#earth tones and black.. on Brand

[thunderfrommyheart]

breaking down the misinformation in @afronerdism post about me.

Debunked by Stuart Semple himself. 

I’ve taken the time to do this because nobody wants mis-information bouncing around the internet. 

The key thing to know - in the artworld rich people have access to processes and companies that most artists don’t. That’s how they get to create giant beans which cost $20million. At the top the rich get richer, and at the bottom artists struggle to make their mark with what they’ve got. 

Vantablack is an example of a group of rich, entitled people getting together to pat themselves on the back, whilst the rest of the world watched horrified at the tone-deafness of the whole thing.

it's also worth noting whilst OP is clearly educated and understands politics they are not in any way an expert in the artworld, art discourse. I however have been in the artworld for 25 years, have written for the guardian, art of england and vogue. I have presented art programs for the BBC and have a properly published book on art history - it's out in June called 'Make Art or Die Trying'. I have studied art and art history and spoken at Oxford University, The ICA, Denver Art Msueum, Dublin Art Museum and at Frieze. I have lectured at the Royal College of Art in London. I have curated over 20 contemporary art exhibitions internationally, I have directed two galleries. I am by definition an expert.

MY BREAKDOWN: OP is @afronerdism - I've gone below them point by point

A: What Vantablack is not: a pigment. A paint. Vantablack is not something that you were supposed to use to paint with. 

SS: CORRECT - However nor is glass, chrome, powder coating, sandblasting, booze casting, tar, concrete or steel yet they are used by artists everyday. 

Whether the material/process is a paint or pigment or not doesn’t matter. 

A: Who creates and distributes Vantablack: an engineering company named Surrey NanoSystems.

SS: True. And many artists work with engineering companies every day, notable examples are Jeff Koons and Damien Hirst. Lots of artists collaborate with industry to get their work made, that is what fabrication is.  You go to Surrey NanoSystems - not to buy paint but for them to coat your work in Vantablack. 

A: Who does not do those things: an art house. A distribution company. Any kind of company that creates and distributes pigments on a massive, artistic scale. 

SS: Which is totally true and fine. However they do coat things in Vantablack for a series of clients in many different industries including fashion designers, jewelers, brands, car companies, and watch companies. They will coat anything for anyone who has the money unless they are an artist. They only accept work from Anish Kapoor as he has an exclusive license with them for art. 

A: Who was Vantablack made for: Vanta Black was made by aerospace engineers for aerospace engineers, looking for something to coat the insides of massive NASA telescopes. 

SS: Initially, but quickly was used by a lot of other industries including architects, fashion designers, bands, brands, car companies and even a deodorant. 

They are able to make it in quantities large enough to coat whole buildings as we saw when architect Asif Khan used it to coat a whole pavilion during the Pyeongchang Winter Olympic Games. 

(If had told Surrey nanoSytems he was an artist - not an architect, this would never have happened)

A: Who it was not made for: artists.

SS: Except the one with the license. (Anish Kapoor)

———————————-——————————————

A: Hopefully already just by understanding what Vantablack is, what it was made for, and who it’s made by you and other people are beginning to see what the problem is with Stuart simples narrative around Vanta black. 

SS: It’s Semple not simple. 

SS: The narrative was not created by Semple as for a few months before he shared his pink the world media was criticizing Kapoor for his Monopoly with major articles in the Guardian, Daily Mail, and BBC news. Each featured reactions from a broad spectrum of artists who spoke about the unnecessary license and the elitism in the artworld. 

A:  But you may be wondering if Vanta black is a highly toxic unstable substance made out of carbon nano tubes by aerospace engineers for aerospace engineers, working in space, then how did we get here? well, Vanta, black 2.0, if you will was created in such a way that it could be sprayed onto substances in a certain way meaning that theoretically it could be used artistically.

SS: Yes VBX2 can be sprayed, and Surrey Nanosystems have training days where they teach in-house teams how to do that. The VBX2, however, arrived quite late in the story and Kapoor’s rights started with the first version. 

A: Surround nanosystems held an exhibition where they displayed Vanta black and when artist saw this, they were inundated with calls from artist, wanting to use it in their work. 

SS:

Surrey nano systems (not surround)

They actually debut it at an airshow in England, it was all over the world media, many artists saw it. They then went on a massive PR mission and the material was seen on CNN etc. 

Kapoor became aware of it and approached them to see if he could use it in his work. 

Together they struck up an exclusive deal which would mean if any artist asked them to coat a piece of work with the stuff they would be turned away. 

That deal was something Surrey and Kapoor were initially proud of. They couldn’t see the inherent elitism in the exclusivity so they went on another PR pr to tell he world Kapoor was signed up to use it. 

It was then the artists of the world really became aware of it, and sure enough, when any of them wrote to Surrey - even really huge ones with plenty of money, they were turned away. These artists including Christian Furr and Ron Arad, amongst others were all featured across the media. =

A: But as we’ve already established surrey nanosystems is not a distribution company. They’re an engineering company. And they made the decision that they could only work with one artist, because they simply did not have the physical ability to produce Vantablack at a scale that allowed them to work with more than one person. 

SS: They did say that, but a lot later. They were always a fabrication / engineering place and there was never an idea that they would distribute the material. That’s not the problem any artists ever had with it, they all fully understood what the material was. The issue was that even if the artist had the money and could ship their work to Surrey, they would not coat the object with it, but they would serve other industries. This is seen as deeply prejudicial towards artists. 

A: (To this day, vanta Black has to be distributed by a specialized robotic arm that creates it in painfully small amounts in an enclosed box that can then be given to someone in a lab. ) 

SS: This is untrue - the arm is used to spray the objects that Surrey have agreed to coat. 

It does not make the material. The material is made by growing carbon nano tubes on a surface. 

And the spray version contains nano particles. The robot arm is used for precision when coating. 

You often see a robot arm spray cars for example. The arm is used like this. 

A: Enter Anish Kapoor: Anish Kapoor, at this time was already a world, renowned artist, and the creator of many public facing pieces, such as cloud gate, a.k.a. the Chicago Bean. His entire life‘s work was dedicated to how light is refracted and interplays with the void, making him not only the perfect person to be chosen because of prestige but also because his life‘s work spoke to the engineers who created Vanta black.

SS: Whist as an artist he has dealt with reflection and the void at length, it’s a stretch to claim his entire life’s work is dedicated to it. 

SS: It is true that as a figurehead for Vantablack he is a good choice, he’s very rich, extremely famous, he’s a Sir (i.e knighted by the queen and a turner prize winner). Plus he makes work that would look good in Vantablack. 

SS: None of this means that he needed exclusivity to do it, the company could simply have collaborated with him and if any other artist asked to have something coated, they could have easily said they were too busy or didn’t have enough of the material. 

SS: The issue is the way they couldn’t see the prejudice, elitism and lack of access in the exclusivity. 

A: Now this should’ve been seen as an incredible accomplishment and honor for this Indian artist to be chosen as the soul licensor of Vantablack as this company was only able to choose one person and people were really excited about this for him and that’s where the story ends, right? Right? Right? 

SS: It’s unclear why his race matters. He is one of the richest, most well known, most famous artists in the world. The fact he has exclusive access to a material/process like this is not a reason for people to be excited for him, people are free to be excited or not. This is purely your opinion not a fact. 

A: Enter Stuart Semple: Stuart simple was a 25-year-old man in the UK living with his mother when she came into his room and told him about Vantablack. 

SS: Stuart was born in 1980, which would make him 36 at the time. 

SS: He was not living with his mother, in fact he was living in London with his own family. 

SS: His mother did not come into his room however on a phone call she spoke to him about an article she had read in the guardian about how artists were upset by Kapoor having Vantablack. 

SS: Stuart was (and is) a well-known contemporary artist, very embedded int hat world. He has had over 20 solo exhibitions dedicated to his work all over the world and his pieces are in major collections and museums. He’s not in the league of Kapoor but in the artworld is well known as an artist. 

A: As an artist himself, Stewart simple wanted to try Vanta Black, and was told by the company that he could not.

SS: This is untrue - Stuart did not want to use the colour, nor did he approach the company. 

A:  It was then that he discovered the only person on earth licensed to use Vantablack was Anish Kapoor. 

SS: This is untrue, he was aware of this when his mother told him what she had read in the newspaper. 

A: Please keep in mind that Vantablack is not a paint, and it is so difficult to work with that Anish Kapoor has only ever produced one singular piece of art with Vantablack. 

SS: This is untrue. Tens of thousands of items have now been coated in VantaBlack, from soda cans to watches. Initially, Kapoor used his rights to create a series of limited edition wrist watches that sold for $100,000 each, and then went on to create a whole series of large sculptures that were initially shown at a huge palazzo in Venice that Kapoor bought, during the Venice Biennale, and then at an exhibition at the Lisson in NYC where there works were for sale with an average price of $500,000USD.

A: So like a child who has just been told by their mom that they can’t use something, Stewart simple decided to throw a hissy fit. 

SS: It’s Stuart Semple (not stewart simple) - and there is no evidence of any kind of Hissy Fit. However he did create a piece of internet performance art, where he put a jar of pinkest pink paint on the internet, humorously, and asked anyone who bought the paint to sign an agreement that they ‘weren’t Anish Kapoor and Associate of Kapoor and that to the best of their knowledge information and belief, the material would not make its way into the hands of Anish Kapoor’. Semple has always explained it was a tongue-in-cheek piece of performance art, and that he was never expecting anyone would actually buy any pink. The best source for this is an article in Wired in which the journalist concludes with the piece being a powerful piece of online performance art. Bearing in mind Semple is an artist who works with performance, that is extremely likely. 

A: He created a pink pigment that he conditionally said everyone could use except Anish Kapoor and then launch this pigment with the hashtag #ShareTheBlack. 

SS: He created the pink pigment in 2010 - and has made his own paints to use in his own work since he was a child. It was not made in response to Kapoor. However he did not make them public they were for his own use, and the Kapoor situation made him question his own exclusivity in keeping the materials he was making for himself. He decided to share his pink as a gesture and a piece of art in it's own right.

A: This caught the attention of the news media, and when asked about this situation, that was previously relatively unheard of, Stuart simple,

SS: Neither Stuart nor the Vantablack situation were unheard of. The media was already reporting on the controversy around vantablack long before Stuart put the pink up. Stuart was also well known which is why the media wanted to talk to him about it. 

When GQ came to do a 5 page feature on him they were clear it was because he was an established and well-known artist in his own right. 

He had already been hosting art shows for the BBC, had written for the guardian and Huffington post and had collaborated with major musicians. 

A: went onto describe Anish Kapoor as this tyrannical elitist who “banned“ the use of Vantablack to keep other artists from using it. 

SS: There’s no evidence that Semple said that, however, he was critical of the exclusive license and did feel the story opened up a well-needed discussion about access to art and the trend in which those with the money could afford to have works fabricated when others couldn’t. He is at heart an egalitarian and has made free art studios, his Designs for humanity charity, his creative therapies fund at Mind (a mental health charity) etc.. and a major free art gallery in his hometown that shows some of the biggest living artists. So Semple’s opinion is allowed, to him Kapoor epitomizes an elitism that is dominated by the super-rich, after all, Kapoor is getting close to being a billionaire. 

A: But hopefully you can already see how that is Literally not true. Anish Kapoor does not make Vanta black. Anish Kapoor cannot sell Vanta black. Anish Kapoor cannot give you permission to use Vanta black. And Vanta black is not even a paint. 

SS: He does not make it, but he does hold the exclusive right to use it in art. 

SS: No other material or process has been exclusively licensed by one artist in the history of the world. 

SS: Jeff Koons does not make his own giant steel sculptures, a factory does. Jeff can’t book your work into the factory, and steel is not a paint either. He doesn't have an exclusive agreement with the steel fabricators. If they aren't too busy with Jeff, and you've got the cash, they'll make something for you too. This is standard with art fabrication.

SS: I didn't physically make the giant steel and foam smiley sculpture of mine for the city of Denver, fabricators helped with that, and engineers. They work with several artists.

SS: This makes no sense given it is understood vantablack is a material and a process of application. 

SS: However Kapoor could surrender his exclusive right and Surrey would then be able to take bookings from artists. 

A: meanwhile Stuart has launched an entire very lucrative career around slandering and smearing Anish Kapoor 

SS: Untrue, Semple had a very successful career and his day job is as a contemporary artist. Actually speaking up about elitism in the artworld is a risky move for someone who relies on that artworld to pay his bills. 

A: when Anish Kapoor literally never did anything but be qualified enough to be the one person chosen by a company that is literally only able to work with one person at a time. 

SS: He did do something, he signed an exclusive agreement and he felt he was entirely justified in doing so. He also went out in the media and with surrey nono systems and gloated about it.

SS: They can’t only work with one person at a time, we have seen whole buildings covered in vantback, jewellery, cars and soda cans and many sculptures by Kapoor. Surrey have collaborated with thousands of brands, designers, architects and companies. 

A: The fact remains Stewart simple, very intentionally allows this narrative to continue because it makes him money. 

SS: It is unclear how it makes him money as the pink was sold for $3 which was what it cost to make, and his website which researches and distributes cutting edge materials is a non profit that collaborates with artists. They even did a crowd funder to make Black 3.0 - a super black acrylic that any artist can use. It's also unclear how he is perpetuating this narrative, when he's clearly moved on to other projects many years ago and rarely mentions it. In Semple's world it's a very small thing.

A: He has made a ton of money off of slandering Anish Kapoor as if Anish Kapoor is the reason he can’t use Vanta black when the reason he can’t use Vanta black is because no one can use Vanta black, and the only person who might be able to use it is Anish Kapoor and that is not Anish Kapoor‘s fault. 

SS: There’s no evidence at all that he’s slandered Kapoor. Kapoor being extremely wealthy, and the level of media that covered the story back in 2016 would never have allowed it. It would have been a legal nightmare. All the publications who write about the story GQ, BBC, The Guardian, Wired, have journalistic laws and it would not have happened. 

SS: There’s no evidence that Semple has made a ton of money. 

A: It is not lost on me that there are racial connotations to the story as well. There are actual companies and artists in the world who have trademarks around certain colors that they do not allow other people to use in public showcases. 

SS: There are colour marks or if you like 'trademarked colours'. The public showcases point doesn't make sense in this context - colours are protected in classes i.e certain uses on Serbian products are prohibited. EG - Tiffany blue cannot be used on jewellery boxes. 

A: But we really as a community allowed this white man to smear and slander an Indian artist,

SS: Again it’s unclear what the ethnicity of the artists has to do with the core issue. 

SS: It’s a little bit of a leap given Semple has also liberated Klein Blue (made by a white French man), Barbie Pink (owned by Mattel a corporation), and created the Brightest White. 

 A: based entirely off of misinformation, and to this day people jump on the Internet, saying fuck Anish Kapoor because of it. 

SS: Kapoor secured the rights to the blackest material ever made. Everyone else who can afford to, can use it, unless they identify as an artist. 

SS: Many people feel like that is wrong. 

A: Now, Anish Kapoor is not some struggling person. He is probably a multibajillionaire 

SS: He’s worth about 800 million according to Forbes, he’s within the top 5 most wealthy living artists.

A: And doesn’t necessarily need our sympathy. But I think the story of Vantablack is a really good case study of how misinformation spreads, and how people never bother to question the framework of a story. 

SS: In my opinion, your post is misinformation, that has been spread unquestioningly. 

#stuartsemple #anish kapoor #stuart semple

[blackgirlcinephiles]

Incoming: Long post! Black media discourse! Zendaya think piece!

Two years ago I wrote this post about Zendaya, Keke Palmer, and how colorism shapes the career trajectories of Black actresses.

This past weekend Challengers released in theaters, sparking a round of online discussion about Zendaya, her star power, her talent as an actor, and how a raunchy film like Challengers fits into a cultural landscape that’s less enthusiastic about on-screen depictions of sex.

Early reviews of the film lauded Zendaya’s performance, and even after it’s release, the general consensus remains overwhelmingly positive, with quiet buzzing of a potential Oscar nomination for Zendaya. Kudos to her!

I’m not here, however, to discuss or analyze Zendaya’s acting chops. (To some ppl, she’s outstanding, to others she’s overhyped. Personally, I think Zendaya is talented. Her work in Euphoria was no small feat and she’s proved herself capable.)

The reason I’m writing this now is that an excerpt from this article about Zendaya and Challengers got me thinking again about what it takes for Black actors to become “stars” in this day and age. I’ll insert screenshots here.

Now I’m sure the reviewer’s tone in these excerpts will be off-putting to some, esp those who identify as a part of the Zendaya standom. It’s clear that Ms. Angelica Jade Bastien has yet to buy into the fanfare about Zendaya’s acting abilities.

But she touches on something very interesting to me. Zendaya is THE most prominent Black actress of the younger generation and I’d argue her degree of star power is unmatched by even her non-Black peers, some of them having comparatively longer (& more impressive) resumes. Zendaya is incredibly well liked. People want to see her and she’s been so visible these past 6 years that it’s hard to believe Challengers is her first leading role in a big release.

So…why her? Why has Zendaya been able to garner this level of star power and leverage behind the scenes while other equally talented Black actors fight for adequate roles and visibility? After reading several opinions, I’ve come to some conclusions.

I think colorism, racial identity, and desirability politics all play a role (as was discussed in the colorism post). But I also think Zendaya has been very smart about managing her online presence and overall brand. She’s maintained Beyonce level privacy about her personal life (virtually scandal free since her teens) and has managed to exude poise while still being seen as delightfully down-to-earth. That in itself is praiseworthy b/c it’s a delicate balancing act and many have faltered.

I also think that as AJB states, there’s an indictment on Hollywood to be made here. I think since Zendaya’s exit from Disney, the projects she’s taken on have used her likeness to stoke public interest in the films. (Similar to the way ppl watched Selena’s film choices post- Wizards of Waverly: “What’s this beloved disney kid up to next?”)

And this is noteworthy b/c the significance of Zendaya’s roles in the early films of the Spiderman and Dune franchises have been disproportionate to her visibility in promotional materials. Zendaya’s screentime in the first Dune couldn’t have amounted to more than 10 minutes, but she was prominently featured on the press tour and red carpets. The same goes for the first Spiderman. She’s clearly been used to sell tickets to these movies, even when she doesn’t have a lot to do in them.

And Zendaya, to her credit, has made the most of these opportunities (earlier this year she received high praise for her performance as Chani in Dune 2). She once stated in a vogue interview that she started going out for roles initially written as white to see if she’d be able to change the casting team’s mind. And it seems that she’s succeeded, as evidenced by her presence in several huge releases over the past 6 years. But these were often small, supporting roles where her identity as a biracial Black woman didn’t impact her character’s arc within the overall story. (This is not necessarily a bad thing in itself, but stay with me)

This then begs the question, “What does it mean for a star like Zendaya to take up roles originally reserved for white actresses?”

The conclusion I’ve come to is that it means providing a film with enough racial diversity to give the impression that Hollywood cares about being inclusive, while not being so different that certain audiences are unable to “connect” to the character. I think that “Hollywood’s acceptable Black girl” has to be Black enough to fulfill a diversity quota, but not so Black that audiences are reminded the character has a different lived experience from them and feel uncomfortable.

Like AJB said, I don’t believe mainstream audiences are actually interested in Black female rage. It makes them uncomfortable and lately certain factions of the population have been extremely vocal about being “tired of woke.”

I find it strange that Justin Kuritzkes (the Challengers screenwriter) stated it only made sense to write Tashi as a Black woman bc of the visibility and dominance of Black women in tennis, but didn’t think it’d be important to explore any of the challenges that come with that in the film. And for this to be followed by the decision to cast a light skinned, biracial actress in the role? It doesn’t make any sense.

We’re shown that Tashi Duncan is a fierce, unapologetically competitive athlete. And yet, these are not qualities that Black female athletes are usually applauded for having. Just look at the narratives that have swirled around athletes like Serena Williams and Sha’Carri Richardson since their debuts. There’s always a barely concealed desire to humble high achieving Black women who are confident in their abilities. The press coverage around Serena & Naomi’s infamous match (which Justin Kuritzkes said inspired Challengers) is a perfect example of that. It’s strange to model a character after these figures and give no mention of these struggles and how they’d influence character motivations.

IMO, this reads as another case of not wanting to be critized for lack of diversity in your film, while also not wanting to do the work that goes into making your diverse cast authentic. (like getting input from or writing alongside other BIPOC screenwriters. That “little white boys” line is truly meaningless without any context or backstory. And it doesn’t sound like they’ve given Tashi much.) The result is an Black female lead character who is under-written and whose importance has been overstated in the promos in contrast to the actual story. (Which seems to fit right on trend for films Zendaya’s been a part of.)

Zendaya seems to have become the go-to Black actress for when big budget films want to “go ethnic.” She’s mixed race, conventionally beautiful, near universally well-liked w/ a loyal fanbase, and has been recognized as talented enough (Two Emmys! Count ‘em. Two!) to get the job done. She’s a safe bet that allows them to kill two birds with one stone. By adding Zendaya to the mix, the studio gets to check a diversity box for their cast and gets leading star guaranteed to get them sales.

I really don’t want anyone to misconstrue this as downplaying Zendaya’s achievements or her talent, b/c it’s not. But no part of the society we live in is a true meritocracy. As I discussed in the original post re: colorism, there are always structural and social forces at work shaping our ability to advance. Like Beyonce, Zendaya is an incredibly privileged Black woman who is talented, has worked hard, and has made the most of the advantages she’s been afforded. And I don’t think Zendaya has any control over the way she’s been used to advertise the films she’s done over the past 6 years.

I just think this conversation is another opportunity to adjust our perspectives and examine the limitations of representation in Hollywood. I’m reluctant to acknowledge Zendaya’s current success as a marker of progress or even see it as a win for Black female representation.

“Zendaya is officially Gen Z’s Hollywood star. Gen Z’s first true Hollywood star is a Black woman!”

What does it say about the stage of progress we’re in if our generation’s chosen Black leading lady has to have such close proximity to whiteness that people can choose to overlook her Blackness, if they so desire? Is the mere presence of a Black face in a high place progress? Or is it what that person’s power allows them to do for others who are also marginalized? As AJB asked, how meaningful is Zendaya’s position as a Black female producer if everything about the projects she’s involved in is white except for her? (Just throwing out food for thought: How different would Challengers have been if a MoC was casted as one of the male leads instead of the two “white twinks” everyone can’t stop talking about? No shade to Mike Faist or Josh O’Connor, but would it still have gotten buzz? Would the marketing team have known how to advertise the film if there were two main actors of color instead of one?)

I think it’s amazing to see Zendaya’s growth and success as a biracial Black female entertainer, but I won’t attach any meaning to her success that isn’t there.

This is actually a really shitty time for Black art and Black actors in Hollywood. Last year, so many wonderful Black shows were cancelled. DEI rollbacks are hitting all parts of society, but especially entertainment and the trend doesn’t seem to be reversing any time soon.

It’s not comforting to see Zendaya reach the heights she’s soared to, while other equally talented yet less privileged Black actors fall into obscurity waiting years before they get another role that showcases their abilities. Black actors continue to suffer from lack access to opportunities/roles. Their projects are not marketed and given time to grow. And even when the support is there, the shows will still be cancelled. What does it say that the one Black actress who has had consistent enough access to these opportunites to achieve “star” status is the one with the closest proximity to whiteness?

Things are actually very bleak.

#blackgirlcinephiles #black girls on tumblr #discourse #black actresses #black actresses in hollywood #zendaya #challengers #what does it mean to be a star in this day and age #what is the true importance of having a Black hollywood star? #should it mean anything? #black representation #black representation in media

[dairyminki]

Acquiescence || j.wy

PAIRING — jung wooyoung x fem!reader ... GENRE — fluff, angst, strangers to lovers ... WARNING/S — major character death, mentions and descriptions of hospital, pet names, reader has achromatopsia, mild profanities ... WC — 7.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE — i had this fic idea hiding in my drafts with only the title finished bcos i felt like it wasn't the right time for me to write it just yet, so i let it sit. and just when i thought this story will never see the light, stormy august happened, i got all angsty, and i was able to pour all my emotions on this fic. and now, i'm posting it for sad september, yay! anyway, special thanks to @hotteoki and @jaehunnyy for beta-reading this one ^^

SYNOPSIS — a life painted in shades of black, white, and gray, sparks a certain yearning for something brand new deep inside of you. but what if that 'something brand new' comes in the form of a boy and his camera? will his presence be able to alter the monotonous world you live in into a world where the colors of the rainbow are freely dancing?

*reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! ♡

— ☁️

ac·qui·es·cence

: the reluctant acceptance of something without protest.

achro·​ma·​top·​sia

: a visual defect that is marked by total color blindness in which the colors of the spectrum are seen as tones of white, gray, and black, by poor visual acuity, and by extreme sensitivity to bright light

☁️.... playlist!

To you, it was peaceful.

How the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against your sketchbook was the only thing you could hear, how the hues of black, gray, and white were the only ones that filled your vision, and how it was only the smell of fresh grass that lingered in the cool morning air.

But at the same time, it was depressing.

How those were the only things that constantly stimulated your senses. Always the same every morning, unless it were to rain.

You don't think any word was fitting enough to describe what you currently feel. Deep inside you, there's a yearning for something brand new. To alter the monotonous life you have in exchange for a life filled with an endless spark of delirium or one where the world before your eyes appears bright-colored.

Sitting on one of the wooden benches found in the hospital's garden inevitably makes your thoughts and emotions fly around. Sometimes, it's the feeling of hope budding inside your chest, but most times it was the heavy weight of despair forming over your head like a gloomy gray cloud.

Gray.

Now that is a shade you know by heart. A shade you've grown to appreciate that if anyone asks you what your favorite color is, gray would be your automatic answer.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, pink, and many others, are colors you could only wish and dream to see. When people around you talk about how blue the sky is, or how an evergreen tree looks, it makes you wonder deeply how on earth they look like. Are they as pretty as your favorite color? Or are they something more? Something that'd get you marveling hard and for long.

"Y/N? Y/N~?" You hear the familiar voice calling your name in a sing-song. When you turn your head around, you catch sight of shoe-clad feet before you see the face of your lovely nurse from day one—Nurse Aliah.

"There you are!" She exclaims, walking towards you with a huge smile on her face which you mimic as you close your sketchbook.

"Time's up for me already?" You ask, a bit dejected.

As much as you've grown to treat your hospital room as your home, that doesn't mean you've grown to love staring at the mundane four walls and smelling the overpowering scent of antiseptic and cleaning agents clouding your senses.

"Why? Don't feel like going back yet?" Nurse Aliah asks, making you scoot over so she can sit beside you.

Replying with a mere nod of your head, she sighs, patting you gently on the back. Then, she takes a glance at her wristwatch, saying, "I suppose I could give you half an hour more. I mean no one has to know, right?" She sends you a playful wink.

"That's more than enough, thank you."

"No problem at all, darling. But before I go, can I have a little peek at your sketches?" Nurse Aliah asks, gesturing at the sketchbook on your lap which you immediately hide behind you.

"No!" You laugh. "No peeking until I finish it."

Your answer got her frowning, but she stood nonetheless, muttering a sulky 'fine.'

"The sun's about to reach its peak in a little while, so put your cap on, alright?" She reminds, prompting you to nod your head before she finally leaves the garden.

With Nurse Aliah gone, you grab your cap beside you, wearing it, before you find yourself admiring your surroundings once more, taking in deep breaths as if the earth's air supply was about to run out, and then you're opening your sketchbook and diving back inside the world of art.

Sketching different things brings you peace—if some feel anxious leaving their houses without their phones or watches on, for you it's the same when you leave your mechanical pencil or any of your sketchbooks and drawing pads behind.

Art enables you to cope with all the imperfections you were forced to carry with you ever since you were born to walk the earth with your tiny feet.

You might not be able to see and appreciate colors as much as everyone does, but you do love being able to weave lines, shapes, and patterns from the tip of your pencil.

Click!

Your grip on the pencil loosens when you hear the sound of a camera shutter and someone cursing. Looking to your left, you see a male who looks the same age as you, holding a camera in his hand—his hair is quite long, he has styled fringes framing the sides of his face, and he is smiling sheepishly at you.

"Did you…just take a picture of me?" You asked, squinting your eyes at him and tilting your head to the side. You see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, all the while he lowers his camera.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" He exclaims—his voice, pitchy. Then he proceeds to ramble aloud, "I didn't mean to startle you, I was just taking a look around, trying to find anything pretty to capture, and then I saw you, and I…I'm sorry."

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to take someone's photo without asking their permission?" By now you were standing, approaching the male and his camera. When you stick out a hand, he instantly gives his camera to you and you find yourself staring at a picture of yourself on the screen.

What he did was rude, yes, but you can't help but be in awe at the way he was able to capture you looking so immersed in your drawing—your furrowed brows and your tongue darting out of your slightly opened mouth because you're concentrating hard.

"I should be mad but, it's actually a pretty photo," You say, slightly abashed.

The male in front of you chuckles. Then he asks, "So, does that mean I get to keep this pretty picture of you?"

At the mention of the word 'pretty,' you feel your cheeks heat up. Coughing out loud and not meeting him in the eyes, you reply, "Only if you're not some creepy stalker, then I suppose you can."

"I'm not! I actually did it for a school project."

Hearing him say that made your ears perk.

"Oh, really? What's it about?" You can't help but ask, not being able to hold back with your natural curiosity for things.

"Nothing much, really," He starts. "We were just told to visit someplace we hadn't been to before and then capture something that catches our eye. Once we can do that, we will be asked to share about it in class."

After he explains, you find yourself asking him more.

"What else did you take a picture of?"

"You…were the first really." He answers with his free hand rubbing at his nape. As for you, his answer got your cheeks even hotter.

"Oh." You end up saying, not really knowing how to respond further. Luckily, he opens up another topic, and later on you're back sitting on the bench you previously sat on, but with him beside you.

"So you're telling me you've never been to a hospital before?"

"Nu-uh. Never," He answers, fiddling with the buttons of his camera. "Uhm, how about you? Did you…"

You knew what he meant despite him not fully voicing it out. Thank goodness you didn't see that one thing you really hate, in his eyes, though—pity.

"Been here since I was five," You say as you stare up at the sky. The gray-looking sky that always accompanied you whenever you were out here in the garden.

"What are you here for?" You could gather a hint of hesitance in his voice, most probably not wanting to pry considering you've only just met. But he's just like you, curious.

"I'm color-blind," You begin. And just when you were about to tell him more, you heard someone calling you.

"Y/N!"

You turn your head and see Nurse Aliah approaching you. From a distance, you could already see the questioning in her gaze.

"I—ah, unfortunately, have to go now," You say, picking up your sketchbook and standing up.

"Oh."

"Yeah, um, I'm grateful I was able to cross paths with you today," You tell him with all honesty. And you think you see him bite back a smile.

"The way you say it, makes it sound like, us, meeting was something big."

"Well, maybe it is," You grinned at him. "I'm Y/N, by the way." You say, extending a hand for a handshake which he immediately accepts.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Wooyoung," He responds before you wave at him goodbye and run towards Nurse Aliah with a smile still lingering on your face and her look of questioning not fading away in the slightest.

"Who was that?" She asks as the both of you start to walk back inside the hospital.

"Hmm, just someone who thinks I'm pretty."

—

The following day, you asked Nurse Aliah if you could go out again. When she asked you why, you simply told her that the fresh air and the calming surroundings got you more motivated to finish sketching, and not because you were kind of hoping for a certain long-haired male to find his way back to the garden, no, not at all.

Well, not that you were going to admit and let her know anyway.

You fell into the same routine as yesterday without any difficulty. By now, the subject you were trying to draw was getting more defined. Just a little more shadings here and-

"Smile!"

Instead of smiling as the chirpy voice told you to do so, you think your caught-off-guard face was what the camera was able to capture.

"You could've warned me!" You exclaim after a few moments of just blinking and nothing but your mind trying to register the sound of the shutter that went off earlier and the laughter of the newcomer.

The very reason why you wanted to escape the stuffy walls of the hospital again.

"I take pride in my candid shots, though." Wooyoung pouts.

"You only started taking pictures yesterday!" You point out.

"Okay, and?"

"Ugh, just let me see the picture," You say, though it sounds more like a demand. A demand that Wooyoung refuses to follow through.

"No, this one is for my eyes only." Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at you and then,, later on has this shit-eating grin on his face.

In the end, you give up trying to get the camera from him. The moment you decide to set your focus back on your drawing, silence envelops you two—not the awkward kind though. It was more like those silence that'll have you sighing in relief, and everything else around you sounding like calming waves.

And amidst the silence was Wooyoung near a flower bush with his camera out. You don't know what colors the flowers are in but you do remember Nurse Aliah telling you they are called Chrysanthemums and that they smell sweet.

"Wooyoung," You say after a minute of just staring at him snapping a couple of photos of the said flower. "What color are those flowers?" You ask.

Without taking his peering eyes off the viewfinder, he answers, "They're purple!"

Purple—you know they're the color of grapes, your favorite fruit. You've wondered since then if purple was anything like how the fruit tasted.

"How about your hair, Woo?"

Woo—that's new, and the way the nickname rolled off your tongue actually felt nice.

"It's black, probably just the way you see it!" He answers, and then you see him finally lowering his camera and smiling to himself while he walks back toward you on the bench.

"Were you able to capture something pretty?" You ask him as soon as he drops his weight on the bench, his shoulder touching yours.

"I did. It's quite a lot. But…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he's looking at you with a cheeky grin. "...they're not as pretty as you though."

At that remark, you feel heat rush towards your face, however, you don't look away from his gaze, just yet. Your thoughts begin to wander again, as you think of what the color of his eyes are and if they're the same as yours, or the color of the shirt he's wearing, and his camera too. You could've asked those questions aloud but you didn't.

Instead, you ask, "If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

Wooyoung briefly seemed to appear as if he was in deep thought, with his head tilting to the side, his eyes roaming all over you, and his lips pursing.

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?" He proposes.

A month could be awfully long for some, and short for others who are patient enough. You're not sure which one of the two are you, although you still nod your head at Wooyoung.

And a month? Sure, you could wait. Time flies fast these days, after all.

—

Days turned to weeks, and by now, you've grown accustomed and comfortable with Wooyoung's presence.

He was just the right amount of loud, funny, and kind, that even your Nurse Aliah has opened up to him already.

"You smile a lot nowadays," Nurse Aliah comments one time while you're resting inside your room and she's replacing your newly emptied bowl of grapes with a fresh set.

"Is it bad?" You ask as you stare at the ceiling, not really thinking of anything—just the little joke Wooyoung told you a day ago repeatedly tickling your head.

You hear the clinking of the fruit bowl for the last time before you hear the rustling of your bed sheet.

"It's not bad per se, but…"

Her unsaid words send the all too familiar sinking feeling creeping its way back into your chest. A feeling you've tried so hard to push to the back of your mind, only for it to resurface once again.

"Don't," You plead in a small voice, eyes closed. When you open them again, you're looking straight at her, hot tears lingering in the corner of your eyes. You tried hard to blink them back.

But when was the last time you let them fall? When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel sadness? When was the last time you willingly set hope free and embraced despair?

"Alright, I…I just want to let you know today will be the last time you'll be able to go out Y/N. Tomorrow, Dr. Lee will be here to check on you."

Not being able to stop the dam from breaking, you just nod your head to whatever Nurse Aliah is saying. You feel her caress your hair before the door to your room closes with a thud.

Tears spilled—rolling down the apples of your cheeks until they're gliding past your lips, enabling you to taste their saltiness. And then you're sitting up, pulling your leg close to your chest with your head resting on the wall as you stare at the window.

You sigh. Feeling all the energy you possess going down the drain.

You suddenly remember all the things the younger you had to suffer through just because you weren't normal just like how everyone was. You remember how you'd run into things and tripped over them because everything seemed dark and dull. You remember how other kids would play outside at the playground while their parents would sit there on the benches and talk about how the sun looked so bright.

You've never directly looked at the sunlight. It hurt your eyes, even until now. Hence, every time you go out, you always wear a cap on your head just to shield your eyes from the light radiated by the sun. Anyone else would've worn sunglasses to deal with that, and you've tried—once. After that, you came to Nurse Aliah, crying, because you felt suffocated while wearing them. And that continued until you were older—any type of glasses having the same effect on you.

Childhood for you was tough. Luckily, Nurse Aliah was there to somehow make it less hard for you to deal with the world and reality. Making you smile, laugh, and enjoy the little things—Nurse Aliah was your only family. She contributed to igniting the spark of hope inside you.

And now, there's Wooyoung—his smile, his raucous laughter, and the way he sweeps his fringes to the side out of habit. Just Wooyoung and the click of his camera, his camera roll that's probably full of your stolen shots now. Just Wooyoung trying to peek at whatever you're drawing while you're so adamant not to show him. Just Wooyoung discreetly picking out a random flower from the bush and putting it behind your ear.

It sends a rush of warmth all over you—something warmer than what you get when you're spending time with Nurse Aliah. No, Wooyoung's was something else.

You place your right hand on your chest, and there it is. The faint sound of your heart beating, increasing, as your mind gets filled more by the said male.

It feels foreign, but it's nice. Really nice.

And with that, you know you're ready to face another day with the open sky and Wooyoung's presence keeping you intact and aground.

—

After all the crying you've done, you felt light and at ease. As you walk out into the hallways and down to the ground floor, you find yourself greeting more people you encounter along the way. You can't help but notice the smile sticking to your lips, and surprisingly, it didn't hurt you with how wide it was.

Your smile only seems to get brighter when you spot Wooyoung's familiar figure outside. He's by the same bench you two sit on with his back facing you.

Giggling, you were eager to reach where he stood.

But then it happens.

Just when you were about to run and shout his name, it happened.

Instead of shouting his name, you find yourself gasping for air, feeling as if your throat was closing in on you. With your heart irregularly beating painfully against your chest you drop to the ground, feeling faint and cold with sweat.

You don't register much about what happened next but swore you heard screams around you and the last-minute turning and running Wooyoung made toward you.

Blurry grayness was the last thing you saw before everything turned black.

—

There were voices around you and the sound of a machine.

Fluttering your eyes open, you recognize you are in your room—lying on a bed with a few tubes connected to your body, and then gently shifting your eyes to the door where the sound came from, you see a familiar back and your Nurse Aliah, talking in low voices. Though, not low enough, seeing as they awoke you.

Nurse Aliah notices your awoken state first, you see her whisper something to Wooyoung before she attends to your side.

"Hey, darling," She began in a soft voice, almost lulling. When her fingers brushed through your hair, you swore sleep was tempting you to go back into its arms once again. But you stopped yourself.

"How are we feeling?" Nurse Aliah asks. You find yourself clearing your dry throat, unable to answer. You give her an okay sign, instead.

Immediately, she gets a glass of water from your bedside table. She gently guides you to a sitting position, before she hands the drink to you.

"I'm glad you're awake, Y/N. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go call Dr. Lee. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and talk with your lover boy over there. Sounds good?"

You could only roll your eyes at her, shooing her away.

Wooyoung instantly came to your side after the door closed. He pulls out a chair for him to sit on and then just stares at you. You find yourself looking down at the empty glass in your hand, with the silence the male was giving you.

You can't figure out if he's angry, sad, or disappointed. If he only sees you as a weak and undesirable thing he no longer wants anything to do with.

"What's my pretty girl thinking, hmm?" Wooyoung asks, gently taking the glass out of your hold, and replacing it with his hands.

Wooyoung's hands felt warm against your slightly cold ones and you liked it.

"I'm thinking that I'm sorry, I'm sorry for not telling you," You answer truthfully, now finding the courage to reciprocate his gaze on you. But then, a gasp leaves you when you see how puffy his eyes are.

"Have you been crying?" You ask, pulling your hands from him and cupping his face. Your thumbs trace the bags of his eyes while Wooyoung leans into your touch.

"If I did, what's my pretty girl going to do about it?" Wooyoung asks with a small chuckle, in an attempt to lighten up the mood inside the four walls.

"Am I really still pretty to you, Woo?" You asked in a weak voice, tone laced with disbelief.

"Y/N, y'know that's a stupid question, right? Love, you'll forever be pretty in my eyes, and I—y'know yourself I'm good at finding pretty things, right? That's how I found you."

"Woo…"

"If you think that me, seeing you like this will change anything, then you're so wrong for that."

"Woo-"

"Is it shitty of me if I say that I'm in love with you, right now?"

You're caught off guard when Wooyoung starts crying, his tears wetting your fingers. With him breaking down in front of you, you can't help but cry as well, pulling his head to your chest in hopes that your heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear that it was actually screaming his name.

"I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please…" Your voice was croaky after a while, tears having dried on your cheeks, while Wooyoung's sobs still hadn't subsided.

"I don't know about you but I'm not feeling funny enough to laugh right now," He answers with a chuckle and you laugh as well, still cradling his head against you.

If you could, and if you only knew how, you'd lessen the pain he's feeling.

Absorbing all the pain coursing through him until you become numb, you'll do so. And if you could control time you would love to rewind it to the time he took a photo of you without permission.

If you acted coldly towards him and sent him away, would you still find yourselves in this position?

Will Wooyoung still weave his way into your fragile heart and your colorless life?

Will you still find yourself falling in love at the last minute with him?

You don't know.

But you do know you feel the same way as him.

Who knew that that delicate heart of yours was still capable of welcoming a powerful force called love inside?

—

Most of your days were filled with your doctor and nurse checking up on you at every possible chance. The wheelchair has become your friend, and instead of getting out into the garden and finding Wooyoung, the tables turned. Wooyoung, being the one who found his way to your hospital room, started constantly visiting you with a different set of flowers every day to adorn the lonely vase sitting atop your bedside table.

Unlike the other days though, this time, he was kind of late. Even Nurse Aliah didn't get to peek inside after the early morning check-up she did on you today. It was strange, you think.

Starting to feel bored, you decided to take a quick look at your finished drawings and the letters you wrote slipped into one of the pages of your sketchbook

Then, you hear the door to your room opening. Instead of Nurse Aliah, though, Wooyoung's adorable peeking head was the one you saw.

"Woo!" You exclaim, putting a sweet smile on his face as he welcomes himself in.

Immediately, you open your arms for him, and he fits in perfectly when he engulfs you in a soft hug. You feel his lips against your temple, and if you could, you'd choose to stay in this position, just basking in all the warmth he could offer and all the kisses he'd get to spoil you with.

"I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?" You whisper back at him. Then, he's pulling away, a hesitant look on his face.

You looked at him, confused, asking, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong! It's just that, Nurse Aliah told me you're not really fond of these, but, I was hoping if…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he takes something out of the small bag that he brought with him. "...can you please, wear them for me, just this time?"

In his hand was a case, and when he opened it, you saw a pair of glasses.

Your breath hitches.

"Is this—h-how were you able to—Woo, I-"

Unbeknownst to you, you were panicking, and Wooyoung was doing all his best to calm you off the overwhelming feeling encapsulating you.

When you've calmed down, he proceeds to ask again, "Will you wear them for me, love?" in a much softer voice.

You nod your head, tears brushing your cheeks, while smiling hard and mumbling a few yeses.

"Thank you, my pretty girl," Wooyoung says, showering you with butterfly kisses, prompting giggles out of you.

"Are you ready?" Wooyoung asks before you take the glasses out of its case. Nodding eagerly as a reply, you put them on, unable to control the blinking of your eyes as they adjust.

An immense feeling grows in your chest, your words stuck in your throat when you finally get to look at Wooyoung and see what his gorgeous eyes are colored in. When you asked him what color they were, he told you they were brown, the same as yours.

Minutes later, as soon as Wooyoung sees you're all set, he pulls you up from your bed, helps you wear your shoes, and then guides you every step until you're sitting in your wheelchair.

Turns out it was blue—your wheelchair. And blue is such a pretty color, you think. Though, after seeing the color of Wooyoung's eyes, you think nothing could ever compare with it.

—

It was your first time being able to see the garden with the stars present, twinkling up above.

Wearing the special glasses that Wooyoung has gifted you, you can't help but cry at the overwhelming colors filling your vision.

Wooyoung and Nurse Aliah told you that it won't make you see all the colors the world is painted in, but at least it was no longer just black, white, and gray—the three same colors your world was revolving in.

Another surprise welcomes you hard when you notice the transformation the garden had to go through with all the fairy lights hanging from each tree.

Green—a color you know that dominates the earth. You are so delighted to be able to see such a refreshing and tranquil color. A color you wouldn't mind looking at forever.

"Did you do all of this for me?" You ask Wooyoung in between shivers, that the latter had to stop wheeling you from behind for a minute. He crouches down in front of you, tightening the jacket around you, and sensing that it isn't enough to shield you from the cold nightly breeze, he takes off his own and puts it on you.

"Hmm, though I did ask Nurse Aliah and a few others for help. Do I look like I could pull off this surprise by myself?"

"Of course not." You playfully scoff.

"I know I asked, but I can't help but feel offended."

Laughter filled the rest of the path you took toward the very bright evergreen tree in the far distance. The sound of the crickets and the luminous moonlight accompanied you two as well.

"Is that—are we having a picnic?" You gasped, spotting a blanket lying over the green grass, a basket, and a set of empty plates over it. You think you even see a bottle of your favorite drink peeking out of the basket.

"Yes, we are, pretty." Wooyoung responds, but then something else catches your attention that you almost want to abandon your wheelchair and just say, 'fuck it,' and run.

You realize that not only fairy lights hang from the evergreen tree, but also pictures.

When you get nearer, you feel your heartbeat becoming louder. And when the wheelchair halts—Wooyoung carrying you afterward towards the area he set for you two—you were able to see the pictures much closer.

At first, all you see were the different flowers Wooyoung captured in his camera—they were a myriad of colors; pink, blue, red, and purple.

You found purple to be the loveliest.

"Is that—?" You turn your head to Woooyoung as your finger points to a certain picture of two people.

Wooyoung only nods.

It was a picture of you and your Nurse Aliah. Bright smiles graced your lips. Your arms were around each other and you were wearing your cap which surprisingly is colored purple as well.

Maybe, Nurse Aliah knew that purple was bound to replace gray as your favorite color in the long run, and the color didn't disappoint you at the very least.

"Thank you," You tell Wooyoung as he puts you down on the blanket. Everything looks magical. Like a scene pulled out from a movie, a scene you didn't expect to live out.

And just when you thought Wooyoung's surprise had reached its end, you thought wrong when he handed you a photo album. Well, it looked more identical to a scrapbook, with your name on the cover formed using cutout magazine letters.

When you open it, you see a short letter written on the first page with what seems to be Wooyoung's penmanship. From his penmanship alone, you could identify what his personality is like. And you thought it was endearing.

However, when you flipped to the next page, your eyes widened, breath hitching as your gaze stayed fixed on the very first picture pasted on.

It was that picture Wooyoung took that got you so caught off guard. The one he so adamantly tried to hide from you.

One of the candid photos he took pride in—you with your eyes staring wide at the camera, your mouth ajar, the pencil you were holding slipping out of your grip mid-air.

You were quite shy to admit it but you now understand why Wooyoung said it was for his eyes only.

It was a pretty picture.

—

Deeper into the night, Wooyoung finds himself running his fingers through your hair while you're laying your head on his lap, watching the stars dance in the endless obsidian sky.

Having you close like this, he gets to realize how frail you appear to be, one touch and he fears you'll break. A second of looking away from you and he's afraid you'll slip away from the clutch he has on you.

But then, there was your smile, ever blinding, and it made him think there was nothing wrong. That this was simply a storm passing by and that tomorrow a rainbow shall greet him from the bluish sky.

"Ask me again, Y/N," He asks after a while of comfortable silence, you merely humming back, eyes questioning him with what he means by that.

"Ask me the same question you asked me a month ago."

And just like that, bliss danced in your irises, but then you sat up a little bit too fast that it worried Wooyoung for a bit. However, the joy in your face never seemed to fade, and that was enough to reassure him that you didn't experience any pain of some sort.

"What color am I to you, Woo?" You paraphrased the question you dropped on him a month ago, one he couldn't answer yet. But now, he thinks he got it all memorized.

"My dear Y/N, if you were a color," He starts, leaning in towards you, his hands cupping your face and then he's resting his forehead against yours. "You'd be every color in the rainbow."

To Wooyoung, you were purple—a color that's meant for uniqueness and the artistic side of life, which you surely have running in your blood. Purple was a color that could relax the overall senses, which is why it's no surprise to him that it was now your favorite color.

Although, he believes you're also blue—not the feeling, though. Blue was a perfect color to describe your calm demeanor to others. Just like the feeling one gets from looking at the sky—breathtaking, pure, serene, and easy to look at. Wooyoung thinks he gets all of that just from a single glance at you.

But then you're also green. Softness and growth. In the short amount of time, he got the privilege to spend with you, he knows you've become more open to everything. You've once told him about what your past looked like and to be honest? He thinks you've started to learn to let go of the painful parts that once scarred you—like a leaf falling from the tree and letting the air carry it to anywhere it'd take it.

Yellow and orange are colors that represent joy and energy—you exude both. Wooyoung sees a certain glow in you, and he thinks Nurse Aliah will agree with him if he claims that the energy you possess is one of a kind, something that needs to be shared with everyone else.

A glow that gravitates people towards you.

And maybe that was one of the reasons that made Wooyoung stumble his way to you that very day you two first met.

Will you end up believing him if he said that that project was something he was forced to do? Wooyoung had never even touched a single camera until that day. And looking at how bright his world looks right now in front of him, he's glad he decided to do it.

"And lastly, you're red. You radiate passion and warmth, Y/N," Wooyoung tells you, never breaking away his gaze from you, and not caring if he ends up cross-eyed.

"You are love itself, and every day I wake up beyond grateful that I'm one of those people whom you've decided to share a piece of yourself with."

"Woo…" You say, already sniffling, while he's now finding it hard to see through his tears.

"Can I…Can I kiss you?" He asks, his hands shaking.

"You'll probably be my first and last-"

Wooyoung cuts you off with the tender feeling of his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was messy and frantic at first, like time was chasing you away, and was salty with all the tears. But then, every brush of your lips against his' turns into something sweet, making his insides flutter and his heart beat like he just ran a mile. Wooyoung feels warm all over as one of his hands found your waist, the other delicately holding your chin, and if he could wish for one thing, he would love to wish for this moment right here to stop as it is.

But the thing is, he can't.

He knows any moment now, an endless slumber shall find you. And if he can, he would like not to waste any remaining second he's got with you left.

"Woo, I'm tired," Wooyoung hears you say in a small voice after a while, a yawn escaping your lips and your eyes getting droopy.

He gently lifts you, placing you on his lap while letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. And then he's wrapping his arms around your body layered with jackets, cradling you like a baby.

"Woo?" He hears you speak once again. He hums back in response.

"Look at me, please?" You plead in a soft voice which almost breaks his heart there and then. But he looks at you, and when he does, he thinks he saw your eyes shine with the littlest spark it could still muster to show.

"Your eyes are really pretty," You say. Wooyoung looks away, fearing you'll see him cry. And he doesn't want you to go after seeing him in that state. Instead, he hugs you a little tighter.

"The sky is a witness to how grateful I am to have crossed paths with you, I hope you know…just how lucky I am and how happy I feel right now," You say with a contented sigh, and based on the way your cheek moved against his skin, he knows you're smiling right now.

But it turns out you weren't finished.

"My life was dull and repetitively the same until you came along with all your colors. Thank you for letting me feel how love feels like, I love you…and I'd like to believe I'll still do until we meet again."

That was the last time he heard your voice drifting in the wind before the chirping of the crickets increased tenfold.

"I love you, too, always, my pretty girl." Wooyoung gets to say before his entire body stills, your last intake of breath reaching his ears and your last exhale fanning his neck.

And then he's shaking, another batch of tears washing over him as he cries silently, slowly rocking your body with his, back and forth, and dropping soft kisses on the top of your head.

I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please.

He hears at the back of his head, bringing him back to the moment he saw you so fragile-looking for the first time.

Wooyoung actually got to talk with your doctor, Dr. Lee, that day. Dr. Lee had told him that it was considered a miracle, how you lasted for a month when he thought you'd only have a week left after the both of you saw the latest condition of your heart—only seeming to get weaker as each day passed.

Now, Wooyoung wasn't one to assume things, but he would like to think that you held out for him, all because you wanted to ask what color you were to him.

"If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?"

And you did wait for a month. Wooyoung would like to say it was a stupid reason but, he's glad you asked him that. And he's even glad that you were able to hear his answer to your question before you closed your eyes.

Somehow, it brought him peace.

—

Entering your room, Wooyoung feels nothing but emptiness, the joyful energy you once radiated, is now nowhere to be found—but the memories he got to share with you linger on.

Earlier, he volunteered to tidy your room and your things when Nurse Aliah asked, and now as he's walking near your bedside table, he spots something peeking out of the sketchbook you always used to carry with you to the garden. The sketchbook you didn't let him take a peek even once.

Wooyoung grabs it, and he lets out a sound of surprise when something falls out of the pages, dropping onto the floor. Crouching down, he picks up the bunch of paper and sees there are two drawings and two handwritten letters.

He takes the drawing you made for him—a sketch of him while he's holding the camera to his face—and the letter addressed to him. Then, he puts the ones that are for Nurse Aliah back on the table.

Wooyoung takes his time admiring every stroke and shade you've made while sitting on your bed.

Now he understands why you wouldn't let him peek even just a tiny bit.

Wooyoung feels his heart soaring because you drew him.

And it was a pretty drawing.

Wooyoung sniffs, putting the drawing on the bed and picking up the letter you wrote for him this time.

Frankly, he isn't sure if he's ready to read it, especially since your passing is still fresh in his mind and his heart is still hurting.

But then again, when will he ever be brave enough to read it alone? Wooyoung thinks reading it inside the room you once resided in will ease him even just a little bit, although he can't promise that he won't cry again.

And so, after a deep exhale, he opens your letter.

One look at the first line and Wooyoung finds himself breaking down for the nth time.

My dearest Woo,

Hi! I'll be honest with you, I wasn't really sure how to start this letter, but then I thought, what if I told you a story first? You like stories right? I hope you do. Anyway, here it goes.

Once upon a time, there was a little fairy. Now, this fairy was unlike any other fairy—she didn't have wings. (I know what you're probably thinking; why is she a fairy if she doesn't have wings? But cut me some slack, will you? This is probably why I should stick to drawing, which I hope you saw first, by the way.) Since she didn't have wings, she couldn't fly. And because she couldn't fly, she felt like she was always left behind, always feeling like an outcast that she almost resented herself for being born. Why wasn't she like normal fairies? She always finds herself asking.

Right when she thought all hope was lost for her, she met this boy. A boy who had no wings but was still able to fly. Of course, the fairy was in awe and disbelief, and so, she asked the boy, "How are you able to fly without wings?"

The boy grins at her and says, "Wings? Who says they're the only thing that could make you fly when pixie dust exists?"

"Pixie dust? What is that?" The fairy asks, and then the boy shows him a bag filled with golden-colored dust, which he pours into her hands.

"Sprinkle it all over you and think happy thoughts, then you'll be able to fly just like me," The boy says, and without hesitation, the fairy follows his words.

And when she did, she found her tiny feet slowly lifting off the ground. "I'm flying!" She exclaimed with great joy. After that, she became friends with the boy and together they soared to greater heights. But nothing ever lasts, don't they? Soon, the boy had to leave her, but before he left, he gave her another bag of pixie dust and promised to come back looking for her as long as she continued to think happy thoughts.

However, the time came when the pixie dust ran out, and the fairy had lost her glow and was unable to think of happy thoughts. In the end, her life ended before she could even know if the boy didn't really plan on coming back, or if he simply wasn't able to find her. The end.

Whew, what a story!

I don't know if it made sense to you, Woo. But I think, what I'm trying to say is, I want to make things lighter by saying that, in that story, the fairy was me, and you were the boy who gave me hope. Although, I'd also like to believe that our ending will be slightly different from theirs. We both know that I don't have much time left, we do. And which is why, I'm hoping that before I rest, I'll still be with you long enough to let you feel how much I adore and appreciate you.

The thing is, being born with achromatopsia was already sufferable enough for my younger self. And then, imagine, my doctor comes in one day and tells me I also have problems with my heart and that my days are numbered.

Of course, I became miserable, who wouldn't? I felt like the world caved in on me. During that time, I only had Nurse Aliah and I even shut her out. I thought life was so unfair, because why did I have to go through something I didn't even wish to have while other people my age were living the life I could've lived?

But of course with Nurse Aliah not giving up on me and encouraging me to do the same, I outgrew that phase, or so I thought.

I was a work in progress when lo and behold, you jumpscared me with your camera and affinity for the word pretty. Have I told you how giddy it makes me feel and how blushy I get when you call me that? No? Well, now you know.

Wooyoung, despite all the loudness and wonderful chaos you entailed, you became my peace. Just like how the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against my sketchbook brought me comfort, so did the sound of your camera shutter.

Did you know that right before the moment you decided to enter my life, I was deeply yearning for something brand new? Well, that yearning was fulfilled, because that something brand new, became you, Wooyoung. In case you haven't realized yet. (But of course, I know you do!)

By the time you read this, I'm probably, well, gone…but I'd like to think I'll be among the stars twinkling in the night sky, trying to get your attention by shining the brightest while you're staring out of your window. (Please, say hi back to me!)

Just like what I said, don't waste your tears again on me, okay? My dear Wooyoung, promise me you'll only smile when you think of me, please. I don't want to cause my favorite people any form of sadness or any kind of pain.

Truth is, I…I don't really wanna go. After meeting you, I suddenly wasn't sure if I was ready to leave everything, especially you, behind, just yet.

But then again, we can never always have what we want right? It's bittersweet, but that's life for you. I'm just so, so glad that this weak heart of mine was still able to beat for you.

I love you, more than you'll ever know.

Forever and always your pretty girl,

Y/N

P.S. When will you ever show me those pictures you've taken of me, huh?

— ☁️

#wooyoung x reader #cromernet #k-labels #pirateeznet #Hiraya-M #ateez x reader #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #ateez angst #ateez fluff #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x you #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez fics #ateez #jung wooyoung #dairyminkiwrites #dairyminki_atzwy

[xreaderbooks]

Paradise on Earth (16)

Chapter: 16. My Druthers

Pair: JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Language, Violence, Mentions of death

Summary: Y/n and Sarah make it back to the right side of the island after a long night, Limberey hands over the tape that will give John B his freedom.

A/N: The trauma continues...let me know your thoughts, does anyone wanna be tagged?

Available on Wattpad and AO3

Chapter 15 - Series Masterlist - Navigation - Chapter 17

You weren’t home, you knew it before you opened your eyes. The air smelt cleaner and felt fresher. The only time you felt that unfamiliar feeling was when you were living in Tannyhill, your heart pounded through your ears as you woke with a start. Not Tannyhill- this place was completely new to you.

Your eyes launched around the room in search of something you could recognize that would tell you where you are. Straight across from you on a bamboo couch similar to yours was Sarah. She was still out cold with a white fluffy blanket covering her and pillows surrounding her. Topper had walked in with two trays, both with orange juice and breakfast.

“Morning,” He smiled at you and you couldn’t process the kindness in his tone. You accepted the tray he handed to you with an awkward smile of your own and observed as Sarah stirred from her sleep.

Now that you were alert you popped a grape into your mouth as you thought of what you would have to do to get back to the cut.

Like you, Sarah looked at her surroundings and paused as she locked eyes with you, you shrugged as you took a bite of the toast on your plate. While you were anxious to go get back to the Pogues, you weren’t going to deny a good breakfast. Your stomach growled as you fed it, you couldn’t remember the last time you ate.

“Hey,” Topper greeted her softly. “How are you feeling?”

“What time is it?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” He confessed. “Why?”

“We need to go,” She made a move to get up and you were ready to follow her lead but he protested.

He handed her the tray insisting she was safe. “You’re not going out there where your brother almost killed you. You’re safe here, just have a little food.”

You squinted at him, “You gonna hold us hostage here, Topper?”

“You’re free to go Y/n,” He gave you the same fake smile. “I’m more concerned about Sarah."

“What’s all this gonna cost me?” If you didn’t know any better you would think this was all an act. He might have saved you last night but the hospitality he extended to you was for show.

“That’s the thing with your Pogues isn’t it, always thinking someone's out to get you, I’m just tryna be a good guy here and show you what it is to be a decent hospitable human being. Seems like you guys don’t do that much out there on the cut.”

You groan and gave Sarah a disbelieving look, “Girl, you seriously went out with this guy?”

“Y/n,” She gestured with her eyes as a warning. You were both on his side of the island and he did bring you to whatever this place was, probably one of his many beach houses, and brought you both breakfast.

“Look, I appreciate all that you’re doing here but if you’re gonna come at me later bringing up all the ‘nice things’ that you did-”

He cut you off, “You’re with Sarah- for now at least- plus you almost died last night, it’s the least I can do besides the fact that I saved you last night.”

Topper was definitely going to hold it against you at a later date but the damage was done. He appeared to be satisfied with himself as he continued to dote on Sarah.

“Here’s a phone,” He handed to her a brand new sleek black iPhone. “So you can get a hold of me and I can get a hold of you, I just wanna make sure you’re safe.”

Sarah held the phone in her hands, admiring it. “Thank you, I haven’t had a phone since the storm.”

You sipped on your orange juice as you watched the exchange. Topper could clearly not express enough- how much he was still into her. He held her hand as he told her how worried he was and how glad he was to see her alive. A moment of silence between them had you clearing your throat to destroy the tension, there would be none of that in your presence.

You successfully brought him out of his daze as he rose from his spot on the foot of Sarah’s makeshift bed and said he was going to prepare his boat. Thankfully that meant you and Sarah didn’t have to form a whole escape plan to leave wherever you were in Figure eight.

Sarah watched as he left and you watched her in concern. You hoped that wouldn’t be a problem while John B is stuck in jail.

-

You could not be more anxious to get back to your people. There were too many things running through your head. Was JJ successful in John B’s breakout? Did he fail and end up in a cell right next to him? How was John B holding up? What were you going to do next? Rafe could have killed you last night.

You swear you were going crazy and if you heard Topper say one more cheesy line in an attempt to woo Sarah back, you were going to scream. Eventually, on the boat ride back to the Chateau all your witty remarks had withered away.

Normally humor was your go-to coping mechanism but it was a flop in this crowd. Jokes you knew would have killed with the Pogues, all wasted on Topper, you knew he thought they were funny but he was too prideful to laugh. Sarah would chuckle along with you but it was undeniable, this was a weird trio to be in and the energy just isn’t the same.

You were about to sigh for what would be your fifth time, but as you got closer to your destination you recognized four familiar heads of hair. You jumped out of your seat, “Is that John B?”

Sarah rushed forward, “John B!”

“You’re out!” You hop out of Topper boat and into the HMS, wrapping your arms around John B for a hug. “JJ you got him out!”

You smiled wide at the blond who you doubted with every second of his plan but he did it and you could not be happier. You tackle JJ in a hug where he was sitting, his arms instinctively embracing you back. When he pulled away he glanced at you and Topper in silent question, you mouthed to him later and he nodded in understanding.

“Actually, they dropped all the charges,” John B responded with Sarah still clutching onto him. “I’m a free man.”

“Yeah, I’d love to take the credit for it but the plan went horribly wrong.” JJ readjusted his cap.

You side glanced at him and sat on the empty spot on the floor of the boat beside him, “And here I was wasting my hug on you.”

“Sarah, they’re coming after Rafe.” John B tells his girlfriend after releasing his hold on her.

You let out a breath, you weren’t sure if it was relief or a breath you were still holding in from last night, knowing he was still out there. “Good, he’s completely unhinged.”

JJ gives you a quizzical look but says nothing. He was the only one who knew of your history with Rafe, a history he wasn’t too happy about and he certainly was not gonna be happy when he finds out about what happened last night.

“He jumped me and Y/n last night,” Sarah confesses. “That’s why we didn’t come back.”

The breath you just let out came right back in from the sharp inhale you took. JJ from beside you sat quietly stuck in his own mind, you can practically hear his thoughts.

“Literally almost drowned his own sister, and yours. Thankfully, I got there just in time,” Topper spoke with a sincerity that you weren’t completely convinced. It was a jab at John B for not being there for his girlfriend and a bonus with you involved. Two people your brother cared about that Topper took care of while he was gone.

“I guess I owe you one, Topper.” John B forcefully drew out, refusing to look at the Kook as he said it.

“It’s all good, somebody had to rescue your little sister, right?” He scoffed with a slight wave of his hand, in a ‘don’t worry about it’ way. “Oh, and your girlfriend.”

JJ’s fist balled up the cap that he took off again. You kept quiet letting John B handle the shade Topper was throwing.

“That’s funny because she’s not actually my girlfriend, right?”

Topper chuckled, “Well, what is she then?”

John B looked at Sarah with an expectant smile, a hand on his hip waiting patiently for her to tell Topper that they took their relationship to a higher level. She glanced at John B and Topper and instead of saying what you were all waiting for her to confirm, she faces Topper and stuttered as she says, “I’m with him.”

That threw you off guard, your eyes widened a little as you caught Kie’s gaze, and she winced in your direction. Yikes, that was the only thought that was shared between you at that moment.

“Oh, you’re with him?” Topper gave a hearty laugh, he looked to you and your friends “You guys clear on that?”

“I think it’s clear you gotta go,” JJ said in John B’s defense.

Topper nodded, “Yeah, it’s about that time. Y/n, it was a pleasure, take it easy.”

You gave a curt nod with a tight smile, the last 24 hours were too much for you to deal with without you having to thank Topper for his services.

Sarah called out to the boy, hugged him, and thanked him. He held her back, staring directly at John B with a sly smile.

You knew he had to be pissed and you cringed into your hands. The drama truly did not stop with them.

~~~

You took the nicest nap when you and the others went back to the Chateau, home never felt so good. Your brother was free and out of jail. Your assailant was now being hunted by the police, it was safe to breathe now.

You roam around the house looking for any sign of life, checking the fridge last as if there was going to be anything other than beer and way past expired leftovers. You took the last can and walked out the screen door.

“What’s up, pretty boy?” You walk up to JJ who was lazily swinging himself on the hammock. He didn’t respond, simply tossing the empty beer can in the opposite direction.

“I almost die and this is the treatment I get?” You laugh off the awkward tension. “Tell me how the breakout went.”

He shrugged, “Didn’t go the way I planned, cops got roped in. Lucky Kie and Pope showed up in the nick of time.”

“So because I wasn't there when shit went down, I get knocked down your list of favorite people?”

“John B’s your brother Y/n, as much- more even than mine, and you chose to meet up with a Kook that tried to murder you, over him.” He placed both feet on the ground, sitting upright in the hammock.

“It’s not like that you know it!” Your voice rose. “That was the past, my bad for not wanting to go along with your risky ass plan and going with Sarah for backup.”

“Backup,” JJ scoffed. He pointed to your neck, “Look where that got you.”

You let your fingertips ghost over your throat where you felt the tenderness of where Rafe’s hands were last night. You hadn’t looked in a mirror yet but you could imagine there would be a sight of bruises.

Bitterness tanged your mouth, “Fuck you, Maybank.”

“No thanks, wouldn’t want Rafe’s leftovers.”

“How dare you?” Your voice wavered from the restraint it took to withhold your anger. “After everything, we’ve been through, JJ? How fucking dare you.” Everything implies the kiss, the stolen touches, and the silent embraces that alluded to there being something more than just years of comfortable friendship and loyalty.

“You left with Sarah for one night and you show up with Topper, not very Pogue of you, Princess.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Do I look like I'm joking?”

“JJ,” His name came out in a hurt whisper. He was fine when he left you at the Chateau, there were no words exchanged that told you he felt betrayed by you not joining him in his plans.

His face expressed the shame you didn’t doubt that he felt, you also knew that he wouldn’t apologize now. The words were out, what he felt at that moment was out and there was no taking it back, at least not right now.

Rafe’s leftovers.

What a dick. You wanted to question him about the night you found out about John B and Sarah, you spent the rest of the night in each other's arms, grieving. Did that mean nothing? Was that what he was thinking the day after? You slept in your bed, the same as you always had, with the exception of the kisses you would share in the dark. The morning after went the same as it had every sleepover and with no discussion of the affection you both expressed the night before.

There was never an appropriate time to talk about it, either one of you was drinking to the point of alcohol poisoning or the rest of the pogues were around, John B’s death hanging in the air. Whenever it was just the two of you, you were too afraid to bring it up knowing JJ ran away from any serious conversation about love.

Did he know you loved him?

Did you expect him to?

The comfort kisses had to mean something, JJ wouldn’t mess with your emotions if it wasn’t something but then again the altercation with the letter was still in the back of your head. Either way, his words were a punch to your gut and you didn’t know how to move on from this.

You were five feet apart, glaring at each other when his phone rang saving him from saying anything else on the matter.

“Yeah, hello?” He picked up and began to walk away in the direction of the dock.

You huffed with your arms crossed, staring up at the sky, hurting from the fight with your best friend.

“What?” You heard him in the distance. “Alright, alright, we’ll be there soon.”

He ran past you towards the open tool shed, you sped after him coming to a halt behind him. Pope and Kie were caught in a deep embrace, JJ’s arrival causing them to let go with his shouts of Pope’s name.

“Just got a call from Guffy, something happened to your pops,” JJ breathed out.

~~~

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” You tell Heyward as you apply the square bandage made for oversized cuts onto the gash on his forehead.

“You’re doin’ just fine darlin’, thank you,” He winced as he assured you. You gave him a half smile and patted his shoulder when you finished. You settled beside Kiara on a wooden bench behind Heyward.

Heyward immediately began to explain what caused his injury to Pope and the rest of you.

“I should’ve known better, He came in just as I was about to lock up and caught me by surprise. Once he had me down, he put his knee in my chest, once he had me down he asked me about that key from that drawing you showed me.” He noticed the glances you were all giving each other, “In case y’all were wondering, I didn’t tell him anything. Now, did you track it down?”

Pope fished in his pocket and pulled out a thin long gold key with a red ribbon tied to its open circular top. “I found it in Mee-maw’s old apartment above the pharmacy just like you said.”

“Shit, boy, you should’ve given this to me. I wouldn’t have had to take a beating.” He told Pope with an annoyed tone. “What’s the big deal? It ain’t worth anything. Why do they want it so bad?”

“I don’t know,” Pope confesses. “First, I get this letter telling me that I need to go to Charleston, and then I meet this rich lady who wants me to give her a key that I didn’t know was in my family.”

“None of it makes any sense,” Kie says from beside you.

“Well, don’t y’all just sit here whining about it, Figure it out!” Heyward exclaimed but Pope shut him down telling him that he was just going to give Limberey the key and that it wasn’t worth losing his dad over it but Heyward cut him off. “Did I raise you to back down from a fight, boy?”

Pope shook his head, “No, sir.”

“I didn’t think about it before but now,” Pope’s dad pointed to his bandaged forehead. “I’m interested. “Did they say why they wanted it?”

“Something about an old cross, I think it might be some kind of lost treasure.”

“You know who you should talk to? Your great-grandmother, Mee-maw.” He hands the key back to Pope.

Now with the reassurance that Heyward was alright and the knowledge that Limberey and her bodyguard were hounding for the key, with Heyward's encouragement, you were all now in on the hunt for the missing pieces of the puzzle.

It was decided that the Pogues were going to accompany Pope on his mission but the ride in the Twinkie was quiet. John B was driving with JJ in the passenger seat, while you, Kie, Pope, and Sarah were in the back. The only sound coming from the slightly cracked window to let air in and the radio.

Eventually, Pope spoke up, mentioning something that Limberey slipped out unintentionally. “She said the key leads to the cross of Santo Domingo.”

“Are we supposed to know what that is?” You ask. JJ reached his arm out to Pope and asked to see the key, he handed it to him without thought.

“I’m guessing it’s some sort of historical artifact of great importance,” Pope responded.

“According to the interwebs, it was a gift from New Spain to the Spanish king.” Kie recited from Google.

“New Spain?” JJ interjected. “Is there an Old Spain?”

You rolled her eyes at him, not caring to hear a word from him. Kie flipped her phone to show you and the rest what the cross looks like from a picture off Wikipedia.

“Shit, talk about over-gifting, look at that thing.” The picture was of a person in armor next to the infamous cross with intricate detailing, Kie pulled her phone back and continued to read “It was widely considered, at the time, to be the most extravagant tribute ever from the provinces. It was lost off the coast of Bermuda in 1829.”

“Did you just say Bermuda?” JJ inquired.

“Not the triangle,” John B told him.

“It always leads back to the triangle, dude, like every single time something’s weird.” JJ insisted, “It’s Bermuda.”

“Okay but-” You ignore JJ focusing on Pope, “What does a key found above your Mee-maw’s pharmacy have to do with any of this?”

“I don’t know, That’s a good question.”

The sign to Shady Acres nursing home was in view, You, Kie, and JJ were already prepared to hop out of the car. With John B finally putting the car in park JJ opened the sliding door, you were the one closest to it both of you not daring to make contact, you let Pope pass over you and Kie who hovered over you until Pope told you all that he wanted to go in alone.

“Are you sure?” Kie asked.

“I can handle it, I don’t really need you,” Pope shrugged. Your eyes widened a little at the use of his words towards Kie.

“We’re just all one big happy family today, aren’t we?” JJ spouted sarcastically. Pope simply walked away, and Kie went back to her seat.

“You’re one to talk,” You murmured to yourself, not expecting to be heard but judging by the way JJ shot you a look before slamming the door to the back of the van, he did. Good, you thought, he deserved to know that you were angry.

John B drove off telling Pope that he’d pick him up in a bit and parked in front of a nearby Kildare Island corner store.

You and the girls decided to get something to drink- an excuse, really, to gossip about the boys. Once you were out of earshot the shit-talking began.

“Y/n wanna share with the class?” Kie filled her paper cup with soda as she gave you a knowing look.

“Hm?” You were walking around the shop looking for any chips you might want but found nothing, grabbing a cup from the stack and copying her movements. “What do you mean?”

“She means that little comment you made at JJ,” Sarah clarified. "What was up with that?"

You winced not feeling up to telling them the full story, you also thought that JJ was the only one that heard you. “He’s just being a bitch today and when he said that we weren’t being a happy family I just spoke my thoughts.”

“Which are?” Kie pushed.

“That JJ’s an asshole, Kie.” You deadpan.

“Ouch, calm down grumpy I’m only trying to let you vent,” She sighed. “The last thing I need is to be on someone else’s bad side.” You and Sarah give her inquisitory looks.

“Pope’s giving me the silent treatment for not being in love with him.”

The two of you, you and Sarah, Ahh'd at her in understanding. It was official now, Pope and Kie were a no-go. Part of you selfishly thought about how JJ no longer had an excuse not to go for Kiara and how much it made your stomach turn. 

“Well, John B’s pouty because I didn’t tell Topper the ‘big news’ and because I thanked him.” Sarah shared.

“Yeah why did you do that?” asked Kie.

“He saved our lives, and I’d put him through so much already and you’d think that that is the crime of the century.” She expressed. You understood her, and you understood John B, at this point in your life. You were going to mind your business and let John B and Sarah figure it out for themselves.

“Tell me about it, all this crazy shit that’s been happening and JJ’s pissed because I ‘ditched’ him to help you out,” You point to Sarah as you three begin walking back to the van. “And came back with a kook, so apparently I’ve lost the privilege of being called a Pogue.”

“And we’re the dramatic ones,” Kie shook her head with a smile.

It was back to being silent when you three climbed back in and John B cruised back to the nursing home.

Pope exhaled as he sat down, “Shit just got way more personal.”

~~~

Turns out, Pope is a direct descendant of Denmark Tanny and his wife Cecilia. The six of you were outside of Heywards where all the fishing gear and coolers were when Pope filled you all in.

“Does that mean poopy is a royal?” You mused.

“A king?” John B played along.

“We shall crown him,” JJ grabbed an imaginary crown and ‘placed it’ on Pope’s head. “All hail the lord of Tannyhill. We are not worthy.”

The five of you bowed down to Pope in waves, he blushed and insisted you all stop so you did.

“Relocate the cat’s ass, question mark?” Sarah referred to the hot tub JJ bought with the money you both stole from Barry’s place.

“I’m with that,” JJ responded. “‘Cause I don’t have a place to stay.”

“How soon can we move in?” Kie asked, “‘Cause me neither, bunk beds?”

“Bunk beds,” JJ agreed and tapped his beer can with hers. “Cheers to that.”

No doubt JJ and Kie would be staying at the Chateau with you and John B, and Sarah too with all that’s been going on. In this scenario, John B and Sarah would be in his room, You and Kie in yours, and JJ in the pullout. Though you were mad at JJ, the thought of you and him not sharing a bed anymore was disappointing, it’s not like you and Kie never shared your room before but before John B came back you couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t get used to having JJ be the one next to you.

You continued to ignore JJ and asked Pope what he was thinking about since he hadn’t spoken in a while.

“I just keep thinking about the letter, the one that Limberey sent, it had the wheat symbol on it. That must mean it has something to do with the Royal Merchant.” Pope theorized, “But if we find that cross we can split it like we were gonna split the gold.”

“And live happily ever after?” The blonde woman with her cane and guard dog, holding up an umbrella, came from around the corner.

You tensed standing to the right Pope who was leaning on a faded wooden pole used to hold up the roof. JJ on his left and John B.

“You assaulted my father,” Pope confronted Limberey. The man who was always around her pushed him away from the lady.

“I didn’t assault anybody," She denied.

Kie spoke from her spot on top of two coolers stacked on each other, “He can identify the psycho from a mile away.”

“Why would my employee assault your father?” Limberey chuckled. “That’s absurd.”

You glanced to where John B and JJ were conspiring in silence, you knew the looks on their faces, though nobody else outside of your friend group would know they had something up their sleeve. You let them do their thing in fear of getting them caught because you were staring too long.

“Listen, we can keep on negotiating, but the fact is that I want the key-” Pope went for the woman but JJ went behind him to hold him back, and so did Limberey’s employee. “Until I have it, I don’t have a choice, which means you don’t either.”

John B then snuck out a key, though you weren’t sure if it was the real key or not, he held it up. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

“Yes, it is,” Limberey confirmed in her airy voice.

“Looking at the tide right now, I’d say it’s about 20 feet deep out there. So if I threw it in the channel, the probability of you finding it again is slim to none.” John B began to walk to the water, “You wanna give it a shot? Let’s see what happens, ready?”

He was hyping the maybe-fake key, and Limberey and her guard dog rushed for it. Pope looked at you in confusion, slipping his hand into his pocket and letting you peek at the key- the real one with the red ribbon. You smirked, not knowing how JJ and John B could have pulled it off but Limberey was falling for it.

John B’s arm stuttered in the air, stopping at Limbereys shouts to stop. “Get him to back the hell up.”

“Of course,” Her tone was sickly sweet as she turned her attention to the scruffy man, “Backup. As I have told you from the beginning, I am willing to be reasonable.”

“Okay,” Pope conceded. “But I want the tape.”

Pleasant surprise filtered through the woman's features, smiling “Of course.”

John B decided to play up the act, whispering but keeping the volume of his voice loud enough for the rest of you to hear. “You don’t have to do this, okay?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“This is your family.” Unintentionally, your gaze met JJ’s, it was almost instinct now for your eyes to meet his with unspoken words of amusement.

“It’s fine, it’s about your dad.” He held out his palm for John B to hand him the key. “That’s way more important.”

Hesitantly, John B gave it to him. You pursed your lips to hide your smile at how fooled Limberey was.

“The tape?” Pope asked.

“Yes, give him the tape,” Limberey told her man to give it to Pope. The moment the tape was in his hand, Limebery took the key in a quick exchange. “You know, I wish that you’d come to this decision earlier. We could have avoided all this unpleasantness.”

“How long do you think we have until she realizes she has your father’s old key?” JJ asks John B.

“10 minutes,” He shrugs.

“Whose idea was the fake key?” You pipe in curiously.

“Shockingly, not mine,” Kie states.

JJ scrunched his nose and leaned into John B who wrapped his arm around the blond, “Hm, I don’t know. Should we tell them?” John B pats JJ’s chest.

At the mention of it being JJ’s idea, you kept the pride you felt for him to yourself and let the others vocalize their praises.

With the tape officially in the Pogue's hands, you were all ready to go to the police station and hand it over to Shoupe. John B was in and out, as you all waited in the Twinkie. He walked out with a bright face you hadn’t seen on him in a while.

At the Chateau, you and the girls sat on the porch, huddled together on the old couch while the boys celebrated and cheered at the fact that Ward Cameron was now a criminal and would be arrested for his crimes.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Ward Cameron is going to jail!” JJ’s excitement resounded throughout the Chateau and out the open window.

You and Kie smiled fondly, while Sarah’s face was crestfallen. You couldn’t blame her but you weren’t going to shut down any celebration of her dad’s new status.

“Do you regret it?” You ask her.

“No,” She says honestly. “He deserves all of it, and I know that.”

“He’s your dad, I get it,” Kie chimes in. “I’m sure it sucks to be in the middle.”

Sarah’s new phone rings and you had no doubt it was a phone call from the one who gifted it to her.

~~~

The police were on the streets were well on their way to Tannyhill, and so were you and the rest of the Pogues. John B sped through as fast as he could, you were sure if the cops hadn’t been otherwise preoccupied, he would have been stopped. The six of you peered over the concrete wall to the side of the Cameron's yard, where several cop cars were parked.

“Screw it, I’m going over,” John B braced his hands to hop the wall.

JJ planted himself, sitting on the wall to give the girls a boost, Kie went, then Sarah. When it got to you, you hesitated and you could tell he did too but you went for it anyway.

All of you successfully over the wall, you heard Wheezie asking why there were police there. Sarah jogged forward and hugged her, telling her to go inside. You all followed the sight of police officers on the dock, Ward Cameron’s yacht, floating on the water.

“Dad!” Sarah shouted. “What are you doing?”

“Sarah, what are you doing baby, you can’t be here!” Ward pulled a lever to lift the anchor.

“Dad, please don’t leave!”

Ward ignored her and entered the helm, and suddenly the world seemed to stop as ‘My Druthers’ had exploded.

Chills ran through your body in disbelief at what had just happened. You witnessed John B’s face processing, Sarah gasped, screaming her dad's name, reaching out for him she sunk to the ground sobbing. Topper had come from literally nowhere, holding her as she cried.

Your heart bled for Sarah but your terror was finally over, Ward is dead. The nightmare was over, it felt like you had the closure you needed to move on with your life.

~~~

Chapter 17

Taglist:

@deanwherescas - @thtbwltts - @nerdypartytrashpsychic - @random-girl-army - @wisegirlies - @instabull - @sexyfoxlady - @bubs-world - @sdawn03 - @mendesclines - @obx-pogues-4-life - @mentalforfics - @p-prettybitch - @namacissi - @dczedhee - @inkandpen22 - @royalavenger - @ayeitsjustmee - @80strashbag - @onlyangel-444 - @freds-slut - @poppet05 - @itsjuststaticnoises - @ahnneyong - @lovepizza567 - @jasminfelling - @rana03 - @rana030 - @loki-loveer - @lostinatimeline - @boldlypessimistic - @clinelyn - @a-j-stuffs - @jbassettjmaybank

(if your name is crossed that means tumblr won't let me tag you)

#jj maybank x reader #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj obx imagine #jj x reader #jj x you #jj fanfiction #jj x y/n #jj maybank x y/n #jj outer banks #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank #obx x reader #obx jj #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x routledge! reader

[queerfanfiction]

LUCIFER X READER REQUEST!

Hey, there! How are you?

I was wondering if you could write a Lucifer x Reader fanfiction where reader is an exorcist who keeps troubling Lucifer's plans of spreading hell till "hell is all there is" to the point the ruler of hell decides they have to deal with her personally.

How it develops is up to you! Thank you so much for your time 💛

Possessed

Prompt is shown above. :)

Word count: 3.4k Content warning: some blood, violence/branding, corruption kink?, finger sucking, just generally Lucifer being a little bitch they/them pronouns used for Lucifer and God

Lucifer half heartedly attempts to remember which soul the demon in front of them was tasked with corrupting. They can’t be bothered to coddle failure. Hell had rules.

“Kneel before your Lord,” Mazikeen commands in the direction of the insolent demon. Lucifer hears shuffling and bony knees hitting the black, marble floor of the throne room.

“What a pleasure to have you back so soon. Eager for another soul, perhaps?” Lucifer’s voice rings out, back turned to the interaction, denoting anything but pleasure at the exchange. To be truthful, Lucifer enjoyed making their subjects squirm beneath them.

“No, my Lord. There has been a complication. The soul I secured is to be exorcised.”

“Then you have not secured it,” the ruler of Hell denounced.

Lucifer finally turns to look upon the demon knelt before them. “Rise.” When the demon carefully stands upright, Lucifer still maintains a good measure of height above them.

“Demons have tempted mortals effortlessly for eons. What power has an exorcist in this venture?” Lucifer’s tone was even as they soliloquized.

Mortals and their complications…they seemed so inconsequential, so unimportant. Mortals are but tiny ants let loose upon the Earth, so far away, and yet Lucifer could smite them—crush them right then and there. Lucifer could end every problem by crushing their faith, turning them onto a hellish path instead.

Fearful to speak out of turn, the demon listens to Lucifer carry on, “Devils and fiends have not struggled to secure a soul due to an exorcist since 1572.”

Stammering, the subject in front of Lucifer exclaims, “My liege, I have attempted to derail the purification and have not been successful.”

“You disappoint me” is articulated before the demon can finish speaking. With a wave of Lucifer’s hand, a dark pit opens up behind the pleading follower of Hell. Mazikeen strides forward and kicks the beast into the cell below. Once finished, Lucifer summons another demon to resume the task.

—

In the coming weeks, two more intended souls were wretched away from Hell’s grasp. With their hands atop a circular table of fire, leaned forward in seething rage, Lucifer mouthed, “What is the meaning of this?”

Utilizing demons lower in the Hell’s hierarchy proved inadequate, a waste of time, resulting in failure. Lucifer would tend to the matter themselves. With another wave of their fingers, Lucifer materialized an image of the most recent soul in question, waiting to review who this challenging exorcist was. As they watched, they considered the circumstances.

True, formidable exorcists are few and far between; most are diluted versions of powerful characters lost to legend. Recalling past exorcisms throughout history, most were vicious attempts to control and punish women. That, or political propaganda weaponized in religious divides that only strengthened Lucifer’s numbers.

In watching the latest soul through the conjured mist, Lucifer spots you enter quietly and approach the wooden, four poster bed with a possessed body on it. You give the young woman lying there a drink of water and stroke hair away from her eyes that was kept glued to her forehead by sweat. You refuse to let the exorcism irreparably damage the body caught in the conflict. You step away to begin reciting your prayers and rites.

“God arises; Their enemies are scattered and those who hate Them flee before Them. As smoke is driven away, so are they driven; as wax melts before the fire, so the wicked perish at the presence of God.”

Lucifer then watches the exorcist’s eyes go white, glazed over in a trance pulling them from their corporeal form, leaving a shell behind momentarily. Your innate power radiating through even the mist Lucifer is peering through. In a murmur that was barely audible, Lucifer vocalizes, “Interesting…”

Curiosity overpowering anger, Lucifer decides they want to meet you face to face. Rather, they will demand an audience. They appear silently in the corner of the unusually barren room, eyes not moving from the form of the exorcist before them.

After a few minutes, Lucifer grows disinterested in the lack of change since or acknowledgement of their presence. In defiance of this face, Lucifer leans into theatrics, morphing the atmosphere before them. The interior walls begin to rot, the wood of the bed posts collecting corrosive shades of grey and black. Several spots in the corners of the walls and floor ooze with pitch black tar, bubbles popping and hissing, eating away at the perfection, at the peacefulness that once was present. Darkness looms, heavy, greedy, waiting to sink its teeth into its victims.

Light begins to seep from your pores until the very room seems to ceast to exist. Lucifer, obstinate as ever, makes no attempts to shield their eyes until the glare, the pure brightness threatens their vision.

Celestial magic. Just who are you, exorcist? Lucifer contemplates with a grimace at being confronted with the divine. Wings flap, and Lucifer vanishes before your eyes open, though you felt their presence.

You breathe softly, lifting your eyelids to the room before you. Nothing out of the ordinary, as if Lucifer’s influence had never bled into the space to begin with.

Back in Hell, Lucifer patrols the open marbled ledge repetitively, lost in thought. If Lucifer could not return to the Silver City, they would remake Hell on Earth, corrupt until Hell is all there is. What good was God’s kingdom if there were no followers, no believers?

Lucifer vows to start with you—to discern your specific ability to beckon souls away from the tempting lure of malfeasance and damnation. Lesser demons could not halt your exorcisms, as they were all in a struggle of strength and faith. Lucifer would tempt and seduce you instead. Who could resist Lucifer Morningstar, once God’s favorite and the most beautiful of all angels? Having decided a course of action, Lucifer kept tabs on you, learning your routine. Manipulating a mortal’s soul into your workload, they planned to intervene in your next exorcism.

Mazikeen takes note of Lucifer’s drifting attentions. No longer is the Lord of Hell opting for their usual entertainments or pleasures. No swordsmanship. No tournaments. No feasts with the assembled Lords of Hell. When Mazikeen of the Lilim witnesses Lucifer’s spying on you, she implores, “What will you do, my Lord?”

Deducing your importance in God’s Plan, sinister, Machiavellian features emerge on their face as they admit, drawing out the final syllables, “Something that will make God absolutely livid.”

—

Lucifer once again materializes off to the side as you prepare for the exorcism taking place in an hour. The exorcist heaves a knowing sigh and gently rubs at the back of her neck, feeling the tense muscles underneath.

“Collar too tight?” Lucifer’s voice flows outward, its cavalier tone wrapping against your face like a delicate ribbon.

“I had wondered when we would meet,” you forced out in a steady rhythm. You had to focus on not being effected by Lucifer’s bewitching voice.

“Not surprised or moved at our encounter? I’m wounded.”

You mustered the restraint to ignore the bait and turn your back to the archangel, a daring action. Offended that their prey was foolish enough to deny them, Lucifer moves closer to you.

“I wished to identify who exactly was diverting my souls. I didn’t expect to discover a pretty thing like you.”

“They are not yours, Lightbringer. They belong to our Sovereign of Heaven,” you oppose, as if the conversation you two were having were about as something mundane as the weather. A glint of animosity was present in Lucifer’s eyes.

In the vaulted church dormitory where the exorcism was now occurring, you gesture to a few of the extra bodies in the room to help restrain the flailing, possessed subject before you. News media liaisons, Catholic priests and other members of the clergy, family members to the possessed person were present. This crowd was a stark comparison to many of your previous private exorcisms.

The young boy in question had been unwilling to cooperate thus far—something your heart broke over. No. You should clarify…the demon speaking through the boy had a commanding hold on him. The boy himself was innocent and deserved to be fought for valiantly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his mother weeped into someone’s chest.

Lucifer walks among the room slowly, and it seems that only you are able to perceive their presence here. An uneasy feeling overtook you, but you soldiered on, determined to aid the poor soul in question. Even with the added hands, the boy is writhing around and screaming.

Preparing your cross for its duty in the ceremony, you begin, “I exorcise thee, creature of salt, by the living God, by the true God, by the Holy God, and—“

Lucifer creeps behind you as you whisper your prayers, muttering obscenities into your ear, raising the hairs on your neck and arms. “You’re a good little disciple, aren’t you? If you were mine, I’d make sure you knew that you were pleasing me in this life rather than expect you to wait for salvation.”

Suppressing a chill, you conclude, “…by the God who by the prophet Eliseus commanded thee to be cast into the water.” Your eyes glance around the room to determine whether or not anyone noticed how challenging completing the rites was for you.

Frustrated at the unforeseen control you displayed, Lucifer’s irritation grew hot and radiated outward. A scream tears through you as you feel your skin burn and slough off in the center of your palms, revealing a demonic sigil. Not just any mark; it was Lucifer’s. Lucifer branded you.

—

At your next scheduled exorcism, of course the fallen angel was present. You prayed for strength, knelt beside an altar with your hands raised slightly above you, gripping a rosary and matching cross. From this angle, the blistered burns healing on her palms were semi-visible.

“You wear my mark well,” Lucifer praises.

You stomach drops, and you hope Lucifer’s powers don’t include the ability to notice your heartbeat begin to pick up. Evenso, you do not speak and continue practicing stillness as your work.

“All you need to do is ask,” you posit to the formidable being behind you.

“Ask what?”

Calmly, you explain, “To be saved.”

Taken aback, Lucifer briefly allows shock and discomfort to show on their face. They were expecting you to break down, allow their influence into you.

They compose themselves, give you a wry smile, and laugh in your face. “You think I want to be saved?” They spit at your feet and are gone in the next moment, not bothering to stay to protest the exorcism.

Two more sessions where you work to exorcize a demon from the same individual pass without any intrusion from the Lord of Hell. The gnawing curiosity to know what Lucifer was thinking came over you as you washed dishes with a sponge at your kitchen sink. The warm water your hands were submerged in felt relaxing—almost safe. Letting the plate you were holding fall under the water and sink down, you close your eyes and haphazardly thumb the tender areas of your palms.

You allow yourself to picture Lucifer in all their glory, their curled, blonde locks falling over their forehead reminiscent of a beautiful cherub statue. How the corners of their lips turned slightly upwards when they were amused or challenged. When their piercing blue eyes call outward for a subject to meet them. The way their hands converge and play upon each other like they are in a graceful dance. Their full, parted lips… You let out a small moan.

“You’re naive for thinking I can be saved,” a soft voice intervenes.

Your eyes wretch open, feeling like a small child caught in the act of disobeying. Your cheeks gain a bit of color, and your hands reach up to the cross around your neck. It was as if thinking of the fallen angel and touching their marks on your skin had manifested them. Coming back to yourself quickly and trying to find something to say, you relent, “Maybe.”

A moment passes. You consider how gentle Lucifer’s voice sounded; you’ve never heard it like that before. You are wary of what the softness means, but you didn’t want to jeopardize the possibility of hearing it again. After giving it some thought, you finally propose, “It is naive not to hope.”

This meeting is the first time Lucifer has visited you outside of your work as an exorcist. It makes you nervous. You knew you were called upon to do God’s work—to expel demons. You even knew this would encourage demonic forces to seek you out. Demons were nothing new in your life, whether religious or not. But Lucifer Morningstar taking an interest in you? That was dangerous.

Why did the Lord of Hell insist on dragging out your death? With a flutter of their porcelain hands they could destroy you and everything you’ve ever touched.

—

Each time Lucifer laid their eyes on you, they wanted to have their way with you, make you submit to them. Your defiance in acknowledging the sovereignty of Hell, continuing to spur on Lucifer by your exorcisms, only made them desire your submission even more. The rapture and ecstasy that Lucifer would experience when you choose to worship at their feet over God’s could rival the Silver City itself.

Seducing a truly pure soul—a deeply faithful believer of God—would keep Lucifer high for hundreds of years. Many have described Lucifer as a deceiver, a hinderer, wicked one, imposter, accuser, ruler of darkness, and finally devourer of angels, demons, and mortals. What is a human exorcist in comparison?

Noting subtle signs of attraction in your physique and behavior when they were present, Lucifer was delighted to ramp up their tactics.

They began trailing their fingertips across your shoulders, locking eyes with you hungrily from across the pews, and using filthily sexual language around you, often commenting on the curves of your body or how supple your breasts looked. At one point, Lucifer pressed the front of their black leather ensemble against your back as you practiced a sermon at the podium.

When this occurred late one Saturday night, you were desperate to maintain control of your limbs, to not act upon any of the thoughts that intruded and overstayed their welcome. To stave off temptation, you turned to your most cherished Bible quotes for strength.

“Needing to rely on your faith, little exorcist?” Lucifer purred while circling you like a stalking dire wolf. One of their surprisingly soft wings caressed your face. “Suggesting you otherwise want to sin, yes?”

Your press your eyes closed as hard as you are able to and keep reciting verses. You articulate outwardly,

"Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you. Matthew 17:20.”

With a chuckle, as if there is an inside joke at hand that you are not privy to, Lucifer counters your verses with their own excerpts from the Bible.

“Your navel is perfectly formed like a goblet filled with mixed wine. Between your thighs lies a mound of wheat bordered with lilies. Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.”

Lucifer’s voice was melodic and mesmerizing, taking extra care with each word uttered. They continued with a smirk, “Song of Solomon 7:1-3, if you want to recount it later in bed alone.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn on your heels towards Lucifer. Your eyes found theirs in determination. You hold their gaze while you indicate your resistance, “Isaiah 41:10. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Unwilling to accept defeat and discerning your dwindling control, Lucifer’s hooded eyes, full of desire, did not leave yours. Their advances felt positively tortuous to rebuff. Their voice rang out again as they stepped towards you,

“Your stature is like that of the palm; your breasts are clusters of fruit. I said, ‘I will climb the palm tree, and take hold of its fruit.’”

Nearing the end of their verse, sounding more like poetry than the religious text you knew and studied, Lucifer stopped inches from you, lowering their head until their lips were hovering above your own. Time warped. The closeness happened so quickly, like a pounce, yet it could not happen fast enough as the sensual words floated around you both—charging the air.

Assured you would soon feel the weight of Lucifer’s mouth on your own, you shut your eyes guiltily. You knew you would let it happen.

Nothing. Not yet. A whimper arose in your chest.

After moments of painful anticipation with only Lucifer’s hot breath against your own, you spontaneously finished the distance. You acted without thought, acting on urge alone, as if there was a space in the world at that moment where you weren’t a committed exorcist and they weren’t the fearsome Lord of Hell.

Lucifer’s lips tasted sweet, unlike anything you would have imagined from the cautionary tales told throughout generations regarding the figure. Adrenaline coursed through you, aiding the fire and urgency of which you moved against their mouth, deepening the kiss before Lucifer could.

Contrary to the verse just proclaimed by the fallen angel, it was you who climbed up onto the other, searching for a way to bring your bodies closer. You wrapped your legs around Lucifer’s torso, miraculously missing their wings with your feet. At this, Lucifer heaves your body toward the closest wall in the parish, wanting to trap you between them and the rough stone.

Grabbing onto Lucifer’s neck and shoulders made the wounds on your hands ache. However, you pushed forward, finding more pleasure than pain in running your hands through the tall devil’s blonde hair, tugging every so often to elicit a pleased groan from them. Wanting more, wanting to give back in kind the torture you received these last few weeks, your kisses turn into nips until you bite harder and lean backwards. Your teeth scrape at and pull Lucifer’s bottom lip to mark it deep red with blood.

Instead of fury at the act, Lucifer breathes a chuckle, seemingly approving of your decision. Their eyes seemed glassy and intoxicated at the sudden assault you displayed. Their fingers reach up to touch the blood. Instead of wiping away or discarding the blood, Lucifer had other plans. Two bloody fingers found their way into your mouth, almost gagging you. Without missing a beat, you begin to swirl your saliva around the long fingers before lightly sucking each digit clean.

Invigorated, Lucifer wraps their other hand around your neck, applying pressure to each side with their fingers and thumb, wary to not crush your windpipe. Finding the right balance in exerting their inhuman strength in sexual acts with mortals was certainly an endeavor. …Not that they often mingled with those so unworthy.

Lucifer wanted to burn the image of you squirming in their grip along with their fingers invading your mouth over every edge of the earth and then recreate it nightly. At that moment, their wings wrapped around you, securing you in a warm, silky cocoon—able to feel the strong muscles of them holding you up. Lucifer needed their hands back to begin to undress you, hurried in their actions. As you watched their hands work at your collar and subsequent buttons, you felt entirely hidden away from the world and surrounded only by the mesmerizing once-angel. You were thoroughly captivated and wondered if this was Lucifer’s plan all along. You then wondered if that even mattered.

“Let’s move this to another place of worship, shall we?” Lucifer advanced with a grin and an air that could have been synonymous with a checkmate in a chess match.

—

Lucifer had won. Defiled you. Tainted your earnest and sincere pursuit for the holy, had possessed that which expels. Still, they could not cast you aside. They would have to deal with you and the exorcised souls sooner or later; this Lucifer knew. They have not yet spread Hell to the ends of the known universe. They aren’t even close, but Lucifer now had you. Hell could wait a bit longer.

“Go ahead with your exorcism tomorrow. You’ve earned it.”

#my first ever request!!!! #thank you for giving me a chance #and letting me write for lucifer for the first time #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer the sandman #gwendoline christie #request #requests #not proofread #i was too excited to finish it #possessed #lucifer morningstar (the sandman) #lucifer (the sandman)

[dvrcos]

14 for Kevin Day ??

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Okay so I actually think Kevin probably has some of the worst fashion sense ever (we just don’t hear about it in canon bc Neil also doesn’t give a fuck abt clothes). His childhood didn’t allow him space to explore or care about his clothes so he joins the Foxes and it’s so evident he doesn’t know shit about fashion and Allison drags him to a mall ASAP

I think, overall, Kevin has a very elevated basics style yaknow (elevated in the sense that he’s rich as fuck do his basics are expensive as hell). Like he mostly wears plain t-shirts and hoodies paired with jeans and running shoes. And he wears A LOT, like an excessive amount, of Trojans and Foxes merch. Or he wears athleisure

And by athleisure I mean the sluttiest little running shorts and cut off shirts you’ve ever seen in your life

When it comes to formal wear though he does have an idea what he’s doing. He knows a strange amount about how suits should fit and can differentiate between semi-formal, formal and black tie without a second thought. He has an array of tailored suits and formal clothes in various colors from various designer brands (my little pretentious asshole)

I think he also tries to avoid wearing black as much as possible or tries to wear very little. And attending a school whose main color is highlighter orange definitely helps with that. He goes with a lot of earth tones and creams and just overall lighter colors

Character ask game here

#I also think his two track mind doesn’t allow space for him to worry about clothes #so he keeps it simple #but also spends an obscene amount of money because he doesn’t really consider there being a different option #reading tsc made me think a lot about Kevin after he left the Raven and joined the foxes #aftg #all for the game #kevin day

[orionsstory]

that kind of devotion can't be ignored | Anarcia (5)

A/N: did not intend to drop this today but !! surprise! also happy birthday to my dog :) don't forget to check it out on ao3!

-

"So, long story short she broke up with me because I forgot to text her for like, 26 hours! That's not even that long!"

"Amethyst, that's like a whole ass day. It was also the 3rd time that week."

Amethyst rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at Robin. "So what! I said I was a bad texter! Everyone knows that!" She retorted, gathering the four mugs from the kitchen and carefully balancing them in her arms. She made her way to the living room, setting the mugs in front of the other three girls gathered in the living room.

"I don't know, I think I'm on Robin's side. If a girl didn't text me for 26 hours, I'd think she's ghosting me." Luxx added in, Amethyst rolling her eyes at the other girl dramatically.

"That's because you're on your phone all the time! Come on Marcia, you get what I'm saying, right?"

Marcia gave her a pity smile, sending the other two girls into a fit of laughter, Amethyst faked hurt as she dramatically collapsed onto the chair. "No one understands me!" She whined, "She still has my glitter pen...I miss it."

"You know, for someone whose job is to answer phones all day, you kind of suck at answering yours." Robin hummed, sipping on her drink. "But that was a month ago, you gotta move on girl. What about that bass player from Peacock's? Didn't you say she was hot?"

Robin worked as a designer alongside Luxx, the two first meeting when they interned for the brand together back in college. Her black curly hair was tied into a ponytail with two thin braids framing her face, dressed in a white, long-sleeve crop top and baggy cargo pants. Robin was the most put-together of the friend group, she was ambitious and knew what she wanted, something Marcia found very admirable about her.

"Yeah, she was hot, but she's fucking my ex, so like..." Amethyst shrugged in response.

Amethyst was another one of Luxx's coworkers, an aspiring popstar who worked as a secretary for the brand in the meantime. She and Robin had been friends since high school, so when Luxx and Robin bonded on their internships, the group of four seemed to naturally come together and have been inseparable since. Her curly blonde hair fell just past her shoulder, and her bright and eccentric Y2K style was evident from the apartment decor and her clothes- today, a bright orange sweater and a pair of cow print pants.

"That hasn't stopped you before." Luxx cut in, causing Amethyst to groan. "Seriously girl, you need to get laid."

"Oh please, you're one to talk." Amethyst retorted back, Luxx raising her eyebrow in confusion. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about! Robin and I agree you and Irene need to get it over with and just hate fuck already! Like oh my god!"

Marcia watched as Luxx's face changed from one of confusion to one of disgust in a near instant. She almost choked on her drink from surprise. "WHAT? You can't be serious. Irene?" She looked between the two girls, her tone dripping with disgust. "Robin, you can't be serious. I'd expect this from Amy, but not you!"

Robin shrugged as Luxx's eyes bore into her, "I think it would help your relationship. You two argue all the time, and I, for one, would like some peace and quiet around the office." She turned away from Luxx, who was rendered speechless from shock, to address Marcia, "Marsh, how much have you heard about Irene?"

Marcia paused for a moment, recounting all the times she'd heard of Irene. "Well, now that you mention it, Luxx you do talk about her almost every day-"

"MARSHALL!" Luxx interrupted, "I'm hurt! We argue all the time because she's insufferable, she's always making these little comments to rile me up!" Luxx briefly paused before she continued, "Let me be clear. I would not fuck her if she were the last person on this Earth. If she offered me a million dollars I wouldn't." Luxx flipped her hair behind her, crossing her arms as she huffed. Marcia giggled, ignoring the glare Luxx sent her.

"She told me she teases you because she likes to get a rise out of you," Amethyst chimed in, "I told her the same thing I told you, and she might have rolled her eyes at me, but she didn't say no!"

Luxx rolled her eyes and sighed, "Whatever, it's not happening in ten million years. Why are we so focused on me all of a sudden? What about you Robin? You have any exciting escapades lately?"

"Well," Robin hummed, sipping her drink, "I've met a very nice woman. But we're taking it slow, some nice classy dates, I wanna give it some time before we make it official."

Amethyst rolled her eyes, "She's lying. She's fucking whipped for Aura."

Luxx and Marcia both ooohed at the name drop, looking back towards Robin.

"How do you know her name? And I am not whipped, that's such a lie."

"Well, I met her when I was in the kitchen having a snack, it was midnight and you kicked the poor girl out. The second time it happened, I thought I should at least know her name if this was going to be a regular occurrence. Plus, you were baking her cupcakes a few days ago- you're down bad for her, you can't lie to me!"

Robin blushed, "Oh. Well, maybe we weren't as sneaky as I thought..."

"Aura's great though," Amethyst continued, "super strong, by the way. Like I think she's a bodybuilder or something. I made her move my giant mirror, you guys know the one, so she gets a pass in my book."

Marcia smiled, "Well that's great Robin! I'm happy for you, she sounds super sweet! We'll have to meet her sometime, preferably when Amy isn't using her for manual labor."

"Yeah, she sounds great, but..." Luxx smirked, "I have to ask...is she better than Amethyst?"

Amethyst and Robin both groaned, drowning out Luxx's cackling. "Oh my god, we dated for like two weeks when we were 14!" Amethyst huffed, playfully swatting at Luxx. "You'll never let us live that down, are you? I should have never told you." Robin rolled her eyes, sighing.

"Oh, come on Luxx- we've all had questionable crushes before!" Marcia laughed, growing a bit more nervous when Luxx shot her a mischievous smile.

"Oh, like the one you have on your 'one true soulmate', Lotus?"

Marcia's face burned bright red as Amy and Robin whipped their attention towards her. There was only a moment of silence before the other girls began to bombard her with questions, Luxx laughing the entire time. The girls continued to bombard her with questions, which caused her to blush more, which only amped up their energy.

"Guys, guys! Give her a chance to speak! She can't tell you about this mystery woman if you guys keep bombarding her."

Marcia sighed with relief as the two backed off, looking at her expectantly. She composed herself before she spoke, "Well, Luxx is being dramatic...I didn't say she was my 'one true soulmate', but-"

"Marshall that is such bullshit, you literally burst through the apartment telling me you had found the love of your life."

Marcia's face grew red, followed by laughter from Amethyst and Robin. "Okay, maybe I did. In my defense, I had a lot of adrenaline! But anyways, Lotus is this local superhero, she's super strong and sweet...she's also really hot."

"So how'd you guys meet? Come on, spill!" Amethyst prompted, bouncing her leg in excitement.

Marcia recounted the story to the two girls in front of her, from her attempted kidnapping to Lotus (literally) sweeping her off of her feet. Robin leaned back in her chair, "So you don't know her identity?" Marcia shook her head, "No...not yet at least. But we didn't meet that long ago, so it doesn't feel too important right now." Robin nodded.

"So how do you even talk to her? Do you send up, like, the bat signal when you want to talk to her?" Amethyst asked, Marcia rolled her eyes and laughed. "No, no, it's nothing like that. I have to message her friend whenever I want to see her. And yes, I already stalked through her entire social media and haven't seen anyone that looks like her."

Amethyst hummed, "I don't know, I need to see her. Getting involved with a superhero can be dangerous, if you're putting your life on the line she better be smoking hot." Robin nodded along, "I agree, especially if she's the "love of your life"." Marcia groaned but obliged, scrolling through her phone to find the one decent picture she had of Lotus.

She passed it over to the girls, "So, this is from a few years ago, she looks a bit different...maybe I can take a photo with her." She suggested, watching in anticipation as Robin and Amethyst scanned the photo. Amethyst slowly nodded, "Alright...she's hot, I mean look at those muscles." Marcia blushed, "Well, I'm glad I have your approval. I think you guys would really like her."

"Just try not to get caught up in too much trouble, promise?"

"I promise, Robin."

-

A few days later, Marcia trudged into the apartment much like she had the past few days. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the couch. Luxx leaned over the couch, "Rough rehearsal?" Marcia groaned in reply, "Yeah...it was a really choreography-heavy rehearsal...my legs are so sore." Luxx hummed in understanding, "Well lucky for you, your best friend in the whole entire world made you pasta. So come on, get up!" She patted Marcia's shoulder, the blonde slowly rising.

Once they had sat down at the counter, Marcia recounted the trials and tribulations of her day to Luxx, who in turn did the same. "Have you seen Lotus recently?" Luxx casually threw in, making Marcia stop mid-pasta bite. She paused, her brain groggily trying to remember the last time she spoke to Lotus. "Oh god...no, I haven't spoken to her in like...a week. I've been so busy with rehearsal." Her mind raced- does Lotus think she doesn't like her anymore? She chided herself for her ignorance, burying her face in her hands.

"Why don't you just ask to meet her and explain what happened?" Luxx suggested, "I'm sure she'd understand. I mean, Broadway is a big deal after all." Marcia nodded, temporarily reassured. After she had cleared the dishes, she shot Sasha a text asking to meet with Lotus. By the time she was about to go to sleep, she still hadn't gotten a text back.

She lay surrounded by the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. What if Lotus hated her? Didn't want to see her anymore? She tossed and turned, trying to rid her mind of these thoughts. She huffed, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind. She knew she was worrying too much, Luxx would tell her as much- but she couldn't stop overthinking. Soon enough though, exhaustion took over and whisked her off to sleep.

-

The blaring of her alarm jolted Marcia out of her sleep, fumbling with her phone to turn it off. She tried to stifle a yawn as she looked at her notifications, one in particular sticking out to her.

'Sasha Colby: Lotus said she'll be there ;)'

She felt relief instantly flood through her body, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. With that, she could go about her day a little easier. She found her day seemed to pass by faster as she waited for that evening. Even rehearsal seemed to be a bit easier- although she still found herself exhausted after.

She soon found herself back at her apartment, fussing over her hair as she put the finishing touches on her outfit. She glanced at the clock, quickly shrugging on her jacket and lacing up her shoes as she headed for the door. She gave a quick goodbye to Luxx before heading out onto the bustling street.

Marcia arrived at their meeting spot, the building beside the alleyway she was almost kind of kidnapped in. She had mixed feelings about it, to say the least- they should probably meet somewhere else, but she pushed those thoughts to the side. She fiddled with her headband as she eagerly waited and watched for the girl.

"Hi, doll."

Marcia jumped as Lotus' voice appeared behind her, "Why do you always do that?! Gosh, you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days!" Lotus laughed as Marcia pouted at her, "I'm serious!"

"Oh c'mon, don't make that face! I think it's only fair considering you've been ignoring me." Lotus teased, leaning against the wall. 

Marcia flushed, "I'm sorry about that- I've been so busy with rehearsals, I just lost track of time. I swear I meant to talk to you earlier."

"Don't apologize, I figured it was something like that. I just wanted to tease you, you're cute when you're flustered."

Marcia felt her face go red as she struggled to form a reply, all while Lotus giggled at her reaction. Lotus spoke up instead, "Why don't you tell me all about rehearsals? You're doing that one show, the one about the blonde girl, right? Is it Mean Girls?"

"Legally Blonde, but you were close! Are you sure you don't mind? I can go kind of," Marcia paused, "well, kind of overboard when it comes to theatre."

"No, I don't mind at all! I want to hear about the things you're passionate about."

Marcia couldn't hide the smile creeping onto her face as she launched into the show's details- how rehearsal was going, trying on costumes, and the dreaded upcoming tech week. Lotus sat intently listening the whole time, nodding her head along and smiling at Marcia's grand gestures. She was talking about the new blocking they had received for the next number when Lotus interrupted.

"Wait, why do you have to learn two versions?"

"Because I'm Elle's, the lead, understudy. I basically have to learn her choreography and the ensembles just in case our Elle can't go on."

Lotus was silent for a moment, processing what Marcia had just told her.

"So you have to like...learn double of everything?"

Marcia nodded.

"That's fucking impressive. Seriously, I mean...wow."

Marcia beamed brightly at the compliment, "Thanks! You should come see the show, uh, if you want to that is."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, doll."

The butterflies in her stomach erupted, leaving her speechless and her face bright red. Lotus smirked at her state, which Marcia rolled her eyes at.

"Oh!" Lotus gasped as if she just remembered something, "I want to show you something. Um, if you want to. You don't have to, I get it-"

"Are you kidding? I'd love to!"

Lotus grinned and lifted Marcia into her arms before taking off into the sky. She wrapped her arms around Lotus' neck, cheering as they took off through the sky. They weren't in the sky for long, as they touched down on top of the Manhattan bridge. Lotus held Marcia steady as she set her feet down, laughing nervously at the height.

The wind whipped her hair as she looked down, the cars looking like tiny dots passing below them. She clutched onto Lotus without even thinking about it, who wrapped her arm around her waist.

"This...this is pretty cool." Marcia exhaled, laughing again in disbelief.

"That's not even the best part- look."

Lotus guided Marcia's face with her hand to look towards the sky- a beautiful pink and orange as the sun began to set. Marcia's eyes shone as she took it all in, gasping at its beauty. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she had seen a sunset, or at least one with such a beautiful view like this.

They stood there, together, until the sun had set and the sky was purple.

"Pretty cool, right?"

Marcia nodded, "You know how to impress a girl."

Lotus smirked, very proud of herself. "I used to hang out here and watch the sunset all the time before my shifts. Gave me time to clear my head and focus on the positive. I'm glad I got to share it with you."

Marcia softened, leaning closer into Lotus. "I'm glad you did too."

Lotus rested her head on top of Marcia's, staying like that for a minute before she spoke again.

"I should get you back, I have to go on patrol soon..."

"Do you have to?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Quit pouting, you're gonna make me feel worse!" She laughed, playfully squeezing Marcia who giggled in return.

"Wait! We should take a photo to remember this!" She suggested, eagerly pulling out her phone.

"You're just trying to rope me into spending more time with you!" Lotus teased, yet she still leaned into Marcia and posed for the photo, throwing up a pair of bunny ears behind Marcia's hair.

The camera flashed, capturing this small moment in time. Marcia sighed as she took in the tranquility of it all. She wished the moment could last forever, just the two of them. But it couldn't, not for the moment anyway.

"Will you bring me back sometime?"

"I will. I promise."

-

Marcia drifted off to sleep that night thinking of the bridge, the sunset, and Lotus. She felt like she was on cloud nine, the photo they had taken now set as her home screen. Luxx teased her for it and called her a sap, and maybe she was, but it made her heart flutter every time she looked at it. She felt on top of the world as she fell asleep that night.

#thatkindofdevotion #rupauls drag race #drag race #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr 15 #marcia marcia marcia #marcia x3 #anetra #anarcia #luxx noir london #amethyst #robin fierce #this chapter is mostly fluff and the girls girling #i love it though

[yellowhollyhock]

day 16 dance competition

Couldn’t resist making this about 03 Raph

post-canon, uhhh no trigger warnings this time I think. includes my take on 03 versions of various characters from other versions, not super developed here but very relevant.

It felt like the future.

Raph hated saying that, too, because it sounded like some cheesy tag line instead ot the specific type of headache he really wanted to describe.

It was the high ceilings, and being surrounded by machines he didn’t know the purpose of. Not to mention the uncomfortable suit he had to wear.

“I don’t know why we even have to come,” he said to Leo, half-hoping he’d persuade him to turn back. “I mean, Mikey and Donnie have jobs to do.”

“This is about building relationships,” Leo replied, though he didn’t sound thrilled either. “It’s the first time they’ve had potential off-world clients visit, and since most of their staff don’t have any experience with aliens, we need to be there as a buffer.”

“But Mikey’s already been studying all those cultures with Irma and Oyuki. Isn’t he in charge of being the buffer?”

“He studied the cultures so he could help plan music and a menu that wouldn’t start any wars. They’re still going to need our support in case anything goes wrong. Besides, our presence is symbolic. We’re two of only five people on earth who have ever met a Neutrino, even if it was in passing and we didn’t know it at the time.”

Raph knew that, but it was still unfair. Fugitoid was way more familiar with aliens.

“Yeah, well I bet there’s at least one other person,” he muttered darkly.

“Another important reason for is to be here,” Leo said seriously. “Even though April has government approval and protection, if Bishop somehow finds out—”

They both stopped short at the entrance to the meeting room. The outside wall had been let down as a balcony—with a safety net, something Leo had insisted on in the design phase—and the big conference table had been moved out to make room for a few smaller tables. The bright overhead lights were off, soft yellow tones lighting the room instead.

Leo gripped Raph’s arm nervously. “We’re very exposed this way.”

Raph reached over to pat him on the shell—and was interrupted by a screech and someone jumping onto his back.

“You guys are here! Can you believe we’re really doing an alien party? This is like straight out of Star Trek!”

“I really can’t believe it,” Raph assured him, unable to resist a fond smile. “I hope at least the food is better than on Star Trek.”

Mikey released them both, and they turned to face him. Raph frowned.

“Hey, how come you don’t have to wear a suit?”

Mikey was instead wearing a loose-fitting reflective jumpsuit with seams making hexagon patterns. Since it curved around his shell, he kind of looked like disco ball. He twirled happily.

“You like it? It’s the latest Neutrino fashion. Since I’m a cultural liaison April said I could wear their party clothes instead of ours!”

Raph looked at Leo. “Aren’t we cultural liaisons?”

Leo shrugged. “You wanna wear a disco ball?”

The fact that Raph thought about it for a second was a real testament to how uncomfortable their suits were. “No.”

Mikey laughed. “Come on, April and Fugitoid went up to meet them when they land, Donny’s briefing the staff in the break room. We want to all come in together ‘cause it’s more polite im their culture.”

They glanced at each other to confirm they both felt completely out of place, then followed Mikey.

In the break room, they found Irma, an older woman Raph was pretty sure was named Libby, and Timothy dressed in waitstaff uniforms, white aprons and loose black clothes. Casey wore a suit, Oyuki a black dress. Master Splinter wore a brand new blue robe. Donny was dressed like Leo and Raph, and looked about as nervous as them too.

“The Neutrinos are shapeshifters; they’ll explore their environment by shifting to match us, or other objects they find, so be mindful of what you grab. Remember, you’re all here because we trust you. We’ve done the impossible together before. Just be yourselves, and we’ve got your backs.”

Raph glanced sideways at Leo, unsurprised to see a soft smile. It was almost the same speech he’d given Don that morning. They gave each other thumbs up.

“Is it gonna give them a weird idea about earth for so many of the humans to be the waitstaff?” Oyuki pointed out as she glanced over the group.

Donny frowned thoughtfully. Unfortunately, Raph wasn’t quick enough to recognize an opportunity to change outfits. Leonardo was.

“I can be waitstaff. Timothy, trade me.”

Raph bit back a swear as he realized the opportunity he’d lost. Not only that, he was now the only ninja turtle present without a job.

Meanwhile, Timothy stood at attention, eyes wide. “It’s an honor, Leonardo Ninja Turtle!”

Leo tilted his head. “My last name is Splinterson. Do you know where the bathroom is?”

Timothy gave a very serious nod, and briskly led the way. Leo gave his brothers a backwards bewildered glance before following.

Casey clapped his hands. “Alright so, I guess we’re just waiting on word from the boss. Hope the landing’s going okay.”

“I hope after I spent this much time on my hair there at least some cute aliens my age,” Irma drawled, earning a few chuckles.

Master Splinter gave Raph a very serious look, putting a paw on his elbow. Raph leaned down a bit.

“Yeah, Sensei?”

“You seem particularly nervous, my son.”

“What, me? Nah. Just don’t like dressing up. And it’s kinda pointless, you know? I mean, I’m not exactly your average earth representative, and I don’t know about technology or alien culture. Not really a reason for me to be here.”

He crossed his arms protectively over his chest, realizing that while he had intended to dismiss Sensei’s concerns, he had instead confirmed how nervous he felt.

“I believe you know more about life from outer space and accepting those different from you than most people,” Master Splinter reassured him, “But regardless, you are here to support April and Donatello. They value your presence immensely, my son, and need your support.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He did know, but it was nice anyway, hearing it from someone else.

April and Donny just better be grateful he dressed in the worst kind of human clothes for a whole evening.

“Got her text,” Casey announced, just as Timothy and Leo reappeared. “Let’s go.”

So Raph tried to put his discomfort and insecurities out of his mind, and went to the weird business meeting party.

He gave polite nods and kept his distance. He would have liked to talk to Casey or Don, but both of them were occupied discussing recent work projects with interested aliens.

He looked around for Leo, wondering what there was to eat. He didn’t really want to ask Irma.

He spotted Leo across the room, holding a plate of appetizers and trying to explain food he didn’t understand himself to a bewildered alien.

He backed into something, and heard a surprised trill. Startled, he turned around to find a—uh, creature, with six insect-like limbs and a beak like a bird.

“Oh, uh, sorry.”

The Neutrino made a strange garbled sound. Raph took a half-step back, trying to decide if the tone seemed upset.

“You got a universal translator? I don’t have a universal translator. Were we supposed to get one?”

They dropped—or, looked more like, threw—a bright orange handkerchief at Raph’s feet.

He hesitated, thinking of what Don said about being careful what he picked up. Was that their friend? Had he hurt them when he bumped into them?

Keeping an eye on the insect-bird, he stooped to pick up the handkerchief. They leaned forward expectantly, so he went through with it and carefully handed it back.

Then they whirled and morphed into a turtle, matching Raph exactly, other than the orange handkerchief they held up.

Mikey appeared, beaming and clapping Raph on the back.

“She challenged you to a dance competition!”

“Say what.”

“Yeah yeah, it’s a big thing in their culture! We didn’t expect it to happen here because it’s usually for royalty. Hang on—hey Donny! Could you say into the translator that we need three judges for a dance competition?”

And that was how Raph found himself dancing with his clone, with Libby, Fugitoid, and a Neutrino who’d adopted a mostly human appearance, sat to judge. It wasn’t any kind of music he was familiar with, either.

It was shaping up to be one of the weirdest nights of his life, and that was saying something.

Oh, well, might as well make the most of it.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you since it’s your first time being a turtle.”

They matched him step for step.

“Alright, you get some pretty good footwork, but can you breakdance?”

They could breakdance.

“Here on earth we like to call this a moonwalk. You ever walked on the moon?”

Their moonwalk looked quite a bit different from his, and involved inflating their feet to make themselves float a little.

He talked less as the music picked up speed. There was no one else in the room; all he had to do was stay moving for longer than her.

When she was still doing spins and he was down to fist pumps, he fell to his knees in surrender. The music slowed to a stop.

“So what happens,” he panted, “If I lose?”

His clone knelt in front of him, then morphed into a humanoid figure to match her friend.

“Wow, you were great!”

He gaped. “You speak English?”

“We pick up languages pretty quickly,” her friend chirped happily. “You have to as a shapeshifter.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Raph acknowledged while his dance partner helped him to his feet.

The scores came in at a dead tie, mostly because Zak, the Neutrino judge, rated Raph so highly. Everyone was in good spirits, and by now all the Neutrinos appeared humanoid. A group of more official-looking ones were telling April they believed her technology would prove life-changing for their home planet. The dancer, Kala, said her and Zak would have to bring her friend Dask on their next visit, and that the three of them may even want to apply for a job here.

Raph listened to all of this with a detached satisfaction; maybe it was good he’d been here tonight, after all.

Donny leaned against him, a quiet show of gratitude.

“It’s been a weird night,” he said.

“Beyond weird,” Raph replied. “You owe me.”

Don gave him a crooked smile. “That’s fair. Want a laser gun?”

Raph shook his head. Don raised his eyebrows.

“What about a new bike?”

Raph motioned him closer so he could tell him quietly.

“Next time, no suit.”

Donny laughed out loud.

“You got it. And I’ll still throw in a new bike, just cause I like you.”

#tmnt #tmnt 2003 #2003 raph #march for raph #2003 donnie #2003 leo #2003 mikey #yellow writes #this got out of hand #i have created so many things for myself to explain #i think this took the longest to write of any promot so far and makes the least sense

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

batman recommendation anon!

i've been looking to get back into comics lately so i'd be up for a bigger series

i prefer a more serious tone but typically try to avoid gore simply for the sake of it

i don't know if this is canon to the comic books, but i like the kind of partnership between catwoman and batman in some of the movies

oh, ideal! this is such helpful information, thank you!

bearing in mind that these are some personal preferences, my taste is what it is, more recs are welcome but nobody give me shit about my shit:

Batman: Year One (Frank Miller and Mazzuchelli, 1987) - this is a short, 4-part series that locked down the new official origin story for Batman after Crisis on Infinite Earths. it's pretty serious but not gory, following Bruce and Gordon as joint protagonists as they each struggle through their first year protecting Gotham. Selina is also present whooping Bruce's ass before they ever become Batman or Catwoman, and if you want to see more of her side of things there's a Catwoman mini-series (Mindy Newell, J.J. Birch, and Michael Blair, 1989) that takes place alongside the events of Year One (warning for that one dealing much more heavily with the violence Selina was facing as a sex worker!). also I don't know how important the art is to you but I LOVE the art in year one, it's so moody and evocative and really makes the most of an extremely minimalist palette.

for serious, self-contained stories you really can't do better that Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale's triptych of the Long Halloween (1996), Dark Victory (2000), and When in Rome (2004). the Long Halloween is iconic for a reason, taking you on a tour through Gotham's rogues gallery early in Batman's career when costumed villains are just starting to overtake the old mob families with a newer, much more unpredictable breed of crime. the story is fairly simple - an unknown killer strikes each month on a holiday, and Batman, Gordon, and Harvey Dent are on the case - but sweeping and atmospheric. the sequel, Dark Victory, sees young Dick Grayson added to the Bat-family, and When in Rome follows Selina on a solo adventure to Italy seeking out information about Carmine Falcone. you only need a broad strokes understanding of Batman lore to follow along with the plots here, and Bruce and Selina's relationship in here is interesting and tense because they only know each other as Bruce and Selina, while Batman and Catwoman are still unsure how much they're on the same side. also I just really like how Loeb writes Selina, especially when she gets to be the star in When in Rome.

for a story that is part of the larger Batman narrative at the time but can be read as a standalone, I like Heat (Doug Moench and Russ Heath, 1993)! It's a 4-part story from Legends of the Dark Knight, a series whose rotating cast of writers and artists could introduce a brand new Batman story every few months. Heat is a pretty grounded crime story, featuring Batman, Catwoman, and Gordon all chasing a cat-themed serial killer while Gotham is in the grip of a crushing heatwave. aside from the costumed vigilantism of it all it's a relatively grounded story, with Catwoman dealing with the fallout of being a suspected murderer and Gordon having to quell racial tensions that arise in the city when the serial killer is suspected of being a Black man.

skipping WAY ahead in time, can I tell you about Their Dark Designs (James Tynion IV, Tony S. Daniel, Danny Miki, and Tomeu Morey, 2020). TDD runs from Batman vol. 3 issue #86-94 and is SUCH a fun story, centering on old plans that the Batman's fab four - Catwoman, Joker, Riddler, and Penguin - made in the early days of their crime careers coming back to bite everyone in the ass and rock Gotham to its fucking core. Bruce and Selina's relationship is very central, as she's officially made the leap to be more hero than anti-hero as she works alongside him, and it's very grounded in well-known characters while still serving up just a heap of premium bananagrams comic book bullshit. the plot is convoluted but a lot of fun, I had a great time with it and I infamously don't care for modern comics. this is important: you will be tempted to read what comes immediately after this. it's Joker War, and it's very bad. do not say you weren't warned.

lastly, if you want to get Catwoman-heavy I cannot recommend Catwoman: Lonely City (Cliff Chiang, 2022) nearly enough. although it takes place in a Gotham 20 years after Batman's death, Selina is still heavily influenced by her relationship with him and spends much of the series trying to puzzle out the legacy he left behind. it follows her fresh out of prison in a Gotham where Mayor Harvey Dent has outlawed costumed vigilantes and criminals alike, and you get to see Selina fighting to rebuild her life when the entire world around her has changed. you get middle-aged versions of classic characters - Selina, Dent, Barbara Gordon, Killer Croc, the Riddler - and some sparkling original characters - Edie Nygma, my beloved!!! - taking on a world after Batman, once again requiring very minimal knowledge on behalf of the reader to just sit back and enjoy the world. also, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that Cliff Chiang's art if fucking gorgeous.

#batblogging #bruce wayne #selina kyle

[prongsfootandco]

Canis Major

Day 27 of @prongsfoot-microfic

On AO3

_

The shop doesn’t look like much from the outside, with dirty brickwork and a hanging sign that has seen better days. In the window are a few basic designs to lure customers inside, but James knows that the artist prefers commissioned pieces. He’s seen some of his work around Diagon Alley. The magical tattoos are displayed proudly by their owners, snitches flying around their forearms, owls perching on their shoulders, and incantations glowing on their wrists. James has never really cared about tattoos before. The muggle variety bored him, as pretty as they are, they don’t match his need to be constantly changing. It’s why this new shop intrigues him. 

That and he’s heard the owner is the most gorgeous man to walk the earth. 

James pushes open the door to the shop, a chime sounding above him. He looks up to see a small bell, instead of the usual charmed variety. It’s a nice touch, cementing the weird fusion of muggle and magic that the shop’s brand promotes. 

“Hello? Mr Black?” James calls into the seemingly empty room. 

Inside it’s more spectacular. The walls are covered in portraits. Wizarding folk show off their one-of-a-kind tattoos, winking and smiling from their frames. The artwork is stunning, but the tattoos are next level. James goes from being vaguely curious about getting a tattoo to desperately wanting one, but he has no fucking idea what.. 

“James?” a tall man enters the room from the back of the shop, looking at a floating parchment beside him and then back at James. He’s wearing jeans and a band shirt, some muggle band that James’ doesn’t know. His black hair is tied up in a messy bun, with loose curls falling by his chin, and his eyes are lined with dark smudges. “Potter?”

“Yup, that’s me. Black, right?”

The man holds out his hand and James notices a series of dark dots covering his forearm. Compared to the designs on the wall, it seems so… boring - out of place on such a handsome individual. The smile he gives James is blinding. “Sirius, please. Did you want to get started?”

They relax on the sofas in one corner of the shop, figuring out what James wants, but he keeps getting distracted by Sirius’ arms. Firstly, because they’re well-toned, flexing as Sirius sketches on parchment, and secondly, the dots are a mystery that James can’t solve. After an hour, James can’t hold back his curiosity. He turns his attention away from the snitch as it weaves through a pair of stag antlers, and points at the dots. 

“So what’s that?”

Sirius’ quill freezes and his silver gaze meets James’. Smirking, he clicks his fingers and the lights go out. The dots glow a brilliant white, connected by now visible lines. “Canis Major.”

James is stunned, his design now seeming ridiculously complex next to the constellation - beautiful in its simplicity. 

Three years later, James has a matching version inked across his heart- a celebration of their wedding anniversary. 

#prongsfoot #bambibelle #james potter #sirius black

[earthyaries]

hi!!! I love your blog so much and think you’re amazing ☆ I’m submitting this for a style reading. I sent the payment through cash app (I really hope it worked because I’ve never done it before). For general info, I am 5’6, light skinned African American, and a female. Thank you so much in advance. Have a great day 🩶

Hi !! Thank u so much 🫶🏻 & yes I received the payment :) I rlly enjoyed working on this reading for u so I hope you like it !

1H - Leo ASC + Leo moon & Jupiter: GOLD. Earth tones + animal prints. Gold/bronze jewelry. Sharp, catlike eyeliner. You have a sensual, carnal vibe which can be accentuated. Consider growing your hair out & keeping it auburn or dark. Claw-like nails. Nose rings. High-quality fabrics. Play around w faux fur, faux leathers, feathers, netting, + fringe. Glowy, bronzed makeup looks.

2H - Virgo/Libra: The 2H is all about self esteem, so incorporating the 2H into the way we style ourselves will give us more self confidence. You'll feel your best when keeping up w your maintenance/having a beauty regimen + when mixing feminine & masculine styles. Virgo appreciates attention to detail + simplicity; stick to a few main colors + neutrals. Play around w textures when layering, rather than wearing multiple different colors or patterns at once. You should avoid looking too “busy”, so as not to take away from your physical appearance. Libra is the masculine sign of Venus, which focuses on beauty, but also in equality. Wearing both feminine & masculine silhouettes + styles, especially together (when done right), will be most flattering on you.

Sun in Capricorn (5H): The sun rules over self expression; we can use our sun signs as a tool for fashion, & doing so will bring forth more confidence, as well as make us feel more in tune w our charts. Your sun is in Capricorn in the 5H; you may be strict w yourself when it comes to your image. Your style should be practical & work well w your lifestyle. In the 5H, you are creative. Once you find what feels true to you, stick to it. Create a brand/image for yourself using your style. Slowly morph your closet into this, getting rid of all that does not align w you.

Venus in Scorpio (4H): Venus rules over personal aesthetics & all things "beauty". Your Venus is in Scorpio, which means you are drawn to the erotic; however, Scorpio ruling things “hidden”, you may prefer to cover-up at times- especially having Venus in your 4H, the house of comfort. Suggestive, rather than provocative. A long figure-hugging dress, a cropped shirt paired w a jacket, etc. Look at model-off-duty wear to get some inspo. Incorporate deep tones into your wardrobe; rich mocha browns, soft blacks, + dark emeralds for night looks. When you are dressing down, elevate the look w minimalistic accessories & a bit of hair/makeup. Scorpio likes to go unseen at times, but the rest of your placements will thank you for keeping it refined.

Thank you for booking w me 🤍

[k00299539]

LSAD Seminar 01: Colour Theory with Sylvia Shortall

What is Colour Theory?

In it's most basic form, colour theory is the study of how colours relate to one another and how this, in turn, affects our perception of them. The feeling or emotion evoked by a colour or combination thereof is of particular interest this field of study.

Above: An old RTE test card from 1978 recorded by Andrew Walmsley on Youtube.

The Medium Affects the Message

An important consideration when discussing clour and colour theory is through what medium the colour is being perceived. For instance I have two desktop monitors; A pen display for digital art and an old Dell monitor from a million years ago. Due to differences in technical specifications and calibration they display colour slightly differently. The pen display is marketed toward artists for its colour accuracy, whereas the Dell monitor was basically made to for looking at spreadsheets. If I slide a picture across from one monitor to the other, I can observe the colours change in real time. In this sense, the accuracy of colours is something we can take for granted.

Above: A video which explains digital colour and how images are projected onto monitors.

Enter PANTONE

So if we can't even trust a colour to look the same between two different monitors, how on earth can brands like Coca-Cola or Starbucks slap their logo on every conceivable product under the sun with one recognisable colour?

Well for better or worse the answer is Pantone LLC and their proprietary Pantone Matching System (PMS). Basically Pantone have a specific formula to render any given colour in any given format. For instance an average computer monitor recreates colour through backlighting hundreds of tiny pixels varying shades of red, green and blue. This is known as the RGB colour model, which is considered "additive" as the colours "add" together to create their intended effect. Print media on the other hand, uses the CMYK colour model. The is a "subtractive" colour model, where the cyan, magenta, yellow, and black (K) mask one another out gradually until the desired tone is created. Pantone somehow they were able to copyright this process and have people pay them for it. If it's not obvious, I hate Pantone and here's a video that should explain why:

Above: A good video about a bad company.

Janine Antoni - Loving Care, 1993

Sylvia actually recommended I research Janine Antoni for my project, so I was happy too see her work show up in this seminar. Personally I feel colour is one of the less important aspects of this particular piece, but all the same, it's roll can't be diminished either.

The use of commercial hair dye, Antoni's long hair and the act of mopping play into stereotypes of women and their gender defined "roles" in life. The gallery floor becoming covered in dye and the audience being gradually forced back out the door they came in can be seen as an act of reclamation. In this sense Antoni is challenging gender roles by using the traditionally feminine to accomplish the traditionally masculine. For me, it brings to mind the contrast between how men and women sit in public spaces, the phenomenon of "Man-spreading". Something that is seen as a faux pas for women but normalised for men. Antoni makes the viewer confront this kind of everyday sexism.

I think she choose a monochrome colour palette here for the contrast. The deep black on the brilliant white. The Yin and Yang of those shades is often said to represent men and women. I'm gonna move on now cause I'm really just rambling about a piece of art I enjoy.

Above: Hair dye charts bear a striking resemblance to Pantone swatch booklets.

Colour for Legibility

Many maps, such as the famous London Underground map designed by Harry Beck, use abstracted visuals and colour to distinguish between and make clear what might otherwise appear as confusing and arbitrary.

Above: You can tell me which one of these two maps is more legible...

Similarly road signs are specifically engineered in such a way as to be legible under any given time of day or weather condition, regardless of colour.

The Politics of Colour

Colour can mean a lot more than simple aesthetics. As Sylvia points out in the lecture, there can be strong political associations with specific colours. A powerful example of this is how our public post boxes in Ireland were mandated to be painted green after the country achieved independence from British colonial rule. In fact the shade of green was entirely arbitrary, one could argue the act was more about the removal of the distinctly British-associated shade of red, which itself speaks volumes of the power of colour.

A similar example of the political power of colour was the #Blackout campaign to protest against racism and police brutality following the killing of George Floyd.

Copyright and Colour

Left: Yves Klein, Center: Anish Kapoor, Right: Stuart Semple

A bit similar to Pantone and their patented method of matching colour, a number of artist have gained infamy for their roles in legal ownership and exclusive use of colour.

Yves Klein, an influential french artist and pioneer of performance art. Klein, in collaboration with Edouard Adam, created a vibrant blue, reminiscent of the lapis lazuli used in medieval paintings of the Virgin Mary. This shade was dubbed International Klein Blue or IKB. Klein registered this process with the French patent institute in 1960 but never formally patented it.

Renowned British-Indian artist Anish Kapoor, known for sculptures such as "The Bean" and Sky Mirror, was granted exclusive artistic use of the super-black coating Vantablack by it's creator Surrey NanoSystems in 2014. This provoked widespread criticism across the art world.

Kapoor drew particular criticism from Biritsh artist Stuart Semple. Semple, in retaliation to Kapoor's exclusive licensing of Vantablack released a shade of pink paint called "PINK – the world's pinkest pink paint" with the specific legal caveat that it could not be purchased by or for Anish Kapoor. This spurred him on toward a movement of democratising colour, creating affordable alternatives to patented shades such as the aforementioned Vantablack but also to Yves Klein's IKB and even an alternative to Pantone's matching system.

If it's not obvious I think artists have legal exclusivity to materials of any kind is an affront to art itself, and I'm happy to see people like Semple challenging the practice.

Above: Anish Kapoor's now iconic reply to Stuart Semple after getting his hands on PINK.

Stanley Whitney and Colour

Stanley Whitney is an American painter known for his use of colour and politically motivated art. I included a video above where he talks both about important political causes like contraceptive rights and also his feelings on colour.

What I admire specifically about Whitney's work is his persistent use of a loose grid as a composition. It highlights just how much emphasis he places on colour. What speaks to the viewer in a Stanley Whitney painting are the colours and their relationships between one another.

#Disrupt #Research #Colour Theory #Colour #LSAD Seminar #Youtube

[lorata]

What are the victors favourite colours? What colours do you associate them with?

HUH.

yeah those aren't necessarily the same thing, which is interesting

Petra's favourite colour is blue, but I associate her with red

Claudius' favourite colour is like ....... a soft, mossy forest green, sort of? but I associate him with grey

Brutus' favourite colour is blue, I have no associations for him

Lyme is like a ... maroon / burgundy sort of thing (don't ask her the difference, she'll make an incredulous face at you)

Nero I associate with teak? because of all the carving, and I do think he probably likes that a lot bc his house is mostly natural wood

Enobaria ... hm. Nero tries to surround her with calm, non-violent colours so there's probably a lot of blue-green (insert children's hospital joke here). I don't know if she has a favourite but the Capitol dresses her in red, silver and gold so she reflexively dislikes those

Callista, obviously, I associate with blood-red, and she would say that's her favourite colour because that's her Brand TM but is it? hard to say. I feel like she actually likes other colours better but branding is everything. it's probably actually jewel tones

Adessa's favourite colour is royal purple, she owns several tailored leisure suits in this colour

I associate Hera with gold (like, sunrise gold, gold-like-the-sensation-of-victory, not the material) but I know it's not her favourite, that would be so unbelievably tacky. I don't actually know what it is

Similarly I associate Odin with silver but I'm not sure what his favourite colour is

Misha is like, favourite............. colour? y'all are weird. she likes bright things and clashing patterns, not pastels. I don't associate her with colour so much as the vibe

I associate Devon with earth tones but I actually think his favourite colour is sunny yellow and sky blue

Trying to wring a preference out of Emory is ridiculous but I think she likes blue, also warm yellows and oranges for walls

Alec is a basic boy who likes navy blue and will not be shamed for it

I have NO idea what Creed's favourite colour is (he's not a boy he's a statement of faith~) but I associate the Angel of Death with black and silver

I associate Selene with silver (moon goddess / shiny knives), my instinct is that she hasn't really thought about favourite colour but I'll get back to you (EDIT: i was correct!)

Ronan, hm. Favourite colour is ........ green? I think? like a rich, deep phthalo green, or a pine tree canopy at the height of summer. I mostly associate him with black, I think

(RIP to the ones I don't know, I'll get to know you eventually <3)

THIS WAS FUN I LIKED THIS ONE :)

#lorata answers #anonymous #we must be killers: tales from district 2

[doodle-pops]

Thoughts on gwindor?

A/N: Another tortured character that's been through way too much. I hope you like my thoughts - first time diving into his character.

Gwindor is an elf who personally, has been through too much and it breaks my heart that he barely got much consolation or time to properly heal due to event after event hitting him back to back.

Before his trauma, Gwindor was known to be gentle and yet steadfast. Someone who loved to give advice for the betterment of others and worked with them to achieve their ambitions.

Always carried a journal with him and made daily entries. From nature to his brother and father to meeting Finduilas. After is torture, he abandoned his journal. As a lover of nature he could always be found exploring the caves and recording what newfound discoveries about the earth.

He wanted to fight for Finduilas when she fell for Turin but the look of adoration in her eyes towards Turin told him it wouldn’t be the rightest thing.

His confidence in himself was depleted after his captivity in Angband, he refused to look at himself in the mirror. The scars that adorn his body causes him to curl in disgust. He bores the mark of Angband, branded multiple times on his skin. One on his left upper shoulder, the centre of his back and on his right hip.

A reason for him to wear darker colours. During the anniversary of his captivity, the brandings burn his skin no matter the amount of elvish medicine used.

He sports two different eye colours, right eye: silver, left eye: greenish blue. In the silver eye, no one knows that he’s blind given that the silver tone hides the murkiness.

After Angband, he kept his haircut short, just shoulder length given that during his time spent there, his hair was used as a mockery of his brother’s death.

The colour of his hair even changed and became greyer as the years went by. By the time he reunited with Finduilas, his hair was white with minimal black streaks.

As his brother’s death approaches every year, he has nightmares for the entire week of his death and captivity. This urged him to become an insomniac. Sometimes during his nightmare, he’d begin speaking Angband Orcish.

He refuses to wear any prosthetics that the crafters of Nargothrond made for him, as the pain from his hand was still unbearable.

#gwindor #finduilas #turin turambar #angband #just gwindor things #silmarillion headcanon #gwindor headcanon #middle earth #tolkien #jrr tolkien #doodlepops responds #doodlepops writings ✨

[grandma-susan]

Orb Weaver & the Moth

A little Hazbin Angel Dust drabble:

The muffled sounds of screams and gun fire were in the distance, there had a complete mutiny on the third and second floor. The noxious smell of burning electronics and melting plastic filled the hallway air and raked at Valentino lungs. The overlord of lust reached out and stumbled through a door, into a dark room roaring and saliva splattering toward, "YOU LITTLE BITCH! WERE YOU SABOTAGING US THIS WHOLE TIME?" He staggered gripping his side as he glared into the dark where suddenly the glow of eight pink eyes flashed open and a toothy grin with a sultry voice answers, "No."

The floor and the walls flickered and illuminated with a pink and green sheen webbing, laced and draped all throughout the room. Valentino's breath hitched with a hiss as he noticed his limbs have all made contact with a dribbling sticky substance that glistened like an oil sheen. He looked up, scowling out a hateful, "Angel Dust. Answer me! You whore. Answer me or I'll fucking kill you." And yet, relaxed and reclined in a leather chair, Anthony sat with his legs crossed and arms folded, his usual powder pink pinstripe was no longer adorning his voluptuous body but rather now he dawned a brand new, stylish, well tailored fit in alizarin tones with a hat to match.

"Ha, No, no babe. What I did....wasn't sabotage....it was clean up." Anthony purred from his seat. "You see, what you three do...you do it well. You make a big show and everyone knows. But the thing about big productions, Valentino, is the mess that gets left behind.

"I was doing yous three a favor. I was cleaning up after you mother fuckers...tidying up your..." He pauses, pulls himself out from the leather seat, took a step on one of the glistening wires and stepped forward. There was a look Valentino had not seen before, though the look of anticipation he knew well, and he was right, Anthony could feel the slight tremble from each of his silk strands. He leaned forward with a teasing snicker to his former Pimp. The Moth Demon who had lured and swayed so many sinners into his world with his intoxicating fragrance, now felt a ravenous chill that pricked at his skin to the tips of his antennae. Where had this bitch gotten this sort of power?

Valentino tried to pull away but the more he struggled the more metallic green droplets slid along the tensioned silk like beads on a string, tacking him further into place. "Angel Baby~" He purred, "Amorcito. Heh hehe! This was fun~ But playtime is over baby, whatever shit you think you're pulling, I'm letting you know that--"

"Have you ever heard of the Spider Harp, Valentino?" Anthony interrupted. His extra arms extending out and resting his fingers on the various lines surrounding them. "Its a harp, designed by some hot shot engineer up on Earth, who wanted to understand how spiders can find exactly where their prey lands in their webs. He borrowed the design of an orb spider's web. Made a web outta paracord and figured out with each vibration... A spider could calculate and narrowed down to the pin point location of the sorry piece of shit who lands in it. The harder they move, the higher the frequency. " a screech pierced through Valentino's head violently blurring his vision. Gasping he blinked and lifted his head only to come into direct contact with Anthony's left eye. Normally a black sclera with a magenta pupil was now a vivid green.

The spider demon started to chuckle, and yanked at the silk threads snapping the Moth's limbs and wings together. "Bondage is your favorite, ain't it, Valentino? Leather and chains? Thing is BDSM is one of my favorite kinks too... 'cept ..." He lifted a finger, and the heart shaped marking on his chest began to shine through his suit with a reddish glow. "I got a thing for Shibari~" and with a flick of his wrist, the his web twisted and tightened around Valentino and haphazardly dropped him upside down by the ankles and wrists. The threads crushing and wringing his wings shut. The moth let out a snarling yelp, a series of squeaks dripping out from between his gnashed teeth. "Angel....Dust! You think this will stop me? You think this will stop US? You and your pathetic friends aint got shi--" Anthony let out a hearty laugh, "Oh man! Aint this a look for you, babe!" he said strolling over to a cabinet in the room. He ran a finger along the edge of it, "You seem to have forgotten an important detail about me...Tesoruccio~" he said opening the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of liquor specially labeled by the hotel's head bartender. He popped the cork and took a swig of it before strutting back to Valentino, knelt down, grabbed his head and locked lips with the wretched pimp, filling his mouth with the hot liquor, before ripping out a handful of fuzz off his wings and stuffed the man's mouth with it. "I was an underboss, when I was alive." he reminded, "Which means.... I can be really good at pulling strings and orchestrating a plan. And..." he tipped the remains of the liquid onto his former boss, letting the alcohol soak right into his demonic form. "If I say, I want to burn this fucking tower to the ground. It means...." Valentino let out an angry muffle, fighting against his restraints, promising that he would end the Spider demon and the entirety of the hotel. Anthony gaze hardened and slammed his fist on one of the lines slicing into Valentino's arms, and cutting him off of his tirade. "You forget the lessons you taught? If I say I want to burn this fucking tower to the ground. It means....What??? Valentino?" The mans eyes eyes narrowed on the Spider cursing him, and his body began defensively to ooze with a thick red mucus ,but Anthony was unfazed by his pheromones.

"Seems like the king is too stupid to figure it out, just a squeaking dumb ass bug." He said walking over the cabinet once more, and tapped it and it began to rattle with excitement and glee. "The floor's yours, Sweetheart. The Joker's all~ Yours!" He declared as the credenza burst into flames with a deranged gleeful cackle and engulfed the room with a red, orange and white flames, as he strolled over to the door. "Remember what I said Nift?" He hummed with over the panicked muffles of the Overlord.

"CLEAN IT AND BURN IT DOWN WITH FIRE!" "Atta girl~" He praised as he closed the door behind him as a blast of heat roared though the cracks.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin valentino #hazbin Niffty #hazbin hotel drabble

[fashioneditswebsite]

7 things you might have missed at Paris Fashion Week

French style isn't always understated. There was a lot of rain and color at Paris Fashion Week, and even some surprises, including replicas. Here are some of the highlights you may have missed from the week… Sprinkles of rain at Hermès It rained outside the Hermès show at the Garde Républicaine in Paris, but this worked perfectly for creative director Nadège Vanhee-Cybulski, who also brought rain inside the venue. As models walked the runway in riding and ankle-length boots, wearing variations of soft earth tones, including red, brown, grey, and nude tailored coats and skin-tight leather dresses with glossy finishes, an elaborate sprinkler system sprayed them with raindrops. Some garments were even finished with fur, studs, and buckles, proving they were water-resistant. Chloé and Alexander McQueen debut new creative directors. Nothing leaves fashion audiences at the edge of their seats more than when a new creative director makes their debut – especially at a reputable luxury design house. During PFW, a former JW Anderson employee, Dublin-born Sean McGirr, took over from his predecessor Sarah Burton, who made her departure from Alexander McQueen after 20 years. For his debut collection, McGirr gave a nod to McQueen's 1995 spring/summer collection, "The Birds," most evidently in the show's first look. A model was wrapped in a compressed black latex midi dress that almost looked like clingfilm, paired with black heeled boots. Chemena Kamali—an alumna of Saint Laurent—made her creative director debut for Chloé with a collection inspired by the bohemian aesthetics of the 1970s. The collection included blouses with frills, wool capes, faux fur, and trousers with subtle flares. Famous faces walk the runway. Sam Smith appeared surprisedly at Andreas Kronthaler's experimental Vivienne Westwood show on Saturday and walked the runway twice. He first wore a draped tartan knicker creation with a plaid cape, platform-heeled boots, a tartan hat, and a wooden staff. The English singer-songwriter came out in a black shredded gown, which paid homage to Renaissance artist Giovanni Battista Moroni, whose work inspired the collection. A jersey isn't the first thing you would expect to see at PFW. Still, Argentine model Georgina Rodriguez, also the girlfriend of Portuguese football star Cristiano Ronaldo, graced the runway for the Swiss fashion label Vetements. Rodriguez wore a red jersey maxi dress, where the top half resembled Ronaldo's signed football jersey. Schiaparelli brought surrealism to life Since 1927, Maison Schiaparelli has been known for its whimsical designs and for bringing surrealism to life, and their PFW ready-to-wear collection show at the Hôtel de Boisgelin – which was masterminded by creative director Daniel Roseberry – was no different. Canadian model Shalom Harlow opened the show in a structured boxy black blazer with a measuring tape embroidery down the plunging neckline. Another model, also wearing a suit, paired it with a tie made from plaited hair. All black everything at Valentino Valentino stood out and turned its back on the hot pink shade it has incorporated into its designs over the last couple of years. In an entirely black collection called Le Noir – in comparison to the many colors seen across various shows – the Italian fashion house saw its creative director, Pierpaolo Piccioli, take a risk and prove that the color black also represents "an entire spectrum of shades, infinitely nuanced, within one," the brand wrote on X, formerly Twitter. The collection included shift dresses with furred hems, flowing and a-line gowns, balloon sleeves, black accessories, shoulder bags, and dark makeup. Former American tennis player Serena Williams was in attendance, along with Bridgeton's Simone Ashley and model and beauty founder Rosie Huntington-Whiteley. Kate Moss doppelganger at Marine Serre View this post on Instagram A post shared by Nikita Vlassenko (@nikitavlk) People were unsure whether they spotted Kate Moss walking across the runway at the Marine Serre show. But it wasn't her—it was her doppelganger, Denise Ohnona. She wore an oversized black leather jacket and matching over-the-knee boots, which featured the brand's classic crescent moon-shaped logo. She paired them with a white shirt, a shoulder handbag, and a gold-chained handle. Coffee cups, vegetable baskets, shopping bags, and a mother carrying a baby were all spotted. They pulled the audience into an ambiguous marketplace at a former railway shed in Paris called Ground Control. It fostered a sense of intimacy and community with chic clothes in which you could probably run errands alongside grand designs such as a black dress with built-in wings. Winnie Harlow also walked the runway and wore a ruched black spaghetti-sleeved dress and tights with the crescent logo in red. Fashion drama at Mugler It's safe to say Mugler's creative director, Casey Cadwallader, put on a grand and superfluous show at PFW. The French fashion house used silhouettes and vignettes and dropped curtains from center stage to progressively unveil the new collection, which included slinky dresses, sheer corsets, molded leather, and garments that looked like they were melting off the models' bodies. There were also asymmetrical skirts, belt buckles, and printed pieces – designed in partnership with Canadian surrealist painter Ambera Wellmann. Brooklyn Beckham and Nicola Peltz sat next to Alexander Edwards and Tyga. Julia Fox, who wore a sheer feathered salmon dress with ethereal glitter makeup, sat next to Emma Chamberlain and Lisa Rinna. Models sauntered across a darkened room, with spotlights illuminating the slinky collection, as they stepped through dry ice to reach the media pit, where they posed for flashing lights. Louis Vuitton goes big. To mark ten years since his first collection for Louis Vuitton, Nicolas Ghesquière turned their autumn/winter show into a massive celebration, with almost 4,000 people in attendance. With the help of visual artist Philippe Parreno and producer-designer James Chinlund, Ghesquière blended fashion and art while turning the Louvre's Cour Carrée into a futuristic greenhouse. The greenhouse also included 13 large chandeliers that resembled a data and electrical supply system. The star-studded audience included Kelly Rowland, Phoebe Dynevor, and Emma Stone, who watched as models walked the runway in dresses with the fashion brand's classic logo all over them and long, sheer evening wear that gave a nod to the collection's classic futurism. They also wore sportswear-inspired white coats, oversized fur coats, playful sequins, metallic gold suits, and textured blouses. By By Yolanthe Fawehinmi and Prudence Wade, PA Read the full article