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book-o-scams · 3 years

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'Sorry Wrong Ed' Alternate Ending Storyboard Sequence

Check out Al Kang's Ed, Edd n Eddy portfolio!

Al Kang worked on the show during seasons 3-4 and had roles on the storyboard and prop teams apparently. (IMDb says he was credited as Al Choi at the time, but it also says he worked on season 1 episodes, which doesn't line up with the timeline he mentioned.. anyway.)

I discovered his portfolio a few months ago after seeing fandom discussion of the alternate 'Sorry Wrong Ed' ending. I was pleasantly surprised to find a few other treats as well! But yes, I even sorta liked what I learned about 'Sorry Wrong Ed' in the process... (I threw in a little analysis comparing the two endings at the bottom)

I noticed Al seemed to mix up the order on these, so I thought I'd try my best to figure out the right order. This was the most confusing one for me to try and figure out the order of since almost all 8 pages were out of order. I think I finally figured out what's going on in the original ending.

So this alternate ending starts at an unknown point with Eddy flat on the ground, presumably injured, picking himself back up. At this point in the final cut of the episode, Eddy has just been squashed by a tree, but this seems more like a different injury, and he's not even retaining his injuries from the truck scene... The scenes with Jonny and Plank from the final cut of the episode seem to not exist at all here, Jonny and Plank don't appear in this sequence.

Anyway, Eddy picks himself up in the middle of an on-going scene, sees Jimmy drop a coin in a jar for Ed, who has inexplicably turned the cursed phone into a scam on his own. Edd is glaring at the off-screen kids, who have somehow learned about this phone and are excited to kill Eddy with it.

Eddy: "Jimmy! No!"

Jimmy answers the phone: "Hello?"

Ed: "HA HA HA"

Edd: "You people don't seriously believe--"

Then we sync up with gags that did happen in the ending of Sorry Wrong Ed, with context that makes its tone a little more sadistic than random. Jimmy's paid phonecall drops the sandbox on Eddy.

This page has the most skeletal dialogue...

Kev: "Yes." (I think he's meant to be fist pumping because Eddy got hurt, more of a "Yes!")

Jimmy: "BAD LUCK EDDY PHONE." (this dialogue must have been a placeholder)

Edd: "HA HA" (sarcastic ha-ha or did Al mean to write "Ed" for this?)

Jimmy seems to offer the phone to Edd.

We sync up again with Edd's denial from the final cut of this episode, except now it actually makes sense that he's so one-track-minded, because there are people actively arguing with him and keeping him disengaged from the victim.

Edd: "There must be a cargo plane overfilled with playground supplies..."

Sarah interrupts him.

RING RING

Sarah: "Oh, that's for me."

Eddy at this point holds Ed responsible, as he should, and starts running to stop Ed or Sarah. Ed offers no explanation for his betrayal.

Eddy: "Ed! What are you doing!?"

Sarah: "Hello?"

Sarah's paid phonecall summons the hippos, the most random moment in the final cut of the episode. Note how both of these slapstick gags were storyboarded on the same generic background, seems like the lane or an empty lot, but clearly a different location than Eddy's front yard from the aired ending.

And that's all we have to go off of!

I'll put my updated opinions below the cut, but suffice it to say, I like the episode a little better now! Knowing what the ending was going to be and trying to figure out the choices that led to the ending we got, I feel more appreciative that it didn't end up a lost episode or something and less annoyed that it was 11 minutes of one joke.

I know I have a reputation for not finding slapstick funny and disliking this episode, but violence was never my only issue. Lots of episodes have lackluster slapstick that I just let wash over me. My point that never gets as much focus is that this episode never felt FINISHED to begin with. It's just a slapstick vacuum with no ending and no point, and it used to be frustrating to me not knowing for sure if my hunch was right or not that it felt like the episode just wasn't working and they had to cobble it together from the scenes that almost worked.

I am surprised to say I like the episode more now that I know that is pretty close to the truth. Judging from this peek into the episode's development, this episode seems to have reached Danny Antonucci's and/or Wootie's (the episode's lead board artist) limit for being mean-spirited with the characters without a reason. I'll still probably avoid rewatching it, but knowing the episode has no ending specifically because it's been trimmed to bare bones is somehow reassuring.

The most obvious flaw to this original ending is the lack of motivation for Ed's or the kids' actions. The kids presumably still weren't in the rest of the episode, so there's really no reason for them to be here other than reiterating the same idea from 'Your Ed Here' and 'The Good Ole Ed' that the neighborhood kids are always looking for a reason to gang up on Eddy, something that isn't really true of those characters in earlier seasons.

I think I can imagine how, on paper (in the writers' outline), this episode sounded funnier. Trying to imagine this ending as part of the whole episode, I think the script's idea of the final joke is that Ed is not satisfied with ending the tests at the point where they tried to return the phone to Rolf. I think Ed converts the curse-testing process to a scam at that point, building off of how Ed already wasn't processing Eddy's safety in anything so far, and is probably more focused on proving to Edd that curses are real (as Ed was previously in league with Evil Tim). The addition of Ed running his own tests and the kids arguing Eddy's point against Edd's while Eddy's busy, does sound more like a complete manic cartoon boiling point than the way the finished episode just petered out with Edd as the sole antagonist. But unfortunately, in visual execution, suddenly piling in so many aggressive characters and so much random violence at once, would only really result in it petering out at a higher volume.

Meanwhile Edd's characterization is made much more structurally sound in the original ending. He's annoyed FOR Eddy's sake, and the only reason he's not actively helping Eddy is because like 3 other characters were supposed to be arguing with him while this was happening. It seems extremely apparent to me that the cuts made to this ending were for the sake of mitigating Ed's reputation in the fandom, as well as the kids', and I think it's really unfortunate that Edd's characterization was the cost for salvaging everyone else's. I'm glad I already considered his behavior in 'Sorry Wrong Ed' non-canon, because now it feels like the reason the aired ending is so out-of-character is just because Edd is basically arguing with the ghost of the original scene. I formally forgive 'Sorry Wrong Ed'. Production turnarounds are tough and AKA did their best to not turn this into another forgotten 'Special Ed' episode that simply wasn't working.

I think ditching the original ending was ultimately the right call. It was not an exemplary episode, but I can admit it's less out of place to have a pure "vacuum of violence" story than it would've been to essentially give the kids a supernatural revenge plot like this. That would've been really weird to have to accept-- Eddy definitely wouldn't want to be friends with anyone at the end of the movie if THIS was their past. Changing it to an unaware Jonny and a questionably aware Plank being responsible, indeed, was a vibe that landed much more like standard EEnE fare. It was weird enough that the kids all saw Santa in JJJ, can you imagine if they all knew curses were real AND participated in attacking a neighbor with one??

If there was a silver lining for me the first time I saw this episode, it was that none of the kids were directly involved in Eddy's suffering. It made the questionable reality of the cursed device slightly more acceptable that only the Eds and Rolf know about the curse. If this ending had happened, I would've reacted the same, but I would've rejected its continuity even more than I do now, because it would just feel like they animated one of the DC Comics (where the kids can blow the Eds up with fireworks at the end or the Eds can randomly be crushed under an avalanche of anvils)-- the art could end up gorgeous but the characterizations don't exactly land as real human beings, the balance this show strives for typically.

And I think that's all I wanted to say! In the end, I found myself liking 'Sorry Wrong Ed' slightly more than I used to, all thanks to this glimpse into how the animation production system morphs the outcome of a cartoon. Thanks so much to Al Kang, for sharing your art and this insight into the industry! I don't know whether he did both the gesture drawings and the revised art, but judging from his other boards I think the cleaned up art is his, and I liked seeing the poses that almost were!

#ed edd n eddy #sorry wrong ed #al kang #storyboard #concept art #alternate ending #deleted ending #alternate sequence #analysis

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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for monster march, ghost + indruck + nsfw?

Here you go! I borrowed some ideas we’ve tossed around on the Discord

A sketchbook, new pens, a Hershey bar, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. A small but lively fire. And a new, huge, fuzzy sleeping bag waiting for him in the tent.

Not a bad camping set up for a city-boy art goth (as Barclay likes to call him).

Indrid sticks another marshmallow on the fork, roasting it until it’s deep brown, the smell of burning sugar curling through the air and settling in his hair. He’s never liked Graham Crackers, so he jams a square of chocolate into the molten center of the marshmallow and shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

Kepler is small. Barclay hadn’t been kidding about that. He’d also been right that one of the two tattoo shops in town was willing to hire Indrid after looking through photos of his work and confirming he completed his apprenticeship.

He’s been living in the Eastwoods campground in the Monongahela National Forest while he apartment hunts, and the tattoos he’s done so far netted him enough cash to buy his luxurious new sleeping bag. He might be waiting on a place for some time, so he may as well camp in style.

Three “s’mores” later, the moon is up and the night is chilly enough that he wants his sweatshirt. Ducking into the tent, he can’t find it on his pillow, where he swears he left it this morning. Maybe he accidentally buried it getting dressed.

A splashhiss interrupts his rummaging. Scrambling from the tent, he discovers his fire is now a pile of soaked ashes and logs being angrily stirred by a thick piece of kindling.

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

A man in a ranger uniform appears, the stick falling through his hand as he gives Indrid a disapproving stare.

“Look here, I know you’re new here, maybe to campin entirely. But you can’t just leave a fire burnin when you go to bed.” He doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s a disappointed big brother scolding his sibling.

“I wasn’t-”

“And all this” he gestures to the food on the table, “has gotta go in the bear box. Black bears are real good foragers and we don’t want ‘em comin’ into camp and gettin to comfy around humans.”

“Of course, but-”

“You didn’t take any food into the tent, right? Wouldn’t want somethin to decide to join you ‘cause it smelled a snack.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “I am aware of all of these rules, and plan to follow them. Once I actually go to bed instead of ducking into the tent for my sweater. But since my evening appears to be over…” he grabs the marshmallows, roasting fork, and chocolate, carries them to the bear box, and slams it closed.

When he whirls back around, the ghost is still there, chagrined.

“Uh, sorry. I kinda jumpy about people leavin fires alone.” In the lantern light, his smile is as charming as his drawl. His stocky, bearish shape and unassumingly handsome face command Indrid’s focus, which is why his revelation comes so quickly.

“You...there’s a statue of you at the visitor center. Which makes you, ah, damn it what was the name-”

“Duck. Duck Newton. They put my legal name on there, even though Juno tried to stop ‘em. But my name’s Duck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Duck. I’m Indrid.”

“Nice to meet you too. Uh, sorry for ruinin your campfire, looks like you were havin a nice time.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m grateful there’s someone haunting the campsites to keep them in order.”

“You’re takin me bein’ a ghost surprisingly well.”

“I’ve always been interested in strange things, to the point that I earned the nickname ‘mothman’ in high school.”

“Huh” Duck watches him a moment, then shrugs, “well, guess I better be goin’. Have a nice night, mothman.”

With that, he’s gone.

------------------------------------------------------

“Hello again.” Indrid says as the campfire smoke curls around a human form, “Doing your rounds?”

“More or less. I like my job, and ain’t about to give it up just because I beefed it and turned into a ghost.” A creak as Duck joins him on the picnic bench. When he materializes, he floats slightly above the worn wood, watching Indrid draw.

“That’s incredible, it’s so realistic it’s like you pressed the leaves into the pages instead of colored them.”

“Thank you.” adds depth to the leaf, “you know, I looked at the statue again today. It hardly does you justice.”

From this close, he can see a blush spread up semi-opaque cheeks. Then he starts fading.

“Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was aiming for a benign compliment, not to make you uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, just surprised me. Not many folks wanna flirt with a dead guy.”

“I’m more interested in what the ‘dead guy’ wants.” Indrid smiles, hoping to convey he would submit to spectral touches as readily as he’d keep talking.

Duck floats closer, “Kinda curious about your other drawin’s.”

Indrid turns the sketchbook back to the beginning, “they’re half portfolio and half travelogue. Here” he holds up a fade, detached piece of paper, covered by an Morpho Butterfly that looks ready to fly away, “this is the first tattoo I ever designed.”

“Damn. Guessin’ that means you did this one” he touches the Rosy Maple Moth on Indrid’s forearm (or tries to). It’s chilly, but not in the way Indrid feared. More like taking a cool shower on a sweltering day.

“I did. Here, it gave me an idea for my first series of flash tattoos…”

They go over the illustrations page by page. Slowly, Indrid weaves in questions to Duck who, instead of recoiling from discussion of his mortal life, tells him rambling stories about the woods and which places serve the best food in town.

The conversation doesn’t end until the fire goes out on it’s own, Duck standing automatically, grabbing a water bottle, swearing, and then disappearing so he can pick the bottle up.

“Do you think that’s part of why you’re still here? Some unfinished business having to do with the woods?”

“Nah.” The water bottle thunks back on the table as Duck reappears, “I tried to live a normal life, improve the world the way I knew how, make some kind of difference to this town. Then I had to go play the goddamn hero.”

“I would say saving two dozen people from a forest fire makes a considerable difference in the world.”

A sad huff of a laugh, “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just...I meant to do somethin’ with my life, not my death, even if it was a small somethin’, and the closest thing I got to unfinished business is a model ship.”

“I...what?”

“It was four-masted and everything! I had Leo order it in special and everything and then I never, I never got to-” He tilts his head up, sniffs once, “never mind. I better let you get to sleep.”

By the time Indrid calls “goodnight,” the ghost is gone.

------------------------------------------

“Please tell me you’re gettin a place soon so you stop eatin everythin outta a can?” Leo bags the last of groceries.

“No such luck. Ah well, there are worse things than canned soup and Pop-Tarts.”

“At least let Barclay feed you, half the point of havin a friend who can cook is to let ‘em do it for you. You need stamps or anything?”

“N-” A box behind the counter catches his eye. It’s at an odd angle, as if whoever put it there is hoping no one will see it. Indrid can just make out an illustration of a four-masted ship.

“Is that for sale?”

Leo looks where he’s pointing, and for a moment something in his gruff affability wavers. Then he nods, “Yeah, suppose it is.”

“Can you ring it up for me?” Indrid nearly bounces on his toes when Leo sets the box on the counter and confirms his hunch.

The older man sets a gentle hand on the cardboard, sliding it across to Indrid, “Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s yours.”

----------------------------------------------

“Duck?” Indrid turns in a circle by the picnic table, “Duck, I have something for you!”

He saw the ranger briefly last night, but he didn’t hang around. Gingerly, he sets the box on the table, tearing off a piece of sketch paper to write a note in case the ghost stops by while he’s asleep.

“Holy fuck.” Duck floats across the table from him, “‘Drid, where did, how did--why?”

“Leo still had it. As for why I, ah, it seemed like you still wanted it. If you can douse a fire and over my camp stove, I figure you can build a model ship.”

Duck disappears and Indrid’s heart sinks; that must have been too much. Then he’s squished in an invisible, wonderful bear hug.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

From then on, Duck spends every night at his campsite, building the ship while Indrid draws, reads, or talks with him. The model lives in the safest corner of the tent during the day.

“I mean, I’m up durin the day too, but I scared a few folks on accident and I don’t want people avoid the forest because of me.”

Indrid also learns that Duck is stuck within a certain radius of where he died, and that his attempts to talk with Juno when she was in his part of the woods only lead to his friend thinking she was hallucinating and Duck feeling miserable for three solid days. Indrid offers to act as messenger and invite Duck’s friends (many of whom have, by chance and by proximity to Barclay, become his friends) to the campsite to see him. The ranger is quiet for some time after that offer.

“Not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet. I, it ain’t even been a year, ‘Drid. I think a lot of ‘em are still hurtin. And, and maybe this is selfish but...I ain’t ready to deal with them findin’ out I aint fully gone. It’d be so much all at once.”

Indrid doesn’t bring it up again. More than once, when Aubrey tells a story about Duck only for her eyes to sadden halfway through, or when he sees Juno looking at Duck’s statue a little too long, he struggles to keep his promise.

A cold front blows into town and, since he’s still in the tent, he pops into Kepler Thrift N Find in search of an extra sweatshirt. Tucked in between one reading “Ranchos” and one with a picture of Garfield is a soft, well-loved hoodie with “Monongahela National Forest” on the front. He buys it and wears it home, the fact it’s loose in the arms making it even easier to tuck in his hands when he gets cold.

He stops by the visitor center out of habit, checking out the new plush wild animals. There are also hints of Duck here and there; his name on displays, his face in group photos. As he contemplates a small, squishy black bear, he notices Juno looking at him more than usual.

“Hello again” he sets the bear on the counter.

“Howdy. This all?

“Yes, please. Are you alright? You look, ah, tired.”

“Yep. Or, uh, just noticed that sweatshirt. It was one that got made special for staff a few years ago.”

Indrid fidgets with the cat-bitten drawstring, “It was Duck’s, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. He put that patch on the sleeve. Guess it startled me to see it on someone else.”

“I understand.”

“Knew him since we were kids. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. Still don’t feel right, bein’ here without him.”

Indrid pushes the bear towards her and she pets it.

“What was he like?”

In the empty visitor center, Juno tells him. In her stories are echos of every conversation he’s ever had with anyone who knew Duck. When it’s time to close up, she asks if she can hug him, and thanks him for listening to her.

“Guess you weren’t kiddin about wanting to sleep with a bear” Duck teases as Indrid sets his new purchase inside the tent. Indrid whaps at him, arm going through his torso. The ranger floats nearby as Indrid heats up ravioli and opens a can of Mountain Dew. Indrid tells him about the conversation with Juno.

“Huh, guess that is my old one. Glad someone is gettin some use outta it. And it looks good on you.”

Indrid sets down his bowl, “We talked a lot, Duck. And it made me think about what you said to me one of the night after we met. You said you wanted a chance to make the world, the town, a little better. Everyone I’ve talked to, and I mean every one, has a story about you. How you helped them, how Kepler is worse off with you gone. You did so much, even with your time cut short. I, I wanted you to know that.”

The ghost looks away, “I wasn’t done tryin to help.”

“You still aren’t. You do what you can to keep the forest and the visitors safe. And you, you’ve made my life immeasurably better Duck. Seeing you is the best part of my day and I think I’m falling--ah, that is, you’re not done making a difference.”

Duck hasn’t moved since Indrid started talking about his feelings. When Indrid tries to meet his eyes, he disappears. Hurried, he reaches out to offer a reassuring touch and gets only air.

“Duck?”

Nothing, even after he calls his name three more times.

He slumps onto the bench, “well, fuck me I guess.”

---------------------------------------------------

This is a terrible idea. But it’s his last, and therefore his best.

Indrid even asked Barclay’s boyfriend, Joseph, if anything in his impressive library of the paranormal advised the reader on dealing with upset ghosts. A few did, always from the perspective of trying to get the specter to go away. They said nothing about what to do if your upset ghost was missing, leaving an ache in your heart you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Instead, after a week of silence, Indrid changes tactics: if he can’t coax Duck back, maybe he can annoy him into appearing.

Tonight, he finishes dinner and cleans his dishes, puts the bulk of the food in the bear box, and then tears open a bag of chips, scattering them across the table. He eats one, then leaves the open bag laying amongst the potato shards.

Next, he dumps his remaining water on the fire, which takes it down to embers but does not extinguish it. When none of that gets a reaction, he decides to narrate.

“Hmm, that should be fine, it’s not that dry and I don’t think sparks can go over the edge.”

“Should I leave these juice pouches out? Yes, I think I should, in case I get thirsty at night. Maybe I’ll take one into the tent, just to be safe.”

He already feels silly and like no one is listening, and so he escalates.

“I know I shouldn’t leave food out for the wildlife, but since there’s no handsome, ghostly ranger here to punish me for my transgressions, I am just going to leave some nuts out for the raccoons. I like raccoons. They deserve nice things. Hell, how about I just leave them a whole buffet since no one is stopping me!”

All he gets in reply are the few bugs awake this early in the spring and the crack of brush as a small mammal runs away from the weird bipedal thing yelling at his camp fire. He doesn’t leave out food for the raccoons; he climbs into his tent in a huff. What a bad idea, to think this of all things would bring Duck back to him. He’s being childish and bratty and selfish; Duck doesn’t deserve that, no more than he owes Indrid his company.

He changes into his pajamas pants and sleep shirt, intending to go back out to make the site safe and tidy. Except.

Except something just opened the bear box. The chip bag crinkles and the fire hisses out a minute later. He should be running outside to apologize, but his mind has simultaneously registered the full darkness of the night , the possibility that Duck is not the only paranormal thing in these woods, and the fact the nearest other campers are on the other side of the campground, meaning he is very, very alone.

The zipper on the tent moves, the flap falling open so his lantern shines on nothing but April air.

“Duck? Please say that’s you.”

A low chuckle, “It’s me, ‘Drid.” The fly zips shut, “mighty peeved about that trick you pulled.”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I missed you, but that was a bad way to communicate that.” He can’t see him, and the lantern only picks up the odd shift of sleeping bag or tent floor, so Indrid’s eyes’ dart about trying to pinpoint him.

“Oh, you communicated plenty, sugar. Like what you want a certain, uh, ghostly ranger to do to you.”

“Oh god” he winces, “please, forget I said that, it’s humiliating.”

“Not all that surprisin, truth be told. I mean, you and I flirted now and then. And you told me enough about yourself for me to suspect that you’re a kinky little weirdo who’s dyin to get fucked by a ghost.”

“I, I feel I should point out that I only want to fuck one ghost. You. I want to fuck you and that means fucking a ghoOOOst.” He gasps as cold lips press into his neck.

“I can make that happen, darlin, all you gotta do is say it. You were a pain in the neck earlier, so now I expect you to be real polite and use your words.” Duck’s voice has never been like this before, rough and possessive yet still, under all of it, the same warmth draws Indrid in like a flame.

“I want you, Duck.”

A bite to his ear, strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind him, “Want me to do what?”

“Fuck me” this is like every wet dream he had as a teenager, the supernatural being coming for a fellow outsider.

That gets him a tender kiss on the cheek, “That’s better. Though, if I’m rememberin correctly, word you used was punish.”

Indrid yelps as Duck turns and shoves him to lay across his lap, kicks his legs out in surprise when his waistband slides down to his upper thighs.

“Yesss” he wiggles his ass as Duck palms it, “yes, Duck, pleaseAHgod” the first strike stings, and Duck doesn’t let him recover before delivering five more, three to each side. His cock perks up at the pain. Stranger still, because Duck is invisible, all Indrid has to do is tilt his head to watch it harden and twitch with each slap.

Twenty strikes later Duck pauses, hand rubbing soothing, cool circles on the burning skin, “Learned your lesson?”

“Mmhmm.” Indrid presses an awkward kiss to Duck’s knee.

“Glad to hear it.” Duck hauls him up onto his knees, slides a hand under his shirt and up his chest, “I’m rarin’ to feel more of you--holy fuck”

“AH!” Indrid arches as Duck toys with his left nipple piercing, his other hand quickly finding the right.

“God, fuck, you’re fuckin hot, if I were alive I woulda taken you home first time I saw you.” Messy kisses cover his neck as Duck tugs the piercings.

“Gaahnnyes, that’s, that’s very flattering.”

“Ain’t flattery, sugar, it’s the truth. Never could turn down some skinny punk with piercin’s and messy hair, not when I was a teen burnout hidin in the woods and sure as hell not now.” He moves Indrid onto his back, rucking up his shirt as his legs twist in his half-down pants. The ranger cups his face, and Indrid is positive he’s meeting his eyes, “tell me what you want sugar, tell me so I can treat you right.”

“Marks, I want marks anywhere you’ll give them.”

A growl from above him, then lips smashing into his, drinking him in before continuing down his throat, biting and sucking hard enough that he cries out every time. Duck pauses, teasing his nipples with his tongue as he rakes his nails up his sides. He sits up and for a horrible moment Indrid loses him. Then with glee he watches five red marks drag down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips and discovering just how closer Duck’s clothed cock is to his own. The contact only feeds the rangers eagerness, and Indrid is tosses and turns as he sucks, bites, and scratches, laying claim to the illustrated expanse of his body.

“More, please, god that all feels so good.”

“Don’t worry darlin, still got plenty of you to mark up, but we’re gonna do somethin else while I do.” He eases Indrid onto his stomach, slaps his ass fondly, “don’t go nowhere.”

Indrid’s duffel bag unzips, clothes and pens moved aside until a bottle of lube hovers in the air. The tube compresses and drips coat the rough outline of fingers. When the two digits press into him he sighs, eyes closing as he melts under Ducks watchful eyes.

“That’s it ‘Drid, relax for me. Got well over a year of horny to work out, so this cute ass needs to be ready to take it.”

Indrid pushes his hips back in reply, taking as far as the fingers will go and whimpering excitedly when he presses in the tip of the third. Duck works that one more carefully, kissing Indrid’s face and shoulders as he whispers about how good he is, how much he’s wanted this.

“I want it too so for, for goodness sake please fuck me soon or I’ll leave my entire cooler out for the bears.”

“Only one bear in this campsite tonight darlin.” Duck laves his tongue down the base of his spine, bites down hard on his ass. Indrid’s still moaning from the pain when his cock pushes in.

“Fuuuckme that’s good. Shoulda snuck into your tent sooner, sugar, made you a fuckin cocksleeve you feel so fuckin good.”

“Ohgod” is all Indrid, voice muffled by the sleeping bag he’s biting, manages before Duck adjusts them so Indrid is on his knees. The ranger isn’t gentle, pounds into him like he’s nothing but a warm hole and chuckles whenever Indrid moans.

“H-handprints, Duck, want hand prints GAHyesyesyes” he struggles to move in time with the ghost as the air fills with ear-splitting slaps. He’s so close, the pain and the sensation of phantom fingers claiming his body making his body beg for release. When he slides a hand down to jerk himself off, the arm twists up and stays trapped against his back.

“You wanna cum, you know what to do.”

He blinks away the ecstatic tears, words raw in his throat, “Please let me cum, Duck. I want to, need to cum while you fuck me pleaseplease-” he cuts off into whine as the ghost works his cock hard, all the while jamming into him hard enough that the smooth fabric of the sleeping bag burns his knees. When he cums it’s with a weak cry of Duck’s name, which is swallowed up by hungry lips as Duck kisses him over and over, repeating Indrid’s name like an incantation as he pumps his hips and cums, pulling out as he does so it splatters on the reddened patches of his ass.

A final kiss to the top of his head, and then there’s no contact between them and the zipper is moving.

“Oh no you don’t” Indrid scrambles, sweaty and exhausted, between the tent fly and the invisible man somewhere in front of him, “for goodness sake, Duck, I thought you liked me enough to at least let me fall asleep before you ran.”

The ranger finally appears, hair a mess and cheeks noticeably pink, “‘Drid, all that was amazing, but it’s all I can give you. I, I can’t...you said you were fallin for me and I can’t give you that.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why not?”

“Because I’m a fuckin ghost, ‘Drid! You deserve to be with a livin’ fella, you deserve someone who can be a real part of your life.”

He crosses his arms, “Duck, you are a real part of my life. Honestly, what part of all the nights we spent together, all the ways we take care of each other, all of this” he points at the rumpled sleeping bag, “suggests otherwise?”

The ghost doesn’t speak, simply hugs himself (or tries to).

“If this is too much, if I’m offering something you do not want, then please tell me. But if this is you thinking that some paranormal quirks keep you from being a worthy partner for me, kindly think again.”

Duck disappears and Indrid is gearing up to try and tackle a supernatural entity when a familiar face buries itself in the crook of his neck. The ghost clings to him, and Indrid clings right back.

“You really wanna give it a go?”

“More than anything.”

Duck lifts his head so their cheeks rest together, “Then fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

----------------------------------------

Indrid finishes hooking up his lightly used Winnebago, AKA his solution to the lack of available apartments. He’s in a different section of Eastwoods, but he’s happy with his new spot. He opens one of his few boxes, gently lifts the completed model ship into a place of honor, and waits, humming happily, for an unseen hand to knock on his door.

#indruck #monster march #indrid cold/duck newton #reader request #ghost au

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stillebesat · 4 years

Text

The New Hire

Sanders Sides: Roman, Logan, Virgil Blurb: Roman has never known his brother, Logan, to break a promise. Until now. Fic Type: General, Human!AU Inspiration: For the Anon who asked to see Roman’s POV from my other Fic The Interview. Warnings: None Taglist in Reblog. Author’s Note: This fic is Roman’s POV of events that occur halfway through Chapter 4 of The Interview, but you don’t necessarily need to read it in order to enjoy this oneshot. :)

Roman ran a hand through his hair as he stalked through the halls of StoryTime!, growling under his breath as he descended to the next floor.

Of course. It was just like Lo to vanish from his office right when Roman needed him. For being known to never leave the building, Specs sure had a knack for not being where he was supposed to be when Roman’s Creative Muse decided it needed a second opinion.

Must be a twin thing. He distinctly recalled Logan complaining that Roman had done the same to him.

Still.

It was really unlike Lo to so completely disappear from the upper levels that it had forced Roman to search the entire building for him.

He exhaled, turning to go down yet another hallway, head on a swivel. It was unfortunate that their twin telepathy didn’t extend to tracking because if Roman didn’t know better, he would think Specs had left early.

Ha.

The sun would split in two first.

And--Roman glanced at his phone as he came to the balcony overlooking the lobby below, swearing under his breath when he saw the time.

Sure, he supposed his Creative Muse was at fault for having a light bulb moment right before he was due to go interview yet another starry-eyed dreamer for StoryTime!’s creative team, but he hadn’t thought half an hour would make so much of a difference until he couldn’t find Specs.

Now though he’d have to--there!

Roman straightened, a thrill of triumph rushing through him at spotting his twin about to enter the elevator below with some other guy in tow. “SPECS!” He called, his voice echoing around the lobby as he rushed for the stairs. “THERE you are!”

Finally. Maybe he could tell Lo his brilliant idea on the ride up. Maybe two minutes would be enough time to get his opinion before Roman had to bound and gag his Creative Muse so he could focus on being dull and boring long enough to get through the interview process before once more allowing his muse to run free.

At least this time Remy had sworn up and down that this interview wouldn’t be a waste of his time because he was certain that this Virgil person would pass Roman’s stringent pre-qualifications for getting hired.

Crofters he hoped so. He was tired of having his new hires wash out.

Forgoing using the stairs in favor of sliding down the railing to get to him that much quicker, Roman landed in front of his twin before the elevator doors had finished opening. “About time I found you!” He said, jabbing a finger at him as his brother dropped a smile that Roman long ago discovered meant trouble though he had no idea how that related to him or the purpled haired disaster in a suit standing next to his twin.

He’d have to ask later. Creative Muse needed answers. NOW.

“You have perfect timing as always, Roman.” His brother said, placing a hand on the kid’s elbow, pulling him inside the elevator. “I was just heading back upstairs to find you.”

Roman blinked. “Find me? What for?” He demanded, following the two of them inside, hitting the button for the ninth floor. “I’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to track you down and now you want to find me?”

Sometimes their ability to know when one of them needed another was a freaking curse. But seriously, what were the odds that they would both go seek out the other at the same time!

Roman ran a hand through his hair, fighting back his irritation. And with a stranger in the elevator there was no way he could use this brief interlude to get Lo’s opinion. He didn’t tell just anyone his brilliant ideas before they were fully realized. “Of course you do this to me two minutes before my next interview--”

“For Virgil right?”

Roman gaped at him, eyes narrowing as the doors slid shut. Okay, their twin telepathy didn’t extend that far. “How did you--”

“I just hired him for your department.” Logan said, gesturing to the third member of their little elevator party.

Roman froze, blood roaring in his ears as he clenched his hands, fighting to not hit the emergency button that would stop the elevator in place so he could have longer than twenty seconds to clarify that he hadn’t heard what he just thought he’d heard.

“You. WHAT?!”

They’d freaking TALKED about this! After the disaster that occurred two years and ten months ago with Logan’s meddling they had come to an agreement that his twin wouldn’t interfere with Roman’s methods for hiring people!

Surely Logan. His twin. The superhuman computer that could recall the most mundane information at the drop of a hat hadn’t forgotten that little fact and hired this fashion disaster of an emo in front of him without consulting Roman first. Right?

Wrong.

“I hired him--am I not speaking clearly today?” Logan asked, looking to the kid with a raised eyebrow. “You did the same thing when I told you you were hired too.”

The kid--Virgil shook his head as he crossed his arms, rubbing the spot Lo had grabbed when he’d been pulled into the elevator. “No. It’s just a statement that not many people will find believable...apparently.” He said, mismatched eyes -which really had a unique color shade that Roman would love to take a moment to dra--NO. Stay FOCUSED. One Creative Muse idea at a time!...after dealing with this potential PR disaster.

“Oh no, it’s believable,” Though he hoped the kid’s portfolio was a cut above his ability to dress himself, otherwise Remy would receive quite the earful on what qualified meant when he got back. “If I allowed your interview to be scheduled in the first place.” But If Logan liked him enough to hire him...Roman was pretty sure that wasn’t a good sign. A pity. Remy had been quite convincing that Virgil would work out.

“But, Specs!” Roman growled, glaring at his twin as he held out his hand for what could only be Virgil’s portfolio under his arm. He hoped Lo had actually looked through it this time before pulling the trigger. “We agreed you wouldn’t interfere--”

“With your hires.” Logan finished. “I know. But trust me, brother.” He said, stressing the word as he handed Roman the portfolio.

Brother.

A word that should never have been used between them while within StoryTime!’s walls.

Roman froze, eyes flicking to Virgil and back. “He?”

Logan’s eyes glittered, but not with anger. No, Roman would have thought they were filled with silent laughter as he adjusted his tie. “Knows we’re related, thanks to you.”

WHAT?! HOW?! Oh no. Lo couldn’t blame this on him! He’d never even seen the kid before now!

“To me?! I haven’t said a word--” He denied, taking the portfolio and flipping it open as he leaned against the wall, barely taking in the images on the page. He valued his independence far too much to let just anyone know that he and Logan were related in any way shape or form.

Gah. He fought back a shudder. No. NO. Roman would do anything to keep that particular secret from getting out. He’d done his time in school being treated like he and Logan were the same person unable to form their own identities outside of being the Prince Twins.

And yet.

Somehow the secret had gotten out.

HOW?!

“Virgil.” Logan said, turning to the third occupant in the elevator. “Care to explain?”

And WHY was Lo taking this earth shattering revelation so calmly?!

“I…” Virgil flushed under their combined stares, setting his chin stubbornly. “The Sherlock screenplay.”

….Come again? That screenplay hadn’t ever seen the light of day! Well...beyond the one picture he’d posted ages ago. Roman frowned, flipping to another page, watching from the corner of his eye as Virgil visibly paled, hands gripping onto the railing around the elevator.

“I-I noticed that Logan’s name wasn’t completely covered when you took the picture”

And Roman thought you couldn’t stop a heart more than once.

Apparently he was wrong.

Surely. SURELY that photo he’d posted wasn’t their downfall. He’d been careful to cover Logan’s name! He was sure of it! Yet this kid was telling him that--that---

“And I dug around a bit--” Virgil swallowed, darting glances between the two of them. “Do people here really not know you’re related?”

Ha. They both shook their heads. “No.”

That was the whole point of Logan becoming known as Specs here. Why Thomas had agreed that his real name wouldn’t be found anywhere in StoryTime!’s records. Why Logan had taken to wearing glasses again instead of contacts. To give them a chance to be seen as individuals and not as a pair.

Virgil scoffed, gesturing between them. “But you two look exactly the same!”

“Only a handful know.” Logan clarified, pointedly adjusting his glasses.

“Like three people--Specs does great as Clark Kent--” Roman jerked his head up from the portfolio. Wait. “Don’t tell me you hired him because he’s blackmailing you!?” He demanded, jabbing a finger at Virgil.

Surely Logan wouldn’t let himself be backed into such a corner! He was the one who’d ensured that people wouldn’t connect that they were related. One little picture couldn’t have done so much damage that Logan couldn’t get out of being blackmailed into giving the kid a job because of it!

Virgil flinched, but took a step forward, eyes blazing. “I wouldn’t do that, Princey.” He growled.

So the purple wallflower did have some bark. “Princey?” Roman repeated, narrowing his eyes. Not the most unique of nicknames but...usually people didn’t do that here. Nickname him back. It was always ‘Yes, Mr. Prince. No, Mr. Prince. I can’t take it anymore and I quit!, Mr. Prince.’

It was...refreshing in a way.

Virgil faltered, glancing to Logan. “I--I---uh.”

Crofters, he was like a feral kitten confronting a Lion.

Logan shot him a look, eyes glittering with that hidden humor again, before giving Virgil a reassuring smile. “Go on, Virgil. Speak your mind.”

Logan was encouraging this? WHY?!

Virgil set his jaw, staring Roman down despite the obvious tremor to his hands. “I’m here because you were willing to give me a chance, sir. No other motive. I want to work here on my own merit. Not through...through blackmail.” He practically spat the word. “My Two Princes theory was just that. A theory until Lo--Specs here confirmed it.”

Logan visibly winced at that.

Huh. Roman tilted his head. That was....something. "Well…color me impressed that you got Dr. Roboto here to confirm anything, kid. Usually he's sealed tighter than a jar of Crofters." Usually Roman was the only one who could convince Lo to reveal things he didn’t want revealed.

He snapped the portfolio shut as the elevator doors opened, hiding the artwork from any potential prying eyes. No need to let anyone else see them just yet. Not until Roman actually agreed on the hiring of this kid. Not until he could actually sit down and look at the images himself. "Don't count your eggs though. I'm not so easily swayed."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Page twenty-eight." He said tapping the top of the portfolio as they stepped out onto the landing. "Then you'll understand one of the factors that lead to me hiring Virgil."

Roman scoffed. "One image led you to hire him over my head? Are you addled?"

What could be so good that Logan chose to defy him and hire the kid? Sure, Remy had sworn that Virgil would be a good fit. But no one could be so unique as to get hired on one page alone!

"I would…agree." Virgil said slowly, biting his lip as he glanced to the portfolio in Roman’s arms.

Roman blinked. Come again? “You agree?”

Sure, people usually agreed with him to try and stay in his good graces, but most artists would preen over the knowledge that one image got them hired.

Virgil shrugged one shoulder, glancing between the two of them as they made their way down the hallway. “Well...yah. Compared to my other works, I don't see how that one-"

The kid thought his other works were better? Logan hired him on this one mystery image that he was confident would rock his brother’s world and it wasn’t even a piece that Virgil thought was his best work?

How good was this kid?

How stupid was his brother?

Logan shook his head, pulling open the door to Roman’s office, gesturing them inside.

Typical. Roman fought not to bristle at the fact that his twin was taking charge in HIS domain.

"I can assure you both that my cognitive function has been unaffected in my decision.” Logan said at least allowing Roman the dignity to enter first. “Your overall work is beyond noteworthy, Virgil, and while the one drawing is A factor.” He stressed the word, eyes once again glittering with that humor as Roman took his seat, plopping the portfolio on top of the desk. “For my decision to hire you, it is not The factor. Your work shows a much larger variety than any others I’ve seen.”

Roman frowned. Okay...so maybe his brother wasn’t soo addled. But still. One image? “The thing weighs a ton, I would hope it would show some range.” He said, once more flipping through the pages to see what was so great about this ‘page twenty-eight.’

Honestly...from his quick glances at the other pieces...he could see why Remy and Logan had both been impressed. There was variety, creativity with lighting and color, a feel of familiarity that already sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was on a mission Roman would have stopped to inspect each piece more closely so he could figure out why it felt so familiar when he’d never met this kid before.

It really didn’t help that he couldn’t see why Logan would decide to blatantly break his promise.

“I wouldn’t think you’d mind the size, Roman.” Logan said, straightening his tie. “You are the one interviewing for ‘fresh blood’ are you not or was there another reason you were whining to me just last night about the lack of talent in your department?”

HEY! He pushed to his feet, hand resting on the page before the supposed glorious I-can-break-my-promise-and-hire-you-on-the-spot artwork that had Logan running rogue in his department.

His bemoaning the lack of creativity in his department was a thing said in total confidence and shouldn’t be broadcasted to the new guy even if he was in on their little sibling secret no matter how good this art piece was.

"A Prince does not whine!” He declared, flipping the page. “I merely bemoan the lack of talent people these days seem to ha--” Roman froze taking in the aching familiar Sallyized version of Jack Skellington that had been his obsession and lock screen on his phone for the past six months. “WHAT?!”

He didn’t realize he yelled the last word until Logan smirked, adjusting his glasses as he closed the blinds on the windows to Roman’s office.

Yah probably not a good idea to let others see him totally fangirling, but AAHHHH!!!!! He couldn’t believe it!

Roman shoved to his feet, heart pounding like a drum in his chest as he practically climbed over the desk to shove the picture into the Virgil’s startled face. "You drew this?!"

No way no way no way! He HAD to be dreaming!!! This kid was his beloved Stormcloud?!

Virgil blinked down Jack Skellington before raising an eyebrow, mismatch eyes shining with confusion. "Yes?"

Oh. OH. OH! CHRISTMAS HAD COME EARLY!! Roman placed the portfolio on the desk, careful to keep it open to page twenty-eight because he wasn’t quite convinced just yet that he wasn’t dreaming and if he closed the portfolio maybe it would disappear but no. This had to be real! He pulled out his phone, quickly pulling up Stormcloud’s webpage with the Sallyized version of Jack front and center with the exact same stormcloud signature on the bottom, before shoving his phone in Virgil’s face, the kid practically going cross eyed in the process. “You're telling me this is you?” He asked, anticipation filling every fiber of his being. “That you're--!"

"EmoKnightmare478?" Virgil asked without missing a beat as he ran his hand through his hair. “Yah. That's me, Princey, but how--why?"

“YES!” Roman cried out, grabbing Logan and pulling him into a waltz around the room that only lasted for like two seconds before he had to stop and just jump up and down in a circle with Specs like the fangirl he was at this wondrous turn of events. "YES YES YES YES YES YES!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, LOGAROO!! YOU FOUND STORMCLOUD! HE APPLIED! HE WANTS TO WORK--!! LOGAN! AHHHHH!!!!"

“Am I...missing something here?” Virgil asked, resting a hand, protectively on his artwork, safely keeping his distance from Roman’s prancing.

“Roman’s been a fan of your account for the past couple of years.” Logan said simply, looking over his shoulder at their new hire as he turned in place with Roman. “He looks forward to seeing your bi-montly updates like one looks forward to opening presents at Christmas.”

Virgil went white, his other hand reaching to grab onto the desk as he swayed. “You’re a Fan?” He squeaked.

"OF COURSE!!” Roman cried, finally freeing his twin from his finger-numbing grip to fall down to his knees at Virgil’s feet, arms spread wide. Even the Greats had people that they secretly admired. “Do you know how much I positively adore your twist on a Nightmare Before Christmas series?” He asked eagerly. Every piece had been simply superb. A gift from the Gods. A supreme act of creativity that Roman could only hope to replicate. Stormcloud had taken his favorite Halloween movie and brought it to new heights, giving complexities to even the minorest of characters leaving him in awe every single time.

“Tell me.” Roman said, still on his knees, clasping his hands together like a beggar. “What would it take to commission you to draw the entire cast Sallyized for me? One large painting to hang there over my desk? Anything's on the table. Name your price."

“I--I--uhhh--” Virgil leaned away, hands scrambling on the desk.

Logan exhaled, grabbing Roman by the shoulder. “Perhaps you should tone down the adoration and stop terrorizing your new hire?” He suggested, tightening his grip.

Right. Right. Roman batted away Lo’s hand, rising to his feet. Of course. This wasn’t a Comic Con convention. He had to maintain some sort of decorum, but THIS WAS HIS STORMCLOUD HOW COULD HE NOT BE EXCITED?!

“He’s--He’s not--” Virgil drew in a shallow breath.

Not what? Not serious about his request for a commission because he definitely was!

Logan shook his head. “Well...even if he’s not, I shall assuage your fears anyway. You will still have your job even if you refuse, Virgil. Crofters forbid it doesn’t do Roman any harm to be told no every now and then.”

Roman scoffed at that. Oh, yes it did. He much preferred getting what he wanted thank you very much and being spurned by his favorite artist for a commission he’d been dreaming of for months may just kill him then and there.

Still. Logan did have a point. As Virgil’s potential new boss, he did have to set clear boundaries and this definitely had blurred the lines a bit. “Oh yes, your job isn’t ever in question with this, Stormcloud.” Roman said, offering him a smile as he spread his hands peacefully. “Specs hired you and from what I’ve seen so far,”

He would need to take a very in depth look at the artwork within that portfolio when he got a chance. He needed to see what else Virgil had designed. But that would have to come later. “I second it, but.” His eyes went wide and pleading as he clasped his hands together. “I will be very very very heartbroken and will be giving you super sad puppy dog eyes like this every time you see me for the next--”

“Three hours?” Logan asked, adjusting his glasses as he pulled his brother back another step to give Virgil space to breathe.

Roman made a face. Way to ruin the moment. “I was gonna say a week, but probably.” It would hurt, but he could handle the rejection...maybe. Probably. He didn’t know for sure. People didn’t usually say no to him when they knew who he was.

Virgil swallowed, licking his lips. “You...really would…pay me? The Prince? Would...pay me?”

“Of course! I said--” Roman turned to Logan. “Did I not say that, Lo? Any price. I said that!” He wasn’t a heathen expecting Stormcloud to do such an intense art piece like that for free. No. Roman knew the value of art and Virgil’s artwork would be worth every single penny!

“You did indeed.” Logan nodded.

“Great!” Good to know they’d been clear on that. “Here.” Roman took Virgil by the arm, pulling him to a seat at his desk. “Specs will draw up your contract for the position. Wages, hours, expected responsibilities, rules and policies, so on and so forth. I trust he was quite thorough in whatever interview he gave you right before you found me right? Right. But you and I.” He smiled conspiracally, pulling up a chair. “Need to talk shop. Come on. Commission. How much?”

Logan rolled his eyes as he slid into another chair in front of Roman’s computer, his fingers already flying over the keyboard to pull up the necessary forms to print out. “Of course, leave the boring paperwork to me.”

“It’s what you’re good at Specs.” Roman waved vaguely in his direction, his full attention on his favorite Stormcloud. “Come on Virge, can I call you Virge? Name your price.”

“I--I---Okay...uhmmm. Well…” Virgil rubbed the back of his head before dropping his hand to where Roman had touched him. “Were you actually wanting one large painting of everyone together or individual pieces that form a scene if placed side by side?

Individual….Pieces?! Roman leaned forward, fighting to not grin like a madman. “I was thinking the former, but the latter intrigues me. What would be the difference?”

“Well…” The corner of Virgil’s mouth twitched as he rested a hand on his portfolio. “You said name my price. Does it have to be just...monetary?”

Oooooohhh. Roman smirked to his twin who shared the same smile back. More and more he was seeing why Logan had gone over his head in this. Their new hire was going to fit in rather well here if he was already thinking like that. He hardly doubted that Lo had had time to fill Virge in on their whole betting system here which meant he probably was thinking to set himself up nicely here at StoryTime! before his first day.

“No, no it does not.” Roman sat back lacing his fingers together. “What were you thinking instead? A higher wage? A better position?”

The soft typing from behind him stopped and he could only assume that Logan was waiting for Virgil’s answer as well.

It was one thing to claim to not want to blackmail the twins. It was another entirely to not try and make a grab for power when you had the chance.

Virgil gave a soft growl, shaking his head. “I told you, Princey. I’m not here because I have blackmail on you or want to take a bribe.” He spat the word, his eyes alight with an inner fire, Roman hadn’t seen in a long long time. “Personal commissions are and will always be considered separate from my job here. I won’t argue for things that I haven’t yet proven that I deserve to get.”

Roman relaxed a little at that. “Alright…” He said slowly, listening as Logan began typing again. “But if your asking price doesn’t include money, power, or position.” He raised an eyebrow. “What then are you wanting me to pay in?”

Virgil visibly swallowed. “Well, I would charge per character piece of course.”

Of course. If they had been talking money then Roman could see how this whole thing could get extremely pricey for him with each character being on an individual piece.

But Virgil didn’t want money.

“And for Jack.” Virge placed a trembling hand on his portfolio. “My price--” He licked his lips, but didn’t break eye contact as Roman leaned forward. “My price would be that I can wear my hoodie to work.”

A...hoodie? Roman again shared a look with Logan. The price of having the magnificent Sallyized Jack Skellington gracing his office walls all hinged on the ability for the kid to wear a hoodie?! WHY?!

Logan raised an eyebrow, before shrugging a shoulder showing that he had no clue either why a hoodie would be worth one divinely inspired Jack Skellington, before he returned his attention to the laptop, a slight wrinkle between his eyes forming as he frowned. “You are aware that our dress code is--”

“Business casual, yes.” Virgil said, pulling at the collar of his shirt, his fingers trailing down his tie. “And I can,” the corner of his mouth twitched in distaste. “follow that to a T, if this particular option doesn’t work for you, I promise. You just said--”

“Name any price.” It was unconventional but it worked and maybe, though he highly doubted it, the kid would look better in the hoodie rather than the ill-fitting suit he currently wore.

Roman nodded, pulling out a pen and paper, quickly scrawling down the names of a dozen characters from the movie that he for sure wanted Sallyized.

Best to write it down now than spend the next whoever knew how long trying to remember just which price belonged with which piece.

“For Jack.” He said, fighting the giddy feeling rising in his chest as he circled the name and wrote ‘wear hoodie at StoryTime!’ next to it. “I’ll allow the wearing of the hoodie here for low key, everyday work things. BUT.” He stressed the word as he looked up. “Any meetings, presentations, or red carpet events you’ll need to nix it. Deal?”

Virgil let out a breath, relaxing as he leaned forward giving Roman a large genuine smile. “Deal.”

Logan’s Pov -The Interview: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Virgil’s POV for Chapter 3 of The Interview

#The New Hire #The Interview #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Roman #Logan #Virgil #Creativity #Logic #Anxiety #StoryTime!

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

The Perfect Match

Summary: Jinyoung couldn’t believe someone like you could match him in any way when he first met you. But that didn’t stop him from thinking of you constantly either.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: meet messy / “soulmate” au / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: This is dedicated to @ahgase55g7 who not only is an amazing friend who listens to me and all my fiction ideas all too much, but actually convinced me to write this fun little story. I hope you love how it’s come together, Amanda!

Word count: 6233

Like most people in society, Park Jinyoung wasn’t immune to the belief of a perfect match. Every person on Earth had at least one, another human who could come into your life and fit next to you like a puzzle piece. Of course, some would refer to this matching phenomena as having a soulmate, except you weren’t limited to just one person.

In a land where people’s faces blurred with one and the other, the population so large that it made it impossible for a simple face to stand out against the crowd, a system had been formulated by the ancestors of their time to help with finding your match.

It seemed silly really, to rely on something as simple as a zodiac sign; an animal year you were born under that would lead you to the one who would fulfil your life’s potential.

And yet here he was, just like everyone else around him, aware of the little nuances people signified themselves by. A snake embroidered on your favourite jacket or a set of goat earrings, everyone had their way of distinguishing themselves for others to read. A beacon to find someone who complimented you in every way with their own animal. Everyone had multiple levels of compatibility, a triad of good and bad, with each sign having at least one perfect match.

For Jinyoung, as a dog, he was on the hunt for a rabbit.

It wasn’t as if he was actively pursuing it. There was, after all, more to life than searching for bunnies on backpacks or headpieces. He was a hard-working entrepreneur, attempting to make his big break in the art industry. He envisioned a space in which art would be displayed at the forefront, to colour the individual and evoke emotions within them that left a lasting impression.

He wanted to bring some of the old back into this modern world.

Of course, his dream was bigger than his reality. He had the building, the time, and most importantly the dedication.

What he lacked were exhibitions that would draw the attention into his facility. He needed to branch out, employ some contracted artists who matched his vision and start planning for his big moment.

And that’s when he met you.

“Am I late?!” a voice screeched, heels clinking across the tiled floor in a way that disturbed the harmony within the art gallery, Jinyoung whipping around to see who would be so bold to do such a thing. You appeared then, face flushed with colour from your evident haste, your steps not slowing any despite how close you were to him now.

“Woahhh!”

Your eyes now round as saucers as you noticed the sculpture ahead of you, you tried to redirect your path somewhere else, and Jinyoung managed to reach out in time, yanking you back towards him and away from the precious artwork you nearly assaulted. Instead, with the acceleration of the movement, the force sent you both sprawling onto the floor, Jinyoung taking most of the fall.

For a moment, everything was silent.

And then, just like the tornado that you had been spinning into his world, your mouth started to move just as fast. “Oh my God, are you okay?! Of course, you’re not you’re on the floor! And you caught my fall, I’m so sorry! Can I help you, does it hurt?! Is there-”

“Up!” he managed to instruct once his lungs inflated with enough air that your incident had knocked out of him and you scrambled to your feet, a hand reaching down for his and pulling him up just as quickly.

Your avid gaze scanned him from head to toe, actively searching for an obvious sign of distress or pain. Unfortunately for you, it was all internally and he suppressed a groan, his eyes growing hard the longer you did it. Jinyoung cleared his throat noisily. “Are you here for the interview?”

Nodding animatedly, you swung out your arm, blinking in confusion when you noticed it was still linked to his. Giggling nervously, you snapped your hand back, letting him go. “I’m Y/N. I rung earlier.”

“Earlier?” he repeated and once again you nodded with far too much energy. He sighed, just watching you was exhausting. Then again, that could very well do with the way you had crashed into him just before as well. Jinyoung frowned; he hadn’t received a call from anyone today.

You slowly glanced around the studio, your gaze widening and your mouth fell ajar as you soaked in the assorted artwork. When you had spun around the room entirely, you then lifted your index finger to your mouth. “This is an art exhibition?”

“Well, yes,” he answered as if that wasn’t the most obvious reason for the display before you. He scrutinised you, not seeing what he had expected from a candidate. Most carried large portfolios around with them and dressed in professional attire. Whilst your blouse and jeans combo was clean, it definitely didn’t leave him with a great first impression. “You’re an artist?”

“Oh goodness no, I’m a writer!” you exclaimed, waving him off casually. You then grinned. “Though, I suppose words can be like art. Not everyone has the gift of the gab or the skills to write creatively.”

“A writer?”

You nodded up and down and he grew dizzy. “That’s me! You are the place looking for a part -time editor, right? I’m so terrible with directions; I got lost three times on my way here. That’s why I was late.”

It all made sense now, and Jinyoung let out a laugh, the gesture rupturing out from his chest so loudly that for a moment you merely stared. And then you joined him, laughing heartily that you hadn’t realised he had stopped. He then shook his head firmly. “I’m not hiring a writer.”

“Really?” you asked and he folded his arms, cocking his head to the side. Instead of apologising as he expected you to, your eyes grew round again, a curse leaving you before you spun out of his space towards the exit, taking yourself out to torment the sidewalk and whoever else got caught up in your wind. Jinyoung was stunned, you had left without so much as a polite farewell and he blinked after your departure, trying to decipher how such a person could even exist.

It was then when he noticed you left something behind, crouching down to inspect the item. He stared at the bunny plushie in horror, wondering how on earth someone like you could be someone who matched him so perfectly.

“There are better matches out there for me,” he murmured, carrying the signifier into his office and placing it down heavily on his desk. Scrunching his nose up at the item, he then let out a cry in pain, the adrenalin now wearing off and making him reach for his back haggardly.

“Stupid bunny!”

Jinyoung never expected to see you again. Although you had dropped the bunny behind, he assumed you would cut your losses and focus on the more important things in life. And despite coming to this logical conclusion, it didn’t mean he stopped thinking about you.

Not at all.

For the next two days, he replayed the interaction with you from all angles, sometimes cursing you out for your erratic mannerisms, and others chuckling at how different you were from everyone else. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he was intrigued by how someone like you existed. He was so used to his quiet lifestyle where everything was a result of his hard work. He knew what to expect from each day due to the personal standards he maintained. With you, it seemed life was much more exciting. He almost envied you, the carefree nature in how you came in and subsequently departed, uncaring of your first impression you left behind. Granted, you had been in a rush, all the same, he could tell there was a different set of priorities between you both.

Jinyoung wondered if he took everything too seriously and was missing out on some magic in life that you seemed to have discovered. Or maybe you carried it from within. He just couldn’t figure you out. And the fact that you were someone that matched him on the zodiac compatibility charts didn’t ease his mind any.

Still, when you stepped back into the gallery later in the week, albeit with a slower gait this time, he was stunned. Blinking rapidly to ensure he wasn’t imagining your appearance, he came down from the balcony above, thumping down the stairs until he stood before you, his breath unstable. You smiled brightly and his heart thudded in his chest unevenly.

“This might sound really odd, but-”

“Your bunny?” he cut in impatiently and your lips curled up further.

“Oh thank god, I did drop it here after all!” Without any hesitation, you reached forward for his forearm, shaking it excitedly. “Please tell me you kept it safe!”

“I didn’t know if you would come back or not, so I’ve stored it in my office,” he explained and glanced down at his arm you still encased your hands around. He didn’t understand why he was being so weird today. Maybe that just came from being in your company. He was slightly dejected when you yanked your hands away with a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry, I get a little too animated sometimes.”

His mouth twitched, humour evident in his eyes. “A little?”

“Mhm!” you hummed positively as you followed him to the room off the side of the atrium, marvelling his office as if it was the most amazing space you had ever entered. It made Jinyoung anxious, unable to see what impressed you with his own eyes. “Woah, you have a lot of credentials.”

Your praise didn’t make him satisfied, instead, he turned to peer at you curiously. Handing over your bunny, he then folded his arms across his chest and leaned back into the tabletop. “Only what’s required of me to run an art gallery.”

“Only?” you echoed, shaking your head to refute his sentence. “Your passion is evident with all these achievements. I admire you for reaching out for your dreams. Being a curator must be a fulfilling role.”

He didn’t know how to answer you, overwhelmed by your words. You were the first person to tell Jinyoung how proud you were, and you were a mere stranger. It struck a chord within him, his mouth falling ajar as he sucked in a steadying breath.

You truly had a multitude of charms to you that he wasn’t expecting.

Shaking the bunny in your grip, you attached it back onto your bag’s handle, patting it now that it was safe where it belonged. “Thank you for taking care of her! I shouldn’t keep taking up the time of someone as busy as you are.”

“Did you get the job at the editing firm?” he blurted out and your smile that had been reaching up into your eyes left them, disappointment filling the space where happiness once was. You didn’t hide a single emotion in front of him and Jinyoung stared back at you intently. It was refreshing to meet someone who he didn’t have to work so hard to understand how they felt - even if you were still one of the most confusing humans he had ever come across.

“No, but that’s okay right?! Someone will find my skills set useful soon!”

“Do you want to go grab a coffee, if you’re not busy?” he continued, surprising himself along with you.

Leaning forward, you peered into his face for signs of something he was unable to decipher before you grinned. “Do you like me, Mr Curator?”

“Jinyoung,” he introduced rapidly and shook his head. “I uh, just feel like I might have played into your unfort-”

“You’re really cute right now!” you exclaimed with a giggle and nodded your head. “I’m kidding about the liking part, but getting a drink does sound appealing. Should we?”

You both walked to the closest coffee shop after he locked the front door to the gallery, Jinyoung peering at you every now and then. You didn’t seem to be as affected as he was in your company. His mind was reeling, had he truly just offered you coffee and fumbled over it? Receiving a single praise from a stranger sure seemed to affect his psyche more than he had realised.

But Jinyoung knew deep down there was more to it. The way you hadn’t left his mind and reappeared as if he had conjured you up himself seemed to speak volumes to him. Even if you had some less than desirable traits, you had hooked him in some way. Jinyoung wanted to understand you more as if he had been presented with a piece of artwork with no obvious way to describe it. Every time he thought he had an answer, you would show another angle, leaving him with no other option than to observe you further.

It was his staring that seemed to unsettle you the most once you were both seated with your beverages, your cheeks flushing the longer he did so. “Do you always observe people as if they’re paintings too?”

“Well, I-” Guilt flooded his features as you giggled, playing around with the straw to your iced latte.

You leaned in closer and Jinyoung snapped back, rigid from your easy approach. “So tell me, Jinyoung, what kind of impression do I leave you with?”

“Chaotic,” he answered immediately, cheeks reddening when he realised he said it aloud.

You laughed heartily then, satisfied with his answer. “I like that. The mind of a creative writer is pretty much just that.”

“Are you published anywhere?” he asked and your humour simmered down. Jinyoung became aware accomplishments were something of a weakness for you.

You shot him a wry smile after sipping at your drink. “Unlike you, it seems my drive isn’t as proficient. Maybe one day, I’ll make it big, but I doubt my words far too often. It’s easier to edit others.”

He could relate to you there. Sure, he ran an art gallery, but none of his own paintings were displayed there, despite being known as an artist for most of his life. He shook away the connection, returning to the first part of your reply. He pursed his lips together before asking, “You’ve observed me too?”

Grinning, you nodded. “One might even go as far as to say they’ve looked you up online, Park Jinyoung.”

This surprised him, though he was unsure if he liked that you had or not. Had you figured his zodiac sign matched yours in any way too? He instinctively fingered the dog logo on the corner of his phone case on top of the table, wondering if you had noticed it before now. You seemed to pay his action no notice, lifting your hand up solemnly instead, ready to pledge an oath of some kind.

“To be fair, I mentioned the other day I’m useless with directions, right? Well, I remembered the name Gallery Park and that’s how I found my way back to get my bag charm today. I admit I was curious about your work, from one creative enthusiast to another. However, I have to say it wasn’t as impressive online as it was in person.”

“Ex-excuse me?!” he squeaked, his thoughts screeching to a halt, derailed at your dismissive approach. You weren’t teasing, that much he could tell with your casual gaze and he gaped at you, confusion settling in. Hadn’t you just praised his efforts earlier?

“Who designed your website? Are they boring and dry in nature? There was nothing compelling to bring any attention to what you or your gallery hopes to achieve at all.”

“Bor...Boring?!” he repeated, and your eyes rounded, realising he was the one behind the website. You weren’t apologetic in the slightest and he gasped for air to calm his nerves.

He had been right to consider you chaotic. You were definitely tampering with his peace once again. “It’s professional.”

“Sure, sure,” you agreed with an unconvincing tone, glancing out the window, something outside catching your attention. It irked him and he placed his hand down on the table with more force than he intended. Your stare found his again, now amused by his clear dishevelment. “Did I strike a nerve?”

“More than one,” he admitted gruffly and you giggled, taking another drink. Jinyoung didn’t know what to do. Part of him wanted to get up and leave, to walk away from your tumultuous personality and back to where he felt most at ease. He stared at his take out cup, gulping some of the coffee down and then over at you. Still, you made no attempt to apologise. Just as you had said earlier, he had worked too hard for what he owned. You had nothing that he could compare to and-

“I felt bad for interrupting your hiring process the other day, so I did this for you. If you don’t like it, you can simply throw it away.” Slipping a USB stick towards him, you then picked up your drink, shaking the cup and shooting him another smile. “Thanks for this. It was nice spending time with a professional today.”

He couldn’t figure out if your last line was a dig or not. In fact, Jinyoung didn’t have a single clue on how to take anything when it came to you. He had experienced so many emotions in the short space of time, acting uncharacteristically from his usual self too. And yet, he still couldn’t shake how intrigued he was over you. When back at the gallery, he booted the USB up in his computer, opening the file immediately. The document soon appeared and he scrolled over the multiple pages quickly, trying to figure out how this would be of any benefit to him.

“What is all this?” he murmured, returning to the top of the document and began to read.

He soon realised you had taken the information on his website and reformatted everything. From the front page introduction to the current exhibition details and even his about page, you had transformed it to sound, well, he wasn’t able to think of a single word for it. It was coherent yet appealing, your choice of words executed as beautifully as fine paint strokes, each word earning its place and showing why it was there.

You hadn’t stated his achievements in a bulleted list, instead, you had gone into them as if you had been a part of the journey yourself, describing Gallery Park and Jinyoung himself in a way that highlighted his strengths effortlessly. He had to admit, this was far better than what he already had on his web domain. Jinyoung was excited, as if he had been introduced to a new person with an amazing outlook in the art industry.

In reality, it was just him and that kind of overwhelmed him. How could he sound this good?

Scrolling through again to the end, he stopped, cursing his hasty reaction to you earlier. You were good. Too good. How had you not been hired?! He felt as if he had become the biggest fan of your words, now sitting here feeling let down that he had finished reading through. He craved more, wishing for further content with your flavour on it.

He regretted giving back the bunny. There was nothing to bring you back here, nothing that stood out as something that could lure you back so he could thank you. Congratulate you as much as you had him earlier. The doubt you showcased in your work, Jinyoung wished to eradicate. He was desperate to do something, anything for you.

It was then that he saw something taped onto the underside of the USB stick. A URL. Typing in the web address, he discovered your world. The magic that encompassed you as a person came from within here. He spent hours going through your works, reading stories both fantastical and realistic enough that he felt he knew the characters as if they were people he had met in his life by the end of the story. He hadn’t realised he didn’t eat dinner until his stomach begged at him into the later hours of the evening to feed it and slowly he roused from the drunken stupor he felt he was under, shaking away the remnants of the last world he had read and packed up for the day. He walked out of the gallery and locked up, frowning when a hand shot out in front of him.

“I wondered, would he be hungry by now?” you started and Jinyoung froze, eyes glued to you as you bounced into view. You feigned a thoughtful pose before grinning again. “I have no idea if you have allergies to food, so I tried to pick something common. Here.”

“What… what are you doing here?”

“Should I go?” you countered and Jinyoung snapped, lurching forward and shaking his head as he gripped your wrist. You smiled warmly, liking the feeling.

“How did you…?”

“You have to sign up for my blog to read my content. Only you would choose a username with your initials in it, Jinyoung.”

He chuckled, relaxing somewhat. “How come it feels like you know too much about me?”

“Maybe I do,” you teased and shook the bag of food. “Are you going to take it or not?”

“Want to come in here and eat with me?”

“Ooh, back into the building that has so much going for it?” you announced, nodding happily enough. Jinyoung unlocked the door again and took you into the back room, the small staff cafeteria lacked a lot in content. Only a lone fridge where he stored drinks for his clients and a small table decorated the room and you glanced around before smiling.

“Did you hire anyone?”

“No one shares the same vision as I do,” he told you with a shake of his head.

You smirked. “You aren’t prepared to see other people’s visions either.”

“I saw yours,” he mentioned and you faltered, chewing on your bottom lip lightly. Jinyoung smiled as he reached out for one of the packets of food and opened it. “Well, I read it.”

“What did you think?”

“You should let the world read your words, Y/N. They’re better than you think of them,” he encouraged and you didn’t respond, making Jinyoung feel vulnerable. He wanted to be just like you, to show the praise you had for him right back. He wasn’t as bold as you were, however, and grimaced at your lack of reaction. “Do you, not uh, want to?”

“I thought if I wrote for a living, I would get to live my best life. I’d share my favourite thing with everyone. Turns out, it doesn’t keep money flowing as well as I’d like. So I picked up editing tasks because other people have words that need to be shared too. It’s hard to balance both sometimes.” You blinked rapidly and turned so he could see you deal with your emotions. “Ah, why am I telling you this?”

“The same reason you remodelled my portfolio,” Jinyoung stated, realising the longer he stared at you that he was becoming captivated. He smiled. “I think we have a connection, don’t you?”

There was no giggle, no teasing in your eyes as you looked at him. Instead, you radiated a warmth he had never seen before from another person. Was he watching you fall for him as the seconds went by? Your lips curled up, your hands reaching to catch your head as if it had grown too full to hold itself up alone. And then you nodded.

“Maybe there’s more to explore with you, Mr Curator.”

Jinyoung didn’t try to hire you right away. He had attempted to pay you for your website work, but you flat refused it, telling him you were truly doing him a favour. And that you had. With your amendments, the site traffic seemed to double. He was soon receiving messages about the venue, wondering if he would be open to holding functions there for business clientele. Whilst Jinyoung hadn’t ever imagined anything other than art exhibitions, this was a smart business tactic. The more people visited the gallery, the more word of mouth would travel. It wasn’t long until he was making a steady name for himself in the more affluent circles.

And that’s when Jinyoung realised he needed someone savvy with words to be in charge of PR. “You would be perfect for the role. You say it yourself, you have the gift of the gab, Y/N.”

You looked at him carefully, your fork remaining raised midair. It had become somewhat of a tradition over the last three months that you ate dinner together at least once a week. Tonight, Jinyoung had taken you out to an Italian restaurant, and you seemed to connect this to his offer. “Is this delicious meal a form of bribery?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “If I say yes, will you work for me?”

“I don’t want to,” you announced and he frowned, your rejection confusing him. He knew the temporary roles you were holding at various positions around the city were taxing for you to keep up with. He wasn’t offering you something short-term. You had often proclaimed to want more of his stability in life. And he was literally offering you a way to reach out for it right now.

Your eyes remained resolute and he sighed heavily. “Why not? What is it that bothers you about the gallery?”

“The gallery isn’t a problem. I’d love to work there and see it grow into a bustling hub for art enthusiasts. Jinyoung, the problem is you.”

“Me?” he echoed. Even after knowing you for as long as he had, you never failed to surprise him. He arched an eyebrow, wondering if this was one of your dramatic moments. “What about me is a problem?”

“Everything about you is a problem to me,” you mentioned, sparing some of the pasta in your bowl, spinning your utensil slowly, methodically. He watched the motion as if he was the pasta you were coiling, his stomach tightening the longer you didn’t answer him directly. “I can’t work with someone like you.”

“Like me? Y/N, you’re being ridiculous and-”

“I like you, Jinyoung,” you confessed, eyes lifting away from the food finally. You smiled, albeit gently compared to your usual ones. “Can you imagine liking someone so much but then you have to work for them too? There’s no distinction between work and personal life. I can’t do that.”

Jinyoung blinked slowly, his fork clinking into his bowl the longer he deciphered your confession. And then he snapped his eyes up to find yours. “You can’t just say that!”

“Why not? It’s the truth. What if we fight as a couple, and then at work we have to engage in projects closely? I don’t think my mind could handle that.”

He was all but hyperventilating at your casual reply. Sure, it showed you had thought about it carefully, but he couldn’t comprehend that right now. You were acting as if he and you were already something. Jinyoung didn’t know what you were to him.

“Y/N, you can’t just confess you like me without thinking about my feelings too!” he hissed out, taking a long gulp of his wine. You giggled and his eyes nearly fell out of his head. “How can you laugh right now?!”

“Because you’re being cute again.”

“I’m-!” he started, voice an octave too high and Jinyoung glanced around himself awkwardly before leaning towards your unaffected eating self. “I’m not cute, and you’re moving far too ahead of yourself!”

“So you don’t like me back? Well, that sucks,” you replied, letting out a heavy sigh. And then you went back to eating. “I still can’t accept the offer. You’ll find me staring at you, yearning over my one-sided crush at the most inopportune moments and I’ll eventually have to quit when you haven’t fallen in love with me within a year of employment.”

“You’re toying with me,” he concluded and whilst you did grin, indicating your wicked play, something about the look in your eyes told him it wasn’t all false. Just as he had that night you first bought him food, he could see the emotions unfolding in your eyes. There was a sting from his hasty dismissal, yet the warmth remained in the back at a safe distance this time.

Jinyoung realised he was waiting for it to come forward as it usually did. But you didn’t allow it, looking down at your meal and exclaiming that his offers always came with such delicious food.

He couldn’t taste the flavour anymore.

Your confession plagued him.

In fact, the scenarios you created did as well, making it harder for him to work in the office some days. He would be working on answering emails or planning out upcoming events for the gallery when the image of you would sneak up in his head, offering forth several options. Sometimes your careful words that night would win out, showcasing just why working with you would be a nightmare. The fantasies would more often than not turn down a path you hadn’t voiced. He would imagine the shared smiles, subtle touches and bouts of unrestrained passion after hours until Jinyoung was certain there was something terribly wrong with him.

More often than not, whenever he was riddled with thoughts of you, he would find himself standing in the atrium, eyes glued to the entrance in anticipation.

He’d think back to the way you had come through the automatic doors, barrelling over like the chaotic wind you were. Jinyoung was positive that on that day you had swept off with his heart, rattling it enough that it now only beat in tune for you.

He was hesitant to speak of his growing feelings to you, however.

Although it was petty, your confession over dinner that night had wounded his pride. Whilst he had still been in a land of denial then, he knew he had hoped to be the one to tell you how he felt first.

That you were the rabbit to his dog, the matching puzzle piece he had hoped to meet in his lifetime. Opposites attract and you were the complete mirrored image of him. His calm was messed with your wind, the peace challenged by your chaos and his head rivalled your heart.

Jinyoung knew this was love.

He was aware deep down that he wouldn’t feel complete until he told you, and so Jinyoung began to plan his confession. You might have stolen his thunder but he’d still be able to create the perfect brew between you both for a love storm to take over. He decided he would use the ruse of convincing you to work for him, knowing that if he sounded desperate enough, you would come to his aid.

And that you did.

“Okay, I’m here, how long do we have until the clients arrive for tonight’s event? How could you hire a catering team that would cancel on the day at such short notice?!” you exclaimed as soon as you were inside the atrium, hands reaching up into your hair to tie it back from your face.

You looked determined and ready to work.

So Jinyoung let you.

Taking you into the kitchen, he pointed to some of the food he had started preparing. “It’s not a huge event, luckily. Can you finish prepping these two dinner plates and I’ll go upstairs and ensure the private viewing room is ready for them to arrive.”

“I’ll bring them up when I’m done,” you announced and he nodded, happily leaving you to the task before dashing upstairs to give himself a pep-talk. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this anxious and when you entered the room, he was startled, flinching visibly.

You chuckled as you placed the food down, approaching him and reaching for the collar of his shirt to tidy it. “I’m sure the client tonight must be important for you to look this frazzled, Jinyoung.”

“I uh-”

“I believe in you. I know you have it in you to make sure tonight goes as smoothly as you hope,” you continued, unaware of how your words were lending him the courage to continue with his plans. He smiled, standing there as you smoothed out his attire, waiting until your gaze shifted up to his. When you did, you narrowed yours, questioning his expression.

“The client is already here.”

“Where? Oh my god, go greet them! I’ll dash down as soon as I can so you can entertain them.” Your eyes darted around the room rapidly and you gave him a little shove. But Jinyoung didn’t shift away, and a short puff of air slipped from between your lips impatiently. “Why aren’t you going?!”

“I should greet them in a way that would dazzle them, right?” he asked and you nodded all too much, making his smile curl up further. He cocked his head to the side. “Make a lasting impression that they cannot forget?”

“Yes, Jinyoung, would you jus-”

Your sentence effectively cut off when his lips met yours. Reaching to hold your face with both of his hands, Jinyoung kissed you passionately, his mouth moving against yours in a way that he could tell had surprised you. Your hands gripped at his waist for support from his sudden approach, soon relaxing and slipping around and up his back as you kissed him back. It seemed like an eternity was spent between you both as he explored your mouth, bodies flush against one another as your tongues danced together. This was heaven, a Nirvana that had been in front of him all this time and he had been so slow to reach out for.

Yet Jinyoung knew the wait had been worth it. His feelings for you were at their highest point now, and he was certain you could taste how he thought of you the longer he kissed you. It was giddying and even he was having a hard time keeping up with all the explosive lust enveloping you both.

Eventually, you needed air. It was reluctant, the way you tore your mouth away from his, eyes hooded as you tried to comprehend everything that had just happened. “I’m not quite following you.”

“I was just greeting my client,” he murmured, eyes still locked on your swollen lips. He smirked, satisfied with his handiwork. Rubbing your face gently, he travelled up until he was seeing your eyes, the lust sitting right on the surface, along with the warmth he had grown to enjoy the most. He grinned, resting his forehead against yours and dropped one hand away from your face. “God, I love you.”

“You can’t just say that!” you breathed, hands now gripping onto him for support. He laughed, how had he known you would be the type to go weak at the knees. Blushing profusely, you blinked rapidly, trying to garner some sort of response. “You can’t tell me you love me without me being ready to hear it!”

“You’ve been ready a whole lot longer than I have.”

“I know,” you complained, sucking in a deep breath and trying to fight your way through the lust to find some sense of coherency. You looked up at him, completely lost. It was surprising to see, you normally went along with everything so easily. You were searching for confirmation, and if he hadn’t of been pressing into you so closely, Jinyoung was certain you would have pinched yourself to see if you were dreaming. You took a deep breath. “Tell me again.”

“I love you, Y/N. I love how chaotic you are. How magical you make my world feel. How I wish to be around your carefree spirit every day. You’re my match in life, I’ve known that we matched from the beginning.”

“You did?”

He nodded, smiling back at you. “You left it here for me as a sign from our first meeting. I knew with how crazy you drove me back then that you were the one for me.”

You frowned but didn’t say anything else, a smile soon erasing any doubt. Stepping up on your toes, you hovered around his mouth, your breath fanning on his face. “The food’s getting cold.”

“Are you hungry?” he wondered and you smiled, nodding your head. He faltered. “Really?

“Are these lips ever going to find mine again, or will you have me starve?”

Jinyoung laughed before he kissed you again. And when that kiss ended, the next began, the food long forgotten with another hunger. It was when he travelled his lips to your neck that he suddenly stopped, brushing your hair aside with his hand. He blinked, looking at the small tattoo behind your ear. “You’re a tiger?”

“Mm,” you hummed, arching your neck towards him for the pleasure to continue. You pouted at him when it didn’t. “Is that a problem?”

Jinyoung smiled, chuckling even, before he shook his head firmly. “No. You’re my perfect match.”

_________________

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

Text

Before the Dawn (BC x OC)

Genre: Angst, Historic, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Bangchan x Hunter!OC

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: When Religion grows and slowly diminishes another, worshippers of Nature are made victims of the new laws put upon Man by a single God.

A God who hates the apparent spawns of Hell who were once seen as another part of the people inhabiting the realm of Mother Nature. However, His believers want to see them gone, even if it comes at a cost.

And this contract has a highly personal one.

Author’s Note: As mentioned before, I am currently doing a creative writing course as part of my studies and the story below is part of the building portfolio.

Personally, there has always been an interest in the growth and belief in Christianity despite being an atheist who strongly leans towards the older polytheistic religions, especially the Greek and Roman ones. Nevertheless, recent focus has been turned to the Celtic belief system thanks to studying Germanic and Celtic medieval heroes and Christian saints.

And knowing that Christianity did not overtake Ireland in one night, this is also a wee exploration of the co-existence of Paganism and Christianity.

Furthermore, this work was inspired by a piece of art I picked up when I was in Edinburgh for the first time about the Scottish folk tale ‘The Grey Wolf’ (link to Hannah Forrest’s art). This myth is blended into the piece with an old English legend that when someone who truly loved and trusted the werewolf called him by name, the wolf would become human again. To top it all off, there is the mention of banshees to put some Irishness into the mix.

Lastly, the names are in Irish. But, let’s be honest, we all know who I actually wrote about.

I sincerely hope you enjoy.

Banner art is by ShamiesArt on DeviantArt (link)

Masterlist

It is a common mistake for ordinary people to immediately expect silver-coated arrows in the hunt for the monster terrorizing the village. Little do they know that there is another pacifist trick to make the evil go away. The reason that this method is so hardly known, is that it is erased from most texts that are passed down in hunter families or altered to require so much that mindless violence is the simple and fast solution.

Mankind sure does love its beastly side.

However, to maintain the peace and spare even the life of the huntress, all one truly needs is the lady worshipped by the wolf and who knows his true - Christian, if you ask the Godly people - name. Ana, Mother Goddess, has left an epitaph behind when the Gods left the Earth, describing in it how to pacify the Children of the Moon she created and noting this precise method. Always being up for new weapons and hunting techniques, tonight the divine word will be put to practice.

If only to save the heart faithfully belonging to the one beating in the chest, shrouded by evenfall.

Faced with ivory fangs glistening in the moonlight warmed by smoking fire, blood-frenzied.

Familiar deep brown eyes now blazing with rage while they always looked so tender when secretly making love in the grove with the oak tree, overlooking the crystal lake in the valley.

The giant wolf a contract has been set out on by the very same townspeople who once whispered of a lucky marriage. Withal, those truthful rumours soon darkened when Christianity made the beloved golden-haired boy an abomination instead of the baker’s son whereas the remaining Pagans tried their best to protect the youth without being burned at the stake.

Heretics.

Like the mistress who is supposed to murder the boy that has been missing from the riverside village for more than a year, much to the delight of the overbearing Churchgoers.

What has happened to humanity?

Why must Religion ruin Love?

Why does one person have to pay for the primary sin of the Many?

Nay, two will grace the Cross that is both their blessing and punishment.

If we stay.

“Criostoir.” Just an inch away, the big nose often kissed with sincere affection and now transformed and blackened like the night halts. The beastly anger subsides, dilated pupils softening and sharp teeth covered by wolfish lips carefully listening to a voice they have to recognize. ‘’It’s me, Iúile.’’

And do.

A shudder like a disturbed body of water mirror treks through ashen dotted with hay fur, muscles snapping and reattaching as bones break and change positions in limbs slowly becoming human, stretching and shrinking vocal cords voicing the agony.

‘’My love.’’

The two little words spoken before entwined fingers assuring of endless faithfulness have to unravel, no moment to be taken to assure humanity has truly returned to the wolf lover.

We run.

Fading like the banshees in the bogs.

The contract sees no silver.

#Bangchan fanfiction #Werewolf AU #Stray Kids fanfiction #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chan #Channie #Bangchan x OC

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sweetlydraws · 5 years

Text

Painted Lady AU One Month

For contexts watch my Miraculous Ladybug Human Animatic.

I don’t know about the France school system or anything like that. I’m American sorry. Also in the animatic, I forgot Adrien asking Marinette not to call out Lila at the end of the episode. So slight fix. This is my first fanfic of any kind, so if anyone characters are weird, I’m sorry. Enjoy.

Warnings: Slight character bashing. Not really bashing just not in a good light.

(Master Fu, Adrien sorta, the class in general.)

Marinette P.O.V

I was falling. I don’t know what falling is supposed to feel like. No, I do. I trip and fall all the time. No, I don’t know what falling to your death feels like. There was no Ladybug to catch me. My body feels all the gravity of the world pushing down on it. At the same time, it felt like I wasn’t moving at all. Why am I falling? Thinking for a second… Ah, I remember now. I was akumatized. It all comes back to me. The gift, their harsh words, throwing Tikki, and accepting Hawkmoth. Other than that it was blank. Why did this have to happen… If only I hadn’t agreed with Adrien.

*Flashback*

I make my way to school, I had missed the prior day due to being sick. I had worked all weekend to build up my portfolio and hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. Stretching, I yawned. Still tired. I start thinking of more designs.

“Hey, girl! Where were you?!” A loud yelling voice broke my thoughts. Regaining focus I see its Alya. Smiling I wave back. Walking over to her.

“Worked my self ragged. Ended up getting a bad fever because of it.” I explained.

“Why are you working so hard? Making something for Adrien?” Alya teased. Blushing hard I tried to respond but was cut off by a familiar but unknown voice.

“Marinette! It’s so good to see you.” Before I could identify the voice a body hugs mine. It wasn’t a friendly hug or even a hug that had nice intentions. This hug was hard and unconformable. Prying myself away I see that its…. Oh no. When did Lila return?! My heart was pounding so hard I felt it in my eardrums.

“Lila, when… When did you come back?” I questioned.

“I came back yesterday. I was so sad to see you weren’t there.” She replied with a fake sadness in her voice. Lila’s hands are still holding on to my arms. As she spoke she squeezed hard. “ I do hope that we can be better friends the year.” The snake lied through her teeth. Breaking my arms away. Alya looks at me through questioning eyes.

“Sorry, Lila I had a fever and don’t want to get you sick as well.” I eased Alya. Lila smiled. I don’t like this. Heavens knows what she’s been feeding them. My mind starts to race. I faintly hear Alya say that she and Lila are heading to the library for a pre-school study group and wants to know if I want to come. I can’t muster any words and simply shake my head. Lila said something about me being flushed and making others sick. As they leave I rush to the bathroom. Thankfully no one was there. I splash cold water on my face to calm down.

“Are you okay Marinette?” Tikki asked from my bag. I guess she doesn’t want to risk being seen.

“Honestly. No, Lila is a bad liar. The last time she was here she caused a lot of drama, for both me and Ladybug.” Honestly, I was just worried. Lila had the ability to make the class bend to her will. With me being sick yesterday and Chloe the only other person who doesn’t believe the lies coming out of the snake’s mouth, visiting her mom in America. Lila had free reign of the school. Luckily no one was akumatized yesterday while I was sick, so at least that was good. I dry off my face.

“I have to figure out what damages Lila has done and set things straight.” I resolved.

“What if she didn’t do anything?” Tikki proposed.

“No, knowing Lila she had up some grand story involving some celebrity and some politician. Last time she lied about Ladybug.” I shot back. Tikki didn’t reply, so I think I won. Looking at my phone class was starting in about 10 minutes. As I leave the bathroom and start making my way to the class, a hand grabs me. Turning I see, Adrien?!

“ Marinette before you say anything, I need you to promise me you won’t call out Lila for anything.” He all but demanded.

“Wait, what?” I yank my hand away. “Why? What did she do yesterday?” I questioned back.

“She hasn’t… She hasn’t hurt anyone.” He stuttered.

“Adrien, that is a low bar. What did she say.” My comeback caused him to falter. He quickly straightened himself back.

“Marinette ‘she hasn’t hurt anyone’ is a fine bar for her to reach. Yes, she has lied but the lies haven’t caused anyone to be akumatized.” His reply was weak.

“No one has been akumatized because they don’t know she lying. If they find out then they’ll be akumatized.” His argument wasn’t bad but it wasn’t perfect. “Marinette if you tell them anything, you will be the reason why they become akumatized.”

My brain couldn’t keep up with his words. Adrien grab my arm again, “Marinette promise me.” His grip didn’t tighten but it felt unconformable. All I could do was nod. He didn’t let go, “Marinette swear to me.” Swear? Swear on what…

“I swear on my earrings. They are a gift from a family member. They mean the world to me. I swear on them.” My horsed voice said. He seemed satisfied and let go of me. I make my way to class. My arms burned but the feeling didn’t come pair to the burning in my chest.

*Flashback Over*

I don’t know how far it is from the top of the Eiffel tower to the ground but it feels like it has been hours. I muster up the courage to open my eyes… A ceiling? Moving my body, I feel a sheeted bed. My body hurts. I’ve felt pain from a Ladybug battle before but this is far worse. Wait! I quickly reach for my ears. I don’t feel any earrings. Pulling my body up with a groan. Looking around, I’m definitely in my room.

“Sweetie!” A voice joy-full called. Looking I see my dad. We lock eyes and he just starts crying. I want to move to comfort him, but when I go to reach out to him, I recoil in pain. I hear the door shut. Sitting in silence, I hear moving and crashing from downstairs. No doubt that dad is telling mom I’m up.

“Tikki?” Geez, my voice is strained. She doesn’t answer but I do hear some light movement.

“Marinette!” My mom bursts through the door. Rushing towards me crying. She and I hug, dad joins in.

“I love you guys, but everything hurts.” I meekly said. They pull away. “What happened? How did I get here?

“Ladybug brought you home. She said she caught you and you passed out… She also told us what had been happening at school.” Mom answered. Ladybug? I’m Ladybug or at least I was. Master Fu replaced me so quickly. I could feel tears growing in my eyes. Maybe he never believed in me, maybe he always had a backup plan for when clumsy Marinette messed up to much. I feel a hand caress my face. Mom is looking at me her eyes red from crying.

“ We’re not making you go back there. Do you remember Clover-Bloom academy?” Mom asked, not moving her hand away.

“I thought I missed my chance,” I remember. A month or so after Lila returned and started to turn everyone against me. I received a letter saying that if I was able to make one of the outfits I designed and send it to them I would be accepted… I was so depressed I couldn’t even think of holding a pen let alone making a dress.

“You did. But! We contacted them and they told us that we were very lucky because a student in your grade, had transferred out. They said if you can design a few more designs and take a few tests, you’ll be able to get in.” Dad’s voice was joyful.

“How long do I have?” I meekly asked. This voice started in the back of my head saying ‘ They pity you. It is all your fault. If only you kept your mouth shut. You would still have Tikki, Adrien, and all your friends.’

“Well, you have about a month… But, you’ve been passed out for a few days.” Mom or dad said I couldn’t be sure. A few days! Why? Did… Did anyone come to see me? ‘ Why would they? Dirty lying, bully Marinette. You don’t deserve to be in their presence.’

“We had a doctor come by and check you out. She said that you were fine, just exhausted.” Mom… Yeah, it was mom who said that.

“Has… has anyone come to see me?” I whispered. Mom and dad look at each other than to me then back to each other. Mom sighs.

“Some did. Nino, Juleka, Rose all came to see you.” Mom said.

“We didn’t let them. We were so angry about what they did to you. We told them you were ‘sleeping’, and I don’t know if they wanted to say sorry or wanted answers. We couldn’t let them near you. We hope you understand sweetie.” Dad finished.

“No..no Ayla or Adrien?” I barely got out. They didn’t reply verbally, only shook their head. ‘ See they now how evil you are. The others pity you. Using a akuma to manipulate them. How are you any better than Lila? Its good Fu got a different Ladybug. You. Are. Not. Deserving. Of. The. Title. Ladybug.’

“Is it alright if I can be alone. This is a lot to take in.” They nod.

“Is there anything you would like to eat for dinner?” Dad asked.

“Nothing in particular.” I smiled falsely. They smile back as they leave. I move my body to have my legs off my bed. I feel wetness falling on my legs. I’m crying again. ‘Cry baby.’ I laugh weakly. My laugh is cut off by the sound of movement again. It wasn’t Tikki, the who was it.

“I know you’re there. Show yourself!” I try sounding tough. The moving stopped and hushed whispers can be heard. The whispers stopped. Then, Pollen?

“Hello, my lady.” Pollen greeted gesturing for some to also come out.

“Good to see you again.” Trixx? One other kwami came out, but I didn’t recognize them.

“Hello, Marinette. My name is Nooroo. I am the kwami of transmission and connected to the butterfly miraculous.” Nooroo introduced. Wait, the butterfly miraculous, as in Hawkmoth!

“How are you here? Didn’t Hawkmoth have you! And why are Pollen and Trixx here?” I asked.

“You saved Nooroo!” Trixx gleamed.

“As for us, you had taken us from my late queen and the former fox.” Pollen answered.

“Late queen, former fox?” I repeated. Late, former. Did I kill them?! “Are they okay did I-”

“They are fine minus a few bruises and scrapes. I will do my best to recap what happened to you.” Nooroo interrupted.

*One explanation later*

“If I had taken all of their miraculous’ then where is Wayzz?” I asked.

“They left to rejoin Master Fu.” Pollen answered.

“And you all didn’t? Shouldn’t we take Nooroo back to Master Fu?” I was very confused. “And why did mom and dad say that Ladybug brought me home, when there was no Ladybug in the fight?” All the kwamis look at each other and start whispering. Nooroo pulled away.

“To answer all those questions I first need to tell you about Duusu.” Nooroo said floating over to me. I open my hand for them to sit in. Pollen and Trixx settle next to Nooroo.

“Duusu?”

“Yes, Duusu is another kwami that Master Fu lost. Duusu is the kwami of Emotions. They however are… how shall I put this? Corrupted? Yes. Corrupted. Anyone who uses them will fall ill and Duusu themselves will start to fade. In other words, Duusu is dying.” I gasp. “I can not tell you why Duusu is corrupted, but I will tell you this I do not trust Master Fu to protect us,” Nooroo stated.

“Why?”

“Master Fu is the reason we were all lost,” Nooroo said.

“All? Master Fu only told me he lost the butterfly and another miraculous.” The other miraculous must have been Duusu.

“He lied. Master Fu lost everyone other then Wayzz.” I moved my hand to my face, cause them all to fall. I need air, I can’t breathe. I move ignoring the pain and open one of my windows. The sound of Paris is calming. ‘You didn’t deserve the truth.’ I grab my head. I feel a small body hug mine. Then another, and another.

“I’m sorry. I- I don’t know. I thought Fu trusted me.” I tried to justify.

“Fu is an old man. He made a lot of mistakes. Perhaps he thought that if he told you an alternate story after he died it would be the truth. Wash him of his sins?” Nooroo questioned. “Due to an old curse put on us I can not tell you who Hawkmoth was. Hawkmoth is desperate to get the Ladybug and Cat miraculous’ so no doubt he will use Duusu.” They continued.

“Speaking of the Ladybug miraculous.” Nudged Trixx.

“Right. There was no Ladybug. After you retrieved Pollen and co… I had taken over your body.” Nooroo hushed voice said.

“Taken over my body? How?” I asked.

“Kwamis have a lot of different power. We’ll tell you about them later. Back to the story. I had taken control and did a mass akumatizing. This one is permanent.”

“Permanent?”

“When I myself akumatize someone, the effects are stronger and in this case permanent. I made everyone believe that Ladybug came and saved you. I also made Hawkmoth and anyone else forget that you had me. So Hawkmoth no matter how are he tries can not remember who saved me from him.”

“What about Chat and the others? They should know that I had taken their miraculous’ as well?”

“I altered their memories as well. No matter how hard they try they will only remember that they lost the miraculous’ through there own incompetents. And before you ask, Wayzz and Plagg both said they would lie for us.” Nooroo smiled. I simply nodded. This was a lot to take in.

“What happens now.” I’m not sure if it was a statement or a question.

“Now. I need, no we need your help.” Nooroo said floating to be in front of me. “I need you to my power to help find and fix Duusu.”

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I was akumatized. I lost Tikki. I-I..” I start to cry. ‘I’m worthless’

“My lady. You were the best Ladybug. You can not hold the fact that you have emotions against your self.” Pollen said comforting me.

“Yeah, when Tikki would come to see us, she would praise you to no end! We heard what happened to you. You are human.” Trixx joins Pollen in comforting me.

“You saved me. You went against what Hawkmoth told you to do and saved me. I would have no one better to be my new holder.” Nooroo said holding my face.

“I have a month. One month to get in Clover-Bloom and start anew. There we will save Duusu.” I resolved. Standing up I walk over to my computer, they fallow me. “Chat Noir visits me. So staying here would be a bad idea. Clover-Bloom has dorm rooms. We won’t be bothered.” Turning to face Pollen, Trixx, and Nooroo. “I promise I will save Duusu. I will heal them. And I will protect every single Kwami.” Nooroo smiles.

“That’s all we can ask for, Marinette.” Nooroo gleamed. They all fly over to me and we hug. I don’t care what my old classmates think of me anymore. I have Pollen, Trixx, Nooroo, mom, and dad. Stretching, I log on to my computer.

“I better get started on these test.” I smiled. For the past year, I had nothing to look forward to, and now I have everything.

End

The next animatic is Painted Lady 1.5 Wolf in Sheep clothing. I’m not sure when it will come out but I’m working on it. Adrien’s and Plaggs art will be coming out sometime.

#miraculous ladybug #ml salt #kinda #miraculous ladybug AU #Painted Lady Au #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #ML Pollen #ML Trixx #ML Nooroo #ML AU #vlosteen #vlo-writes

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valenjuls · 5 years

Text

that that is, is, that that is not, is not

words: 2k

chapters: 1/5

She was going to kill her and if not kill her then give her the ultimate silent treatment, something she knows would drive her crazy. Juliana glances at the clock right above the far wall, her annoyance mounting as the clock continues to tick without any sign of her boss coming in. Despite the fact that she called this morning to make sure she was getting ready and she called an hour and a half later to make she was actually on her way. Both times Valentina had said she was on her way.

On my way, my ass.

Juliana sighs as she steels herself in front of Valentina’s office, already preparing a speech in her mind, the third time she’s about to enter without their desired person. She glances at the clock again her annoyance growing larger by the second. As she’s about to open the door, excuses at the ready, she hears the elevator ding and Valentina steps out in her perfectly pressed pantsuit, not a hair out of place, her expensive handbag that was probably the equal cost of two months rent for Juliana slung over her shoulder, clutched in her hands were two cups of iced coffee from that place just around the corner that was usually out of the way

Juliana glares at her, not reaching out to take the peace offering that Valentina was holding out. She grabs the purse though to stash it under her desk. “Where have you been?! I’ve been stalling your brother and sister in there.”

Valentina continues to nudge the cup of coffee towards her, her blue eyes were bigger than usual, knowing the effect it usually has on people. “I got you your favorite.”

“My favorite is when my boss is on time so I don’t have to hold a fucking concert in her office!” Juliana says, her earlier annoyance already evaporating as she takes a sip of the vanilla latte.

Valentina perks up at that. “I missed your singing?”

"So not the point." She pushes Valentina towards the boardroom. “Now go and play nice. We need them to approve the latest project.”

Valentina grabs Juliana by the arm when she turns to go back to her desk, catching her off guard, so much so that her heels squeak against the floor too loudly. “Wait, you’re not coming in there with me?”

Juliana shakes her head. “Somebody-” she emphasizes, raising an eyebrow at Valentina, knowing exactly who she was talking about, “-kept me up with their rambling last night that I couldn’t exactly finish my portfolio.”

Valentina has this thoughtful look on her face at the mention of their night. “But it’s not my fault!”

“I know you can’t control your sleep talking,” Juliana interrupts before Valentina can get off track as she pulls the door open before pushing Valentina into the room. “Have fun!”

Juliana was finishing up the sketches in her portfolio, making sure the shading was correct as well as what pattern she intended she was going to use with each piece, trying to provide as much quality work as she can at such a limited time. She hears the door to Valentina’s office open and the other two Carvajals leave, but her eyes never lift from her work. She needs all the time she can get with this.

She feels her presence first before she sees her. There was something in the air that was pressing against the room, one that wasn’t there before, she couldn’t figure out what it was so she ignores it (a tactic that she’s learned to use whenever the young CEO was around). Without lifting her eyes from her work she asks, “How did the meeting go? Did you take notes?”

She was met with silence from her. Juliana stops scribbling and looks up to see Valentina propped up at the corner of Juliana’s desk, her finger pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed, neck tense and her shoulder basically bracketing the sides of her face at how high it was.

Juliana puts down her work, uneased at the sight of her easy-going boss looking so stressed from just one meeting with her siblings. “It’s okay if you didn’t take notes,” she jokes, hoping to lighten her mood.

She finds their relationship weird. They were so formal with each other, often refraining from talking about their feelings. They were ultra competitive and the few lunches or dinners that Juliana had been too was usually spent bragging about their separate companies, one-upping each other. They even made it into a game, which was bizarre to Juliana. But usually, it’s when their older sister was present. When it was just Valentina and her brother, they were far more human (maybe it’s because Eva hates Juliana for unknown reasons.)

Instead of the usual sass that Juliana has been accustomed to after working with Valentina for almost 2 years (being friends for more than 3 now) all she hears is a deep sigh and sees her fingers seeming to dig even deeper into her face.

Her worry spikes. Juliana stands in front of Valentina. She gently takes her hands from her face, and holds them in her own.

Valentina groans as she slumps forward, her face immediately burrowing itself on her chest, finally taking her hand from her face. She sighs once as she straightens. Juliana immediately recognizes that sigh as her cannot-deal- anymore sigh She nods at the planner on Juliana’s desk. Her anxiety jumps at seeing the different colored inks littering the page. She turns to Juliana, her voice almost a plea. “Wanna play hooky?”

"Only if we do it at my apartment," Juliana answers.

Valentina raises an eyebrow, grinning slyly. "You're demanding today, Juliana Valdes."

"C'mon let's take your clothes off so you can relax," Juliana says, tugging Valentina from the desk to help her pack up.

"You know when you told me you were going take off my clothes, this wasn't what I was expecting," Valentina says as she holds her arms out for Juliana to take her measurement. Her clothes were indeed off, hanging over Juliana's couch save for her underwear.

"I told you I have to finish my portfolio," Juliana says around the pencil that was between her teeth. She puts her measuring tape around her neck as she writes the measurements down. She shoots Valentina a bright smile, the corner of her eyes crinkling. "Thanks, boss."

Valentina covers her chest, squirming at Juliana's words. "I feel dirty," she jokes. She side steps to the couch to grab her clothes. She throws her shirt on before walking down the hallway to Juliana's closet, shouting over her shoulder. "I'm grabbing some sweats."

"Whatever!" Juliana yells back as she sits on her desk to try to figure out how much fabric she's going to need.

Juliana hears Valentina heave an end-of-the-world-inducing sigh as she settles on Juliana's blue couch that she got from the dumpster almost a year ago. Juliana freezes at the sound, torn between finishing her assignment and actually comforting her boss. She waits, pencil in her grip to see if Valentina was going to make any more sounds that make you wonder if your heart was supposed to respond that way.

Valentina heaves another sigh, this time bigger and much more prolonged.

Juliana takes a deep breath and puts her pencil down. She pushes against her desk, rolling and turning her chair, deftly to face Valentina. She wanted to groan, not out of exasperation at how dramatic Valentina was being but at how cute she looks, curled up on the couch, her face free of makeup and wearing slouchy clothes that just about swallows her.

"Out with it," Juliana says scooching Valentina even more on the couch, almost crowding her.

Valentina turns and leans against Juliana, her head dropping to Juliana's shoulder, another sigh leaving her, but this one was almost out of relief.

Juliana feels a slight, weird tug at the pit of her stomach at that. She always felt her reactions super endearing. "What happened at the meeting?" she asks as she strokes Valentina's hair, smoothing it away from her face.

She knows their relationship is…weird, for a lack of a better word. It's not your typical working relationship.

They were friends, first and foremost. They met under unlikely circumstances thanks to Valentina’s sleazy boyfriend who thought he could have a side chick in Juliana. Needless to say, Juliana didn’t take a liking to that and immediately went to Valentina to tell her that her boyfriend was a douchebag. They’ve been friends ever since. Though Juliana was working part-time as her administrative assistant, once she graduates, she’s going to assume her proper vice president role of their magazine, that they’ve put blood, sweat, and tears in to make sure it actually succeeds in a world where print was steadfastly getting buried.

Valentina lets out a slight growl (more of a cute baby lion growl than a threatening growl really). “My abuelito is an asshole.”

“Your family is full of assholes,” Juliana replies, the insult coming out so easily that it made Valentina laugh. “That’s like a rich thing right?”

“Am I an asshole?”

“You’re the biggest asshole, brat,” Juliana teases, her fingers curling around her hip, tickling at the spot she knows would receive the biggest giggle.

“Stop that!” Valentina squeals in between the giggles that Juliana managed to draw out of her, squirming away from Juliana’s touch. “I’m trying to be sad and angry!” When Juliana doesn’t stop her merciless tickling, she grabs her hand in frustration. “Let me be angry!”

“That’s not allowed in my crappy apartment,” Juliana says but stops her attack, resting her hand on Valentina’s stomach, lightly drumming her finger, letting Valentina focus on that instead of her anger, knowing her next question will probably set her off. “Now what makes your grandfather an asshole other than being rich?”

“Marriage,” Valentina says, her tone darkening.

“Alright, cynic, what about marriage?”

“He has a stupid clause in order for me to have full reign of my company. I have to marry before I can fully become CEO of the company,” Valentina says, the anger in her voice was growing larger.

Juliana knows that she should’ve tried to calm her down. She knows that but just hearing something so outdated and so archaic had her angry too. It undermined everything they established and worked hard for.

“That’s fucked up,” Juliana whispers, trying to keep her voice calm since Valentina has already moved to the deep end of her anger, which included gripping Juliana’s arm harder than she should. Juliana shakes it to remind Valentina there’s a human being behind that was currently attached to the arm. Valentina’s grip lessens, but her hand never moves from Juliana’s arm.

“I know!” Valentina huffs. “Papi’s lawyers are looking over it to see if there’s any way I can get out of this dumb clause without having to just be an interim CEO.”

“And?”

Valentina shakes her head no. “That’s why Guille and Eva came. They wanted to look over it too.” Her hand clenches into fists against Juliana’s arm. “Guille didn’t have to do this and I can’t accuse him of being sexist because he didn’t do this with Eva!” She raises her fist, angrily shouting at the ceiling. “Fuck you abuelito!”

“Woah, a little harsh there, Val?” Juliana says.

“Please,” Valentina says, dismissing her concerns. “This is how we talked to each other when he was alive.”

“He never talked to me that way.”

“Yeah because he liked you,” Valentina says. “He said you reminded him of his little sister.”

Juliana feels oddly flattered. “Oh.”

“Yeah, even dead he’s still ruining my life,” Valentina mutters. “Why?” Valentina groans, throwing back her arm over her eyes. “Did he really think I would end up alone that he needed to meddle like this?”

“Have you been seeing anyone?” Juliana asks.

Valentina gives her a look, raising an eyebrow.

Juliana shrugs. “Maybe you’ve been hiding him from me.”

“Unless you count our late nights in the office, then the only one I’ve been seeing is you,” Valentina reminds her. “I have no time to date when we’re preparing to launch the teen magazine.” She sighs deeply again, tilting her head to reach Juliana’s neck before burying her face against there, breathing in deeply to calm her down. Valentina had told her repeatedly that Juliana’s scent for some reason just helped her. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers against her neck.

Juliana’s hand tightens around her stomach. “You sleeping over?” She feels a small nod. “Then c’mon, let’s think about this tomorrow.” She pushes against Valentina gently to let her up.

Valentina waits as Juliana gathers their stuff. She lets herself be tugged to Juliana’s bedroom, immediately going to the right side if the bed and slipping under the covers, watching as Juliana puts their dirty clothes in her laundry.

“Turn off your brain,” she says as she turns off the lamp before climbing into bed. She pats Valentina on the small of her back, trying to reassure her. “We’ll find your prince charming tomorrow.”

“How was the date?” Juliana asks as Valentina groans, launching herself on Juliana’s bed. Juliana complains at having the little nest that she’s built on her bed disturbed at Valentina’s movement.

Valentina grabs the pillow hugging it to her face and screams in it. Once done with her screamfest, she gives it to Juliana and lays down on the bed, blinking up at her, her blue eyes practically begging. “If you really are my bestest friend in the whole wild world, you’ll suffocate me with this.”

“I should suffocate you for using the word bestest,” Juliana jokes, passing the pillow back to her. She rearranges the pillow around her to make it comfortable again after Valentina grabbed one of the support pillows. “Date that bad?”

“I can’t marry Sergio,” Valentina says. She cringes in disgust. “He’s like my annoying little brother that shows up when he’s unwanted.”

“Then why did you go out with him?”

“Do I need to remind you of that stupid clause that I’m pretty sure is illegal?”

Juliana shakes her head. “Yeah, but what if you just pay someone off?”

Valentina’s eyes widen as if she remembered something. “Right, you’ve been out for a week.”

“It’s not my fault! I’m sick!” Juliana defends, coughing for good measure.

Valentina waves off her concern. “It’s not that. You just missed a lot. So they couldn’t find a way to get me out right? But they also found that I have to be with someone for at least three years and ten months. Or at least have known them for three year and ten months.”

Juliana’s brows furrows at her words. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Right?”

“Your grandpa really was weird,” Juliana comments. “Sergio was the only one that fit that criteria?”

Valentina's eyes look down as she plays with the pillow as a sure sign that she’s thinking. She doesn’t have a lot of guy friends, really. She doesn’t have a lot of girl friends either. “Unless you count…” her voice trails off, haltingly, when she realizes it.

Juliana waits for Valentina to come to whatever conclusion she suddenly came to, eyes still watering and nose running. She coughs.

Valentina looks at her pointedly.

“What?”

Valentina keeps looking at her, a slow smile forming on her face. Her eyes were bright and shining as she stares at Juliana’s sniveling form as if she held all the answers in the world.

Juliana’s eyes widen as it suddenly dawns on her why Valentina was looking at her like she was the most refreshing drink in the world that she’d love to take a sip of. “My brain is a little dumb right now but are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“We literally met three years and ten months ago,” Valentina says as if everything was falling into pieces. She can practically see her bouncing. “You fit the criteria!”

“But wouldn’t your abuelito have something against same-sex marriage?” Juliana asks. “Like c’mon, he wanted to marry you off that screams traditionalist than anything.”

“I don’t remember there being a specific part on gender,” Valentina admits as she takes her phone out as she starts texting their company lawyer. “Let me ask them and see what they say.”

“Val…”

Valentina looks up at Juliana’s tone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Her tone makes Valentina still. She turns to Juliana, making her blue eyes bigger and even managing to make it fill with tears. She kneels on Juliana’s side, her palms pressed against together. I know this is asking a lot. I know that and I usually wouldn’t ask something this big, but please?”

Juliana sighs, finger and thumb going to the bridge of her nose, eyes closing as she thinks.

“Jules, please,” Valentina whispers, grabbing the other hand that was not on her face and tugging on it. She places their entwined hands under her chin, imploring. “You’re the only one I could trust and we can’t let the board appoint another CEO when we’ve worked so hard for this.”

Juliana looks at the pleading in her eyes. She closes her eyes again before opening them again, sighing. She nods at her, raising an eyebrow. “This is the proposal I get?” She teases.

Valentina squeals throwing her arms around Juliana. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.”

“You sooooo owe me,” Juliana whispers, a smile on her face, Valentina’s relief and happiness were contagious.

#juliantina #my fic #juliantina fanfic #fake marriage/fake dating au #i know this has been done a lot before but this is going to be my take #ambiguity #mine

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bcllcntynes · 5 years

Text

[ task001 ] THE INTERROGATION.

“The price of being misunderstood, he thought. They call you devil or they call you god.” ― Richard Bach

Part One ( you )

Do you have any criminal history? Anything big or small that you want to make us aware of?

Nathaniel hadn’t blinked since the moment he’d entered the interrogation room. His lawyer sat by his side, watching as the academic glared into the eyes of the impish and jumpy junior officer. Nate couldn’t help the reflexive smirk that crawled onto the corner of his lips, taunting the other to extract anything he could. The head detective furrowed her brow as her impatient tapping narrated her need for a response to the question, as Nate’s lawyer answered on his behalf. “As your records will show, my client has never been indicted nor charged with any criminal charges, and has had no run-ins with your department to date.” Nate cocked his head, leaning back in his chair as he found himself analysing every little detail of the room. The reflective glass that no doubt housed a collective of other detectives, the steady blinking light that absorbed his every movement, the leaking roof panel and dirt built into the carpet. For a moment, he felt sick. He then found himself staring at the lens of the camera trained on his taut form from time to time, as if to greet whoever would be reviewing his tapes. And, knowing the prejudices in this town, they’d be reviewing his tapes with frequency.

Detective Grant then glanced down at a file on the table, the Ballantyne name etched across the front. Nate, again, remained unphased by the heavy volume that the detective was padding underhand. “If that is the case, then what is the sealed record on your file ?” Nathaniel was clearly not a stupid person. He let his lawyer and Detective Grant bicker about the legality of mentioning the file, as Nate pondered his situation. No, it didn’t look great for him. A third of the town already believed he was behind Daisey’s disappearance, and all the others still all viewed him in contempt - he was an easy scapegoat. Still, Nathaniel wanted to thank Daisey, shake her hand and relish in the moment she’d given him, something that no one else ever could - a most simulating mental challenge.

What is your connection to Daisey? How did you know her? How well did you know her?

Every single movement of Nathaniel was being analysed, and he was conscious to remain like marble as the detective and officer stared him down. However, he couldn’t help but bite the inside of his cheek at the mention of Daisey. His face cemented in a scowl, his temperament unchanging as his lawyer nodded his head and gave him permission to speak. “Ms Rutherford and I have been acquainted since infancy, as our families share close business relations,” Nathaniel deadpanned, his blue eyes deepening on the detective whose stance eagerly hungered for the moment he’d slip up. Say something he wasn’t supposed to. Admit something. Nathaniel was no fool. “Our parents had ordained we be married once she has graduated, for the diversification of our portfolios.” The young, simple and slow, officer looked to the lead detective - almost lost. “You were engaged ?” He parroted, as Nate focused his attentions on him. “If you had the capacity to listen, you’d hear we are arranged. The engagement will be made at the end of Daisey’s senior year.” Nate felt the touch of his lawyer’s stern and unforgiving grasp on his arm, making him jump in his seat. The frosted hair and anchored eyes shackled Nate to silence. He said no more, but was foolishly contented with the confusion painted across the dim-witted cop’s face.

Have you visited the blog site “veritasexposed”? If you have, how credible do you find the information on this site? Do you know who runs the website?

A question that Nathaniel could answer in earnest, he prepared himself to speak before his lawyer interjected. “Pertinence ?” He merely stated, his arrogant and entitled air rivaled even that of Nathaniel himself. Detective Grant let the facade of good cop swirl down the proverbial drain, as she labored on the breath before sounding out her discontent. “This is my investigation, and your client has the privileged to answer this question and absolve himself from reproach.” This answer did not please Nate’s lawyer whatsoever, as he began to rise from his seat - encouraging Nathaniel to do the same. “We are here to assist, Detective. Mr Ballantyne has no obligation to speak to you further, until the time your department should produce a warrant. Nathaniel, do not answer anymore questions.” Nathaniel didn’t move. He found himself cemented to his seat as he looked with ambivalence to the duo of detectives who were entranced by the venomous glare of his lawyer. Nate wanted to start laughing, but he’d become so entrenched in his expressionless mask he found himself unable. He turned swiftly in his chair to his lawyer, a devilish glint in his eye. “I’ll meet you outside, Kenneth. And don’t worry, you’re still getting paid.” His lawyer said nothing more, merely shaking his head as he exited the room. Nathaniel clasped his hands together as he rested them before him on the table. “I have never endevoured to visit an inane blog of petulant and most likely unfounded truths. However, one would have to be impaired to not be cognizant of its’ existence. As for its’ owner, I’m sure a sweep of their IP address will be all you need, as someone so founded in their own narcissism would be foolish enough to remain susceptible to threat.” Nathaniel said no more, as the clock on the wall ticked, punctuating an already unbearable silence.

Part Two ( Daisey )

Do you remember where you were the night Daisey went missing? If so, where were you? What were you doing? Who were you with?

Nathaniel could remember in painstaking detail the second he found out about Daisey being missing, as was the curse for most memories of his own, trapped inside his head with no ability to escape. However, the day of her disappearance was another story. All his days blended into one another, and were it not for the suspension of disbelief that blurred the edges, he’d have no issue anointing with clarity his very whereabouts at the time. “I’d have to check my planner, as I’m currently not aware.” An incredulous expression painted that of the young officer, his hand immediately reaching for pen and paper. “You have no recollection ?” The officer reiterates, as Nate cocks an eyebrow. “My schedule habitually consists of what can be considered a nocturnal cycle. I was most likely in bed when Daisey disappeared, however was not informed of such until much later.” Nate was well aware this wasn’t an answer, and he could see his lawyer quivering in contempt in the waiting room, counting only the minutes to secure his paycheck.

Where were you the night Daisey’s body was recovered?

A laugh almost spilled from his lips, his calcified features betraying an inch of human emotion. “The carnival, for a brief moment,” Nathaniel uttered, his brows furrowing. “Until the monotony of such an event grew tiresome, as I retreated back home to continue working on my thesis.” He could see that every little piece of the puzzle he provided for the detectives, further into the rabbit warren they would fall. The way they could contort themselves into knots, ordaining him the perpetrator. There’s one crucial piece of evidence however, one that Nathaniel would guard closely to his chest - that would either exonerate or condemn him to the crime. A truth so raw that even Nathaniel couldn’t comprehend it, as thus remained quelled in the furthest recesses of his mind.

How familiar are you with the Ashmont woods? Have you been there often? Have you recently ventured out here? If so, why?

Despite having lived in Ashmont his entire life, unsurprisingly, Nathaniel wasn’t like most kids. He detested the outdoors, being forced to interact with others, and biding his time doing something with little consequence in the schemes of life. Hiking through the woods, for someone as finicky and pedantic as Nathaniel, did not make sense. However, there was an unspeakable truth - that Nate spent more time out in the woods than anyone. A crested hill right by his family’s opulent dwelling provided the best place for him to scope out the skies and map out the stars, as was a passtime he cherished dearly. “The forests are unseemly places, teaming with filth and muck,” Nathaniel made the disdain clear. “In my life I have only ventured to the tiny pocket behind my house, the exact same spot every time. The gardeners on my estate will affirm as such. I have a permanent telescope affixed there.”

Part Three ( the Investigation )

Do you have feelings towards the investigation? Any comments?

Nathaniel didn’t have feelings, period. He then gazed at the pair, a penetrating focus on the both of them as he could even see the infallible lead detective grow uncomfortable under his gaze. “No comment,” Nathaniel uttered with finality, unclasping the hands he had rested on the table before returning them to his lap. His eyes once again fell upon the camera, toying with the films’ future observant.

Do you have any people you feel the police should look into? Please, let us know who and why.

As the final question is uttered, Nathaniel could feel his steely temperament fizzle as the inherent arrogance slowly melted back into his pores and punctuated his features. It was almost over. The mind-games, however, would persist for quite a time - and he knew this was not the last time he’d be speaking with these two detectives. “I am in no position to give anyone away, as no one could truly... be adept enough to... silence Daisey Rutherford.” For a second, he almost felt his throat close over, as a most ardent truth remained quivering on the edge of his tongue. That horrendous, horrid, unutterable and earth-shattering truth ?

Nathaniel, the soulless and heartless, cares for Daisey, and he refuses to admit that she is gone.

BONUS || Part Four ( the Feedback )

“It had to be him,” the baby-faced junior insisted, standing before Detective Grant’s desk. “It all fits. The motive ? Her money. He seems big enough to move her. Callous enough to lie. Has no alibi for either the murder or the body discovery. Had no emotion whatsoever talking about someone he knew all his life. Surely he’s the one,” the cop remarked, almost distressed. With a slew of other interviews stacked up on her desk, all Detective Grant could do was take a swig of her coffee before meeting the insatiable eyes of an officer hungry for justice. “He’s... a person of interest. But the Rutherford family is not one you want to mess with, and as you know, Mr Ballantyne has very clear connections to them.”

“Are you suggesting we ignore evidence ?” The frustration was clear on the young officer’s face, as he found himself pacing before Detective Grant’s desk. As a detective in training, he did not have such seniority to make leading decisions in a case. But he was sure he had to make the other see what he was trying to say.

Weathered by years of crime that her junior couldn’t even fathom, Detective Grant felt her lips fall into a straight line as she sighed out in response. “I’m suggesting we find evidence. Not bull-head an investigation to where you think it leads.”

“But the kid’s a fucking psycho. His medical records...”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“The sealed file under his name !”

“Officer Forrester, I’m aware.”

“The fact he still refers to her in the present tense.”

This made Detective Grant stop. Her lips pursed for a moment while trying to articulate a response, fathoming any reason they had not to hold him. The watch adorning the young Ballantyne’s wrist was worth more than her yearly income however, and she’d lived in the town of Ashmont long enough to know what that means. Her fists clenched for a moment, forlorn as she tore her eyes away from Michael as they landed on the window to her office.

Where they could see one Nathaniel Ballantyne being escorted out of the building by his lawyer, adjusting the cuffs on his perfectly tailored suit.

With an expression as cold as ice.

#veritastask001 #what's your verdict veritas ??? innocent or guilty ? >:)#( also i spent too long on this dkjfgdkfjdfk RIP )

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bnhavillaintriozine · 6 years

Text

How to Submit a Good Portfolio

Since public applications will be opening soon, I thought I would make a simple guide on how to send a good portfolio when you apply to zines.

I’ll mostly be referring to art, since that’s what I’m most familiar with, but I’m sure a lot of these points can apply to writing as well.

A lot of my drawn commentary is meant to be lighthearted (and oh so messy), so please don’t take anything too seriously.

What is a portfolio? Anywhere you post your art is technically a portfolio, since you’re showcasing your work to a potential audience. If you showcase your artwork via Tumblr, Instagram, or any other site, you’re free to submit it for review. You don’t need to have a fancy, paid website to showcase your work. Let your art speak for itself.

What makes a portfolio bad? Like I mentioned before, anywhere you post your art is technically a portfolio. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a good one. In a portfolio, you want to show us your best work. While instagram may be a good place to show us your artwork, if there are some food pictures, con pictures, memes, or any random posts, it’s a bad portfolio. We don't want to sound harsh, but we would appreciate only seeing your work and not your outside life. That way, we can solely focus on your portfolio.

What makes a portfolio good? Good portfolios showcase completed pieces that demonstrate your best skills and capabilities. If you post your artwork on tumblr, you may have some random content in your blog, but if you have a tag specifically for your finished pieces and best work, please send us the link with that certain tag. It will save us the hassle of scrolling down multiple pages and it tells us you’re serious about the project by showing us your true potential.

What to submit:

1) Submit complete URLs. We want to easily copy and paste your portfolio onto our browser. We don’t want to type out the whole website. We have hundreds of applications to go through, so typing up the website can eat up a lot of our time. I’ll admit that I’m guilty of doing this, but I’m also learning from my mistakes. Typing up the URL (even if it’s as simple as mywebsite.com OR myartblog.tumblr.com/tagged/best-work) only takes a few seconds to do, and we’ll definitely be grateful to you for doing this.

2) Show us how versatile you can be! While we can appreciate the beautiful technical skills from various artists, if you submit a portfolio that only includes headshots and not much else, you run the risk of being declined. We want to see different compositions, interesting uses of color, or cool angles! You don’t need to show us that you can work with 10 different types of media, or hundreds of different angles, but give us something more than just the same pose.

3) Send us completed work. While sketches DO look nice, a majority of zines want to see your completed artworks. In most cases, they are going to be releasing a finished, printed project, so it’s reasonable that we would want samples of what your completed art looks like. By looking at your finished pieces, we can gain a better insight of what to expect from you.

What to avoid:

1) Don’t send us a portfolio full of sketches, as mentioned above. If you have a sketchier / messy style, that’s fine. What you consider as finished is what you should be trying to send to us.

2) Don’t make us scroll through tons of pages. This one applies similarly to the previous point. If your blog only includes doodles and a few finished artworks, don’t make us scroll for so long just to get to the completed stuff. Please save a life and tag your finished works. We will thank you for it.

3) Don’t send us multiple links. Some zines may ask you to link them to 3 of your best works, but instead of sending us 3 different links, create a tag or Google Drive folder with those 3 pieces included. This saves us the time of copy/pasting every single link into our browser, plus it allows us to better compare your work side-by-side. You also get the added benefit of not needing to copy/paste multiple links for your next zine application.

4) Don’t send us a portfolio that doesn’t include humans. This one is kind of weird, but I have received some applications that only feature animals or backgrounds in their portfolios. If you’re applying to a zine that needs certain people or characters drawn, we can’t properly judge your portfolio if you don’t show us that you can draw the subject matter. The same can be applied vice versa. If I made a corgi zine and you send me a portfolio full of humans, how am I supposed to know if you can draw a dog or not? When applying to zines, take note on what they’re looking for, so you can submit accordingly.

5) Don’t submit work that’s older than 2+ years. As an artist, you’re always growing and learning. A lot can change in a year or two. We want to see your recent stuff, since that’s the most accurate representation of your current skills and knowledge.

A Simple Suggestion

1) If you don’t want to tag your work or delete some things from your social media just to show us your best & completed work, make a Google Drive folder that shows us your best pieces. Keep it short and simple by including a minimum of 3 pieces and a maximum of 8 pieces. Make sure the Google Drive folder permissions are changed to shared! (This is very important).

Advice & Final Thoughts

Don’t be afraid of rejection. Spots are usually VERY limited in zines. There’s no way we could fit everyone into one zine (that would be a heavy and thick book, not to mention SUPER expensive). I’ve been rejected multiple times, but you can’t let that discourage you! Just keep applying and continue to improve your artwork. And even if you’re accepted, still continue to improve your artwork! Practice, practice, practice a whole damn lot!

If you know you won’t have enough time to dedicate to the zine, please don’t apply. If you apply and get the slot, only for you to drop out last minute, you just took the spot of a potential artist that actually wanted to be a part of the project and it’s unfair to them.

If you get accepted and life gets too hectic for you to continue with the project, PLEASE don’t vanish and make the zine organizers hunt you down. It will not make us want to work with you again. We want things to be pleasant between the both of us. Life happens, but communication is ESSENTIAL in every situation.

I’m not against having sketches in a portfolio (I have a few on my own website as well), but a majority of applicants can’t afford their own website, so they use free sites like Tumblr or Instagram. These websites don’t really allow you to properly separate your doodles / finished work, so this is why I keep reiterating this point.

Zines are meant to be fun and something to bring the artist community together! Interact with your fellow artists and let’s all have a good ol’ time.

#zine #anime zine #fandom zines #zines #anime zines #update

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sunyoonandstars · 6 years

Text

✨Linked✨ || BTS Soulmate AU Series || You x !Soulmate! Yoongi | You x Jimin || Part 14

Text/Social Media/Narrative Series

Previous Part | Next Part

LINKED MASTERLIST

Credit goes to the lovely @789cream for creating this beautiful moodboard for my series.Thanks again!

Pairing You x !Soulmate! Yoongi You x Jimin

Word count 3.706

‘siblings’, according to age: Namjoon, Jimin, y/n, Taehyung (you grew up living in the same foster home as implied in earlier parts of this series)

fluff, angst

Key: y/sh/n = your ship’s name

Eventually, after years of successfully having avoided it, you have come across your soulmate. An ominous stranger of whom you know no more than the back of his head, his phone number and that he works as a part-time barista at your (former) favorite coffee shop. Having been pressured by a friend into contacting him, things start to get complicated. Because your heart already belongs to another. And the last thing you want is for your soul to find its one, true, destined mate …

“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

― Plato, The Symposium

Soulmates.

You had always dreaded the day on which the birthmark on your left wrist would suddenly start itching, whereas for most people the moment their one and only destined soulmate’s name was supposed to reveal itself, burning under their skin, couldn’t seem to come soon enough.

Foolish romantics.

Because once both sides acknowledge their destined soulmate, a connection forms which can never be undone. Not even by death.

Who in their right mind would voluntarily bind their soul to that of another for life? To share their every joy and hurt and be faithful until they take their very last breath without even having a choice? To suffer indescribable agony once the other one exits this life and be left in utter loneliness, so bottomlessly deep nothing will ever be able to fill it again, causing you physical pain and insanity?

That’s right. Not you. Especially, because your heart already belongs to someone else … Does it though?

Chapter 14

You get progressively anxious as the hours pass and the time at which you’re supposed to meet up with the ever so mysterious Min Suga approaches. Maybe a little too quickly for your taste.

Truth be told, you face the reencounter with mixed emotions. Especially since your heart is still in turmoil after your falling-out with Jimin.

You still can’t believe he’d actually threaten Suga, a man who didn’t do much more than accompany his injured girlfriend to the Emergency Room, in a manner so childish and on display for the whole world to see. You wonder what got into him as you pack up your things and leave the lecture hall, just having finished your last class for today.

Your heartbeat increasingly accelerates with each step you take towards your designated rendezvous point under the old cherry tree by the campus’ main building. And you’re not even sure what it is that leads your pulse to race.

Is it only because you’re anxious about showing a virtual stranger your creative works? Because you chose a few samples that are probably a little too revealing? Showing your deepest fears and emotions, making you vulnerable? But that’s what expressing oneself through art is all about, in the end. And it’s nothing new or unfamiliar to you at this point. So that shouldn’t be it.

Is it Suga himself, maybe? The mere thought of seeing him again? Of looking into those deep dark eyes of his? Or the memory of feeling his warmth against your skin when he wrapped his arms around you to lead you out of harm's way as your head rested all too comfortably against his chest?

No. No way. That can’t be it. That shouldn’t be it. How dare you think of another man like that when Jimin is most likely beating himself up over your fight this very second?

No, y/n. Get your head on straight. You’re not swooning over some vague rapper you’ve literally only ever met once. This meeting and the collaboration you’re about to do with Suga are simply meant as a gesture of gratitude so the two of you will be even again and you can focus on fixing things with Jimin. That’s it. Period.

Still, you can’t help but hold your breath for a few seconds as the handsome musician finally comes in sight.

Damn.

Those pastel pink blossoms go perfectly with his mint green hair. And that posture. That jawline. Those piercing black eyes. His whole aura. It hits you like a truck.

Get a grip, y/n!, you scold yourself, forcing a smile as you wave at Suga to get his attention.

Involuntarily, you stop cold in your step the instant his eyes eventually shoot up from his phone’s screen to find yours.

A smile stretches across Suga’s face as he recognizes you, proceeding to take off his headphones and start walking towards you, his stride smooth but his posture in no way showing signs of haughtiness. In bright daylight he looks even paler, you notice. Probably because he spends most of his time behind closed doors, locked in his studio.

„Hey!“, he greets you when he finally comes to a halt before you, his grin so broad now even his gums are showing.

Cute, you catch yourself thinking.

„Hey“, you repeat after him, your voice cracking, sounding unusually rough, almost getting stuck somewhere halfway down your throat.

„How — How are you?“, Suga asks, shoving both his hands deep into the pockets of his loose, worn-out denims. „I mean, did you sleep all right? Later on, after we texted? And how’s your hand? Wait. Let me see that.“

Before you know it, he gently takes your bandaged hand into his in the middle of the square for all to see, going on to carefully inspect the wound dressing. A few of your classmates pass you by, whispering, peering at you blatantly, whispering, one of the girls even going so far as to point her finger.

Only when you demonstratively clear your throat and Suga looks up to discover your cheeks had turned a bright pink does he realize what he’s done and immediately let’s go of your hand, burying his in the pockets of his jeans again.

„Sorry”, he mumbles, averting his eyes in obvious embarrassment at his imprudent action. “But the bandage looks fine. It didn’t start bleeding again?“

„I don’t think so“, you shake your head. „I’m all right. But what about you. Your ribs. Did you get hurt last night when — You know.“

He seems puzzled by your concern for his wellbeing.

„Me? I’m okay.“

„Are you sure?“

You could swear you just witnessed his hand subconsciously wander upwards towards his right side.

„Yeah. It’s nothing. Just a bruise. I’m good. I swear.“

Still not entirely convinced, you realize that you’re going to have to put up with his deception for now, since there’s obviously no point in probing him any further.

„So, we’re both well. Awesome.“

You’re almost sure he takes note of your sarcastic undertone. Yet, Suga merely nods in agreement, avoiding eye contact.

„So, shall we get going?“, he asks, tilting his head, eying you intently now, an ambiguous smirk playing on his rosy lips.

„Go? Where?“

„Well, you weren’t planning on spread out your drawings right here in the dirt for me to look at them, were you?“

You eagerly shake your head.

„That’s what I thought. So, let’s go to my studio. It’s quiet there and private. We won’t be disturbed and your art will be safe from prying eyes.“ He smiles.

„Only if that’s okay for you, though“, Suga quickly adds, doubt leading his brows to furrow as he notes your initial puzzlement.

„Of course“, you croak out as soon as you regain your composure, avoiding Suga’s intense gaze and feeling your heart skip a beat at the idea of spending time with him alone, just the two of you. You’re not sure if it’s excitement or anxiety that gets a grip of your heart and lets your stomach do somersaults as you follow him towards the building complex in which most of the practice rooms and studios for students of Music and Dance are situated.

You hadn’t set foot in the Performing Arts’ main building ever since Namjoon had finished his studies about a year ago. Entering it again now, side by side with the enigmatic rapper, it all seems so different. The air-conditioned breeze welcoming you as the two of you enter the foyer feels electrifying instead of dry and cold like you remembered it, every single particle of the air seeming to dance across your skin, leaving it tingling.

„I’m just gonna have to check in before we use the studio and get a key“, Suga explains as you watch him head for some kind of a reception desk behind which a middle-aged man is softly snoring, leaning back in his chair, unwrapped Snicker’s bar still clutched in his hand.

You just nod and wait in the middle of the hall for him to return. Anxiously pressing your portfolio to your chest, your heart still pounding, you observe Suga’s every move and can’t help but grin to yourself when you witness him kicking the sleeping clerk’s shoe repeatedly in order to wake him up.

„Here it is. My sanctuary. Feel honored to be one of the first human beings to ever be allowed entry.“

Wide-eyed, you stare back at Suga, who’s watching your reaction, his eyes bright with amusement and affection as he steps inside the small, dark room, its soundproof walls lined with black shelves filled with records and equipment.

„Are you serious?“

„Yes“, he solemnly nods, biting his lip to keep it from smiling, it appears. „I never let anybody in here. And nobody wants to come anyway. So…“

„Really? I thought you guys, like, shared studios and all?“

„Nope. Not me. I’m one of the top students here. Not to brag. But I’m about to be signed by a rather big label.“

Suga shrugs as if it’s nothing. But you definitely spot a spark light up the deep dark pools of his brown orbs at the idea of the things his future in the music business holds in store for him.

„So … are you sure you want me in here? Am I not, I don’t know, gonna disturb your creative energies or something?“

You lift one foot across the door sill but hesitate and pull it back immediately.

„Yes. Of course. I’m sure“, he chuckles. „Otherwise I wouldn’t have invited you, stupid.“

Suga literally flinches as soon as he realizes what he just called you, eyes round, one hand shooting up to cover his mouth. Instead of holding his little insult against him, though, a stifled laugh is your immediate response, and you’re pretty sure you take to him even more now.

„It’s all right“, you brush off his apparent concern. „Really. Call me all the names you want. Cursing is fine, too. My b—“ You stop in mid-sentence, the word boyfriend simply refusing to leave your lips. „Most people I know always treat me so carefully. As if I’m made of glass or something. Even though I curse all the time. I really don’t know what it is about me that makes them think I need to be handled with kid gloves.“

“Well, maybe they see something in you that’s so precious it needs to be protected. At all times. And at all costs.”

You shrug your shoulders, breathing a sigh. Still leaning against the doorframe to Suga’s studio, your gaze remains fixed on the floor and avoiding his, since you are well aware of the fact that your cheeks are burning and your eyes well up once more.

In horror, you watch the ground start to spin beneath your feet.

Suddenly, it’s just all too much.

Everything comes back all at once.

The words Jimin threw at you. The things you said to him. The events of last night. The questions and feelings you had bottled up for months now. Your Soulmate’s questions.

What the hell are you so afraid of?

Yes. Exactly. What are you so afraid of, y/n?

Of actually being loved for who you are?

„So, are you just gonna keep standing there all night?“, Suga’s words let you jolt from your thoughts.

You can’t bring yourself to lift your glance or react in any way, though, afraid to lose control and break out in tears once he gets a better look at you and recognizes the storm that’s currently raging behind your brittle facade.

„Come on. Come on in, will you? Hmm, y/n?“, he coaxes, the tone of his raspy voice serious and ever so soft all of a sudden.

Next thing you know, you can feel one of his hands gently grab you by your arm and guide you inside. Suga then places you on a black sofa next to his work desk before he goes on to close the door and squat in front of you.

„What is it? What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong? Or is this uncomfortable for you, y/n?“, he inquires, his words resonating with genuine worry.

„Come on, please look at me. Can you do that?“

He leans in closer, placing his hands each on one of your knees, his warmth seeping through the fabric of your jeans being of unknown comfort.

At this point, you have to hold your breath in order to keep the tears inside. However, you are unable to prevent your body from being shaken by suppressed sobs.

„I’m so sorry, y/n. What is it? Please, tell me! What did I do? Is this too much? Should we have gone to a café or something instead? This isn’t what you think it is, though. I would never —“

„It’s — It’s not you. It’s not because of you. It really isn’t. I swear. It’s — It’s just — I —“, you barely manage to get out the words as the tears start freely streaming down your hot cheeks, blurring your vision of Suga who now takes your face into his hands to get you to look at him.

„It’s okay. All right? Just breathe. Breathe with me, y/n. Close your eyes and take a deep breath.“

You do as you’re told, focusing on the sensation of Suga’s skin against yours and the sound of his calm breathing and soothing voice.

„Now. In. And out. Long, deep breaths. In. And out. And let it all out. Everything. Don’t be ashamed. Just cry if you need to. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.“

Somehow, his words seem to flick a switch. Promptly, you start sobbing uncontrollably, allowing Suga to pull you close, gladly resting your head on his shoulder and burying your tear-streaked face in his soft jumper.

„Ssssshhh, it’s all right. It’s all right, y/n. Just let it all out.“

And you do. You really can’t stop yourself it at this point, even if you wanted to. You don’t care any longer what Suga might think of you. In your heart and mind, there is no room for these kinds of mundane concerns.

All you can and want to feel right now is the warmth of Suga’s hug as he gently pulls you against his chest and starts rubbing your back, one hand tenderly running over your hair, his movements tranquilizing, his presence and closeness oddly reassuring. You don’t feel like he is a stranger when Suga now carefully lowers your body into a lying position on his sofa, placing a pillow under your head, one of his hands still stroking your neck in a calming manner.

„But — Your album — The collab — I — I need to —“, you meekly protest, struggling to sit up again. Suga, however, gently presses you back down into the sofa’s cushions.

„Just close your eyes, y/n. And rest. Don’t worry about the collab. There’s still enough time. You don’t need to deal with that now. How about you take a rest instead, hmm?“

There is no strength left in you to argue with him, so you decide to give in, simply nestle into the pillow and let him cover you with a cozy blanket, your eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord and your head becoming heavier by the second as you are encompassed by Suga’s scent emanating from the upholstery. You wonder how many nights he must have spent holed up in this tiny room, all alone, only his music keeping him company, as you slowly drift off to sleep.

Damn, Yoongi can’t help but think to himself.

This situation couldn’t have turned out any worse. Yet, at the same time, things couldn’t have gone much better for him.

Of course, he hates to see you so broken up about God knows what. But on the other hand, your trust and apparent reliance on his comfort fill his heart with the warmth it has been missing for far too long.

Smiling fondly, Yoongi watches you sleep. Your beautiful face, previously having been contorted by pain and worry, now looks so peaceful it’s almost too much for his heart to bear. He can feel it twist in his chest, having trouble to resist the urge to place a kiss on your forehead as he leans down to most gingerly extract his hand from in between your neck and the pillow where it’s been stuck for minutes now, careful not to disturb your rest in the process. Just as his operation is about to succeed, though, your hand suddenly shoot up and takes a hold of his wrist before you go on to comfortable nestle your head into Yoongi’s palm with a soft hum.

„Great“, he whispers to himself, hardly stifling a chuckle, excited by the idea that you might actually feel so comfortable with him, you won’t let him leave your side tonight.

Even though it’s still early in the evening and he was planning on getting some work on one of his new songs done tonight, Yoongi can’t bring himself to break free from your tight clutch and eventually decides to give in and lie down next to you on the floor, your head still resting on his hand.

Grinning like an idiot, he’s sure, Yoongi tries to get comfortable on the cold linoleum, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured rib. To be honest, though, he does neither mind the pain nor the inconvenience. Simply knowing that he was, somehow, indeed able to give you some comfort and temporary peace and that he can fall asleep by your side is well worth the stiff neck he’s, in all likelihood, going to have to deal with in the morning.

He’s just about to doze off when he the sudden sound of a phone repeatedly vibrating draws his attention and pulls Yoongi back out of a pleasant semi-sleep.

Quickly, yet cautiously, his free hand searches the deep pocket of your hoodie jacket for the cause of this disturbance, soon coming across your smartphone which ceases to vibrate the very second Yoongi is about to take the call in your place.

Not meaning to intrude into your privacy, he can’t help but skim through the notifications popping up on the lock screen.

Two missed calls from Namjoon, a bunch of messages from some guy named Hoseok.

Five unread texts from Taehyung and one missed call from the same. He must’ve been the one having called just now, Yoongi figures. But it’s really none of his business and he should refrain from meddling with yours.

The moment he is about to set your phone down on the floor, however, it starts vibrating again, Taehyung’s face flashing up on screen. After pondering how to handle this situation, Yoongi finally determines it would be best for everyone involved if he would take the call and, in doing so, prevent this mess he’s currently in from becoming even more complicated than it already is by worrying Taehyung unnecessarily.

„Y/n?”, his young colleague’s voice sounds from the phone’s speaker as soon as Yoongi answers it. “Why didn’t you reply to any of my texts? Is everything all right?“

„Well, that’s — I’m, uhmm —“ Yoongi has to clear his throat before he can start anew, lowering his voice to a whisper. „Y/n is currently unavailable.“

„What the hell’s that supposed to mean?“, Taehyung snaps back without hesitation. „And who are you even?“

„Doesn’t matter. Just, don’t worry. She’s asleep, all right? She’s … okay.“

„Yoongi!? Is that you?“

Damn. Just about now Yoongi is starting to regret his decision.

„Well, I guess there’s no point in denying it now, is there?“

“You’re with her? Right now? Seriously? Damn, you’re quick.”

Yoongi leans away from you as far as possible so as not to interfere with your peaceful slumber and casts one last scrutinizing glance over his shoulder to make sure you’re still asleep before he turns away again and resumes talking.

„Tae, let’s not make a big deal of this, okay?“, he hisses into your phone’s receiver, disrupting the younger one’s muttering. „We were working on a collaboration for one of my classes and she just started crying out of the blue. I swear, I didn’t do anything. I have no idea what the fuck happened. So I simply comforted her and helped her calm down so she’d get some rest, that’s all.“

„Well, in that case, I guess I should thank you for taking such good care of her. I mean it, Hyung. Y/n needs someone like you. Because there are some things she can’t talk to me about. Because, you know, our relations are kinda … complicated sometimes, with Jimin, Namjoon, her and myself having grown up together and all. And not under ideal conditions, I’d say.“

„Oh.“

„Yeah. But that’s a story for another time. For now, just make sure she’s okay, please? Because the thing with Jimin is really running her hard, I guess.“

„What happened? With her and Jimin?“

Yoongi has trouble hiding his excitement at the notion of trouble in paradise.

He can hear Taehyung sigh and pause at the other end of the phone, most likely wondering whether it’s a wise idea to bring Yoongi into the loop.

„I’m not sure if it’s my place to tell you“, he finally continues. „But they … kinda fought after you left last night. It was bad, I guess. Well, by their standards at least. Y/n was really hurt. And he’s being an asshole right now. But that shouldn’t be news to you.“

„Not really, no“, Yoongi scoffs, his mind going back to that ridiculous Facebook status update in which that guy practically openly threatened him. Not to mention the almost-fistfight that occurred last night in the stairwell of your apartment building.

„But he’s not always like that, our Jiminie. Honestly. I’m not sure what’s gotten into him lately. I guess his acting out has something to do with the whole soulmate business.“

„So, basically, what you’re saying is that this is my fault? Her being heartbroken and all?“

Guilt immediately spreads throughout Yoongi's aching chest, leading his heart to convulse and his throat to tighten as his eyes start wandering until they come to a rest on your ravishing features, an innocent half-smile tugging at your rosy lips in your unaware tranquility.

„Nah. Don’t worry too much, Yoongi-Hyung. They weren’t working recently, Jimin and her. They just didn’t have time to realize that since he was always away, touring with his dance company. She wasn’t happy lately. Not for months. I think she actually came close to ending things with him at one point, but knowing him he did or said something terribly sweet and caring and she decided to overlook all the areas in which their relationship was lacking. What can I say? Love isn’t easy. Unless you find your one, true, destined soulmate, of course.“

„Yeah, sure“, Yoongi mumbles absentmindedly, his gaze still fixed on you. „Anyway. I gotta go, Tae. I don’t wanna wake her up. But no word of this to anyone or I’m gonna kill you. Literally.“

„All right, all right“, Taehyung chuckles in response. „I’m team y/sh/n, remember? I’m rooting for you, Hyung.“

„Thanks a lot.“

„One day you’ll actually mean it. You’re gonna thank me and actually mean it. Mark my words!“

„Yeah, yeah. Bye.“

„Bye. See you tomorrow. Don’t be late, or I’m gonna kill you.“

„As if.“

With those words, Yoongi ends the call and turns off your phone to avoid further disruptions before he, once more, gets as comfortable as possible next to you and his worn-out sofa and eventually falls asleep to the dulcet sound of your calm breathing.

END OF CHAPTER 14 || TO BE CONTINUED

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it so far and this chapter didn’t disappoint. 😌

Here you can find my Masterlist in case you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction.

Also, if you have Spotify, you can listen to the ‘official’ playlist to the ‘Linked’ series here.It contains all the songs being sent back and forth between Yoongi and the reader and some more fitting the series’ theme.

Take care and have a great day! ☺️💖

The GIFs used are NOT mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

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sulasaferoom · 6 years

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Time for the weird My Dear Diary post of the season, together with the usual art rant. So, David Palumbo posted an amazing essay on Muddy Colors yesterday

And welp.

This post has been a HUGE eye opener for me, in weird and unexpected ways. I.. was so not ready for it hah.

It’s been a while that I have been feeling a weird disconnect from the art community. I tried to fix this severed connection by every mean I knew of. I questioned attitudes, I looked for study partners. I tried chats, I tried forums. I tried look into nook and crevices of my mind why... but I just felt broken.

Up to two years ago, my art life/career has been nothing but a mad dash to technical prowess. This is the general attitude going around the concept art/illustration community: You earn great and instant respect simply by means of technical prowess - it is all that matters. The whole thing is built around this sense of the king of the hill technique wise

And fuck, two years ago, I stepped out of the race without noticing it.

The technical challenge does not interest me anymore. The subtle competition people try to masquerade as ‘constructive criticism’ did not lure me in anymore. The super technical prowess dudes that are still painting vaguely sexualized females and gray aliens? It didn’t inspire awe in me anymore.

It was all done for show, all done for this vague sense I am better than almost everyone at this. The only affirmation comes from social media and the general jerk-circles around it. The subject doesn’t matter - only how well rendered it is.

So people start going for shock value for easy popularity. And you cannot question a master of technique - you’re just hurt you’re not as good as them.

And honestly? I was having so much genuine fun and connection in fandom that this whole charade started to get boring without me noticing it.

And by the beginning of this year, I had the obligation to paint a new portfolio for this huge event coming September, and I felt... broken. I didn’t know what to paint. Nothing was happening. I had zero motivation to do anything at all related to it. It didn’t matter anymore.

I spiraled out of control because of this void. I felt like I didn’t had what it took to be an artist anymore. This overly complicated technical challenges only felt like a chore. I simply couldn’t focus on any more of it. It didn’t matter.

And I was deeply terrified this was going to end my career. I was out of the race, and alas, what is there but the race?

And then came this small text from David Palumbo and that “...oh” moment.

At some point this last year I fully switched to not trying to peacock myself into the art community, but instead reading tags of “oh this is so soft” and enjoying it. Feedback that actually matted. How many years it’s been? Craving to do more of it. Things I cared about - even if it meant being silly and emotional and needy and vulnerable.

I am still scared this is not going to lead anywhere, but it lifted the weight off my shoulders. The pressure of having to do things as complicated as possible because I am supposed to impress peers that are not really there to be impressed. Because now I can think like I think, and not try to guess what people expect of me.

I am not doing this for show anymore.

It is not about impressing a bunch of old jaded guys that cannot be impressed anyway. This is about people who care - me, you that follow my art against all odds, the media we so desperately wants and no one deems worth of investing money in. The things people told me wouldn’t sell or is not “what the industry is looking for”.

I have ate up a huge amount of technique oriented things. I studied, I practice, and I came out on the other side feeling it was... automatic. No human input needed. And that is not why I am here doing this, it is not why I chose art as my career.

#my dear diary #art rant #I am feeling too many things

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violetsystems · 3 years

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#personal

I keep referencing this Chris Morris interview lately, mostly to myself. I try to talk to people in real life but the things other people take seriously aren't as important as any words I try to speak outloud. This is a trend that Morris and crew began to target in the late nineties when Brass Eye was released. When asked if Brass Eye could happen at the time during the Trump administration, he replied staunchly it could not. Back in the late nineties people took themselves far too seriously in the news. So it was easier to lampoon. These days it feels like a regression. Everyone has a statement to unload on you. A complex series of opinions, arguments, and rules about this or that. Some of them have some weight. Others are carried away by counter arguments and burnt at the stake. The only reason a statement, argument, or ideological battle penetrates the news is to simply kick it around for two weeks in a cycle. It never reaches any sort of consensus. It never diffuses into at the very least a case of agreeing to disagree. The Met Gala recently is a fine example of this. Statement fashion is simply meant to nudge the conversation into focus. At it's very minimum the shock is meant to jolt someone out of this seriousness. To rattle them away from their protective shell to change the dialogue. Think tax the rich or peg the patriarchy. Neither of them if you flesh out the argument have much teeth to them. I'm sure you could find yourself at a party defending either argument. "How many stocks do you have in the bank Mister!" Or why victims of childhood sexual harassment and violence might feel a little differently about proving how you might be able to face the patriarchy in a less violent and humiliating way. This is that none of us are defending a 35,000 dollar ticket to the Met Gala in the first place. There were plenty of other statements. After all the ideological dust settled I almost never realized that Iris Van Herpen designed Grimes suit of armor. If I were too clouded by the ideology I would have missed that legitimate moment of genius. I'm a technologist by profession. I have years of 3D fabrication support. I've often found myself drawn into the intersect of technology and fashion. The embroidery machines that print out all the stupid little poetry that gets stolen from other artists? Those are pretty complex to operate. Without them none of this would be possible. And yet good statement fashion does get people talking. But fashion is more than statements. Especially from the rich and wealthy. And if we don't talk about all of it, we start to realize who controls the flow of the dialogue when it goes petty. We're supposed to move on from these arguments like exhibits in a museum. Not get stuck on one or two moments and use them as a soapbox to drown out the entire room. Statement fashion gets people's attention. I wore undercover for years only to find for years people thought I was an undercover cop. I wear a mouse on a shirt and suddenly my porch is overflowed with them. I hold a raccoon in my arms in Korea one trip and the next year my porch is flooded with them as well. You like animals so much! Prove it!

Prove it was also a song by the underground band Television. I was introduced to them by the king of statement fashion itself, Jun Takahashi. I've worn undercover for years at this point. The story of undercover during the Scab years is an interesting insight into what Jun was trying to express at the core. His assistants were getting food in London on a break. An old woman came up to them and offered them a banana. She thought they were homeless. They were excited because the fashion they were wearing felt real and unpretentious. It blended in and confused people in such a way that it was not high brow or high fashion. It was accessible. It was street level. And it was largely coopted by the ultra rich and worn far too seriously for its own good. For people like myself who wore it out of love to provoking real conversation, it did the opposite. It cast me into a shadow realm where people thought what I was saying enabled them to push the limit. To use people like myself as cover in terms of hijacking authenticity. You used to wear undercover as a badge of honor in Japanese street wear. It was designed for rebels after all. You could wear a t-shirt that simply said RAT out in the street and assume if it applied to someone they'd read into it. But nobody including myself really thought you'd be able to change shit with a t-shirt. In America, people wear rebellious shit to express this idea of freedom. With Jun's stuff, it was all centered around this idea of individualism and anarchy. You can be who you are and there are so many variants of human that there is no comparison. America always wants you to prove it. Prove the right to be alone. Prove the right not to mix with the general population to avoid dilution. To avoid being neutralized or have a narrative hijacked. Nowadays you can't even afford to have a statement without someone explaining it for you behind your back. When the streets become the runway, retaliation happens outside the niceties of press and junkets. It happens with real unbridled emotions. The statements you throw into people's faces don't get moderated by it kids, secret tribunals of the ultra rich or your heroes. They get dealt with in a violent and sometimes mob like fashion by people who take themselves so seriously that their arguments against you are louder than a bomb or a nuclear powered submarine. And everything starts to contradict itself so much that none of us have the energy to argue. We just start mocking it. And the entire situation gets worse.

When it comes to a person like myself, I live in a surreal shadow world where the worst Black Mirror plot lines get tested. I've been writing and making statements for years. I've carefully parsed the arguments online. I've defended myself against an invisible hoard to let people know I am not like other people. And yet in America, until they can throw you in a group you are still nobody. You have to be attached to an ecosystem. A financial sink hole that can sell back your ideas to you instead of compensating you for the trouble. I can't take America seriously anymore even when it comes to it's idea of freedom. It lies to maintain a status quo. It constantly lies. It holds it's head high while sniffing the coke back into it's nose and proudly proclaims how it cares. And when people like myself stare it back in the face with our rotting street wear clothes from early 2010, it's a laugh. It believes until it has fully roasted the juices out of you then you are ready to be carved up. And we buy into it consistently. We waste our time feeding into arguments that have no intent on reaching a consensus. It's always you are either for us or against us. Go back and rally with your people. If you can't find your people it must mean you are mentally ill. America can never take the blame. If you catch it off guard it will figure out a way to trash you or cause a diversion. And so making statements to fuel an argument you can't win becomes a lesson in tedium. We should, by all means, continue to make fun of it. But the more we take these arguments seriously, we miss the real problems. We neglect the real art. We see that there's a good 35,000 dollar barrier to being heard. If we're lucky maybe we stitched together the rags these people wear. To me there have been statements in the populist context that have far more penetration into poking a hole in the patriarchy. I'm supposed to preface this by saying I own stock in some company. But I'm not trying to sell a portfolio. And it'd be kind of laughable to say that I'm only serious about feminism by putting my money where my mouth is to break this glass ceiling. The glass ceiling is there for a lot of us if minimum wage can't get us into the Met Gala. These statements are supposed to give you an idea to confront things in your own way. Not some secret way to groom you into humiliation and destroy your sense of self and sexuality. I write statements every week here most of the time. And they get chuckled at by friends and whoever these days spies on me to see how I deal with dead mice on my porch. Aren't I doing enough by saying something for free? I don't get paid to write any of these words. I don't get paid to talk about any of these people. What was that quote about art being counter revolutionary if it isn't accessible by the regular people? What I could do with a four hundred dollar statement t-shirt I can do with a color. Maybe I could make a statement shirt myself and have it ripped off by an incompetent designer one day. I could point at the screen and say "I copyrighted that statement." And look where it is now. Not in my wallet. Not anywhere near the 35,000 dollar ticket price to point back at the camera. Do you see me? No you don't. People in that realm only see themselves. And we take them and their arguments so seriously for what? A laugh hopefully. Because nothing is going to change if we're locked on the outside looking in at a bonfire of vanities. Witches get roasted either way. <3 Tim

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silver-wield · 7 years

Text

Eldarya Bullying

I don’t usually do serious issues, but since this has been happening to me more and more lately, I figured I’d try and address it for shits and giggles (can you tell I don’t do this type of stuff?).

Bit of history to start?

Online bullying started out as vicious comments and personal remarks directed at one person by a group of people to make that person feel worthless and without value to society. The comments would be by people they knew in person and would mainly focus on things like their physical appearance or intelligence, their home life or personal habits.

With the rise of online forums and games the style of bullying began to change, simply because bullies needed a way to get around the rules put in place by those games and forums to prevent themselves being reprimanded for their actions. They were no longer able to sit behind their computer screen and call someone fat or ugly without getting their comuppance. They also became more distant to the person they were bullying, being total strangers to them and not someone they actually knew. Instead they began to employ more passive agressive methods to get results, making underhand comments that would apply to the victim in such a way that a passing reader wouldn’t think any bullying was taking place, but the reaction from the victim was such that they were told they were overreacting, further enforcing the bullying behaviour, or that they were the bully for not reacting in a negative way to the comment, which appeared harmless.

Now to why I’m even bringing this up and how it relates to me.

Anyone who knows me on Eldarya is going to be aware that I don’t subscribe to the typical way of commenting on subjects, that is so spineless and sickly sweet that it’s the human equivalent of talking to your dog in a baby voice.

Anyone who doesn’t know me on Eldarya, well, the above comment should tell you more than enough about how I go about commenting; I don’t mince my words and never have. I find it insulting to people to not speak to them as though they are adults, fully capable of holding a conversation and/or discussion/disagreement/debate on multiple subjects without throwing their toys out the pram and acting like they’re actually two year olds who happen to have got control of the computer.

Apparently, I’m an idiot for thinking this.

A few months ago I was mass hounded off the website by several people, who took it upon themselves to berate me every time I commented in a thread that wasn’t one of the ones I had requested be opened, my guard’s thread or the two fan fict threads I use. To put it in perspective, there are 1400 + topics on Eldarya across 9 player active sections -- I’m not including the admin ones or foreign language ones naturally -- and, as a player, I only use 2 of those sections. Of the threads I previously managed there were 5, so add that to the 3 other threads I was “safe” in and I was permitted to post in a total of 8 threads on Eldarya. Any other thread -- and I do mean any other thread -- I was either willfully ignored by every player posting -- unless they happened to be a friend of mine -- or I was ganged up on for not wording my comments in a way that was as pleasant to them as they wanted it to be.

By gang I mean 10+ people all posting one after the other either disagreeing with my comment, the way I worded it or the way I responded to a reply, until it got to a point where they were able to act as “good guys/sjws/forum heroes” by stepping in and “mediating” the situation their group had caused and effectively placing blame squarely on me, which I would obviously disagree with, since I hadn’t actually done anything except comment on a topic. At this point a moderator would step in and “break up the fight” and I would get a private message reminding me that my tone isn’t acceptable and my behaviour isn’t acceptable and I was antagonizing other people and they were afraid of me and how I reacted to them.

They’re afraid of me. I have honestly never heard of anything so pathetic in my entire life. A general comment that other people decide isn’t to their liking, so they tell me off, but they’re afraid of me and I should watch myself because of it. Yes, that makes total sense and I should be very sorry for making all of these innocent children scared of big, bad me. Or, they’re just saying that shit because all of those comments get noted by the moderators, which then forms a portfolio of how they then treat those players when they come across them in the forum in future.

To add insult to injury, these people then began hounding me in the threads I had control over, so it became such that I couldn’t post in my own topics. Since they were mine, I did engage with those people and informed them they had no business telling me what to do. Cue moderator intervention, which resulted in me being reminded again that I had no right to comment the way I did. In my own threads. The people who reprimanded me had no such message sent to them.

This was when I decided I didn’t have to deal with this kind of shit and left the forum for a time.

When I returned, hoping I would be able to be like every other player and just post my comments on topics without being told I was being “offensive” because I didn’t cover my words in toffee and rainbow glitter, I became aware of repeat behavior by a group of 6+ people who actively went out of their way to antagonise me in hopes of getting rid of me permanently. These people have made deliberate efforts against me, posting insults, rude comments, passive aggressive statements to encourage the moderators to reprimand me and also disgusting gifs, also blatant lies about me and yet not one of them has ever been fully reprimanded on their behaviour or told that their actions are bullying and contravene the tos that all players sign up to. (Guess how many times I’ve been told my comments go against the tos because someone messaged a moderator to say they were offended by my general comment?)

Surely, you think, the correct thing to do is to inform the moderators and beemoov staff of what’s happening? Well, I did. The moderators are only temporary, so can’t really do anything besides tell people to mind their tone and refer them to the admin. I was also advised to stick to places where I didn’t get aggravation from people who didn’t like my comments, hence my activity on the site going from any section where I found something interesting, to 3 threads. That was their solution to people harassing me, that I should stop posting so much on the forum because they were the many and I was only one person. Obviously a hate group would be able to send more messages about someone than one person saying they’re being bullied by multiple people. I’m not the best at math, but that’s pretty obvious, even to me.

So, the sum total of my available places to post on Eldarya is now 3 threads: the Obsidian guard, the Tomes of Obsidian and In the In-Between. If I post anywhere else I get “reminded” by people that I’m not welcome in their threads. I’ve had people message me to “invite me not to post” in their threads because I make people feel “uncomfortable.” People don’t know what I’m going to say and they avoid posting because what if they say something that I disagree with? I should stick to places where I’m welcome.

Yes, I said “disagree”. I don’t go into threads looking for things to argue about or belittle. The worst thing I’ve ever said about something is “this makes no sense.” For that I was told by a moderator not to use those words because “they’re offensive”.

I shit you not.

I’ve had people inform me that posts that have nothing to do with them are being reported because they don’t like it and they find my tone to be “unacceptable to the happy atmosphere of Eldarya.”

To sum this up for you: Can’t post anywhere but 3 threads, get told my comments make people uncomfortable and I should stay in my 3 threads, if I disagree with something I’m offending people, telling someone things don’t make sense is “offensive”, my tone isn’t “happy” enough for their liking, there’s a hate group actively trying to get me banned permanently from the site to “save it from me.”

If you don’t think this is bullying then you need to look up the definition.

If Beemoov thinks it’s ok for a player to be treated this way simply because they don’t happen to fit their perfect ideal of what a player of one of their games is then they need to take more customer service seminars than I originally thought they did.

You might be asking what I’ve done about this; why haven’t I changed the way I post to make myself more socially acceptable to everyone on the site? Why the fuck should I? Are you not allowed to be yourself? Why am I not allowed to be myself because it’s not quite what you think someone should be like? I am on Eldarya exactly how I am irl and I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not. The way I post on Eldarya is the way I talk. I do laugh in the middle of sentences; it’s called a nervous tick and it happens because I’m naturally anxious that the things I say aren’t going to be well recieved. Hmm, funny that. I say it anyway because it’s what I think. I do rely heavily on contractions and slang, but don’t we all? As for the lack of spelling, punctuation and grammar, well, you can see I do actually know how to use them. It’s something I cultivated on purpose to stop me being such a grammar nazi over what’s nothing more important than basic conversation. People speaking in a relaxed atmosphere to each other shouldn’t be told that they can’t use a comma where they’ve put it, or that they’ve used the wrong type of “your”. (Bonus bullying comment: I’ve been told that people would love to “go grammar nazi on my ass” for the way I type on the forum, assuming that I don’t know how to properly spell and use the English language. As for me, I only get picky in stories because they’re stories, they’re supposed to have proper structure). Back to my point; I am who I am and I shouldn’t have to change that to be “allowed” to post on a public forum without being told I’m offending people and that they’re afraid of what I might say to them.

Might.

In threads on subjects that I have little to no interest in.

So the potential of me commenting also results in me being told that I am not welcome on the forum.

Seriously, if that’s not bullying then I think I need to look the definition up again, too.

And I know I’m not the only one, because for as many people who don’t like the way I comment and feel I shouldn’t be around and that they don’t like me “ruining their forum”, I have also gotten just as many messages from like-minded players who feel they can’t comment on things because they get ganged up on for not sugar-coating their words.

It’s a public forum. None of us own it. We all have a right to express our opinions on subjects and content posted on there. If someone says things in a way that another person doesn’t like that doesn’t mean that person is being offensive or rude, it means they didn’t use words you find acceptable to your personal rhetoric. They are not then worthy of being bullied because you feel like you’re doing a civic duty by removing this person who doesn’t talk the way you do.

We are all different and should be able to express our different opinions and views in a way that we are comfortable with. We should also be able to take those different views and opinions and ways of speaking without assuming they’re offensive just because they’re not how you would say it.

To conclude:

I mentioned at the start that I took a break from Eldarya after being bullied for doing nothing more sinister than disagreeing with people and questioning things, like people do.

After learning there’s a hate group purposely trying to evict me from their precious site, with no one making any moves to stop them, I’ve decided they can have it; it’s poisoned.

Some of you may disagree with that view point and that’s fine. Some of you may be singing and dancing about my, now permanent, absence. I’d link you the song from Wizard of Oz, but I’m sure you’re all big enough to find it yourselves, or not as the case may be.

#Eldarya #Bullying #DiamondDust #Hate groups are bad #Victim blaming is bad #6 against 1 isn't social justice #I'm done

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artdjgblog · 4 years

Photo

Innerview: Pete Dulin / Present Magazine

January 2007

Art & Photo: DJG

Note: Interview for a Kansas City, MO art and culture blog.

01) How long have you been designing posters and CD packaging/artwork?

If I were to say I’ve been designing this stuff since Mom gave birth, well you might think me to be pompus, new agey and bit queer. However, in the past few years I’ve come to the conclusion that everything I’ve experienced has brought me to this point. Information has been at a constant and consistently carried in the backpack(s). Though, it’s more the matter of channeling that. I’ve always been making things. To put things into a more professional, or “text book” answer, I’m in the sixth year developing a bad back of my own accord. And tack on another four and a half of formal training before that. In which two of those I was making things for people on the side. So, really about 7 or 8 years in a design sense, but only offically five under my DJG belt. So, I’m still a youngster. But, I feel design years add up like dog years. 02) How would you describe your approach or design aesthetic? With certain I have my influences and I’ve had formal training. However, the majority of the time is spent not thinking, rather just doing. And I’m not trying to push athletic shoes. Each day my head gets up different. I am always hungry and eat food the same way. I always put my pants on the same way. I lock the door the same way. I walk the same way. That stuff is all automatic. It’s my head that differs. As the mush upstairs is assembling for the day, my thinking and process(es) tends to come different, though it can all be intuitive to me at the same time. True, somedays I’m not in any shape to win the pennant, nor even give a care about art or design. Yes, I do crank out the work by just doing…and my portfolio is always eating. But, I still feel I’m the laziest guy in my woom, even on a good day. I don’t really consider myself an artist or a designer. I just enjoy the act of making those things but there are moments I just don’t feel like it. When design isn’t doing “it” for me, I read or write or watch things. If I’m not doing anything, I have to be doing something. And I’ve quit the whole notion of actually being something other than just myself. And my self is not always in the mood for me. And I don’t think about a design being good enough to measure-up or anything silly like that. It just has to feel right and true within me. I can tell when something feels forced and without life. For me, the work has to be breathing and has to say something. Now, whatever it conversates to the viewer/audience is all up in the air. It’s always a hoot to hear what others think. Back on the subject of others’ talk of an aesthetic. This is one of the few times I truely think about how I’m doing things. I then start overthinking and that can be a dangerous place. People come to me all the time and say things like, “Oh, you are really great at this and are such a skillfull artisan of the such ‘n’ such…(more nonsense fluff ensues).” This is a complement I suppose, but I tend to take it as a way of them saying that it’s all coming to easy for me. I am my only competition so this is when I start to push myself a bit harder. I’ve got to stay ahead of myself. I like the silly idea of someone doing their best work every day. I don’t know how long I’ll be around, but I hope I’m always doing my best work from my perspective. 03) Historically, society has shifted from the Age of Mechanical Reproduction since the advent of the printing press to the Age of Digital Reproduction. Why is it still important to make a man-made mark on something seemingly short-lived as a band flyer or poster? In taking foundation courses during my first year of formal education we did not use computers. Everything was very basic, hands-on cutting and pasting and drawing fundamentals of design. My friends were complaining about how they couldn’t wait to get on the computer. Personally, I was so naive and so in love with making things by hand (ever since I could remember working my fingertips as a child) that the idea of designing with a computer was not in my vocabulary. I stated to my friends how I was going to take the route of design that didn’t include the aid of computers. They simply laughed at my lunacy. Being that it was the late ‘90s, it was inevitable that we’d be using computers. What’s funny now is that for some odd reason I’ve been able to succeed a bit working with my hands and most of the people I went to school with tire of staring at their computer screen day jobs. I definately appreciate a computer and I use one. But, I think of it only as a tool. I use it as a way to ease production a bit and of course it can be a time saver for layout and print. The problem with computers, the internet and desktop publishing gear is that anybody can be a designer. It’s definately eased things I suppose, but we’ve got people cranking out the most obtrusive visual clutter. I don’t aim to sound arrogant. It’s just that everybody thinks they know what they are doing. Everybody wants the cliche in high-gloss makeup, filled to the brim and in suffocation galore. Why not? We over-consume everything else. It’s just sad to me. I even see trained designers doing it. And most everything just feels so fake and soulless. When I first saw those early cave paintings in grade school text books, something about those expressions just delighted me and it felt right and true. And now when I see graffiti on the wall or a shopping list or letter I just think about the heart and energy behind it all. One of the best things that ever happened to me (with design) is when my computer crashed about five years back and I lost the ability to use 2,000 some fonts. When I had them, I tried to use them appropriately and sparingly. But, they were nothing but a crutch to me. Rarely do I use computer fonts now. If I do there better be a reason or a restraint in my time. I just found it important to really speak honestly with my work. Each day is different and so is my voice and thought. Hand scrawls, handmade type and thumbprints bring forth the idea of a human identity and feels like thought and life was put into the expression. True, if we had the ability to actually see people’s verbal speaking expression there are some voices that would be just plain dull and in the same ol’ font and face over and over. And I suppose at times that would be appropriate. But, just think about the endless images bouncing from each other if everybody’s words, language, expression, feelings and breath stuck around in a clear visual form and of their own signature. That would be incredible. But, I’m sure it would do more harm than good. But, it would definately be something else for people to complain about so then there would be even more imagery because of it! The great artist Saul Steinberg communicated language as marks of visual expression in this way in much of his work. A poster to me is exciting because of the fact that it is short-lived, yet it can be very in-your-face and of the moment. A good poster to me is like a big zit. And a good one will pop and speak all over…let you know that it’s there. It boggles me when people don’t take advantage of this idea. It just seems like people push a duplicator button and paint with boringness and fluorescents over and over. It’s very zombie. (though, zombies could probably make more creative things). In this digital age of people getting information via the web and myspace and cell phones and music players and all that garbage, it’s even more important to get them to focus at things again. I’m all for the internet, but I feel hardly anybody under the age of 35 truely looks at anything in actual form anymore for more than 2 seconds. I am guilty of this too. And this possibly stems from perception of wanting everything bigger, better, faster and right now. These things that are supposed to make our lives easier, yet fill life to the brim and we’re still wondering where our time went. So, it does mean a lot to me when people actually stop and look and think…maybe come back to it again. It’s warming to me when something measley like a concert poster can get somebody to stop their busy life and take notice in a notice. Maybe even get a tickle out of it and a smile in their heart to make their day…maybe even take it home for their own wall. That just means the world. 04) Do you have particular influences in art/design? I used to think you had to have a little man with flash cards or answers written in undershorts for quick draws whenever approached with this question. Anymore I don’t care about impressing people. I touched before on my influence of just existing and growing. I don’t understand it when people find or ape a “style” and milk that into retirement (unless it’s a true and pure speciality like most folk artists, Edward Gorey or Jean-Michel Basquiat). Gosh, I would cut off my hands as opposed to making the same thing everyday until I die. But, I would also do the same to be able to draw or paint like some people. What it is that I do is not something I punch a time card for, nor pound a keyboard to compute my solutions. It is a way of life and life is always changing. Silly, but the only way to stop it from my body is to spill my skull. And then have the bums burn my thumb prints to keep warm at night. I’m blessed to have been raised in a rural environment with a bit of old-fashioned and hands-on approach to things. I wanted so badly to get out of that environment when I was coming of high school age. Now, I really appreciate this aspect of my life. Don’t begin to ask me how I reached into the design grab bag and pulled out this funny-lookin’ rabbit i’m wiggling on. It just kind of happened. Most of it belongs to my always active imagination and having many acres to romp. There wasn’t really a drain plug on what I could do or absorb. Every day my siblings and I were into something new and building our own altered universe from the inspiration of television, movies, tractor pulls, rodeos, demolition dirbies, state fairs…you name it. A great aspect of all of this is that I never really shed any of it. If you could devise a way for me to go back into my time as an eleven-year-old, you bet I would. I feel so many shear that skin as they reach puberty and young adulthood. Even in my late teens when everybody was out dating and all that nonsense, I made myself go to my room and draw and make things. Shoot, I was still building tree houses and playing war (I still do at times). I am constantly fumbling back for it all. I’ve still got most of my childhood things all around me here in my basement club house. I don’t throw anything away. Everytime I go home another bag or two is brought back. The older I get the more I believe my streak stems a lot from my Grandmother on my Dad’s side. I still have many of the things she’s made by hand: fridge magnets, cat head pillow, blankets, book bag. As well as carry the images of wearing bread bags on my feet to school, creating toys out of thread spools, baking and cooking all the time, building forts in the living room, making pretty ladies out of flowers and especially sporting my beloved dead animal backpack (denim with plastic lining for easy blood clean-up). These things sound strange to others, but my world is built from them. She was constantly making or doing (as most of her generation did). I’m a big fan. It’s sad to me as nobody really just makes things anymore for the heck of it. And it’s really sad as she sits and bides her time in the nursing home, limited in her making and doing. I hope my engine breaks from making and doing before I get put in that point. If not, take me to the back forty and shoot me rotten. If somebody were to ask me to place my work in some sort of design bracket…well, I suppose it lands somewhere in the land of Henryk Tomaszewski meets Saul Steinberg meets Lester Beall meets Saul Bass meets Push Pin meets Ray Johnson meets Art Chantry meets Jim Henson meets Folk Art meets garbage in the street…or something like that. It’s really hard to answer that question. Anyway, I get bored with the look of a lot of current design and fashions. Though, there are a few great designers my age coming out of the woods more and more…doing fresh things and in creative ways. I think it stems from growing up in a time of the media of television, film, video games, computers, animation, graphic novels and just the overall mass consumerism of culture and language. And all of these things shaking hands with the idea of pushing boudaries and smothered with a glaze of technology. But, then again every generation is a little bit more ahead of the last…I guess to some degree. I love and appreciate my upbringing and even my access to the culture now. Still, I do wish sometimes I could have lived and designed some fourty, fifty or sixty years back. Though, I’m sure I’d still be in some basement, garnering enjoyment making things the way I want to make them. 05) Does your work relate to the subject matter? For example, do you consciously try to create artwork that suits a band’s music or image? I think some people in the music industry don’t know how to take my work. For one, I feel most of the so-called scene takes itself way too seriously. It’s funny to me, all this playing dress-up and rock star…and especially when it extends into the late twenties and thirties. But, I do suppose some people were just born to be stars. My work isn’t for every person. But, there are a few out there who for some odd reason “get” it and it’s all very flattering of their attraction. It’s even spreading across the country and into other parts of the world. I don’t aim for cool points. I take it serious only to the point of being non-serious. However, when designing it’s important to be held accountable with your client, city, audience, environment, venue, peers and yourself. And I have morals with the world design community, art and design history and with myself. When it comes to marrying my work to a certain band’s music or image…well, what do I have to base on for an image? I have nothing but other designer’s interpretations of where to categorize the idea of what/how a sound or scene should register as. I have an appreciation for the past and present, but I really find it odd when somebody comes to a designer and says they want to play look-alike-dress-up to something already in existence. True, nothing is original anymore and I’m not saying that I’m anything special. Rather, I feel personality helps white wash things a bit and a lot of design these days lacks it (especially in the music industry). These days you can throw a rock and hit many kids making things (music and art). But a large chunk of it seems to be lacking proper development and form…and life. You can’t pick somebody else’s nose and expect to smear those boogers for yourself. You’ve got to earn them. You’ve got to get dirty along the way and find a way to bark, have fun, be yourself and just do things to do them…and then have Mom hose you off at the back door. 06) Pick one of your favorite creations. What do you like best about its elements? First of all, my designs to me are like multiple babies to a mother. Yes, some may look more handsome and pretty and say all the right things and in the right way. Some may pay their own bills and some may be a pain in the rear. Each one is a favorite to me at the time of their creation and birth and in memory to the place that I was at the time of conception. You can point at every 300 and some poster I’ve made and it has a name, place and means something to me. If you said for me to create something for you like one I did back in 2001, well I couldn’t. It was in and of it’s place in my time. It won the race for that given moment. Shoot, sometimes I can’t even work within the same manner fifteen minutes ago. One creation that comes to mind for this question is a package design and identity for The Elevator Division. It’s one that I can call a significant and critical moment in my design sensibility. It’s one that garnered lots of attention and even though I plan to always be making my best work, the “Whatever Makes You Happy” EP CD will always be in my all-time top ten. I came up with the insane idea of cutting, spray painting imagery and making elaborate inserts for 250 packages (I vowed I’d never do it again, but funny how I work…and how I nearly exhausted my tank a month ago repeating this ridiculous process for another CD project). Anyway, so here I am the night before making all of these things and I end up changing my concept at the last minute. Thankfully, it still fit the real estate of the cardboard package, though It required spraying each cover three times as opposed to once. So, production time was tripled and time was not on my side but the design I felt was…and it worked and said a thousand time more than the original. What I had was an attention grabbing image of a hand shooting one of it’s fingers guised as a missle. The idea of shooting off one’s options…or, whatever makes you happy. It worked. It popped. It spoke exactly what the title and the band were speaking of in the music with relationships and with the political climate of war and post-terrorism America . And it came to me the night before (Anyway, I’m boring you with all that designer yap). So, my excitement of the new imagery, fueled my creation of 250 packages in less than a 48 hour period (and let’s not forget to mention i was working a day job). I was really smart and thought it was an awesome idea to spray paint in a basement with no ventilation. At the end of my final hour I erupted from the fumes and haze, with red, white and black paint caked to my hands and coming from my mouth and nose. I flung open the front door of the house as lightning crackled to find a hard rain falling. I was Noah and my boat was taking off…or landed, based on perspective of the event. In revival I jumped and slid head first down the steep grassy embankment and into the dirty, flooded street. I was washed clean. Sadly the design was so effective that it sold-out within a couple of shows and I had to do it all over again. But, the next round was adapted to a standard jewel case. 07) What’s essential on a poster or flyer to grab a viewer’s attention in mere seconds? How does form and function come into play? I’ve touched upon this a wee bit in an earlier question. People tend to have short attention spans and walk with their heads down…and/or simply don’t look at things. Because of this a design has really got to pop, have immediacy and definately needs to say something. It’s funny because people have told me things like, “That is probably your worst poster.” It’s rare for people to be so honest in this way, but I love it when they are so passionate about it (and I love it when they say probably because that means they’ve really put some thought into it and have had discussions with themselves about it in comparable reason with my past efforts and wasted time wrestling with it). But, for some reason that poster really must have spoken to them to have so much feel for it. Normally these are the posters that end up being published and placed in traveling exhibitions. It’s really funny to me. At the time of creation I’m not trying to piss on anybody nor try to make something groundbreaking or award-winning. I just feel like doing things the way I do them in that moment and I feel I make them work. Form and function is an important application for design. Here is another thing I’ve already mentioned…I feel so many kids see something cool and just start cranking out these cool-lookin’ forms…hand-picking the way their things will look. There is a major lack of growth in most art-music these days…even outside of these areas…even just in someone’s persona. I’m not saying you can’t have influences, everybody’s got them and everything’s been done before and done better. I just long for things that speak of their own island. It’s like on “Jurassic Park”. You can’t go in and recreate the notion of copying dinosaurs for yourself. You can only get away with that for so long. Anyway, I also spoke about designs grabbing attention by way of having human elements and a definate soul behind them. I’ve come to compare a poster to a pop song. Sure they’ve been done a thousand times before…but, you can tell the ones that have a true sense of personality and heart to them. There is so much dead-beat fluff out there that can’t even be compared to something that’s alive…something that knows the rules but takes them and reassembles them to their own architecture. It’s very evident in music especially. For instance two bands can play on separate late night talk shows within minutes of each other. Both write pop songs. One speaks freshness and purity, even looks sincere, despite being just a pop band with another pop song. The other feels like actors assembled to play a song somebody else penned for an instant “fat wallet”. It just feels too perfect and calculated…and lifeless. Not everybody cares about this or sees this. It is subjective to a certain degree, but there is a true difference. 08) In your opinion, are flyers and posters a low-brow form of art? People have really started holding posters in higher regard the past five or more years. Poster making is hotter than ever and it really hit a certain peak a couple years ago. The work is spreading farther than just within its respected cities. The artists are becoming just as popular as their art.A poster these days is living beyond it’s short life on the street, on a corkboard or at the venue. People are excited about it. Exhibitions, magazines, websites, books and design annuals celebrate the scene. Collectors and fans of art and music are snatching them up. True, the art of the poster has been around for a long time (and I’ll just reflect on it from my vantage point at the moment). But, I feel that it’s now (band posters in particular) really being taking seriously in the art world. At one time (and in some cases and by some people, still are) posters and flyers were being seen as litter and visual clutter. We can’t help but owe a lot of the commotion to modern pioneers like Art Chantry. He basically single-handily changed the way of the poster back in the ‘70s and ‘80s with experiments, lavish production methods and design aesthetics. He is considered a master artist to the trade and even in the arts in general. Shoot, seeing him lecture in college six years ago helped me decide to take that leap onto the starving artist limb-limbo, doing my own thing as opposed to working for another man. I spoke briefly to him after that lecture and told about my interest in independent music design. He was honest and said, “Expect to starve…several times over.” And I have. I still need to tell him that…and tell him thank you. Though, many poster artists these days no longer have to starve. It’s being taken so seriously and the quality of art is held so high that some can do it for full-time income…and do it rather successfully. A lot of them have full-fledged design studios and cranking out more than just posters. And there are a lot of guys like me with day jobs and coming home to moonlight out of basements and back bedrooms. For myself, I kind of hit the scene at the right time when it was really starting to explode..even though I didn’t really know what I was doing, other than just “doing”. I feel it definitely takes a certain mindset and you’ve got to make some sacrifices. I wouldn’t recommend it to everyone, but with poster art, anyone can do it…it’s easy to do and with limited resources. And then you’ve got the excitement of people bringing back almost deceased production techniques like the letter press. My only rant right now with poster art is that though the quality of work looks great, I feel there is a definite cohesive “look” and style to a lot of it right now. There are a few doing their own thing, but a lot of it is starting to look the same and almost becoming too easy and formulated for some. This is where I give my two cents of brain fart. What’s great about a poster is it’s actual short-lived life on the street. It makes all the more reason to try new things and really push the art form and most importantly gives reason to just be yourself. If it fails it will be gone or in the gutter within weeks and another will take its place. -djg

#innerviews

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zombierunfiction · 7 years

Text

Season 2 Mission 10: Holding Out for A Hero

Two days had passed since the summit had ended and Janine had sent Charlotte to New Canton for a mission with one of their counsil members. She hadn't told Charlotte what the mission entailed but Charlotte didn't have a good feeling about it. She stood at the tunnel leading out of New Canton waiting for the consel member to show up. She looks over seeing the man she remembered talking to Amir before he left for London, walking towards her.

"Runner Five, I presume?" The man asked with a thick spanish accent.

"I am. Charlotte." She said holding out her hand.

The man smiles shaking her hand. "You're with me today. But how rude I am. I am Esteban; Esteban Sosa. I am the Director of Logistics and Infrastructure of the New Canton Permanent Advisory Counsil. Your Sam has lent you to me today. He wasn't happy... overprotective, I think."

"Consider I'm his girlfriend I would be worried if he wasn't worried about me going on a mission that I have no idea what I'm in for." Charlotte said putting her hands on her hips.

"No need for Concern. New Canton and Abel are colleagues now. Expediting the same outcome - the defeat of Van Ark. Two day since the summit and already we are actioning the results." Esteban said proudly. "Very satisfactory! And Nadia remains under house arrest for what she did to you. Philip will be taking on her responsibilities, yes?" Esteban was met with silence. "Philip?"

"Oh, sorry!" A british man's voice is heard. "You mean, I'm being radio operator for the runners instead of Nadia? Yeah, I am. Phil Cheeseman." He said happily with a rather robust tone.

"Charlotte or Runner Five. I'll answer to either one at this point." Charlotte said as they took off out of the tunnel with Esteban keeping up with her easily. "So now that I'm here what exactly is this mission that we're going on?"

"So... uh, you're going to Lem's old house today. I mean, Runner Thirty-eight. Runner Thirty-eight's old house. It's on the outskirts of town, just past the, uh-" Phill started to explain before Esteban jumpped in.

"Park and ride."

"Yup!" Phil said happily.

"And we have all our ducks in a row on the zombie front?" Esteban asked.

"Uh... there's a big bloody cluster of them to the east. That's not good, is it?" Phil asked slowly.

"We project they won't drift into our path." Esteban said confidently.

"Right, right." Phill said quickly.

"But you will keep us posted on zombie developments, yes?" Esteban asked.

"Yeah, of course." Phil answered happily.

"Three hundred and sixty degree thinking, that's what we need. We're both three hundred and sixty degree thinkers, aren't we, Runner Five?" Esteban asked looking at her.

"I like to think so." Charlotte responded.

"That's why today's mission is going to be such a success. I suppose you're wonder why we're going to Lem's house." Esteban said.

"The thought had crossed my mind." Charlotte said.

"He left that note with-" Phil said before Esteban spoke up again.

"Philip." Esteban took a deep breath before looking at Charlotte seriously. "I am going to lay all my cards on the table, here Charlotte. We want Nadia back on the job."

Charlotte's eyes widen before she glared at him. "She intentially led me into Dedlock territory on the hope that I would be shot down dead because she was led to believe that Lem was alive. Do you honestly think she deserves that kind of treatment for behavior like that?"

"Of course, what she did to you want wrong." Esteban said trying to sooth the now angry red head. "But if I learned one thing from my time as European Head of Corporate Acquisitions at LDF International - and I learned many things from my times as European Head of Corporate Acquisitions at LDF International, so many that I used to train other manahement executives - it's that people are a company's primary resource. Or a townships. And how do you get ahead in business? Or as a township? By husbanding your resources. Or, by doing nice things for your resources!" He said before continuing. "I mean, Nadia, of course. She is the resource I'm talking about."

"But Nadia tried to kill her... Maybe she doesn't want to do nice things for her." Phil said slowly.

"Give the man a prize. The last thing I want to do is reward her for essentially trying to murder me." Charlotte said with almost a snarl.

"Perhaps. That's why I want to talk to you, Five. Bring you up to speed on Nadia's resume." Esteban said confidently.

Charlotte snorts. "Even if she used to be Mother Theresa, Iw ould still have my opinion."

"She used to be an air traffic controller, you see? Managing her portfolio of planes. Very impressive, huh?" Esteban said with a smile.

"Impressive but still doesn't change facts." Charlotte said.

"Very responsible position. but when a pilot went gray on the approach into Luton, that plane hit another in the air. Terrible disaster. Well, Nadia blamed herself. We knew she'd be a perfect fit for the radio operator's job, but she disagreed." Esteban continued.

"The two situations have nothing to do with each other. She had no control over the plane. She had ultimate control of where I went while she was in control of the mission." Charlotte said quickly.

"She had lost faith in herself." Esteban said looking at her. "She is human just like the rest of us."

"It's true, but Lem talked her around. He told her she could save lives, and she did! We've only lost three runners since she took over." Phil said.

"Three. How many has your Sam lost, Runner Five?" Esteban said as Charlotte reached over grabbing him by the front of his shirt pulling him down to her height.

"Don't you dare compare Sam to her. Sam's never intentionally put someone in danger for his own personal vendetta." Charlotte growled as Esteban looked at Charlotte in surprise.

"Relax Charlotte I am meerly stating a well known fact." Esteban said slowly as Charlotte let go of him still glaring at him.

This man was starting to piss her off something fierce.

"If you want to state facts then how about this? How many people have been killed by something other than zombies because of Sam?" Charlotte asked as Esteban didn't answer, instead he looked ahead of them.

"Hmm, I don't like the look of that school up ahead." Esteban said as Charlotte looked to the school he spoke of seeing little zombies on the grass.

"Playground's crawling with zombie children. That's just the worst. Better take the long way around, guys, and pick up the pace." Phil said as they took off again away from the school.

They ran in silence for a while before Esteban looked back seeing they were a fair distance from the school. "Looks like we've shaken them off."

"I can see a few down Hyacinth Close, but I don't think they've spotted you." Phil confirmed.

"Good. Now, Philip, it's time to lock down Nadia's involvement in the project." Esteban said as Phil didn't answer for a moment.

"But she's, you know-"

"I'm authorizing temporary release. When we've successfully concluded this mission, the counsil will sit down with Abel to secure their permission to reinstate her. Synergistically, I am sure they will see it's the right thing to do." Esteban said confidently.

"Right, I'll fetch her, then. Back in a mo!" Phil said getting up and leading the coms room.

"So my opinion doesn't mean anything in all this." Charlotte stated glaring.

"It does but I believe you will see the positives of forgiving her and helpping her to be reinstated." Esteban said almost off handedly. He looked around. "We're close now, Five. Lem's house is on Church Road. This is only a few streets away, if you know the map. But perhaps your Major doesn't give you maps. I know she likes to micro management from the top down."

Charlotte glared even harder. "Really think that insulting the Major is your best choice of move?"

"The hostility between Abel and New Canton... I suppose you blamed us." Esteban said slowly. "But it is Abel that's always been the predatory player in the maketplace, thanks to your Major De Santa. She and Janine, they have secrets."

"So does New Canton." Charlotte snapped.

"If I were you, I would be careful about trusting my life-" Esteban said as static came over their headsets before Sam's voice is heard.

"Rubbish!" He said loudly.

"What?" Esteban said confused.

"It's Sam! Janine's been trying to boost our signal range. I heard that!" Sam said angerly. "And you guys wonder why we don't trust you!"

"Don't tell me you've never had these doubts yourself, Sam." Esteban countered.

"No, actually, I haven't. I'd be dead if it wasn't for the Major. Everyone in Abel would. She saved our lives, gave us a home! Well, Janine's home." Sam amended but still held his conviction.

"And did you ever ask why? Why a military officer took in so many civilian's? Why she didn't return to the Arm, where she belongs?" Esteban said as Charlotte growled.

"Esteban you know nothing of the military obviously. The Major wanted to help out the greater good which is why we join the military. To protect those that can't protect themselves." Charlotte said as Esteban looked unfazed.

"We're nearly there, Runner Five. The next turning is Church Road." Esteban said changing the subject. "But I hear zombies, I think. Perhaps you will concentrate on that, Sam."

"You are the last person who should be telling me how to do my job." Sam grumbled.

"Sammy it's ok just focus on the scanners." Charlotte said softly.

Esteban and Charlotte continued to run down the side walk heading for a large estate that was at the end of the block. "Wow, that's a very long drive. And the end of the very long drive is a very posh house. Are those marble pillars?" Sam questioned.

"Lem was a wealthy man. But he made all the money himself. Nadia tells me he grew up in a care home." Esteban said.

"Yeah, and I bet he had to buy that enormous house because he needed room for all the orphans and puppies." Sam said sarcasticly. "So what are you looking for, here? Go toilet seats? Wedgwood china?"

"He's not MC Hammer Sam." Charlotte said chuckling.

A sudden groan is heard making Esteban's head snap up. "What was that?"

"Yeah, that very long drive has got a few zoms heading down it. Whatever you're after, you'd better make it quick." Sam said as they ran up the side of the drive towards the front door. "You're nearly at the door now. Can you, uh-"

"I have a key." Esteban said producing a key that was silver. "Nadia found it among Lem's possessions. He had left a note to say that if he ever turned gray, she should come here." He said unlocking the door stepping inside with Charlotte as she shut the door behind her locking it up. "Madre de Dios..." He breathes.

"What?" Charlotte said as she turned, her jaw dropping.

"What? What is it? You know I can't see in there! Are there zoms?" Sam questioned.

Charlotte and Esteban walked away from the front door seeing the floors were white marble with pillars inside the house dividing the rooms looking like they were hand carved. Along each wall was portraits of Lem and hundreds of trophies.

"No need to worry Sam. It's just there are so many trophies in here!" Charlotte said looking at them.

"I have never seen so many trophies for the sports. Oh, and that cannot be a Nobel Prize in chemistry, surely!" Esteban said as Charlotte lifted it up looking at it.

"It is..." Charlotte said slowly before looking at another picture. "Why is Lem shaking hands with Kofi Annan in this photograph?"

"He really was... yeah, I know I'm not supposed to say Ave Rimmer again, because I said it last time, and I don't like to repeat myself, but when something gets more and more true, it's... uh, yeah, I'm getting some intermittent signal on Runner Five's headcam. Is that - is that an Olympic medal for luge? I didn't think Britain..." Sam said before the sound of banging appeared at the door. "Alright, there's no time for this, guys. The zoms are tearing at the door, you've got seconds until-" Suddenly the door bursted open followed by several zombies shambling over. Esteban and Charlotte looked over at them fast before taking off away from them.

"There are arrows painted on the floor!" Charlotte said seeing the big yellow arrows painted the direction they were going.

"Well, follow them, I guess. As quick as you can. Are the zoms?" Sam asked quickly.

"We're ahead, going up the stairs." Esteban said as they took two steps at a time. "I see now, yes. Lem has left a dictaphone on the occasional table. Take it, please, Runner Five." Esteban said as Charlotte sweeps the device and a book under it off the table pocketing it fast.

"I can hear the zoms through your mics. There'd better be a back door, or-" Sam started before Esteban interrupted him.

"Lem was a forward planner." They ran into the room the arrows pointed to with Charlotte shutting the door fast. Along the wall was dozens of weapons all hung up. "There is a weapons cache - grenades, sidearms - useful for fighting our way out. And there is another arrow and it is written 'Emergency Exit' beside it." Esteban said looking at the floor.

"Then you know where you're going. Take what weapons you can, and run!" Sam said as Charlotte and Esteban grabbed several weapons before taking off through the door leading to a balcony with a staircase going down towards the back of the house.

Soon they were on their way back towards New Canton when Esteban spoke up. "Philip? Philip?"

"Yeah, I'm back." Phil said quickly.

"And Nadia?" Esteban asked.

"I'm here." Nadia said slowly. "Hello, Esteban. And..." She stopped. "and Runner Five."

"Nadia." Charlotte said.

"We have been to Lem's house, Nadia, as the note told you. There was a tape, and your name is one it. Should we play it for you?" Esteban asked as Nadia took a deep breath.

"Yes, please." Nadia said softly.

Charlotte pulled the device out and turned it on. The sound of Lem's dry coughing is heard before he takes a deep breath. "Honey, listen, I haven't got much time." his deep voice sounded very weak. "I always intended to leave you this message, if the worst happened. It's going to be shorter than I'd hoped, though. Just took me so long to get here. Dammit." He groans before coughing hard again. "I've seen it too often before to kid myself about what's coming. No point in making a big song and dance about it. And there's no point in saying I love you. You know that, don't you? Of course you do." Lem takes slow breathes as Nadia begins to cry softly. "You're a clever girl. I just wish you didn't dwell on things so much. Not healthy. You'll dwell on my death. There, I said it. My death. And you're young, and so beautiful. This world may seem grim right now, but you've got so much to live for. Try to see the best in people, NAdia, and in yourself. You're such a good person. Such a big heart. Don't let my death change that. It's the one thing I couldn't bear. Be brave, honey. I'll be watching you. Lem... out." Lem coughs again before the recording ended with Nadia crying harder.

Charlotte felt her own heart breaking as she remembered Lem's sacrifice to help her. She put the recorder in her pocket as Sam spoke. "Wow. He was... what a guy."

"I'm sorry..." Nadia whimpered. "I'm so sorry..." She continued to cry.

"We're coming home now, Nadia. Then you and Runner Five will talk. And we'll all make a fresh start, because that is what Lem wanted." Esteban said as Charlotte took a deep breath knowing that she had to face Nadia and talk to her.

Once back at New Canton Charlotte took off her headset and pack giving the guns, recorder and book to Esteban before turning to the coms room where a tall man with brown hair and a rather long face walks over with Nadia. The red haired scottish woman looked paler than the last time Charlotte had seen her. Nadia sniffled wiping her eyes on some tissue as she looked up at Charlotte. Nadia was only a few inches shorter than Charlotte making her youthful features work to her advantage.

"Nadia." Charlotte said slowly.

"Hello Charlotte." Nadia said slowly as the man looked between them awkwardly.

"Hi Miss Charlotte. Phil Cheeseman." He said holding out his hand to her. Charlotte shook it gently. "I'll take you both to Nadia's room so you two can talk privately." Charlotte nodded leading them to Nadia's room where Phil left them alone.

Nadia sat down on her bed taking her pillow and holding it tight resting her head on top of it. Charlotte stood across from her crossing her arms. Niether woman spoke anything for a long time until Nadia sniffled softly. "I'm sorry about Lem." Charlotte said as Nadia looked up at her.

She then looked away more tears coming to her eyes. "He was such a good man..." Nadia whispered squeezing the pillow tighter.

Charlotte took a slow breath before walking over sitting next to her. "He knew he was going to die you heard that much... He didn't want to waste technology so he told me to take his headset. When they told me I had to wear it and listen to your transmissions, I didn't like it at all. I heard how you sounded when you thought I was Lem. I know it wasn't right to trick you like that and I am sorry for doing it."

Nadia bit her lip breathing slowly. "I was so torn up when I lost contact with Lem and then... to see his tracker appear again..." She whimpers burying her face into the pillow.

"It was like a sledgehammer to your gut when you realized it wasn't him." Charlotte said slowly.

Nadia nodded quickly. She lifts her head looking at her tears falling down her cheeks. "I wanted you to hurt like I did... I hated you so much... because you tricked me..." She said sniffling.

Charlotte lowered her head slightly. "I know nothing I can say will make up for what has been done and niether can you. What you did was way over the line."

Nadia deflates slowly. "I know... I couldn't stop myself. I would completely understand you telling the counsil that I shouldn't be a radio operator ever again."

Charlotte looks at her slowly thinking silently to herself. She knew Nadia was hurting and hurting bad. She lashed out in a dangerous way but it was out of that pain. Charlotte reached over gently wrapping her arms around her hugging her tight. Nadia tensed up suddenly before going limp in her arms leaning into her. Sobs began to escape Nadia as she buried her face into Charlotte's chest.

For what seemed like forever the two women just sat there until Nadia was reduced to hicups. A gently knock came to the door making Nadia sit up and Charlotte turn seeing Esteban standing there. "The counsil is ready for you. Both of you."

Charlotte nodded as they stood up and followed Esteban into the large doors that were originally set up as the castles throne room but was no used for the counsil. The makeshift round table was set in the middle of the room with several high level members of New Canton sitting around the table. One spot was empty which Charlotte assumed was Amir's spot. She hadn't heard any word about his trip to London and she hoped he was alright.

An older woman stood up and looked at them as Esteban led Nadia to a bench. "Miss Charlotte DeLoius. Runner Five From Abel Township. We thank you for coming in and speaking before us about this sensitive subject. Several weeks ago you were out on a run conducted by Miss Nadia Al Hanakai. In such run she had led you to believe the Factory area was safe to search through even though information about Dedlocks moving into that territory was readily available a week prior. The motive for this deception was in response to you wearing New Canton Runner Thirty-Eight, Lem Brimmer's headset, in Abel's attempt to confuse us prior to the destruction of Abel and the creation of the Faternal Allience. Is this correct Miss Deloius?" The woman finished.

"That is correct ma'am." Charlotte said with her arms behind her back.

"You have been asked by Esteban Sosa to speak on behalf of bringing Miss Al Hanakai back to the operator position. What is your choice Miss Deloius?" The woman said again before sitting back down. All the eyes of the counsil members and Nadia rested on her.

Charlotte looked over at Nadia for a moment before turning back to the members. "I didn't know Lem when he went gray but from what I have seen since then I can see why Nadia was so torn up about the deception. She loved him with her entire being. He was her savior. Her friend. Her lover. I confess that I share the same feelings for someone as well. If we had been in each others shoes I would feel just as hurt as Nadia did. I don't know if i would have taken the actions that she did... but I understand the sentimate." She took a slow breath. "In the times that we are in everyone does need to pull their own weight. I vote for Nadia to be reinstated to the operator position of New Canton on the grounds that while what she did was stupid and short sighted... she has shown she is remorseful for what she did and deserves a second chance."

Nadia's eyes widen as she looked at Charlotte in shock. The woman looks at her slowly. "Are you sure about your choice?"

Charlotte looks back at Nadia's shocked face. "I am. Because Nadia is an asset that New Canton needs. Radio operators are not going to show up every day now are they?" She said with a small smile.

"Then the vote for reinstating Miss Nadia Al Hanakai to the position of radio operators will commence. Thank you for your words Miss Deloius. You may take your seat." The woman said as Charlotte turned walking over to Esteban who stood up with Nadia. Nadia latched onto Charlotte hugging her tight.

"Thank you..." she whispered softly.

"Don't thank me just yet... the counsil is the final say." Charlotte said hugging her tight. Esteban gently seperated them leading NAdia in front of the counsil.

Charlotte sat down as the woman looked around. "All in favor of reinstating Miss Nadia Al Hanakai please stand." The woman said as she remained standing. Slowly 7 of the members of the counsil stood up leaving only 4 sitting. Esteban raised his hand to put in his vote. "All opposed?" The woman asked as everyone sat down as the other four did not stand. "Those that did not cast their vote please rise." The four who did not vote stood up. "Please tell us your reasoning behind not voting.

The four began explaining their actions. Two sited that they were not clear as to wiether Nadia would do it again if put into the position, one was not moved by Charlotte's words and wanted Nadia replaced and the other was torn on the issue. Charlotte was escorted out by Esteban who sighed heavily.

"Does it have to be a unanimous vote?" Charlotte asks.

"When it comes to things like this yes." Esteban said. "I thank you for your words and I know Nadia appreciates it too. You may go back to Abel and you will be informed of the counsil's choice."

"Thank you Esteban. Oh and I would change how you talk to people. You come off as rather condescending." Charlotte said with a smirk walking back towards the tunnel to pick up her headset and head back to Abel.

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< 43 >

Season 1 Beginning

Season 2 Beginning

#zombie #zombies run #zombie run #ZombieRun #zombiesrun #run #runner 5 #runner five #runner5 #runnerfive #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

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