way. Also you don’t have to keep signing off!

Only a few seconds after placing my phone back down on the table, I have to pick it back up to read his latest message.

Sounds perfect. It’s harder to stop than you’d think – Harry

Giggling at him, I lock my phone and set it down, excitement pooling in the bottom of my stomach. This time tomorrow Harry will be sat beside me, paint-covered and maybe a little bit tipsy. I make a quick mental note to go shopping for food to line our stomachs, not wanting to let him be exposed to my drunken self just yet.

I spend the next day getting my house presentable, or at least as tidy as possible despite the numerous large, brown boxes which clutter my living room. I also spend the day doing errands, shopping for food and drinks Harry might like (probably going a bit overboard and buying enough options for five people rather than two), and picking up some art supplies for the two of us.

Once home, I unpack the groceries, setting some of them out on plates and dishes, making an attempt at a charcuterie board I had seen on Pinterest the night before. Setting up the area we would be spending the most time in, I move the two small canvases I purchased earlier outside, along with paints and brushes and cups of water for rinsing. It seems a little bit amateur, but I do not have time to dwell as Harry texts me that he is just leaving his house and will be here in half an hour.

Dashing back inside, I take the speediest shower of my life just to freshen up and rinse the day away. Chastising myself for my lack of planning ahead, I smear on a touch of makeup and quickly style my hair. I am still pulling on a pair of dungarees, clipping the straps into place, when I open the front door.

“Hi,” I greet breathlessly.

Harry is already smiling when I meet his gaze, looking down at me with an infectious grin. I allow myself a second to drink him in. Obviously, he is dressed more casually than two days ago, dressed in a simple but figure-hugging black t-shirt, a golden chain peeking out from underneath. Alongside them, he is wearing a pair of brown, straight-leg corduroy trousers. He looks good. It should not surprise me, but it does anyway.

“Hi,” he offers brightly.

Stepping aside to let him enter, I try not to check him out, mentally telling myself that I am still not certain where he stands re us kissing each other’s faces off. Probably for the best to err on the side of caution.

Closing the door behind him, I walk us through the living room and to the adjoining kitchen, feeling a tad embarrassed by my decorating style. Splashes of colour litter the house, the walls are mostly covered in photographs, interesting drawings and potted plants.

“When did you move in?” Harry asks, noticing the stack of boxes. My heart pangs slightly at the question but I try not to let the dread within shine through.

“Few months now, I’m just terrible at unpacking,” It is not a total lie, so I do not feel totally bad about it. There is, however, a small part of me that resents not being completely honest with him about why a certain box remains closed and sealed. “I might have gone overboard with snacks, so please eat anything you want,” I tell him when we reach the kitchen and he sees the spread I had laid out.

Suddenly, it all feels like too much and heat prickles my cheeks in embarrassment as I watch Harry eye the full countertops. I had bought far too much and probably seem incredibly eager. Bread touched three types of meat, touched three types of cheese, touched olives, touched sundried tomatoes. There was another plate full of fruit, washed and sliced and displayed daintily in concentric circles. Then there was the bags of crisps, pretzels, biscuits, and chocolate buttons. This was enough for a family picnic, not a light grazing, and definitely too much for a second date. If that is even what I could call this.

“This is amazing,” Harry utters quietly, and I almost do not hear him, my internal monologue reprimanding me so severely it almost overpowers him. He turns back towards me, gazing at me softly, his face a beautiful light pink. “Feel bad for contributing so little now,” he says, a gentle teasing lilt to his voice which makes me smile, a breathy and grateful laugh falling from my lips.

“Trust me, your contribution is the most valuable,” I say, stretching up into a cupboard to grab two wine glasses.

We manage to carry a disproportionate amount of food outside, giggling as we stacked our arms high until I could barely see over the top of my pile. Once outside, we settle on the wooden chairs and Harry pours us each a glass of merlot.

“Matches your hair,” he muses, smirking as he hands the glass to me.

“Never heard that one before,” I tease, trying to ignore the voice in my head questioning if he thinks the colour is ugly.

Harry settles back in his chair, looking out across the hills and valleys before speaking again, “This was a good idea,”

“Yeah, the view is the main reason I bought the house to be honest,” I mumble into my wine glass.

There are a few moments of silence. It is not particularly uncomfortable, but I decide that we could use some music. I dash inside to grab a speaker and connect my phone to it.

“Can I leave it up to you?” I ask, holding out my unlocked phone for him to take, “I’m indecisive.”

He lets out a chuckle, muttering a soft, “Sure.”

Taking the phone from my hand, our fingers brush momentarily, and I have to remind myself that I am not in the middle of a romcom. I feel my cheeks redden at the interaction and quickly turn to my canvas. Placing the wooden end of my paintbrush in my mouth as I scan over the paints in between the two of us. The soft opening notes of The Chain begin to play, mingling with the warm breeze that swirls lightly around the garden.

“Listen to the wind blow,” I sing under my breath, unable to hold myself back.

From the corner of my eye, I see Harry picking up his own brush, dipping into a little bit of blue paint and brushing across his own canvas. I dip my brush back into the yellowy orange colour I had been mixing and paint the outline of my house. It is messy and a little childlike, but I am having a good time. Harry and I both begin to relax as we paint, singing along, and doing embarrassingly enthusiastic seated dance moves when the guitar solo plays.

“I love Fleetwood Mac so so much,” I admit gleefully, catching my breath as I giggle and take a sip of my wine.

“Me too,” Harry replies, a bright smile pairing with beautifully pinkened cheeks.

“What’s your favourite song?” I ask happily, popping a raspberry into my mouth.

Harry pauses for a moment, lowering his brush and giving the question some good thought. He makes it impossible not to admire him, watching as his brows furrow ever so slightly, lips puckering temporarily as his brain ticks over.

“I always come back to Songbird,” he tells me, looking up at me and nodding to himself. His eyes look so bright when they catch the light, reflecting into mine. I almost have to look away.

“It’s a beautiful song,” I admit softly, my voice quieter than either of us had expected, suddenly nervous again to be in his presence and having a conversation which means so much to me.

“What’s yours?” Harry asks, his gaze not wavering for even a second. He is undeniably intimidating, not even due to his status in the world, but simply being beside him feels as though I have won some sort of contest. There is something in his general being that makes me feel both small and powerful all at once. Simultaneously, I cannot believe that he is here in my garden when he could be anywhere else with anyone else, nor can I believe the way he is looking at me, observing me with such delicate looks that it appears he is afraid of scaring me away.

“Storms,” I blurt out. Taking a second to collect my thoughts, I explain, “Skies the Limit is my go-to, but Storms made me feel when I felt numb.”

Realising that I have most definitely overshared, I quickly dip my brush in the nearest colour and spread it across the top of my canvas, accidentally painting the sky pink.

“I think that’s really special,” Harry utters softly, his gaze still on me as I pretend to be focused on my painting and not the spectacular man beside me, or the way his eyes feel on the side of my face. “I want to make music like that, you know?” he says, turning back to the view ahead of us and finishing off his own skyline.

“I think you have,” I confess, feeling his eyes back on me in an instant. I force myself to turn to meet his gaze, urging some sense of bravery to course through my veins. When our eyes meet, he is looking at me like water in the desert, some sort of miracle before him that his brain does not fully believe. His mouth opens, pauses, then closes again. A second later, a smile pulls at his lips.

“I like your pink sky,” he tells me, grinning brightly, not breaking away to look at the canvas in front of me.

I laugh, “Started as a mistake but I think I prefer it like this,” I admit, pursing my lips as I take a long look at my painting.

“I like the way your mind works,” Harry says, smirking when I turn to him with knitted eyebrows, “I feel like you’re so bright and full of joy. Just walking through your house felt like I’ve known you years… I don’t know if that sounds mental.”

He looks at me cautiously, afraid he has revealed too much, and maybe he has, but I enjoy it more than I could even tell him. I like his perception of me. No matter what happens, how much he comes to learn and dislike about me, at this moment he likes me. And, oh boy, do I like him.

The thought of kissing him pops into my head, bold and illuminated in neon. I let it pass, determined not to ruin the moment. Instead, I look at him, and he looks right back. We share a brief period of peace, the sun on our faces with a light wind blowing between us.

“Oh!” We both exclaim enthusiastically as What Makes You Think You’re the One plays on the shuffle. Smirking at our joint reaction, we turn back to our paintings.

For the next hour or so we fully relax into our little world, grooving along as we paint. There is a real sense of calm throughout the space, even the birds in the trees seem to chirp softer, almost as though they were part of our garden party.

The only moment in which there is a break in the bubble of tranquillity is when Harry desperately reaches for a strawberry, stopping himself whenever his hand, covered in a rainbow of paints, gets close. Impossible to tear my eyes away, I watch him for a moment, a delicate smirk on my lips as he attempts to approach the task from a multitude of angles. He lets out a small sigh and I decide that it is my duty to intervene.

“Need a hand there?” I ask, failing to hold back a giggle as I pluck a strawberry from the plate with paint-free fingers.

“Thanks. Can you-- You could… Thanks,” Harry stammers while I hesitate as I raise the fruit to his face, temporarily feeling awkward about feeding a man I barely know.

I quickly get over myself and lift the berry to his lips, already somewhat parted. Taking the fruit into his mouth whole, his lips graze my fingertips ever so lightly. Our eyes lock the second it happens.

Things start to move slowly. My hand lowers into my lap. Harry chews the fruit and swallows, his tongue poking out to catch a stray bead of juice that had escaped from his lips to the corner of his mouth.

No way are you letting yourself be turned on by this. So cliché.

Despite the mental chastisement, I find myself drawn to Harry. The need to feel his lips on my own is overwhelming me. Every second spent not knowing whether he is a good kisser feels like torture, my mind in agony.

It appears that he feels the same way, gaze hesitating over my parted lips, hopefully not focusing on my clear breathlessness. Our bodies seem to be migrating towards one another, some unknown gravitational pull guiding our chests together until out faces are almost touching. I feel his breath on my cheek and quickly I worry that mine does not smell as good.

Why did you eat that slice of manchego?

Surely, he won’t want to kiss me anymore. He must not have noticed yet. But he will, and I will be humiliated. Better to stop now, while for some reason he actually is not appalled by the thought of kissing you. Why does he want to kiss me anyway? He could kiss anyone he wanted. He could have anyone he wanted. It is probably the wine.

The wine has probably stained your teeth as well. God you’re a mess.

I stop dead in my tracks. Swiftly, I pull away from him. It is harder than I had expected, his cologne sucking me in so that it feels like I have to stop breathing in order to separate from him.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

I cannot look at him. Unable to face the reality of the situation and see his bemused, beautiful face. I would only want to kiss him if I did look up at him, so instead I fidget with the hem of my sleeve, nails picking away at the firm stitching.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, his voice is so quiet that it hurts my heart to hear him so small and dejected, especially since I was the cause.

We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. I can feel his gaze on me, soft and apologetic, but I am still unable to bring myself to make eye contact.

“I’d be happy just being your friend,” I tell him.

It is a lie. Partially, anyway. Of course, I would love to be his friend, but I also want to kiss him all over and have heart-to-hearts in the early hours of the morning. I want to hear about his first kiss, find out his favourite sweets and his happy place. I wonder if he is there now, desperately trying to escape the awkward bubble of tension surrounding us.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have assumed… I’m sorry.” Is all he says.

“No,” I pipe up, a well of guilt forming in my stomach as I regard his sunken features, “It’s not you...”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” Harry says with a quirk of a smile.

I let out a breathy chuckle and we finally meet each other’s eyes and understand. It’s all alright.

We keep painting. By the time the sun starts to set and the water for our brushes turns a murky grey, I have finished mine and sit teasing Harry as he adds the finishing touches to his own.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Harry counters with a grin as he adds a sweep of dark red to his canvas.

“Better be some painting,” I mutter into my wine glass.

“Okay!” Harry exclaims excitedly, “She’s done. Ready for the reveal?”

“Yes,” I laugh at his question, as if I have not been waiting to share for twenty minutes.

Harry had insisted that our final products should be a surprise for the other, so for the last hour we painted in secrecy, occasionally peering out from behind our canvases to try and sneak a peek at the other’s.

When we angle our paintings towards one another, the difference in our styles is clear. Mine is bright with exaggerated shapes, almost cartoonish. Meanwhile Harry’s painting is more true to life, a meta portrayal of the view, two little figures of him and me seen from behind at the bottom of the canvas.

“I love it,” I tell him, the picture bringing a grin to my face as I observed the tiny version of myself; a little blob of shoulders and messy hair.

“I’m calling it ‘Friendzone’.” he tells me, a wicked smirk on his lips.

“Hey!” I whine with a gently nudge to his arm, however, the bout of laughter he has elicited really weakens my protest.

Harry helps me clear up the garden before he leaves, carefully carrying his precious painting out with him. After bidding me a sweet goodnight, leaving no doubt in my mind that he had a nice time today, I finish cleaning up. As I am washing the two wine glasses, I peer over at my painting, smiling as I remembered Harry’s comments about my pink sky. Maybe being just his friend would be easy after all.

masterlist

47 notes · View notes

shurelyasreverie · 3 years

Note

Honestly I don't like how riot made Xerath into an anime boy, I feel like they could've gone with something of the elderwood/coven/blood moon kinda feel. Maybe him having an animal skull of pure arcane magic or resembeling some of the animalistic tarot carts. The Arcana, a game of Nix Hydra games, made also a Tarot cart deck and they all have some animalistic themes but also making them unique and mystic enough so you don't just think they have only drawn a bunch of furries ( not meaning that in a rude way) they have some fishes, sun and moon, the devil. Riot could've done a lot with Xerath, I know that it is gonna sell well in China but, Idk the only thing that makes me want to buy his skin is his halo :/

But this is just my personal prefrance, it is still a good skin tho.

Also are you going to write for Arcana Xerath now???? Because I feel like you're gonna simp him 🤨

*chokes on tea* no anon, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Me? Simp for a humanoid rock boy??? Ha... haha...

Although my simping is me making the most of an... odd circumstance because I agree. I remember seeing badass Camille, then Lucian, then Tahm Kench and then I just see red eboy Xerath??? His splash art does look good and he is hella fine but it’s still very underwhelming against the other Arcana skins. I feel making Xerath human should be saved for another skin line (Spirit Blossom 2021 anyone??? 😏)

But yes anon, you know me too well. I will very happily write for Arcana Xerath. He and Cosmic Devourer Vladimir are on the top of my list for original fics to write 😉

#mod speaks #league thoughts

1 note · View note

alias-b · 4 years

Text

Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me

California, 1992. Billy Hargrove and Camille Harper built their future in an endless, red hot summer. Everything changes with a splash of pale blue. Billy x OC! Camille Harper

A/N: The baby one shot I promised everyone! Occurs after my fic, "Without The Lights." Warning, I get into the not pretty side of pregnancy and Camille struggles with her illness. Sexual content. TW: graphic description of birth and postpartum depression. Mention of death and past torture. Cross posted here on AO3

1992

She’d been late.

Camille Harper was never late to anything.

Then, she’d taken ill. Scents that used to thrill her in the morning like fresh coffee, fluffed pancakes, and scrambled eggs sent her scurrying into the bathroom.

Billy looked up from his desk, covered in different lead pencils and scattering papers. Grotesque concept art for an upcoming horror film he’d been working on. Still pretty as a picture. Less of a baby in the face, but still just as sweet. Sprinkle of facial hair and lashes for days.

“Ugh, so much for sleeping in Saturday.” Camille gargled mouthwash, spat, and wandered out. Brown hair grown out and piled up in a bun. Billy’s arm snaked around her hips, bringing her into his side. A temple pressed into her nightgown. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

The back of his knuckle drew along her forehead. Cool metal of his wedding ring chilled.

“No fever. You probably ate something last night, I told you the shrimp was a bad idea.”

The very word ‘shrimp’ almost made her hurl again.

“We’re not trying that place again.” Camille kissed the top of his head. Curls longer like a rockstar around his shoulders. “I have a new case to prepare for the office Monday.”

“Boy or girl?” Billy set his pencil down and watched her plop into the couch.

“Girl.” Camille frowned, rubbing her head. “She’s got a wall up, this one. Office likes me so her case is mine. Arthur thinks it’s a good match, but I’m actually nervous.”

“Arthur this and that.” Came a scoff. “School buddies who ended up at the same office. Pshh.”

“Arthur is taken now and quite happy.”

“Who swept him off his perfect feet so he’ll quit bothering my wife?”

“Lovely man named Stanley.” Camille laughed when Billy gave a double take. “Went drinking together while you played with latex masks last Thursday.”

“It was crunch time. I’m sure your new case will be fine. Brilliant Dr. Harper. Blazing through all that schooling and study abroad. Almost in the clear.” Billy mused, switching his light off. “We’ll see if they like this new design I got. Tea?”

“Yes, please.” Camille slid down the couch, pulled a fuzzy blanket into her body while Billy went into the kitchen. Cozy apartment they could afford. Walls covered in memories. Photos and degrees. She clicked the remote and settled on a light movie. Look Who’s Talking.

A campy opening of sperm headed toward a dropped egg after a mini love scene with Kirstie Alley. Camille sighed, rubbing her head before something clicked the same moment hot water howled from the tea pot in the kitchen.

“Oh, shit.” She shot up. Blinked. “No way.” They hadn't exactly been trying. But, they hadn't not been trying.

“Getting your Travolta fix?” Billy set a mug down and Camille blinked at him.

“Ah, yeah.” She shot up. “I just remembered...I was supposed to hit the drug store. We’re out of...everything.”

“Everything? I’ll drive you to the store.” Billy chuckled.

“No, it’s just around the corner, I need the walk. Fresh air. No shrimp.” Camille skidding around him to toss clothing on their bed. Dressing in jeans and a tee. “Keep working. Need anything?”

“I’d kill for a Milky Way.” He shrugged, plopping back into his seat. Camille was hopping around to put some shoes on. Sun from outside caught his face and she pressed her lips, kissing his cheek.

“I’ll bring you something sweet.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Camille nearly jogged down the steps from the fourth floor. Grabbed a basket when she got to the mini-mart and tossed randoms items they needed in. Billy’s candy included. Stopped in a section that made her cold.

Pregnancy tests.

“Jeez.” She mulled over boxes before snatching one.

Ignored the idle way the clerk peered at her stomach when he rang it up. Christ. California sun and wind swept against her body. Usually it set her at ease, but a ball of nerves sank into her stomach when she took the elevator back up. Billy was on the couch now, looking up as she tossed the candy into his lap.

“You okay?”

“Feeling sick again.” Camille half lied and went into the bathroom. Locked the door. Stared at the clear plastic curtain as she peed on a stick. Washed her hands and pulled at her watch. It ticked slower to spite her.

“Camille?” Billy knocked. “Something’s up.”

“Ah, just a second,” she paced, “give me just another second.”

“Let me help.”

“Oh, believe me...you did.” She sat on the side of the tub. Stared at the colored tiles. So many to count. Billy exhaled on the other side of the door. Didn’t leave. “Billy, I’ll be fine.” Her own tone shook.

Did she want this?

Were they ready?

How was she going to feel if it’s nothing?

How was she going to feel it it’s blue?

Camille didn’t have time to think through each possible dream because reality spoke for her.

Blue. Crystal clear sky.

“Camille.” Billy jimmied the lock until the door popped open. She looked up in tears.

“...Is that?”

“Blue.” She breathed with one fist curled to her chest. Burst into tears. Unable to tell if they were happy or sad. She just needed to cry. Billy swept toward her.

“Hey, hey. I got you.” Billy kissed her cheeks until she was soothed. Held her there while she clung to his shoulders.

“It’s blue.”

“What’s...that mean?” Billy met her eyes. “You’re...”

“Blue.” Camille said again. Licking her lips before they pressed. “I’m pregnant.”

“We’re having a baby?” Billy blinked at her. She waited for him to panic. But, he smiled. So bright that it made her burn with jealousy to be confused about it. “We’re having a baby!”

Billy grabbed his wife. Held her close to him. Settled Camille just a little, she tried to feed off his glow.

“Ninety nine percent accuracy. We need to, ah, go to a doctor first.” She let Billy pull her up. Out into the living room.

Why was she riddled with confusion and anxiety while he bubbled with excitement? He danced her around to no music like a true romantic.

“Let’s not...say anything until we go. I’ll make an appointment. After my meeting Monday?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He swept hair aside and smiled again, so youthful. Kissed her there in the sun. Meanwhile, she felt life being sucked into a swirling pit. Billy tugged Camille into the couch, nestled her into his chest. “Are...Are you happy?”

“I’m… Blue “...something.”

** ** **

It was real. Confirmation at the doctor and life turned in on itself. People were careful with her. Work tried to withhold cases she’d fought for.

She had a woman’s condition. They treated Camille like it was fatal.

“Jim? Are you still there?”

A thud on the other end was followed by scrambling.

“Camille?” Joyce had the phone now. “Jim, get up.”

Camille laughed that time.

“Your father’s fine, just shocked. Oh, Jim, stop being dramatic!” Came some bickering.

“I’m going to be a grandpa!” There was more laughter on their end.

“Can you two stop kissing in my ear already?” Camille twirled the cord and stretched her legs out into Billy’s lap. Let him massage her ankles. “We wanted to know...if you guys would come down for the birth. Should be early November, I’m due.”

Billy started counting something on his fingers, earning a soft kick.

“Max and El already freaked. Letting them follow me to UCLA was such a mistake.” Camille joked. Mike and Lucas in Washington. Will and Dustin following Nancy and Jonathan to New York. Steve, Heather, and Robin living blissfully in Chicago. Rumor had it Regan and Kali turned up there too.

“You’re listening to the doctors, right?” Jim turned stern. Such a dad.

“You know it,” Camille brought the phone away, “Billy, you want to pass me a beer?” He just snorted.

“Hey, none of that.” Jim was in her ear. “We’ll fly over now.”

“No need. We’re fine. We’ll figure things out when it gets closer, yeah? Telling work was mortifying enough. But, we got the leave figured out. Arthur’s been such a help. Don’t worry about anything.” Camille sighed when Billy’s hands worked up her legs. Had to slap him out of her skirt.

“Congrats, Camille! Billy, you tell Susan?” Joyce stole the phone.

“We heard her crying from over here. Same with Grace. She and Elliott choked him near to death. Billy also tells me that Miss Mayfield was set up with a certain middle school teacher, how the hell did that happen?”

“Mr. Clarke can be quite charming,” Joyce chirped and a groan erupted from Jim, “passes Susan’s little boutique on the drive to the school every day. Started stopping in. Flirting in his way. I couldn’t tell you.”

“Glad Rosemary’s former team was willing to do us some favors and help her out with that.” Camille was still squirming away from Billy’s advances. His lips on her neck. “Well, I should go. But, any and all advice is wanted.”

“She already tore through all the mommy books in the library. Ignore her.” Billy stole the phone. “Hops. Can I call you Pops now?”

“If I can call you, dead.” Jim smiled when Joyce swatted his chest.

“I expect you to spoil my kid.”

“Will do. Make sure Camille takes it easy.”

“Oh, I will.” Billy said goodbyes and pushed his hips into Camille’s, a sigh followed.

“Hate you.” She settled her arms around his neck. A long kiss followed.

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Hm?” She went for his neck and jaw. Immersed in him.

“By my count, we made her Valentine’s Day. Wonder if it was the car or the counter or the couch or the bed?”

“I hate you...and it could have been the floor too.” She chuckled into his skin. Kissed him fiercely. The phone rang again. Billy reached over to snatch it.

“Hargrove.” He let Camille paw at him. Twirling his hair about. Worshiping him with starry eyes. Billy’s own eyes opened and he pushed up with Camille still attached to him. “Why are you calling, I’ve told you-?”

Camille let him go immediately. Saw the cold way he went rigid.

“What?” Billy sounded breathless. “I...”

“Billy?” Camille touched his face when his eyes welled.

“Fine, just don’t call here again.” The phone slammed and he was up. Pacing. Rubbing his eyes.

“Billy, who was that?” Camille hurried after him. Tried to tug at his arms but he slipped off.

“Just...give me a second.” He didn’t make it into their room. Collapsed to the floor and covered his face.

“Billy!” She gathered her husband into her chest. He just sobbed. “Billy, who was that?”

“...Neil. He's been trying to call.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t want to freak you out. I kept hanging up. I was terrified you’d pick up and he’d...” Billy sniffled. Clung to her. Cried more. Camille petted curls helplessly. Kissed blond hair and soft cheeks all better. “He’s sick.”

“What?”

“He’s dying. Cancer. Not the kind you get better from.” Billy lifted. “Don’t know why I’m crying about it, I’ll be glad he’s… He asked to see me. How can he fuck up my life and then just…?”

Disappear.

“Where is he?”

“Colorado.” Billy wiped his eyes. “Fuck him.”

“Do you...want to go?”

Billy thought of Neil with his skin sunken and yellow. No longer handsome. Rasping at him from a mattress. Pissing himself. Dying alone in a cold bed like his father before him. He turned to Camille and cupped her stomach.

“No, I don’t.” A long kiss into her abdomen. “I want to hold our baby. Take her to the park. Make her feel safe. I promise I’ll never...” He stopped. Blinked several times. I’ll never be like Neil. Nuzzled into Camille’s neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She let Billy’s broad body sink into her. Brought him to bed where they could wrap each other up. Feverish and dizzy until he pushed inside her. Melted their mouths. Gasped into her neck. Succumbed to the sweltering heat. He sought comfort and burrowed under her skin. Pushed fingers between thighs. Fucked her into the mattress while they reached peaks.

Hours later, Camille heard Billy get up, thinking she’d fallen into slumber. Came to the door to listen.

“Hey...” He said into the phone. Whispering. “No, you listen. I’m not… I don’t want to see you. I’ll just remember you healthy. Able enough to give hard lessons. I just...wanted to call and say Camille and I are having a baby… I think it’s a girl.”

There was silence for a few beats.

“We’re going to name her Sara and she won’t be learning hard lessons. She won’t be afraid of me like I...” Billy paused.

Life flashed these vivid images of his childhood. His mother’s bracelet scattering across the pavement. That one moment Neil let him cling.

“You ever think things could have been different for us, you know, after mom? I do. A lot. But, I can’t live in that… You beat the shit out of me. You hurt my wife. You hurt Susan and she’s still trying to move on. Max’s hair is all grown out and she won’t let anyone touch it. You won’t hurt my daughter. But, I’ll tell her about you. Tell her she had a grandfather who made bad choices and ended up…”

“...Yeah, I think she’ll get the Hargrove jaw too.” Billy softened, lifted his eyes to the starlight beyond the window. Wondered if Neil was looking too. “I’ll tell her your name. Not much else. Hardest lesson I learned was realizing I’m not going to be like you. I’m sorry you wasted your life, I’m not going to. I’m going to be a good dad. I...just wanted to tell you that. That I'm in love still and I’m going to be a great father to my little girl. I’m going to keep her safe in this world. Goodbye, dad... We loved each other once.”

Billy hung up. Curled into a ball to cry silently. Camille inched out until his head lifted. Arms came up to accept her there.

“Shhh, I got you.” She tucked Billy’s head under her chin. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be an amazing daddy. I’m so lucky you’re mine. We’re going to be okay.”

“God, I’m supposed to be holding you.” He chuckled at himself and Camille beamed.

“We’ve got each other.”

Neil Hargrove died in his sleep late April of 1992. Alone in a cold bed.

** ** **

Camille’s belly turned into a mini planet Billy couldn’t stop kissing. Dealt with some fiery stares when he made comments about her swelling breasts. It was true, tired all the same, she glowed. Billy fed her odd cravings. Made her feel as sexy as he could until she was climbing atop him. Riding him because she needed it now and bad. He liked that part.

A million baby books later, Billy became an annoying infant factoid machine.

"Did you know if-?"

"Billy," Camille groaned into the couch, "I want Thai food again."

"I swear to god, Camille, our kid is going to come out trying to order a pad see ew, extra spicy."

"...Two orders please."

Billy was weak. He ordered her three to last her.

Elliott, now eleven years old, took to painting seashells and starfish along her belly when she was stuck on the couch. Billy’s excitement never stilled. Only illuminated. So willing to learn this all. They cleared spaced. Decorated a little nursery all under the sea themed. Camille was more riddled with anxiety. Always steadying her breath. Talking to the little life inside her. Constant gifts and advice from friends helped from time to time.

“Billy!” Elliott jumped up when he came home. “Think I could work in movies like you?”

Camille was giggling. Hard. Her shirt pulled over her stomach painted with the shark from Jaws.

“Guess what we watched?”

“It wasn’t even scary.” Elliott crossed his arms, ruffling waves of brunette hair. “That was kid stuff.”

“Think so,” Billy swept him up, growling for effect. Baring teeth like a shark. Earned a giggle.

“She cried again at a TV commercial.” Elliott whispered and Billy snickered.

“I'm allowed to have emotions, you two. Roger is going to be here any minute.” Camille pushed up. “Who wants ice cream?”

“Mint chip?” Elliott followed after her.

“You know it, kid.” She braced one hand on her back and the other around his shoulders. Billy shook his head and dropped a bag on his desk. Water ran as Camille washed her belly off and Elliott pulled out a pint of ice cream with two spoons. “Your big brother doesn’t have our sophisticated taste in ice cream.”

They shared a few bites over the counter. Camille groaned a little and pressed a spot on her stomach.

“You’re doing that a lot, sissy.” The affectionate name he’d picked up when he was little never left. Camille felt a cramp well like a great wave.

“Just my girl dancing around. Picking fights with my organs. She’s definitely going to be like her daddy. Want to feel?”

Elliott smiled his toothiest grin and reached out. Let Camille press his hand to her side.

“Spicy food and mint ice cream is all I want these days.”

“My mom said she liked mac and cheese with tomatoes with me.” He gasped, feeling the baby. “She high-fived me!”

“Billy kissed my stomach once and got a swift kick.” Camille snickered, scooping more ice cream to enjoy. Billy paced in, pecking her cheek before he stole a spoon and the strawberry pint in the freezer.

“All mine.” He shrugged, eating. Camille hunched, moaning a few minutes later. “Camille, you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s just minor...cramps. I’m fine. She’s not coming out for another two weeks.” Camille licked her spoon.

“She’s been doing it all day. Like this...Oohh...” Elliott mirror a motion with his hand on his back and the other on his stomach. Billy raised his brow.

“They’re far, far apart.” Camille turned to the ice cream and felt a pop. A gush of fluid like she’d peed herself. Billy’s spoon clattered.

“Sissy?” Elliott took her hand because he was closest. “Cami, what’s happening?” Billy was at his wife’s side, holding her.

“Her water broke.”

** ** **

A million phone calls later and Camille was whimpering, pacing around a bed. Wobbling side to side. Bracing her hands to groan. She decided on a birthing center and midwife over a hospital. Place looked more like a hotel and had a hot tub for those births. Cozy space all for them.

Billy held a lot of jokes back.

“The baby book’s-”

“Fuck the baby books!” Camille’s red face lifted. A demonic edge to her voice and even Billy backed up. “Photographic memory is worth shit!” He edged off. “Sorry, I’m...oh! I want drugs. I want my midwife! I want Thai food... It’s early!”

“She’s on the way now. Jim and Joyce were on a plane an hour ago. Max is driving El here. Just breathe.”

“Fuck my breathing!” She sounded truly possessed. Grabbing at Billy over the bed with some crazy burst of pregnancy strength. “I want drugs… What if she comes out hurt because it’s early. Or like me?”

“She’s fine. Hey...” Billy pried her hand from his shirt and crossed around. “She’s going to be perfect.” He held her. Placed a kiss into hair. Camille’s face was blushed and beading with sweat. Limbs shook as she braced into the bed.

“Camille!” A woman who could have bench pressed Billy hurried in. “Oh, poor girl. Keep breathing like I taught you.”

“Ellen.” Camille winced. The girls were on a first name basis. Ellen was a former body builder and wrestler turned midwife. Lost some kids of her own and swore to help other girls keep their babies. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“Might want to go get some ice chips, Bill.” She turned to him looking frantic and reeling it in. “Two cups.”

“For her?”

“For both of you. You’re in for a long night.”

Billy scrambled. Passed the waiting room where Roger and Elliot sat for Grace and the rest of the family to arrive after driving the crying girl in.

Hours of groaning and wailing. Women in other rooms joined in like a chorus of cries and soft birthing songs. Billy joked they were calling out to each other. Solidarity for the pain women were created to endure.

“Camille, honey, you have to get up like this. Just like we practiced.”

“I can’t,” she only moaned, shaking her head back and forth.

“Daddy, she needs you. We’re almost there, I’ll be back in with assistance. She has to get into position.” Ellen continued, lighting a fire under Billy while he paced. The midwife jogged out into the hallway where more women vocalized together. Called out to ensure none felt alone in this.

“Something’s wrong, she’s gonna come out like me.” The girl sounded delirious. Billy cupped Camille face, watched her eyes dart over his welling expression. “She’s gonna tear a part of me out and I can’t stop her.”

“I want her to be like you.” Billy admitted.

“Don’t say that.” A hand pulled for his shirt. Camille twitched with anger at him. “Don’t say that again!”

“No, I hope she’s exactly like you and she’ll have parents who love her. We’ll teach her never to force a smile. That perfection is bullshit. I hope she’s like you, I have this entire time.”

“The world’s going to swallow her.”

“We won’t let that happen.” Billy smiled because he was so certain about that.

“She’ll be in pain.”

“And we’ll see her through that too. Pain happens. Means we're here sometimes. Means we're strong enough to fight through it and she won't be alone. You gotta get up, she needs you.”

“Camille!” Another voice at the door.

“Dad. Jim, you’re here.” She wheezed when Jim came to her with Joyce’s hand in his. Sprinkles of grey in his hair. Joyce pulled her brown locks back into a ponytail.

“Hey, sweetheart, we’re all here for you.” She came around the bed. “Max and El want to come in, we got them to stay with the others. Just breathe, you’re almost there.”

“How’re you holding up, punk?” Jim clapped Billy on the shoulder, earning a chuckle.

“Just barely, Hops. Lots of ice chips.”

“I swear by those, you might want more.”

“She’s crushing my hand.” Billy lifted his near white palm. Camille’s digging fingers into his skin.

“He did this to me,” Camille hissed. Another bout. Another groan that tore the room. Ellen was back at her side.

“Camille, come up now, that’s my girl.”

A growl ripped violently.

Like a werewolf mid transformation.

Camille huffed and got to her hands and knees. Thought to rip her flesh away and reveal fur and muscle hiding underneath. Teeth growing and sharp to stark points while her veins darkened.

She could have torn through a forest. Howled at the moon. One last time.

It glowed bright before her. Speckled with stars.

She counted them to herself.

“Hold on, here.” Ellen guided stirrups higher so she could grip them. Had her squatting on the bed. “Breathe.” The thin cotton of the gown was damp. Hanging from one shoulder. She growled and tore it open down the front. Veins pulsing and pushing. No drugs. Just a body built for agony. Miles of it. Nude and feral.

Camille screamed at the moon this time. For gawking. Grabbed at Billy again while he helped brace her into position.

She howled and other women howled back. A great echo into the unknown. Into the dark night. Wolves in a pack itching to run through wind and rustling trees. Feral bodies that were so often controlled by weaker beings. Free and shameless.

Women were not always soft, they were hard edges of steel slicing skin to pieces. Teeth gnashing muscle and bone apart. Hot irons of a beating heart within a hollowed chest cavity. Camille led a brigade with her.

“Big push now!” Came the command.

Camille tossed her head back and roared. Succumbed to the flames and blood lust. Thought her bones would break and shift so she could become the beast. Bring the world to its knees.

Ellen reached down, head lifting.

“Camille, it’s time. Another big push for me.”

Camille only braced herself. Bones chattering. Words echoed with encouragement from her family. From Billy as he held onto her. Ellen repeated herself from the right.

“Ahhh!” Vocal cords vibrated and almost ripped apart. Teeth baring. A gasp when it reeled back. Sweat and blood dribbled down Camille’s quivering thighs.

“Almost, sweetheart, almost. Keep pushing for us.”

“I can’t, I can’t.” Came the chants. Jim thought to step forward as he watched her spine press out into skin, but Billy sprang into action.

“You can do this.” He kissed her temple. “You can.”

“I’m not ready, I can’t.” Camille cried so hard. Looked out at the sky.

It was all blue.

“Camille,” Billy murmured into her hair, “I love you. You can do this.”

The stars glowed brighter beyond the window. She longed to reach out and catch one.

“They’re singing to me.” She whispered more so to herself. Lips opening to howl and sing with them. The women echoing her calls. The stars waiting beyond the veil.

She waited for fur to ripple her skin. For claws to grow long and sharp.

“That’s it, Camille, push!” Ellen took one hand, guided it down to feel something warm and wet. Camille screamed and they helped her stay upright when something stronger and more youthful than her tore from a body built of steel and stardust. “Take your baby. She’s here. Cradle the head.”

Camille was sobbing as she pulled a tiny mass to her bare chest. A fallen star she managed to grasp. It echoed her screams. More powerful and beet red. Slicked with blood and fluids.

Unable to stay upright, she was guided back with Ellen and Billy’s help. Looked almost wild in the starlight. Bloodied and nude with her cub cradled close.

The baby wailed over Camille until she quieted in a daze. It overcame her with so much ease. Felt like she was slipping into a warm bath. Endless pools. Unbothered by her nudity there in the wash of moon.

“Look at her,” Billy gasped through tears. Kissed Camille’s cheek again. “I’m so proud of you, you did it. She’s beautiful.”

She half expected him to say, my, my, what big eyes you have.

“Congratulations, mommy and daddy.” Ellen was ushering her assistant around.

Camille didn’t look down. Couldn’t. Not at this little pup that ripped from her. That howled with her at the moon. This beating heart she would nurture and teach to glow all neon and red. The baby felt its mother’s heart beating under her little head and made it her first lullaby. Camille felt for a moment, that she had no more life in her. No more fight to tear through the woods leading a pack of wailing women.

“Let’s get her cleaned up.” Ellen pulled the whimpering infant away to tend to her. Camille sat sprawled there half naked with one leg hanging over the side. Her own fluids in a puddle beneath her. Warm and oddly comforting. Billy and the assistant worked to maneuver her into another mattress so the dirtied one could be rolled off.

“Camille?” Billy cupped her face there against a plush pillow. Covered her body. “Hey.”

“She’s just a little dazed.” Joyce was smoothing brown hair back. Hopper’s hand on her shoulder. “You did so good, honey.”

Ellen pushed a peach bundle back into Camille’s arms without asking. Helped her cradle the head as she propped herself up into the pillows. Hazel eyes lowered to see her daughter at last.

Bright, crystalline eyes. A full head of dark hair already. Blinking and still at her mother. Billy leaned into Camille’s shoulder with a tired grin. Fingers grazed his baby’s cheek. Lips lowered to feel the tufts of hair, to inhale the scent of new life. The urge to cry overshadowed her smile.

“Sara Anne Hargrove, welcome to the world.” Billy said. “Halloween birthday, I’m jealous.” Glowing with vitality Camille didn’t feel as he spoke.

She heard the other women crying out and mourned that she no longer had the strength to roar with them.

** ** **

“She’s so tiny.” El glittered, cradling the baby with Jim’s help.

“She makes that same squinty face Billy does, look.” Max joked. Both girls as tall as Camille. So grown up and out into this big world. Jim crossed to see Camille when Billy went into the hallway to sign some papers.

“You okay, kid?” He tucked a strand of hair away. She stared beyond him at the moon.

“I never asked you if it was okay. Her name.”

“I think it’s perfect.” Jim smiled and Camille pressed her lips at him. “Joyce and I will stick around if that’s okay. Help you get situated.”

“We’d appreciate that. Grace and Roger live a ways out.” Camille blinked, head back to see everyone fawning over the baby across the way.

“You okay?” Jim felt a great distance pool within his kid.

“I’m...” Blue. “A mother.”

** ** **

Sara wouldn’t latch.

It took extra help to get her to at the birthing center and Joyce assisted at home.

“Give her a second.” Billy tried to help. Tried.

“You want to do this?” Camille’s eyes snapped at him. He put his hands up in response.

“I’ll start dinner.” He slunk away into the kitchen where Jim was. Max and El left because they had class the next day. Grace promised to come up as much as she could after kissing Billy a million times. Phone calls and cards poured.

“Ah...” Camille wiggled in her seat. Perched on an extra pillow because everything below her waist was raw and padded. Her stomach went down slowly while her breasts ballooned. Sara suckled in her arms and Joyce only offered encouragement. “It hurts.”

“They never tell you that in the books.” Joyce sighed. “Jonathan gave me all sorts of trouble too. You’ll get the hang of it.” Camille winced and settled her head back against the couch. Felt like she was just waiting for it to be over. Everyone gushed about this amazing connection they would share and here she was just floating.

Maybe that was just something else to get the hang of.

** ** **

Camille started to have dreams. Maternity leave only made her restless. She cried when Billy packed her files away into the closet. He’d gotten the first month to stay with her while she’d gotten three.

And she wanted to go back.

Billy didn’t dare ask why the urge to see these kids over her daughter quelled.

So, Camille dreamed a lot on rare nights she got sleep.

Barely ate.

A white room with white sheets in a white bed. Camille in all white too. Doctors fussing as she bloodied the room with her mess. Her womanhood that was supposed to be kept in check. Sara crying. Screaming. Echoing.

One doctor pulling his mask down. Smiling wider than a circus clown. Brenner.

Camille tore up and screamed too until Billy started to shake her awake.

Only one week in and she’s unraveling with dark circles and a broken in body.

“Camille!” Billy just held her until she stopped.

“No, no, I have to check on her.” She ripped away from him. Scrambled into the other room to hover over the crib. Sara sleeping soundly and undisturbed. A sigh.

“Camille, come out, you’ll wake her.” Billy rubbed his eyes. She ignored him, felt around the window for a latch.

“You left it unlocked.”

“What?”

“I told you to lock it last night.” Camille’s neck twisted with a heated expression. Eyes glinting like an animal.

“She took awhile to sleep, I forgot,” he paused, “I’m sorry.”

“They could come in and take her. In the dark. Just like that.” She seethed in a struggle to keep her voice low. Billy gently pulled her from the room and shut the door.

“I’ll remember next time. Nothing can climb to the window.” He rubbed her shoulders. Only got pushed away as Camille checked the door. “Camille? Who...”

“Brenner!” She burst and covered her mouth. “If she’s like me, they’ll come take her in the night. In the dark. They’ll take her away and make her a number. You'll die and I'll be rocking in some hospital.”

“Brenner is dead. That won’t happen.” Billy realized her fears. Saw her eyes glimmer there. “That lab is dead, no one will come for her. She’s safe with us.” He sat her on the couch. Watched her quiver and hold herself. Head dropping. The baby monitor in their bedroom echoed a wheezy sound. “Come get back in bed, I got this one. You had her yesterday.” Billy sighed and tucked Camille in. Left.

“Hey, you...some set of lungs you got.” Billy’s voice spoke through the haze of static. “There you go. I mastered the art of the diaper, I think I-no, no, don’t pee on, daddy. You weren’t done.”

A giggle.

“Yeah, I’m your daddy, Sara. Bet you have some freckles coming in. My mom says I had mine young too.”

Camille pictured her husband at total peace. Seated in the rocking chair wagging his finger and smiling at their baby. Soothing her. It made her weep silently until she shoved a fistful of blankets into her mouth. Billy took to this life a duck to water.

And she…

She just fizzled and sunk. Dreamed of Brenner coming and Sara being torn away. Never knew what to say. What to do. Billy seemed to have it figured and that just made her feel behind and confused.

“You are my sunshine...my only sunshine...” Billy sang and Camille covered her face. Blocked her ears because it was too much. He returned ten minutes later to hold her. Kissed her hair and uttered the sweetest I love you because he felt so fulfilled and lucky.

Camille pretended to be asleep.

** ** **

Breastfeeding hurt still.

Second week. Camille never slept. Put on her brave face for family visits. But they saw it in her eyes. She sang to Sara and chatted with her. Changed her to perfection. Kissed her head. But, the connection. The emotions welled up like they were blocked in her throat.

Her body healed and only felt lifeless. Like she was a puppet controlled by another. Strings twisted all along her limbs to make her flop along a stage. Little clumsy ballerina. Going through the motions. She only cringed when the baby cried.

Sara needed her.

And it made her shrink.

She was mommy. Warm arms and shelter. A knowledge base that would mold their baby.

That suffocated. Billy smiled and cooed and Camille looked away. He just seemed so happy. She felt wrong.

Why didn’t that come for her too?

“Camille, look, look.” Billy was lying on the couch, lifting Sara up as she giggled to no end. Little limbs flailing. She bubbled a raspberry and he chuckled.

Camille stood there in the kitchen doorway and averted her eyes.

“Come sit with us.” He pushed up, nestling Sara into his lap.

“I’m going to ask if I can go back early. To work. They need me.”

“Uh,” Billy tread carefully, standing, “it hasn't even been a month. We’re still figuring this out. Take the time. You earned it.”

“I can work part time.” Camille said it without any emotion. Not blinking. Staring at his feet while Sara wiggling there into his chest and played with blond curls.

“I don’t want to make this choice for you, but I think it’s a bad idea. We haven’t even figured out our hours when we go back. Babysitters. Camille, don’t push it-...why won’t you even look at her?”

Billy said that without even thinking. Camille’s eyes glinted at him.

“What?”

“It’s like you want nothing to do with us anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

“Well, look at her then. Hold her. We made her and she’s perfect.”

“Billy.” Camille backed up. Touched her palms to her ears. Didn’t know how to not hear this. “Stop it. I’m fine… Stop saying that word.”

“Huh?”

“Perfect, she doesn’t have to be-”

“You know what I mean.” He eased. Camille vibrated there. Paranoid. Manic. Lost. Went around him and slammed a door. Sara jilted. Started to cry as he bounced her. “Hey, no, you’re fine. Mommy’s just upset. She’s tired. She’s just tired.”

Camille slid down the door. Cried there because she scared her little girl. She made her baby cry. She was a bad mother. These thoughts chanted until she was covering her ears again. Got into bed and curled into the tiniest ball she could.

Something strange happened as she shook and wept there. Her fist beating into her shoulder. Punishing herself for being bad until sleep crept. A bad mommy. Bad. Bad. Bad. The skin purpled with a bruise that next morning. Camille felt Billy stirring behind her.

They slept apart.

“Hey, I gotta go pick up some stuff. I’ll grab groceries.” He kissed her head. “Might be a few hours.”

“Okay.” Camille rasped, eyes on the wall. On the rain trickling outside.

“Camille, last night, I-”

A whimper on cue from the monitor.

“I got her. She’s hungry.” A robe pulled over her nightgown. Over the bruise. She couldn’t look at Billy as she left. Plucking Sara up, she went out to the couch to feed her. Her husband appeared dressed and eyed her carefully.

“I’ll be back soon.” Billy reassured her. Hesitated at the door before he lifted his eyes. “Love you.”

“...Love you.” Camille said quieter. Let the TV drone. Billy locked the door and didn’t make it to his Camaro. Instead pushed coins into a payphone.

“Yeah? Hello?” A tired voice answered from a hotel room.

“Jim.” Billy swallowed. “Hey, I...”

“You alright, Billy?”

“It’s Camille. I don’t...” Billy paused. “I’m headed out to run some errands. Can you come over? Sit with her a bit. I left the key under the mat.”

“Billy, is everything okay?”

A pause. Billy didn’t know how to tell Jim what he saw. But, Camille always responded to Jim’s love. She needed it right now. Billy felt useless.

“I don’t know.” See for yourself.

He hung up and got into his car. Wiped his eyes before he pulled out.

** ** **

“Come on, we can do this.” Camille groaned. One breast out to feed the baby. “Please.” Sara wiggled in protest. She looked up at her mother. Smiled.

Camille shattered.

“Don’t do that.” She quivered.

Don’t look at me with undying trust and love.

Don’t look at me like I'm all you got because I’m failing you.

“I’m sorry.” Camille offered at last. Felt like she’d been holding that in since she saw the strip turn blue. “I’m sorry, I can’t...I’m a bad mommy and I’m so sorry.” Tears hit Sara’s cheeks and blanket. A baby blanket Grace knitted with the baby’s name in it. Pale lavender. Camille sobbed and held her. “I don’t know why I feel like this and I’m so sorry.”

She couldn’t stop. The baby just cooed at her. Grabbed for long locks of brown hair.

Don’t cry, mommy.

That was how Jim found them.

Camille drained of life and sobbing over the baby she felt she'd let down. Skin discolored and bruised. Clothing loose and crumpled. One of her breasts out. Hyperventilating. Vibrating. Sara still contented in her arms. Looking around in wonder.

“Camille, sweetheart,” Jim crossed and she hitched to breathe. Offered the baby to him. Desperate.

“Take her. Take her away from me. I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m not right. I can’t keep her safe from men in suits with red ties. I'll just hurt her too. I’m a bad mother. I’m not...I don’t feel...” Camille shook and Jim took the bundle. “I can’t look at her because I can’t do this. I’m awful. I’m a horrible mother. I’m sorry!”

Skin paled and eyes huge, Camille crushed in on herself.

Hands covered her face. Crossed legs lifting so she could curl up again there.

“Camille...” Jim eased. Realized how unwell she’d been. Clearly not sleeping or eating in the short time they’d been home. “She’s okay, Camille. You’re doing okay.”

“I’m not, I’m not. She’ll be like me and they’ll take her away. They’ll stage a car accident or fry our brains and she’ll be out there and all alone. I made her cry, I didn’t mean to.” She kept thinking about Rosemary and Noah brushing her aside. Lying to her. Keeping her in a cage.

“That won’t happen, no matter what she becomes.” Jim faced her, cradling the tiny baby against him. “Deep breath.” He managed to fix her nightgown back up with a free hand. “Hey, look at her, it’s okay. She's safe.”

Camille wiped her eyes and stared at the floor.

“Has it been like this since you got home?” He frowned. “We...We didn’t-”

“It just feels all wrong, Jim. I don’t understand.” That raw voice squeaked. He brought her against him with his arm. Holding Sara there too.

“She’s healthy and beautiful. And she’s happy. You did that.” Jim offered. Camille’s fingers dug into his jacket. “You’re not well. I’ve seen this before with my own family. We’re going to get you some help, okay? You need help and that’s okay.”

Camille only nodded. One shaken hand reached out to touch her daughter. Finger running the curve of her little chin.

“When’s Billy getting home?”

“Couple hours tops.” She sniffled.

“I want you to go lie down.”

“She hasn’t eaten.” Camille persisted, head lifting.

“We’ll try again in a bit. I’m going to make you something to eat and I want you to just close your eyes. I’ll take care of the baby.” Jim stood, ushering her with him. “Get into bed.”

“What about Billy?” Camille let Jim cover her. “He...He seemed...”

“I’ll explain it to him. Just rest.” Jim settled Sara into her crib. Turned the mobile on. He made some plain toast and got Camille to sit up and each both pieces. Brushed crumbs off her face. Tucked her into a warm bed.

Then, he called Joyce.

** ** **

Billy came home with his arms full of bags. Stopped there at the scene. Joyce playing with Sara on the couch. Jim just walked out of the kitchen.

“Where’s Camille?” He dropped the groceries aside. Jim put a slow hand on his shoulder.

“I got her fed and to sleep. We managed to help her feed Sara after the first hour...” Jim sighed. “Billy, Camille’s...”

“I don’t know what’s happening to her. She doesn’t want to be around Sara or I.”

“What’s happening to Camille is common. Happens to mothers everywhere. She needs to go talk to someone about it.” Jim cocked his head and helped the new father put his items away while Joyce stayed on the couch. “Postpartum depression. You read about that?”

“Some in the baby books. Not much.”

“Camille is feeling very...”

“Blue.” Billy’s eyes went distant. He sucked his cheeks in. Set his jaw to sigh. “I ignored it. I got mad at her for...”

“It’s not either of your faults. It happens. Camille has to go talk to someone before she hurts herself. She needs support. It’ll be okay. I promise.” That somehow relaxed Billy. Jim always knew what to do. What to say.

“I hope,” Billy began, “I can be a dad like you.”

Hopper smiled at that. Beamed and hugged Billy to his chest. The new daddy paced to see his baby on the couch.

“She behaving for you?”

“That she is.” Joyce smiled. “We got her. Camille’s in the bedroom.”

“Thanks.” Billy kissed Sara’s head and went in. Clicking the door open. Camille stirred. Head lifting when he got behind her. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She stiffened up as he brought her to his chest. “Jim tell you?”

“Yeah.” Billy’s chin settled upon her crown.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, we’ll get through it. You, Sara, and I. We’re a team. Little pack of wolves.” Billy kissed her head. Let her finally breath him in and cling as she turned to burrow into his chest. “You two are everything to me. Nothing else is as important as us.”

“I love you. I love her. I do.”

“I know you do. And we love you. We’ll get you help, Camille. It’s okay.” Billy cuddled her closer. Thought of Hopper. “I promise.”

** ** **

Camille woke before Billy that next morning. Went to feed Sara. Jim and Joyce left after another long talk with Billy when Camille fell back asleep.

“Okay, Sara, it’s just you and me. We can do this.” She adjusted and sat in the rocking chair. Cupped her breast to offer it. Pain stung a little but… “There we go. Good girl. Yes.”

Camille felt herself smile this morning. Billy made an appoint for her. She would be taking the full maternity leave.

Sara wiggled and burped up as Camille bounced her. Hummed Billy’s song to her and flicked the mobile around. Her husband hadn’t emerged yet so she went into the kitchen. Made a turkey and cheese sandwich. Sliced it diagonally and fell into the couch to watch some TV. Billy stumbled in and stood there with bed head. Beautiful beyond belief.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” Camille took half the sandwich and offered the plate to him. Billy brightened. Sat next to her. They shared the food in silence. Watched TV until she got under his arm. Rain padded against the windows. Sounded peaceful. “Do you think she’ll like surfing or ballet?”

Eyes flickered over his wife as she engaged herself at last. With ease.

“I think she’ll be into pro wrestling.” Billy smiled fuller. Camille let herself feel it, pushing at his chest before she laughed. Still a pretty sound. Inhaled the scent of him before he brought her hand up to kiss the tender skin of her wrist.

“She’s gonna do whatever she wants to do, I think.” Camille said then, kissing up his jaw to find soft lips. “And we’ll be there to support her... We’ll always be there, won’t we?”

“We will and that’s enough. I promise.” Billy tucked hair aside for a feverish kiss, nuzzled down into her neck to murmur. “You doing alright?”

Camille saw his lashes flutter. Traced her fingers over the freckles and thought about how she couldn’t wait to see them bloom like fresh petals upon their daughter.

“Today? Yeah. I think so. We’ve got each other.” She breathed, pressing lips into wild curls. They held each other while the rain fell lighter. Realized Billy was right. Echoed his call. “That’s enough.”

Sara roused for her parents. Squirmed as Camille picked her up to bring her into the living room so they could gush and admire her. Neon hearts that glowed brighter by the hour. Her lullaby and sunrise all at once.

“I love you both,” Billy nudged his head into Camille’s temple, “so much. You know that?”

“You’re a magnificent father. We're lucky, Sara and I.” Camille’s lips pressed and the curves of her expression blurred. Billy blinked several times. A smile pressed. She let Sara giggle in her lap and held one finger with a strong, little hand. Babbling some until Camille was laughing to encourage it. “She’s all blush and tangerine today.” Not blue.

“She’s beautiful,” Billy sighed there with so much contentment as Camille let herself relax. “And she’s just like her mother.”

Hazel eyes lifted to see him. Amazed by this wonder of a life they created. A miracle. Like a specific star they’d plucked down to cherish and nurture.

“She’ll be messy and also so kind. Good. Angry when she needs to be. She’ll cry and not be shamed for it. Our baby will be shown so much love, the world couldn’t hope to swallow her.” Camille smiled again. Softer by the hour as she gazed at Sara there. “The best parts of us. Our love. Into one gorgeous creature. She’s us, Billy.”

That hit the new mother hard. Made her voice quiver.

"She's us."

Camille felt a glimmer of it then as she understood it all. That connection threading red cords around her heart. Casting out to anchor others so close. Billy saw it resonate and felt it too. Held them both on the sofa as they curled up like a family. Their own pack. Camille would teach Sara to howl at the moon and tear through forests. To endure and pull herself back to her feet at every stumble. To lead and love as hard as she could. Like she was meant to.

Billy only glittered at her. Camille’s burst of vitality and hope. They had each other and they would get through whatever would follow the horizon.

“And it’s enough,” he repeated in peace, “I promise.”

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fanfiction #Billy Hargrove imagine #Billyhargroveedit #MINE #Camille Harper #writing #Stranger things #Stranger things fanfiction

52 notes · View notes

the-ghost-of-jason-todd · 4 years

Text

When Angels Fear to Tread: Chapter 1

⁂

Magnus Bane was five years old, a little boy in Batavia of the Dutch East Indies, when the first of the five most important events of his life came to pass. It went a little something like this:

One—his warlock mark appeared, two distinct green-yellow cat eyes that stared at him in the glass behind his mother’s washbasin.

Two—he told his mother, and watched her blurred face grow pale as she realized he wore the devil’s mark.

Three—his mother, after months of silently suffering with the revelation that she’d born the son of a prince of hell without her consent, committed suicide, and…

Four—several years later his step-father tried to drown him in the river by their house for his demonic inclinations.

Such was life as a warlock in the 1600s. Being a scared child, watching as his mother’s body was lowered into the ground, lashing out with magic against the man who tried to kill him… it was all par for the course. Now, meeting his soulmate, on the other hand… that, though he didn’t know it yet, would be the fifth and final of the five most important events of Magnus Bane’s life, and that event would be anything but mundane. And it would go a little something like…

⁂

“Magnus! Whit like are ye? Ye’ve got a face lit a melted welly.”

His face was what, now? Magnus turned away from the group of fae he’d been conversing with, blinking over at the decidedly Scottish-sounding werewolf who was currently accosting him, sloshing drink in hand. Two more wolves were at this one’s back, both equally sloshed—they slapped him heartily on the shoulders as they waited for an answer.

“I’m fine, but—who even are you people?” Magnus asked, guiding the drink of the wolf in front away from him so it wouldn’t splash on his shirt. He’d rather not smell like beer for the rest of the evening, thanks.

“A dinnae ken, a’m fae ye grocery hain? A hae an invitation—”

Dear god, and people said New Yorker English was hard to decipher. Not that Magnus had much of a New York accent. He’d had so many accents and dialects over the years that his English couldn’t be pinpointed to any one location. Which was for the best, really—it lent to the air of mystique he liked to seep himself in. Not that drunk werewolves would appreciate a thing like that. Why did Magnus even try.

He shook his head a little, shaking himself. He was zoning out. Besides, he knew why he tried—it was because he was four hundred years old and he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t stagnate. That was the entire reason he hosted these things in the first place. Didn’t stop him from wishing he could just kick everyone out and go to sleep, though.

A moment later, Magnus was, mercifully, spared from trying to decode the rest of the conversation as he felt his wards thrum a little higher around them.

Someone was here. Well, a lot of people were here—it was a party, after all. Generally speaking, however, his wards didn’t get up in a huff over having fae or children of the moon or blood-suckers—not at the same time, of course—in the near vicinity.

Who could it be, in that case?

“Excuse me, I need to get the door,” Magnus said, just as the buzzer rang out, barely audible over the din of the music. He paused a moment before clapping the wolf on the shoulder and pivoting gracefully away to start fighting his way through the crowd.

By the time he made it to the door, the buzzer had gone off twice more, the third time cut short as if someone had knocked the person’s hand off the button. He wasn’t quite sure to expect as he pulled the door wide, but a group of shadowhunters was certainly not it. And yet here they were, four of them plus a mundane, all with the Veil blurring their faces. All except for…

Wow. What beautiful blue eyes.

“Magnus? Magnus Bane?” one of the girls, one with a pale face and long black hair, asked after a moment.

“That would be me,” Magnus said, cocking an eyebrow without tearing his eyes from the face of the young man who was very clearly staring straight back at him. Magnus was suddenly grateful that he’d taken the time to do his make-up today. He had never seen someone’s face so clear—a few times in his past he thought the Veil had begun to lift for one lover or another, but it had never left anyone so unmasked as it had this kid. This kid and his vibrant blue eyes.

Unbidden, Magnus thought back to his time with Camille. How many times had he asked her what color her eyes were? Too many to count. Every time she’d give him a different answer, and he’d spend the day imagining her as she described herself, imagining that she was the most beautiful being on this earth.

She used to ask him, when they were together all those years ago, why he always put on his make-up when he knew no one would see it. He would always respond that it was for her, that one day the Veil would lift for her and reveal his face to her beautiful eyes. He kept waiting and waiting, imagining the day that he could finally look her in the eye, but alas, she was never unveiled for him nor him for her, and in the end that was probably for the best. She wasn’t so great after all. And those fantasies, all those daydreams about how her face must have been more beautiful than the finest art in the world… they all paled in comparison to the visage of the boy standing before him now.

Which, of course. Magnus smiled over, winking to the shadowhunter, who flushed up to his ears, as the girl handed over an invitation. Of course fate would give him the most handsome of all God’s creations as a soulmate.

This was going to be fun.

⁂

Thanks for reading! This is a work in progress and I would really like feedback, if you have it!

#malec #the shadowhunter chronicles #the mortal instruments #alec lightwood #magnus bane #my writing #hm

21 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs