#how the hell did this guy answer ‘can you separate art from the artist’ in a meaningful way

[peresephoknee]

#how the hell did this guy answer ‘can you separate art from the artist’ in a meaningful way #reference #reminders #words

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: So, this is NOT the Angel fic I previewed the other day. That one (and the EZ fic) is STILL COMING, I PROMISE! This just jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave. And I wrote it with a speed I am heretofore unfamiliar with (heretofore? Did I use that right?) I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit. So, apologies in advance for that. 

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile). 

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. Also, the reader here speaks a bit of Spanish. I’m half Mexican, so I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.)

Word Count: 15.3K (HAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK all for a TWO AND A HALF MINUTE SONG, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????) of ANGST! (SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO ANGSTY) lyrical nonsense and the remnants of sticky, cotton-candy sadness … fluff that makes you feel empty. 

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, oral (male receiving), fingering and other nastiness -- so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry.)

Summary: You and Angel may as well be strangers now. But why? After all, you loved him once. And he loved you, right? Based on the song “Loved you Once” by Clara Mae. Listen here. 

--

We don't need to be best friends, we don't need to hang again. But tell me why we have to be strangers because I loved you once?

What were you doing here? You haven’t been back to the clubhouse in months. Not since -- well, you know. You hadn’t talked to him since then, either. But that wasn’t your own doing. 

No, Angel had erected a veritable wall of silence, and you respected him enough not to breach it. 

That was what relationships were all about, anyway, right? Mutual respect of the other’s needs? So when Angel had told you in no uncertain terms that your relationship was over, you were … upset. Understandably. You wanted to sit with him, talk about where this sudden insistence that you depart his life had come from, but he was resolute. With the absolute air of authority that comes with either a great deal of thought, or borne of virtually sudden external influence, with nothing in between. He clearly didn’t want to sit and talk about it. 

And so you didn’t. 

Ever mindful of his wellbeing, and when he was and was not receptive to communication. 

"It ain't working," he had said. You had settled for merely imagining the faraway look in his large, oilslick eyes, since he was much more interested in staring at his boots and the grooves in his floor, his forearms laid over spread thighs, unmoving and resolute from his spot at the end of the bed. Refusing to meet your eyes. 

From your seat next to him, you made to brush the arm closest to you with your fingers. When you touched, he gave no indication that you were even there. That he even felt you. Which you knew was bullshit. He always felt you. 

"Angel, what --" you hated the way your voice cracked as you tried to ask him what the hell was going on. You hated how you had sounded so small and quavering to your own ears. That wasn't who you were. You were clear, outspoken. It was always one of the things Angel said he loved about you. Loved.

You didn't know this, of course, but Angel hated it, too. How you’d sounded in that moment. Hated that his words had taken the fire out of yours, your voice unfamiliar in its timidity. 

"It ain't working," he repeated. "I can see it. Not my fault you can't." 

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

Not that you would expect an apology, or anything as cliché as a "let's be friends," from a steadfast man like Angel. Predictable in his volatility. 

You should have pushed back. Demanded an answer. You hated that you didn’t, the shock and sudden sadness morphing you into a silent, crystalline girl you didn’t recognize. Your eyes welled with tears, turning your head away from where Angel sat -- at least you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Even if you knew he knew the tears had spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks were of his own doing. 

You had arrived back at his place a day after your tense "conversation" to discover that your items you had come to reclaim were tossed into a box and left outside of the door. 

You had knocked once, in the hope that if Angel was home, he’d at least come to the door to shout through it, or, heaven forbid, would open it so you could look him in the eyes just once more while he shattered you. Your knock was met with silence, though you could have sworn you felt Angel on the other side of the door. 

In the months since then, you had cried (obviously), you had questioned (it was sudden, it wasn't just you; your friends were surprised, too), but most importantly, you had persevered. 

You had taken a bunch of new clients and inked some pieces you were incredibly proud of. You had gone out with your friends a few times, always with a wary eye on the door of the local dive, ya know… you never knew who would walk in.

Santo Padre is a small town, after all. And the cracks in your soul were nowhere close to healed. No molten gold to spill in and repair the fissures of your heart, rendering metamorphosis of something broken to something flawed, but beautiful. You sat, alone, still just… flawed. You had never felt less beautiful. Even after all this time. 

And your friend Aneesa, ever the supporter, would stop at nothing if it meant hyping you up enough to leave your cave of blankets, sheet masks, and comfort movies. Your only rule? All nights out with Aneesa were strictly girls’ nights. She was gracious and understanding of this rule, of course. She and Gilly had been together a touch longer than you and Angel. 

And if Angel had ever asked Gilly to ask Aneesa about you? Well… you never heard about it.

Not that Angel would do any of that. Shit like that was so middle-school. 

So, here you were. Back at the clubhouse after months of self-imposed exile for the sake of self-preservation. 

Coco had texted you -- the first you’d directly heard from anyone within Angel’s circle, inviting you to a patch party for some nameless, faceless newbie. The invitation had a string attached to it, of course -- the tattoo artist’s chair in the corner of the clubhouse needed a resident for any partygoers jonesing for new ink. Certainly, the new patch would need something decidedly “Mayan” to show off his new status. 

You had hesitantly agreed -- Aneesa would be in attendance of course, and offered herself as a human-sized buffer to separate you from people you were otherwise hoping to avoid. 

--

Now, perched near the tattoo chair, you busied yourself with setting out your portfolio of completed pieces, sketches and most-requested designs. You wiped down the chair a few more times than strictly necessary, but you wanted to be ready for anyone who might plop themselves down for a new piece of art. 

The main room of the clubhouse was sweltering -- a familiar blend of desert heat, cigarette smoke, citronella, and the smell of citrusy, foamy beer. The dim lighting and thundering bass giving everything a slightly blurry edge in your party-periphery. You glanced across the room at where Aneesa and Gilly sat together on a corner couch, thighs pressed together. Aneesa tossed her head back in a full-bodied laugh at something Gilly had whispered into her ear, swatting his arm -- Gilly’s reciprocal smile demonstrating his pleasure at having garnered such a reaction from his girl. 

A wave of cheers and noise accompanied the thwack of the clubhouse door swinging open -- more Mayans pouring in, jostling one another's shoulders, slapping each other on the arms, and good-naturedly cajoling. 

There was Coco, mid-pull of the cigarette between his lips, quicksilver eyes flashing around the room, taking stock of who was where. EZ followed, million-watt smile on full display as he gently guided a pretty girl with long, inky hair through the bottleneck at the entryway. 

If EZ was ambling his way in, then, surely, not far behind ...

With an arm around a tall, broad guy you hadn’t seen before, was Angel. Midway through a joke with the guy you assumed was the new patch, you took the opportunity to study the man you had once considered the moonlit orbit of your entire world. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, but he looked good… His arms still replete with thick, corded muscle. His hair was a tad longer on top than you remembered, slicked back and belied with cleanly-cropped sides. His smile as warm and blinding as the cruel light at the end of your better dreams, only for you to awake each day alone. 

As you continued your silent study, you were surprised to see -- still adorning his left arm … the tattoo you had given him on the day you had first met. You had thought he would have blacked it out by now … a cover-up on top of a cover-up. 

But there it was --- the soft, leafy greens creeping down his forearm on sharp vines, abutted with bursting blooms -- small, ornate gladiolus buds and a sprig of purpling rosemary. Such a flowery piece on the arm of someone like Angel might have been laughable. But if anyone dared, he would simply stare, stone-faced, with burning eyes and a set jaw, ready to ask just what they thought was so fucking funny. 

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

You had moved to Santo Padre from Oakland. Hardly an axis-tilting move, but significant enough to you. 

Your friend Oliver had offered you a seat at his tattoo shop. And you? You were positively itching to get out of the city. A few too many bad nights with a few people you could no longer in good conscience consider friends. 

So, here you sat, resident of one of two chairs in this corner parlour off the so-called “main” drag in sweltering, dusty Santo Padre. 

Your books were pretty clear … Not that you attributed much logic to the ebb and flow in any conceivable pattern of the tide that was tattoo shop patrons, but January seemed an agonizingly slow month. You filled the idle time with keeping the shop neat, disinfecting and re-disinfecting every surface, and organizing Oliver’s books. 

And if you weren’t dreaming up new sketches and designs for the more adventurous prospective client, you were jotting idle lines of lyrical poetry in the margins of your sketchbook. 

If the month dragged on like this, you were sure you could publish an entire book of moody, mid-winter prose that would make Charles Bukowski want to drown himself in stiff Cabernet. 

The dinging of the bell above the parlour door yanked you from your doodling stupor. You looked up to see who had come in, your gaze met with a towering, golden-skinned man donned in a leather vest, his boots squeaking on the shop’s linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk. He leaned over it and rapped his silver-ringed hand against the top with the ease and comfort of someone who had been in many times before. If the ink trailing his arms was any indication, he may as well be a regular, though you hadn’t seen him in before. There was no way you could forget that jawline, and those shoulders. 

“Yo,” he called in greeting, eyes flashing to where you stood, walking to meet him at the counter. You swore you saw his gaze dart over your form, giving you the old up-down. An easy smile graced his full lips as he made himself comfortable leaning against the counter.  

“Oliver here?” 

You shook your head, the action serving to answer his question and --hopefully-- clear your head of the foggy spell this man was casting over you with his presence alone.

“Nah, sorry. He’s guest-chairing at his buddy’s shop in L.A. Did you have an appointment?” 

“I look like the kind of guy with a datebook?” He chuckled at his own joke. “No appointment, corazón.” 

“Walk-in? Always a risky strategy,” you lilted. 

“What can I say? I’m a risk-taker,” he replied with the practiced ease of breezy flirtation. 

You smiled softly, grabbing Oliver’s calendar from the desk, flipping to the following week. “He’ll be back in next week, if you want to wait?” 

“That’s no good for me, babe, I’ll be out of town.”

“Ah.” You huffed a bit through your nose “Bike rally?” You asked, gesturing at his worn leather kutte, cringing internally a little at the teasing edge your voice had taken on. Were you always this bad of a flirt? 

The man looked at you shrewdly for a beat -- seemingly trying to discern just how much fun you were making of him before taking mercy on you and peeling back the slight layer of awkwardness the conversation had taken.  He scrubbed the back of his neck before confirming,

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he rumbled a chuckle. “Why? You wanna go?” He raised a full brow at you in a mild challenge. 

Your eyes widened at his seemingly-serious invitation. You took in the quirk of his lips, causing the slightest crinkle at the corner of his warm eyes -- the look of a man borne of good humor and who smiled often. It was endearing, and if you were honest, made you melt a little. Even if you now realized he was teasing you. 

“Sorry, guapo,” you cracked a smile of your own, gesturing at the empty shop. “As you can see, I’m a very busy girl. Highest of demand.” 

“Claro,” he replied. “So, I better get in while the getting’s good, huh? Your chair open now?” 

“Uhm,” you chewed your lower lip, now slightly nervous at the prospect of spending more time with this man. “¿Quieres esperar para Olí? I won’t be offended. You haven’t even seen any of my pieces.” 

A beat of silence passed between you both, the man seemingly weighing his options. 

"I mean," You broke the silence and leaned forward, lightly tapping a fingernail against his bicep. “What if my art style doesn’t suit the king of the bikers?” 

"Something tells me you'll suit me just fine." His smirk was full-bore now. He didn't miss a beat, did he?

You were silent, probably for a few moments too long. Was he actually flirting with you? You blinked. He probably flirts with everyone ... get over yourself, you internally chided.

"Angel," the man said, recovering the moment and holding out a large, ringed hand for you to shake. You gave him your name, shaking his hand firmly. 

You nodded your head over your shoulder, toward your chair. 

"Well, come on back, Angel, you can tell me about what we're doing today."

Angel followed you back to your station, and you could swear you felt his dark eyes on your form as you walked, the thought that this man was looking at you with any kind of discerning attention made your cheeks warm a little. He folded his long body into the chair you gestured toward, and you took the rolling seat next to him. He proffered his left arm to you, tracing down a spot on his forearm.

"Just wanna cover this up," he paused, letting you observe the offending ink. "It's about time." 

"'Clara Forever,' huh?" You took in the faded, loopy lettering down his forearm. "Who's Clara?" Your tone was gently teasing by nature, but he seemed to clam up a bit at the question, regarding your sharp tongue with sharper eyes.

"Well, it wasn't forever," he finally bit out, shoulders now a little more tense than before.

"Aw, cariño," you sighed in good-natured taunting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the number one rule of tattoo? 'Forever' is a certain jinx. And a name is almost never a good idea… unless it's your dog's."

You made a sweeping hand gesture over the rest of his person, your eyes noticeably cataloguing the ink adorning most of the real estate on his arms and what little you could see of the top of his chest. 

"How did anyone let you get this far without telling you the rules?"

He relaxed at the humor in your soft voice, comfortable now that he had confirmation that you were teasing him rather than seriously ridiculing. His posture relaxed once more, he waggled his eyebrows at you, also teasing,

"Le sorprendería saber que nunca fui uno para seguir las reglas?” He asked. Would it surprise you to learn that I was never one for rules? 

"¿Tú?" Your eyes widened in mock surprise. “Para nada.” Not at all.  

"Hey," he swatted your arm gently. "Cuidaté, niña. Insulting your customers? I can see why your chair is empty." He chuckled at his own little jab as you busied yourself gathering your supplies.

You turned and reached for him, holding his arm in one hand and running your now-gloved thumb over "Clara Forever." 

"So?" You queried, "What are we doing with this? How do you want to cover it?" 

Angel shrugged, the leather adorning his shoulders creaking ever-so-slightly with the movement. 

"Figured I would just black it out. I've been putting it off long enough. To hell with her anyway, yaknow?"

"Hmm…" you considered his proposal. "I could do that, if that's what you really want. Easy enough. But…" you trailed.

He shifted in the chair, arching an eyebrow at you.

"But?" He pressed.

Now it was your turn to shrug. You released his arm from your grip and gestured to the booklet containing photos of your most prized work. 

"Why waste the opportunity to give yourself something you really want?" You handed him the book. "Besides… from the looks of things, you have limited real estate left on this arm. May as well fill it with something… more you?” You made to hand him the scrapbook. “You can see what else I've done. See if anything sparks an idea." 

Angel regarded you for a moment. Leaning forward in the chair and slightly more into your space, eyes never leaving yours. He took the edge of the book, deliberately brushing his fingers over yours as he did so, making you hold your breath a little. If Angel noticed, he had the decency not to say anything. 

“Why not?”

You exhaled softly as he leaned away again, flipping his way through your book. 

As he scrutinized the photographic renderings of your pieces, you took the chance to really take him in. His strong jaw and full lips were objectively pleasant, abutted by deliberately-shaped facial hair. He had a prominent brow, something that would surely give away his feelings, even if he decided not to verbalize them. There was no hiding a frown or a smile on that face.  You fiddled with your fingers as he flipped through the pages. 

“This is some seriously top-notch shit, querida,” he voiced his approval, followed by a warm smile. He flipped his way through your minimalist renderings, floral pieces, lines of script, and one particularly involved piece with a burgundy phoenix and lifelike flames...

“Yeah?” You couldn’t hide the pleasure in your voice that he might think of you in a positive light. “Which one do you like?” 

He flipped the book to you, gesturing at a geometric planetary canvas piece you had etched down a prior client’s thigh. 

“Did you think of that one?” 

“The client had their ideas, I just execute, I guess… That was a fun one.” You shrugged, glancing at your shoes scuffing at the linoleum, suddenly feeling very shy under his scrutiny.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he leaned forward once more, his fingers gently brushing along your chin to bring your eyeline to his. “Don’t downplay your talent. You’re a badass. Own that shit.” He gave you a soft wink, releasing your chin from his grip.

Um, wow.

Was it always this hot in the back of the shop? Or were you just spontaneously combusting? Did that seriously just happen?

All you could do was nod. 

“Aight,” he crossed his legs at the ankles, making himself comfortable in the chair. “I’ve decided.” 

“Yeah?” You breathed, “What’ll it be?” 

As if he was doing nothing more complicated than ordering fries, Angel pointed at your book. “Dealer’s choice.” 

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t believe he was just going to trust you to cover up his ex’s name etched into his arm. “¡Oye! Did you hear nothing I said earlier about walk-ins being risky? Nothing about the rules?”

Angel scoffed. “About as well as you heard that I don’t give a shit about rules, babe,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You like rules, huh?” 

Oh. The rumbling tone his voice had taken on with his last question did not go unnoticed by you. If there was any heat to spare in this shithole desert-town, it was now one hundred percent flooding through your body. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had that effect on you… (although, let’s be real, he probably, definitely, already knew).

“Fine, Angelito,” the mocking tone had returned to your voice. “But unlike Clara, this one’s gonna be forever. If I find out you cover up my art, I’m gonna blacklist you at every shop in Southern California.” You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Can you live with that?”

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the moniker. “Vince?” 

“Yeah,” he seemed so assured in his own cleverness. “Like Van Gogh?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Van Gogh!?” You feigned offense, hand-over-heart, lashes batting. “Not even Frida? Come oooon, Angelito.” 

He chuckled. Shifting in the chair and offering his arm to you so you could get him ready. 

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

“Everyone’s a critic,” you sigh, shifting your focus and taking stock of the space on Angel’s arm and what you had learned of him so far.

Someone who was seemingly confident and breezy, whose rough exterior belied something softer that was just out of reach. Someone who clearly cherished things and people he adored, if the tribute you were now covering was anything to go by. And, by the same token, more than a little impulsive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, apparently literally. 

You gathered your inks and began to work, your playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the silence. 

It’s not like you had any reason to know it, but Angel considered you as you were working, admiring your focus and the intensity with which you afforded your art. Was he a little nervous about the fact that you were free-handing a design for him off the top of your head? Maybe... But what was life without a little risk? And he certainly wouldn’t mind a little risk with you. You were, it was obvious to him, very pretty. It was more than a little off-putting how easily you traded quips with him, seemingly unaffected by his presence and everything that came with it. If it wasn’t for the little hitches in your breath when he gently flirted with you, he wouldn’t have anything to go off of in terms of your interest. Something that was both respectable and maddening to him. 

He reached his other arm over to the side-table, grabbing your sketchbook and idly flipping through the etchings. 

Not only was the book filled with little designs, splashes of watercolor mixing with pen and charcoal, but he noticed the cramped words in the margins, perusing at his leisure and ignoring the itching buzz of the needle on the skin of his other arm.

“So, not only a Vince, but a Frost,” he broke the silence. 

You paused your work, wiping your brow with the back of your hand and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

He tapped his finger along the lines of prose in your book. “A poet,” he said. 

“Ah,” you said. “Uhm, more like a bad poet,” you chuckled, embarrassed. You made to begin again, when Angel gently gripped the wrist of your free hand. 

“The fuck did I just say?” He lightly tugged, forcing you to look into his maddeningly honey-dark eyes. “Don’t brush off your shit. Would Frida do that?” 

You regarded his eyes for a moment longer, darting your gaze to his pouty lips, resolutely set in their mission of imparting some of his confidence onto you. 

“Point taken, Angel,” you pulled your hand from his grip, which he released, trailing his fingertips over your hand as he did so. “I’m the greatest poet who ever lived, you’ve convinced me. Fuck William Shakespeare.” 

“Yeah,” Angel boisterously agreed, pleased to be bolstering you but surprising you with the little barking shout, “Fuck that dude!” 

You chuckled, shaking your head and silently returning to your work, the silence filled once more with the pleasant buzzing as you drew away. 

When you were finished, you released Angel’s arm, allowing him to inspect the clean lines of the greenery that you had drawn out of his former-love tribute. What were once loopy, cursive letters were now vines creeping steadily along his forearm, soft, yellow and red gladiolus buds emerging from where Clara’s name had once sat, neatly finished with the clean lines of the purpling sprig of rosemary along the edge of the piece. 

Angel was speechless, leaving you to marinate in your nerves. 

“It’s …” he started, “... flowery,” he supplied, lamely. 

“No shit it’s flowers,” you shot back, feeling a little defensive now, but wanting to make a quick recovery. “And they’re for you, Angel.” 

He seemed puzzled. 

“Gotta say, Vince, this is the first time a chick’s gotten me flowers,” he chuckled, “Guess they won’t die?” 

“They won’t,” you assured. “They really are for you, you know? Look at you, the rest of your ink. What it covered. You’re clearly a man formed by your experiences. It only seemed right, si? Gladiolus? They’re for remembrance. Rosemary? Symbolizes thoughtfulness and memory.” 

You continued as you began wipe the piece clean before wrapping it in new saran-wrap, “Your memories and choices make you who you are, sure. But you never know… something good could bloom from them, through the cracks."

His silence at the end of your little soliloquy was deafening. He hated it, you were sure of it. Fuck. Why did you have to get so fucking clever with him? You should’ve just done some black ink in something tribal, something masculine. What the fuck was wrong with you??

You dared to sneak a glance at his face, only to find that he was already staring at you, lips softly upturned in the hinting bloom of a smile, tarpit eyes twinkling with a good-natured mirth he would come to reserve just for you. 

“Fuck Shakespeare. That was damn beautiful, Frida.” 

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

You stripped off your gloves, and made to turn your way to the counter, gathering the aftercare sheet and balm for Angel to take with him. 

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

“Oh! Can I take a picture?” You held up your phone, shaking it lightly. “For the ‘gram?” 

“Sure thing,” Angel dutifully held his arm under the lamp you had used to work, letting the fresh ink and colors pop against the golden dunn of his skin. 

You took a few photos, deciding to scroll through your camera roll later on and post your favorite. You made quick work of wrapping his arm in a sheet of clean plastic wrap before relinquishing your hold on his arm, turning to walk back to the counter. 

“Uhm,” you trailed … the telltale squeak of Angel’s boots on the linoleum indicating he was following you back to the front of the shop. You assembled everything into a bag for Angel to take with him, grabbing one of your cards from the front card-holder, and quickly jotting your number on the back next to your where the instagram handle for your art page was neatly printed, hoping he didn’t notice your sneaky little move. 

Angel resumed his comfortable lean against the counter, turning and tilting his forearm, scrutinizing your work. 

“It’s gonna be a clean one-fifty, Angel.”

He looked slightly surprised at the figure, a light frown dusting his features. 

“You sure about that? For the size, and the color, and time and everything? It’s been, like, hours.”

You shrugged. 

“We’ll call it the friends-and-family rate.” 

He gave you a long look, very clearly looking you up and down now, a prolonged edition of the greeting he had graced you with when he had entered your shop mere hours before. 

“And is that what we are now, querida? Friends?” 

How was it even possible for his voice to reach such a low register when he said these things to you?

While your insides flip-flopped at the flirtation, you hoped your face was the impassive mask you were trying to school it into. You subtly brushed your slightly-sweating palms against the frayed hem of your shorts before bringing an elbow up to the counter, resting your chin in your palm, lightly batting your lashes at him before responding...

“Sure,” you replied. There! Easy, breezy, cool-as-you-please. How does it feel, Angel?

“One day with you and friends already?” He rapped his ringed hand gently against the counter. “Can’t wait to see where we’re at tomorrow.” 

He swiped the bag off of the counter, tossing a few crisp bills onto the countertop and a wink over his shoulder before exiting the shop. 

You counted the bills on the counter, watching as Angel left the building.

Holy shit.

Three hundred bucks. He had tipped you 100 percent of what you charged him.

Cheeky.

Maybe Santo Padre wasn’t so bad, after all… 

---

Now, staring at him from across the room made you feel like you were drowning in the sickly-sweet cotton candy of sugared dreams, now lost to time. The saccharine balm melted to acrid wax, leaving you with only the tinge of bitterness. 

You were jostled out of your reverie by the sudden appearance of EZ’s blocky frame, ambling toward you with the same girl from before on his arm. 

He greeted you with a slow wave and a soft smile. 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, clearly unsure of how much friendlier and closer he should approach you. 

You took mercy on Angel’s sweet, (big) little brother, opening your arms slightly for a hug. EZ took to the gesture like an over-excited golden retriever, scooping you up and spinning you once, before putting you back where he found you, slightly dizzier than you were before. 

He offered your name to the girl by his side, who looked pleasantly amused at the spectacle before her, her amusement melting to recognition at the name EZ had imparted to her. 

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

You tried not to let that realization sour your encounter, easing a practiced smile onto your features and offering your hand to the girl to shake. 

“Oh!” EZ chuckled. “This is Gaby -- er, Gabriela.” 

“Encantada,” you eased, gently shaking her hand before having a realization of your own. “Gaby, as in Leti’s friend?” 

She nodded, a warm smile illuminating her already sunshiney features. You could see why EZ obviously liked her. She had the practiced social grace of a debutante, but the friendly aura of someone you had known for your entire life. 

“I hope you’re keeping Ezekiel out of trouble,” you teased gently. 

“Only as well as I can,” she replied. EZ rubbed the back of his neck as you two gossiped about him like he wasn’t standing right there. 

“Listen, hermanita,” EZ began, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottle clutched in his hand as the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, “About Angel --” 

That was a hard no. 

“Coco!” You called as you spotted the lithe man prowling through the crowd after obtaining a drink from the bar, effectively shutting EZ up. 

Coco sidled over, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nodding in greeting to EZ and Gaby. 

“Wassup, chiquita? Over here with all the cool kids?” 

“You know damn well I was never cool enough for the cool kids,” you knocked your shoulder into Coco’s good-naturedly. 

“Dunno about that, pequeña,” Coco took a drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled. “I’ve got some pretty cool body armour thanks to you.” 

“All in a day's work,” you mock-saluted. You were doing great. Keep it light, keep it friendly. You may be able to make it out of this unscathed, after all. 

Gaby and EZ were speaking softly to one another just to your side, as you and Coco continued your conversation. 

“So, who’s the new guy?” You asked, nodding over to where Angel and the still-unnamed newbie were tossing back shots. You tried to ignore that each one had girls placed on each of their laps. Well, mostly you were trying to ignore one girl placed on one lap; tried to ignore as ringed fingers trailed up and down her thigh hypnotically as he howled in laughter at something the new guy had said. 

The longer you stared at the way he was touching her, the more You thought you could feel it on your own skin. And you knew all too well how that touch felt. Memories, make you, right? 

You blinked harshly, turning your face back to Coco’s, only to find his hawkish eyes trained on you as he continued to smoke. Now you were certain he had seen everything you had, and more. And you cursed yourself for slipping. Because nothing slipped past Coco. 

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

“Andres. He’s aight. You may not remember him from before, when he was just a prospect.” 

“Guess not,” you agreed, shrugging amiably, suddenly very interested in toying with the hem of your flowy little summertime skirt. 

“Mierda,” you heard Coco hiss, glancing up to see none other than the new guy -- Andres -- walk over, his arm around the waist of the girl from his lap, accompanied by none other than Angel Reyes, furnished with his own lap-turned-arm candy. She was giggling in his ear, popping her gum and bumping her hips against Angel’s as she walked by his side. 

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

The easy smile you’d had when conversing with Coco now felt positively screwed into place, settling unnaturally, a stranger's face made up of your own features. 

Andres smirked at you in greeting, eyes trailing over you -- the most unwelcome iteration of that gesture in this context to-date. 

“I hear you’re the girl to see about some ink.” 

You bit back the snarky response that rose to your tongue. You see anyone else here, tonto?

“Sure am,” you replied, cool as you pleeeeaseeee. Maybe a little too cool. The ice in your voice was obvious to everyone except the strangers before you. 

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

“Great,” the new meat brushed the girl off from his side, plopping unceremoniously into your chair. “You did that right?” He pointed behind you to where Angel was standing, gesturing at his arm and your miniscule mural of memorial greenery. 

“Cierto.” You nodded, sparing Angel’s arm the barest of glances.

“Aight, well, none of that girly shit, alright, sweetheart? Angel may have had the good grace not to say anything, but flowers ain’t really my style, yeah?” 

What the fuck.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Coco visibly tense next to you, obviously displeased at the uncalled-for critique of your work. Of a piece he himself had often admired. He would never admit it, but he thought the story behind it was even better. It’s like you had walked out of some shitty romcom Leti watched with her tittering friends and into Angel’s dreams, sinking yourself beneath Angel's skin like a dream he would recount to all of his friends. Coco knew the most about you by nature of Angel's second-hand stories when you were together. Although Coco thought, once he had met you, Angel's stories didn't do you justice. How wonderful and talented you were. How warm and welcoming.

Angel watched the exchange silently, clearly none too keen to defend the piece you had designed for him. That had come to mean so much to you. 

That stung.

You winced, almost imperceptibly. But you were certain Coco saw it, not much escaping his sniper’s eyes. EZ, with his owlish perception and photographic memory, certainly would have seen it, too. If Angel saw it, it’s not like he was going to say anything now. 

Where the fuck was Aneesa? Wasn’t she supposed to be heading this kind of shit off? You glanced over at the couches in the corner where your friend had previously been sitting with GIlly, and was now nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ typical. 

“Aight, no más flores." No more flowers. “What were you thinking, then?” 

That was you, ever the professional. 

Andres showed you his phone, a rendering of an old-style beastly cat, like a panther from an old folktale, pulled up in his image search. 

“Something for a warrior,” he puffed his chest slightly. “I was thinking here,” he shrugged out of one side of his new kutte, tugging the button-up to expose one side of his chest. 

“You got it.” 

You set to work, cleaning the area to be inked and getting your tools ready. The rest of the group drifted as the project progressed, clearly not feeling the need to stand there for the entire duration of a tattoo. 

You were acutely aware that Angel hadn’t stepped as far away as the others, circumventing the periphery of yours and Andres’ space, not close, but not far. And he still had yet to even look in your direction. Or acknowledge your existence. 

You tried your best to ignore the icy shard of Angel’s indifference that was currently wedging its way between your ribs and lodging itself firmly once more into your heart. At this point, you guessed it would never heal. 

“Sooooo,” Andres lolled his head to the side of his chair to face you, slinging back the beer from the bottle dangling in his free hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You were around a little bit when I was prospecting.” 

You opted not to respond, aware that Angel was likely listening, and you would need to choose any words carefully. Andres had no such reservation, clearly uncaring about who might be listening. He pressed on, each word more infuriating than the last. 

“You were Angel’s little sidepiece for a while, right?”   

You tried to keep your despairing sigh to a quiet little nothing. 

“Sure.” You offered lamely. “Sorry, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really work better when I’m not talking.” 

“S’alright, jaina. I can talk enough for the both of us.” 

You hmm’d nonchalantly at that, lip imperceptibly curling over your teeth in distaste at the moniker. You chose instead to focus on the piece. You wouldn’t give a shitty tattoo, even if this guy was a douchebag. And the pleasant buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe you were etching the lines a little sharper than strictly necessary. If he noticed, Andres gave no indication, continuing on with his diatribe: 

“So, what happened? I mean, Angel knocked that other chick up? Ouch, right?” 

You were now seeing red, the edges of your vision blurring slightly with angry, pinpricking tears. Thank fuck you were just about done with this. 

“But that’s the life right? I mean, we’re not exactly known for being steady with just one chick. You know how it goes ...” He eyed you up and down again, lingering a little too long on your legs before finishing his thought with a smirk “... Clearly.” 

You hated his use of “we,” like he was in any way, shape, or form worthy to be in the class of man EZ, Coco, Bishop, or, hell, even Angel, was. None of them would talk to you like this. No matter what Angel had done. 

You shut off the gun, pushing back from the space with Andres, spinning in your chair, and grabbing the clean wipes for Andres’ fresh ink. As you dabbed the area and made to bandage it, the oblivious biker grabbed your wrist. None of the teasing fun or gentleness in the same gesture that Angel had imparted when you had first met. No, Andres’ grip hurt. It was all bruising possession and entitlement. 

“I think we would have fun, you and I.” He leaned forward and far too into your space, the stale stink of warm beer heavy on his breath. 

You wrenched your grip from his, standing quickly and offering him a tight smile, cheeks flaming with your anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak so trivially of your relationship with Angel. How dare he think you were so easily won with his kutte and shitty attitude. 

“Uhm,” you tugged your fingers agitatedly through the ends of your hair, chewing your lip. “You’re all set, Andres. Aftercare sheet is on the table next to you. It’s on the house. Happy patch party!” Your voice sounded so shrill and fake in your own head, but you just didn’t have it in you to care at the moment. 

With that, you quickly whirled on your heel, in a distressed flurry past the Angel-shaped blur who had been watching the entire encounter, and out of the clubhouse door into the cooler late-night air. 

Getting heavy to breathe in this room together. It’s so awkward, we can’t seem to do it better. Can’t we just fake a smile and put our shit to the side? 

---

Angel had waited a whopping 18 hours to text you after your clandestine tattooed meet-cute. 

You were in the middle of exchanging consultation e-mails with a prospective client when your phone had buzzed. 

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

“Vince? No Vince here. This is Frida’s phone.”

You watched as the little bubbles appeared in the corner, disappeared for a second, and then reappeared. You were grateful for the little manifestation of Angel’s hesitance. It made him seem more human. And it made you appreciative that he was clearly trying to choose his words with you, when words had seemed to come so easily to him when you had met. 

“My bad. Oh, beautiful, talented Frida.” 

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your features now. Grateful it was still you and only you in the shop so that no one could see your “obviously-texting-a-cute-guy” face. 

“It’s nice to hear from you, Angel. Good thing you didn’t throw away the card.” 

“That card was clearly a gift, querida. Much like the pretty flowers on my arm.” He snapped you a picture of his tattoo, the healing process underway. 

“Looks great!” You sent, cringing at your lack of ability to effectively flirt via text. It was something that your friends had teased you relentlessly about back in the Town -- your notorious lack of game. No! New home, new you! Be cute. Be cute. 

“So, if I’ve given you all the gifts, what do I get?” You sent with a “thinking” emoji. 

Angel at least had the decency to wait a minute or two before replying, either thinking about his response or keeping you in suspense… you weren’t sure. But you were grateful for the little opportunity to catch your breath. How did he make you so speechless when he wasn’t even in the room with you? Some things just weren’t fair. 

“Niña, I paid you for this ink. What more could you possibly want from me?” 

Tricky Angel. Zorro. Like a little fox, he had effectively maneuvered the conversation back to you -- the ball was in your court. Would you tell him what you wanted?

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

“You texted me, boy. Are you sure it isn’t you who wants something?”

If only your friends could see you now. That was damn smooth. 

“Boy?” 

You snorted to yourself. Trust a guy like Angel to get hung up on something small like that. The bubbles reappeared. 

“I was thinking about this pretty girl I met the other day. Hell of an artist. But a shit poet. Thought I would see if she was free sometime?” 

Angel was merciful. You could kiss him. Had he seriously just taken all the weight out of this conversation? Your heart felt a million pounds lighter in your chest, knowing he was asking you. The wave of relief that he wanted to see you again crashed through you, replaced in the tide with the backdraft of a feeling of mischievousness. You wouldn’t let him off so easily.

So you waited before responding. Let him sweat a little, right?

Only… you weren’t sure Angel was sweating as much as you were, fingers itching with the desire to text him back and accept immediately. 

When what had felt like an eternity (but in reality had only been about seven minutes) had passed, you picked up your phone, opening the conversation with Angel. 

“She’s free next Thursday … After your bike week, el rey de los bandoleros.” 

You put your phone back down on the counter, grinning like an idiot, feeling like you had just swallowed a bunch of bubbles. You entertained the notion that if your combat boots weren’t keeping your feet weighted to the floor, you would have floated away. 

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

Time passes slowly the more you want it to go quickly. And whenever you have a deadline you’re dreading, it gallops ahead. Time really is that bitch, and she does not give a fuck about your feelings. 

The following Thursday felt like it took a year to arrive. But it found you closing up the shop, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and pop rocks, adorned in your favorite pair of jeans and boots, a clean, flattering tank top that showed off your own ink. You hoped it was fine for whatever Angel had in mind. 

Honestly, he hadn’t said anything about your date. A few flirtatious texts here and there? Obviously. You sent him photos of the pieces you had done for new clients. He sent you ridiculous selfies and a couple of group pics of him and his friends at the biker event. One guy who kept popping up in the photos, Angel had told you, was his “little” brother. But there was nothing “little” about that dude. 

You loved seeing all of Angel’s goofy, smiling faces. Treasuring the photos in your small moments of quiet downtime. 

The rumbling of a bike engine greeted your ears, like the seductive purr of a large cat. You glanced up, a full Cheshire grin alighting your features at the sight of Angel’s gorgeous, deep forest green bike, and the man of the hour looking very at home on the seat. 

He rolled to a stop in front of you, unclipping his helmet and dismounting with his winning trademark smirk, ambling over to greet you. 

“Frida,” he scooped you into a hug, his tall frame causing you to lift, your toes now barely brushing the ground as he brought you to his height. He pressed a soft kiss to your check, setting you down gently and letting you get your bearings, chuckling pleasantly at the obvious, dizzying effect his greeting had had on you.

“Angelito,” you returned. “Back in one piece?”

“Hail to the king, baby,” he countered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, scuffing the toe of your boot into the gravel of the lot. “So, where are you taking me, o benevolent one?”

“Just gonna hafta find out.” He handed his helmet to you, helping you clip and tighten it beneath your chin. “Ever ridden before?”

“Uhm, well, sure” you replied too assuredly, quickly realizing your slip. “I mean, no. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that. But not on one of these.” Fuck. Could you be more embarrassing? 

Angel released a full-bellied laugh at your response, his head tossing back a little. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about alla that later, cielo.” You put your head in your palm willing the embarrassment to go away. Angel quickly pried your hands away, cupping your cheeks with his own warm hands, long fingers brushing your cheekbones reverently. “In the meantime, just hang on, okay?” 

You nodded, still cursing your idiot-brain that had partnered with the dirtiest corners of your mind to take over your mouth. Shut the fuck up, dumb-dumb. 

You clung to Angel as he drove, your hands roaming his firm torso probably a little too-familiarly. You enjoyed the way the wind whipped around you, tugging at yours and Angel’s clothes as you made your way up the canyon overlooking the desert that was Santo Padre. 

Angel parked his bike on the ridge overlooking the town, the sun beginning its descent in the desert sky in swirling hues of pastels and cotton candy pink-purple-blue overtaking the orange hue. 

You had never been up here before, and you told Angel as much. He looked pleased at that, pleased that he was the one to show you the best view of the Santo Padre sunset. 

Angel busied himself unpacking the bags on the side of his bike while you enjoyed the scenery. Pulling out a couple of wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water, he handed yours to you, coming to stand next to you on the ridge. 

"Thanks," you acknowledged, looking at the offerings. "What, no beer?"

Angel chuckled a little at that.

"I ain't tryna liquor you up, niña. Besides, you want warm beer that's been rattling around on my bike all afternoon?"

You crinkled your nose a little at that. "No," you decided. "Never mind. Besides, I'm more of a whiskey girl."

Angel glanced at you, sipping on his own water idly.

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks it's impressive when a girl drinks whiskey because it's such a 'man thing.' "

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

"Nunca. Just took you for more of a… dunno? Maybe a rum kinda girl?"

"Don't think so. For now, though? Water and sandwiches do me just fine. Whiskey can come later." You took a bite of the now-unwrapped sandwich. "This is good," you confirmed around a slightly-full mouth. "Did you make this?"

"Of course. Pop owns the butcher shop down the street from your parlour. Sliced the meat myself, an' all," he said, a little proudly now that he knew you approved of his sandwich-making skills.

"Bueno," you giggled. "Thank you for this, Angel. Really. This is one of the nicest nights I've had since moving here." You shuffled a little closer to where he was standing, looking in his eyes as you thanked him.

"Bah," he waved away your compliments, "it ain't alla that. This can't be the most exciting thing you've done since getting here."

"Maybe it is," you pressed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm too boring for the king of the bikers?"

"I doubt that very seriously, querida," he turned his body so he was facing you now, sandwich long gone, fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. "You play your cards right, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. Then things'll get really exciting."

You blinked. One date and he already was thinking about introducing you to his friends? Your inner shy romantic (okay, not so "inner," right? You're pretty clear about who you are) was doing little somersaults in your chest. 

You must've been silent a beat too long because Angel was quick to supplement, "Only if you want."

"I'd like that," you confirmed, nodding and smiling gently. 

"So, are you gonna tell me what brings an East Bay girl here?" 

You raised a brow. You didn't remember telling him where you moved from. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck nervously, realizing you'd caught his slip. 

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

You finished your sandwich, thinking about how much you wanted to tell him.

"Just time for a change of scenery. Olí is an old friend, and he offered me a job. I think he wants to travel more." You shrugged, "It just felt like it was time. Plus, I dunno… I like it here. Much quieter."

Angel nodded at that, not having the heart to tell you that his club was not at all quiet and was the source of the disruption in the otherwise-quaint town. 

You kept talking, telling him about the friends you'd left behind, your old shop, weekends spent in the park surrounding Lake Merritt, and going to Raiders games. Angel took in your features as you spoke, the golden light of the sunset making you glow like something out of a dream he'd had once. Your eyes sparkled as you talked about things you loved, the books and art that inspired your poetry. How you'd gone to art school. You were something.

"-- Sorry, I'm rambling," you breathed in a rush, flush with the amount of talking you'd been doing in a record amount of time. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Angel realized he'd been staring as long as you'd been talking.

"No, querida. Nothing in your teeth." He gave you a dazzlingly white smile.

"Oh thank God," you returned his smile with a small one of your own, shying a little under his gaze, and wondering how long he had been looking at you like that as you'd talked.

He leaned over you now, his height giving him the definite advantage as he'd -- not unwelcomely-- invaded your space. He brought one hand up to cup your chin, his dark eyes revealing flecks of sparkling gold in the pastel wash of the sunset as his gaze once again met yours.

You saw his quick glance down at your lips, you unconsciously giving a small nod before his warm lips met yours.

Oh.

You had obviously been kissed before, been the recipient of past romantic attention. All of that paled in comparison, melting away as Angel's full lips maneuvered over yours, both of his large, calloused hands gently brushing your cheeks as he cupped your face, sliding one hand down to rest on the side of your neck.

You sighed lightly, one of your own hands twined into his shirt, the other resting on the side of his firm torso. 

Angel took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, your own brushing against his as the kiss deepened.

 You were in no hurry for the kiss to end, enjoying the way everything about Angel was so warm, something that was surprisingly welcome, despite the ever-present desert heat of Santo Padre. You could get used to this. 

You had only known Angel a short time, realistically. Your one meeting spawning a series of flirtatious texts and snaps, and now this date that, while low-key, felt almost too perfect to be real. He made you feel safe, desired.

You could already feel him slipping beneath your skin to rest in a special place in your heart. And while you as a person were generally reticent to share that part of yourself with anyone, you had a feeling Angel could take up permanent residence there. If he wanted. 

You dropped from your tip-toes, effectively breaking the kiss.

Angel blinked, looking down at you and noting the pleasant glow on your skin, lips now slightly swollen from his kiss. He could get used to this.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, trading quips and stories as the sun went down. Angel told you about his club, his brothers. About his pop and Ezekiel, and how at one time, he enjoyed being the bigger brother, teasing, pranking and lording over EZ until EZ had hit his growth spurt and could (and would) definitely hit back. 

As he drove you home, you snuggled a little bit against him, pressing yourself into his back and enjoying the way you swore you could feel his heart pounding through the kutte and over the rumble of the bike and the road.

He'd dropped you off with a parting kiss and the promise of another date.

Another date turned into several. Time you weren't at the shop was now spent with Angel, showing him what you were working on, inviting him over for dinners and to watch mindless television while he told you what he could about his day. 

The both of you were slowly peeling back the layers around your respectively guarded hearts, revealing more of yourselves only to be met with pure acceptance by the other. Even blindados had to take off their armour at some point. 

You cherished your time with Angel, and he quickly found himself stumbling, head over his own biker-booted heels for you.

After a few months had passed, he had brought you to meet the club. You had manifested nothing but general acceptance of his lifestyle and were eager to meet the people Angel had so obviously cared for. Who had helped shape him into the brash but conscientious person he was with you. 

And one sunny afternoon had found you bringing lunch you had made for the entire club over to the scrapyard, Angel agreeing with your plan. You never were one to show up empty-handed. 

As you walked across the yard, past the gate, and into the clubhouse, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the blinding sun outdoors, Angel bounded over to greet you. Taking the bag full of homemade goodies from your arms, he pressed quick kisses to your cheeks, and one to your forehead. 

He turned, met with the pleasantly-surprised stares of his brothers. He announced your name to the room before turning to you, pointing at each man and supplying a name. You nodded, smiling and offering a warm wave to each. 

The man you knew to be EZ from all of Angel's initial texts and photos quickly strode over to you, shaking your hand in his impressively firm grip before bending down to press a quick kiss to your cheek with a,

"Bienvenido, hermanita. Angel's told me a lot about you. Won't shut up, really," giving you a sly wink as Angel swatted EZ's arm in annoyance at his brother's revelation.

Boys.

The smaller man with the sharp eyes and full curls you knew to be Coco made his way over to where you were now seated as Angel went to get you both drinks, the other men digging into your offerings as you made yourself comfortable.

He sat next to you, tossing you a, "You mind?" Lighting his cigarette after you’d shaken your head.

He studied you through his own plumes of smoke before leaning across the table and speaking to you, lowly and with an almost conspiratorial rasp to his voice,

"You did that cover-up for Angel?" He asked on a smooth exhale.

"Mhmm," you nodded. "He gave me free reign. I was nervous he'd hate it."

Coco seemed to chew over your words for a dragging moment. You shifted in your seat. He was definitely sizing you up.

"Bold move, pequeña, giving the secretario of a biker club a sleeve of flowers." 

"I suppose it was," you sighed, more than a little uncertain now. "But it felt meaningful, right, I guess. I just sort of… started drawing. I… think it worked out, though?" You trailed off.

Coco nodded. "It's a fuckin' good piece, mami. Angel told me what you'd said about memories making you who you are." He snorted lightly through his nose. "It's funny. We've never even met before, and you're already sounding like me." 

A small smile played across his lips, returning it with one of your own.

"I'm glad you approve," you nodded. "Angel's opinion obviously matters, and don't tell him I told you this, but it means alot coming from one of his family." 

And that's what they were. His family. You could see it. The obvious camaraderie and care underlying each of their actions with the other. You admired the system of support, cushioned by good humor, despite being flung regularly into harsh reality. It was clear -- they were there for one another.

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

"Maybe you got space for me in your books one-a these days?"

Your small smile was a full-blown, sunny grin now.

"Of course. Anytime you want to drop by, you're more than welcome." 

"Gracias, chica." Coco leaned across the table and patted your shoulder before getting up and taking his leave.

And so it went. The boys would filter through your shop. Olí teasing you about his offense that all of his most lucrative, inked clients were now going to you. 

You enjoyed the time working on pieces for them afforded you -- offering you a glimpse into their inner workings, what they felt was important enough to take up permanent residence along their skin. Making idle chit-chat with you while you worked. And always, always sharing embarrassing little anecdotes about Angel. 

The months passed with you and Angel, finding comfort in your unpredictable, but welcome, respective routines. 

One night in particular found Angel wrapped up in your embrace, the physical embodiment of your gradual and growing trust in one another.

He had arrived home more than a little rattled, his eyes wildly darting to the corners of the room before settling in you, exhaling a shaky breath before striding the length of the room and crushing you to him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. 

You understood he probably couldn't tell you what had happened, but you asked anyway, needing him to know you would hear him.

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

He shook his head softly in the negative, but didn't elaborate. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it," you wound your arms up and around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. "But it's going to be okay. I've got you. I won't let go."

He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from his neck and sliding your arms down, bringing them to rest around his waist. Once he had positioned you where he wanted, he brought his hands to cup your cheeks, eyes heavy and dark with the weight of his stormy thoughts. 

He nodded at what you had said before bringing his lips back to yours. 

You brought one hand up to meet his, where it rested along your cheek. You twined your fingers through, joining your hands while breaking the kiss. You lead him through the apartment, bringing him to the bedroom. You had music softly playing from your speaker in the corner, candles lit to bathe the room in ambient glow and a warm, honey smell, all in anticipation of Angel's eventual arrival home.

You silently gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, where you took your seat next to him. 

You tugged the leather kutte from his shoulders, folding it reverently and placing it on the chair near the bed. He exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging once the leather manifestation of his obligation to a darker world had been removed. The weight of the world a little less on the mantle of his shoulders. 

You turned your attention to his feet next, unlacing and tugging off his boots. Then, his belt. 

Once he was just in his jeans and his t-shirt, you resumed your seat at his side, bringing him back into your embrace and carding your hands through his hair, as his head rested on your shoulder. 

Angel spoke, voice cracking as he broke the seal of silence in the room. 

"It was… it was awful, Frida." He sighed. "I do everything they ask. It's my job … Fuck. Sometimes I wonder how much more my heart can take. But then, I get to come home to you." 

His breath was shuddering now.

And while you didn't always know what to say -- it was a rare sight to see Angel so rattled. But you were a caregiver by nature, ready to give him the pieces of yourself that would make him feel whole.

You guided him down so that he could recline, you came to rest at his side, winding your arms around his torso, your face turned into his neck, cuddling him as he came down from the mania of his emotional high.

The moments passed, Angel's breathing leveling again as you stroked his hair in time to the soft music.

He turned his head to look at you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked at him, your gaze warm and adoring, full of twinkling fairy light and starshine. 

"Te amo, querida," Angel breathed. This was not the first time he had said it to you during your months together. But each time felt as momentous as the first, each declaration of love felt like the slip of something sweet, and you were determined to store it in your heart and mind forever.

"I love you too, Angel. More than anything," you murmured. "I love your smile, your sense of humor, your strength." You pressed kisses to his face and neck with each admission. "Mostly, I love your strength. And that you trust me enough to tell me when you don't always feel it."

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

"I love your mind. How creative you are. How you see everything so beautiful, just like you," he hmm’d. "Mostly I love your trust. And that you choose to give it to me." 

You kissed him again, leaning over him with your entire body, pressing your palms gently into his shoulders. 

As your kiss deepened, you each began to tug at the other. His hands carded through your hair, tugging gently, but firmly. You lifted his shirt from his torso, the kiss breaking so you could peel it away.

You divested one another of each layer, baring yourselves to the other, body and soul. Again, this wasn't the first time you had done this. But this felt momentous nonetheless. 

Angel skimmed his hands over your form, running his hands softly down and over your breasts, loving your soft sigh at his touch. 

You leaned over him once more, reluctantly removing his hands from you, and placing them gently down at his sides. 

"Your heart is mine, mine to protect," You hummed softly, invading his senses and placing kisses down Angel's neck and to his chest, trailing your lips lovingly over Angel's heart, and pressing one last deliberate kiss there. "And I take my job very seriously." 

As you kissed him, you lightly trailed your fingers down his torso, coming to rest at his hip.

Your declaration was met with silence; you glanced up at Angel through your lashes only to find him already looking down through heavy-lidded eyes at you, his now swirling with some unnamed, weighted emotion.

You trailed your hand across his hip, not breaking eye contact as you took his hardening length into your hand. He inhaled sharply at the sensation of your grip, but refused to look away as you began to pump him slowly, still pressing kisses to his hips, torso and thighs. 

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

"Please, what?" You murmured back, your voice taking a throaty register you reserved strictly for private moments with your beloved.

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

"Relájate, baby, I've got you," you assured. Sweeping your hair back, the action washing Angel with the sweeping comfort of your scent as you made your way lower down his body. 

Angel slumped back against the bedspread, glittering galaxy eyes still trained on you as you lavished him with attention. 

You took the opportunity to flatten your tongue, licking a broad stripe up the length of him, one hand braced against his firm thigh, the other holding him gently at the base of his cock as you worked.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of him, delighted at his throaty moans, feeling the effect they had on you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside, feeling the slickness from your own center as your thighs rubbed together. 

Taking Angel wholly into your mouth now, you bobbed over him, relishing in the heavy feel of him in your mouth and the throaty groans you received from Angel in response. 

Before you could spend too long lavishing him with attention, Angel tugged on your hair at the base of your neck. Following his grip, you lifted your head and released him from, watching (a little greedily) as his thick length bobbed against him when you relinquished him from the confines of your mouth. 

He guided you up his body, hand still knotted in your hair, pushing his mouth onto yours, uncaring of the saliva on your lips and chin, and the taste of himself on your tongue. 

You straddled his hips, surging the rest of the way up his body and effectively deepening the kiss. The hand that was once in your hair now made its way to loosely grip at your throat, the other skimming his way down your breasts, across your ribs and toward your center.

As his fingers traced through your folds, you involuntarily rolled your hips into his hand, alight at his touch, and desperately seeking more. 

Angel touching you was like the shock of a live wire. Every time felt just as electric as the last, goosebumps erupting across your flesh as his fingers traced across your skin. 

He chuckled through your fused mouths, drawing back at your reaction and the wetness he found between your legs.

"Eager, amor?" Every word fell that fell from his lips sounded like a dangerous purr.

You nodded, drunk on the way Angel's hand gently squeezed your throat, while the other was teasingly making its way to-and-fro across your wet folds, occasionally making his way up to lightly circle and press his thumb over your clit, making your eyelids flutter. Your hips continued to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, his teasing touch making you more than a little crazy.

"Yeah?" Angel asked, his voice thick and syrupy, the timbre like dark clouds. "That shit turn you on? Sucking my cock?"

His words combined with his touch made another rush of heat flood through you. You were certain you would pass out, that your knees would buckle. And you were doing so well, holding your place up and over his hips while he played with you.

The hand on your throat gripped a little tighter, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

"Nuh-uh, baby," he shook you lightly, all mirth gone from his eyes, no more pleasant, smiling crinkles at the corners. His full lips pressed firmly together. "I asked you a question. You answer that shit"

He pressed two fingers teasingly against your entrance, refusing to insert them, despite the little roll of your hips.

"Y-yeaahh," you sighed, head tossed back, "I-I fucking love it -- love you, Angel."

He rewarded you by sliding a long finger into you, allowing you to ride his hand. The hand still around your throat guiding you forward, over him, allowing him to press hot, open-mouthed kisses, first to your lips, dirty and raw, like an exposed nerve in his unabashed want for you. 

He relinquished his hold on your neck, allowing him to trail his lips and his tongue there, kissing you softly behind your ear, down and around your neck to your collarbones, all while his fingers continued their earnest treatment inside of you, his thumb now pressing to your clit, your warming crescendo building.

Using his height and the fact that you were straddling him, Angel encouraged you to lean forward, allowing him to capture one of your breasts in his grip, his mouth following. His warm tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so gently over your sensitive flesh.

Angel's attention was rewarded with your gasping sighs and breathy moans. How anyone could make you feel this good was beyond you. Angel had an uncanny ability to elicit responses and feelings like no other person before him.

You felt the thrumming hum and warm, sticky wave of your orgasm building as Angel worked his fingers inside of you, stroking that particular spot from within that he knew would be your undoing.

"O-oh," you whined, keening noises caught in your throat. "Please, baby, I n-need you. Need you inside." 

The room was sweltering. Or was it just you? Angel withdrew his fingers smoothly, not sparing you the chance to be disappointed at the loss of feeling as he smoothly flipped the two of you, guiding you down to the mattress and hovering over your trembling form. 

"Yeah?" Angel asked. "You ready for that, querida?"

You gazed up at him through your lashes, longingly. He would give everything, anything, that he had in the world if you only looked at him like that forever, gaze full of warmth, heat, and unfiltered, starry adoration. 

"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"

He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?

He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.

Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.

Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore, 

"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."

Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours. 

Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.

“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.

You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.

A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you. 

"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.

"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me." 

You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.

Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.

He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.

"Come on then, baby." 

Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.

Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him. 

He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath. 

Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.

"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."

---

Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks. 

Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing. 

The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end. 

How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them. 

The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind. 

Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you. 

But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes. 

Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him. 

Of fucking course.

You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him. 

And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't. 

One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex. 

A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart. 

"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."

You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply, 

"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."

"I care, Frida," was all he offered.

You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?

"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.

"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"  

Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then… 

"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"

You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.

The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him. 

Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.

You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."

“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion. 

You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply, 

“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.” 

Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way. 

"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--" 

You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.

"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"

You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on. 

"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it." 

You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.

Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??

It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why. 

An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite. 

And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it. 

You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more? 

"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it." 

Like he would, you thought.

You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car. 

Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.

You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them. 

The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky  new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.

And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.

What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?

---

Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp. 

Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous  energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.

He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.

His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning. 

“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. 

Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day. 

“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."

Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.

But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve. 

He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest. 

The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now? 

Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the  pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t. 

All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.

And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel. 

How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.

And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking. 

If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.

Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.

Tagging:

@themarcusmoreno @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @steeeeeeeviebb @qveenbvtch @mxsamwilson @ifimayhaveaword @huliabitch @pettyprocrastination @phoenixhalliwell @flightlessangelwings @cinewhore @velvetmel0n @moonlight-prose @rebeccasficrecs @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @ciriswife @justanotherblonde23 @superhoeva @witching-hour​ @luckyharley1903​

#angel reyes fic #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x fem!reader #angel reyes x you #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes angst #angel reyes smut #angel reyes #clayton cardenas #mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans #mayans mc fic #my writing #rachel writes #holy shittttt this boy is long #it just got away from me #sorry #loved you once

[impulsive-decisions-for-lupin]

Could I request some separate headcanons of lupin and goemon with a shy and artistic s/o? Like the kind who has their own sketchbook w/ art but can’t help but doodle on any scrap of paper? Thank u!

I mean, can you blame s/o though? Sometimes you’ve just gotta let your hand throw up all your doodles on random papers- anyway, these were fun to write headcanons for, so I hope you like them! 📻

Lupin and Goemon (sep) with a Shy-&-Artistic S/o

Pairing: Arsène Lupin iii x Reader; Goemon Ishikawa x Reader

Note: Some cursing.

Lupin finds scraps of paper with your doodles on them around the hideouts all the time, and just loves them. At some point he ends up buying a folder for you to keep all the loose doodles; some of them have been hung up on the fridges in all the hideouts. He’s even kept a couple of them to himself, some doodles folded carefully and in his pocket or kept safely away in a suitcase.

You think it’s embarrassing sometimes, and have stolen back some of your doodles, but Lupin really enjoys seeing your artwork and having it up for everyone else to see.

He’s totally snooped through your sketchbook a couple hundred times, and everytime he says that he adores your art. Even the art that you think is bad or years old.

On that note he becomes devastated if he sees or finds one of your doodles in the trash. He acts like he’s been betrayed, and no amount of claiming that you messed up or you were redoing it is going to make him feel otherwise.

“How could you, (y/n)? Your artwork is your baby! How could you throw away your own baby?”

You once joked that you should probably dump your entire sketchbook in response to that, and Lupin was so offended-

It’s as endearing as it is ridiculous.

He sometimes asks if you could draw some stuff for him, but doesn’t push you to (is actually surprised when you do draw something for him- expect a bunch of hugs and kisses from him, and even some money from him for the “commission”). He loves seeing all the stuff you draw and come up with, finding bits and pieces of you in every single piece. He’s saved all of the birthday cards you’ve drawn him from over the years.

Lupin has drawn some stuff for you too, but he claims yours are better.

He won’t admit it, but he thought he was gonna cry once when he found some of the doodles he gave you pasted to one of the pages of your sketchbook.

Gets you art supplies for your birthday and on giving holidays. Your quiet-squealing at the set of new pencils or pens, or at the new sketchbook you’ve been talking about for the past couple months. Who knows if Lupin bought it or stole it for you- it’s for him to know, and no one else to know about.

Likely stole them.

Unless it’s a special kind or brand, which then he buys the best condition he can for you.

Lupin talks about your artwork quite a bit, and whenever he meets someone new and you’re with him, he tells them all about your amazing work. Your face gets hot from embarrassment and you want to tell him to stop but all that comes out is a soft whine.

Your shyness about your artwork and just everything- he loves it. He doesn’t take advantage of it, not even close; he does tease the hell out of you though, watching your face grow warm as you shyly tell him to stop teasing him. He eases up quickly though when you begin curling into a ball or get up to leave the situation, apologies spilling from him as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to snuggle with you.

There are times where your shyness will be deemed inconvenient from others, usually when you and Lupin are ordering at some restaurant or cafe and your stammering so much or are talking so quietly the waiter/ress is growing impatient with you, that Lupin will order for you to get the waiter/ress on their way and you to relax. He’s usually reassuring you that it’s fine and you weren’t taking up a lot of time, to get irritated about the impatience of others.

Thankfully, no one’s made any negative comments about your art, because if someone did they would be having to answer to Lupin’s fists.

Unlike Lupin, Goemon is respectful of your privacy and leaves your sketchbook untouched unless given explicit permission.

Usually.

There are a couple occasions where he would find your sketchbook unattended and in the open, and flip through some of the pages for a peak.

Goemon loves your art, and while he isn’t as loud with his praise as Lupin is, he still shows it in small ways. He compliments your work, comments positively on the care you take with your art; you’ve seen his eyes widen a couple times whenever he would come up to an art piece you spent a considerable amount of time on and were proud of.

He’s probably stolen bought you drawing supplies before, either because he’d suspect you were running low or he came across some. He loves the look of surprised gratitude you give him, already opening the package they came in to try them out.

He’s found some of your doodles on loose scraps of paper, and he returns them to you even though he wants to keep them in a safe spot for him to look over in memory of you, especially if you have to be gone from each other for an uncertain amount of time. He’s always happy when you say he can keep some of them though; he takes special care in not getting wrinkles or folds on the papers.

Doesn’t understand when you throw away some of your art. He doesn’t react anywhere near how Lupin did, but he does ask why you would throw your work away. To him, it’s art you can look back on and see the improvement you’ve made over time.

Goemon hasn’t thought of ever asking if you could draw something for him; he adores seeing the artwork you come up with with your own hands and mind. He keeps any and all pieces (random doodles and cards and all) in as best condition he can, and has thought about buying a folder for himself and you to hold the work the loose doodles in so you wouldn’t lose them around the hideouts and whenever out and about.

When he’s meditating you’ll sit near him and doodle in your sketchbook or on loose paper. It took a bit for him to get used to the scrapes of your drawing tool on the paper or page that would audibly wrinkle, but it soon became part of the white noise to aid him into his meditative state. Even if it hadn’t, he didn’t feel the need to ask you to leave; if anything, he much preferred the sound of a pencil or pen and paper to Lupin or Jigen startling him and being loud around the hideout.

Along with your artistic talent is your shyness, both of which Goemon cherished. He doesn’t mind ordering or talking to someone for you, but you probably have to ask him to do this for a while before it becomes second nature to him. He knows your shell is a hard one to crack (he was surprised to have been let in so easily), but he thinks there will be a time where you feel comfortable enough to ask or be able to talk on your own, which does happen sometimes.

Most times though this ends in a stuttering mess or your voice too quiet to be heard, where then Goemon will take one for the team and help you without you asking.

If someone is giving you bad vibes in response to your shyness, just let Goemon know, he’ll take care of it, along with anyone else who wants to start issues. If it’s because you're shy and too quiet, he can come to some understanding as to why someone would be impatient (it’s not excusable in any form though), but if it’s something to do with your artwork?

Goemon’s never heard of such bullshit. He can’t even comprehend why a random stranger would diss your artwork, let alone how they even got a hold of any of it to be able to give an opinion (you got antsy and irritated even when one of the guys looks through your sketchbook without permission). Forget hands being thrown- Zantetsuken is being taken out for a spin.

It’s times like these where Goemon tries to stay close to you when out and about. Affection is a gesture he finds to be private and intimate, but holding hands he does not mind, since he can help you then and there if needed. Sometimes a peck is given, but you’re both pretty shy when it comes to it, so it’s a rare occurrence.

Goemon doesn’t tease you a whole lot; why have you uncomfortable or embarrassed just because it would amuse him? Sure, he has his times of fun, but these are when you are able to return in the same manner.

He does embarrass you unintentionally sometimes though, whenever he would find a doodle of you two together, showing it to you to see your face contort in embarrassment. He doesn’t even know what’s embarrassing you at those times- he asks if you have a bad stomach, and you just shake your head because trying to explain to your samurai boyfriend that a doodle you intentionally drew of him and you cuddled up together was what was making you feel giddy, was not on your list of priorities.

You love him though, and Goemon’s just confused as you hug him and shake your head, deflecting any questions of your well-being he asks you in regards to your display or the doodle as he hugs back.

#lupin iii #arsene lupin iii #lupin iii x reader #arsene lupin iii x reader #goemon ishikawa #goemon ishikawa xiii #goemon x reader #goemon ishikawa xiii x reader

[antigoneidk]

Unexpectedly good| h.h.

summary: Getting out of your comfort zone isn’t as bad as it seems, getting to know strangers can be fun. Espesially cute ones.

words count: 3.2+

pairing: harry holland x writer!reader

warnings: none

a/n: this is my first time writing about Harry, but I thought why not? 

True love exists they say. You're seeing it all around you as you taking a walk around your neighborhood, you’re reading it through written words late at night sitting on your bedroom floor, you’re hearing through melodies while driving around the city.

But does it last forever?

You also notice people getting their hearts broken, couples married for decades separating their ways, fighting for things they thought they never would. You’re listening to your friends crying, or artists expressing this pain through paintings, poems, even movies with actors playing their roles really well, drifting everyone with their emotions. Promises, vows are getting broken.

And you can help those questions that are always running to your mind: if it doesn’t last forever,then why the hell do we bother with it? Why do we even dragging ourselves into these situations when we could easily just be alone and happy after all? If love means suffer, why do others are still falling in love?

It would never make sense. Are they dumb?

Maybe.

We’ve been taught from early years some rules.

Number one: always be kind to others around you.

Number two: listen to your parents.

Number three: find someone to love.

And is not that they told us to do with words, but somehow they showed us with their actions. Your dad would kiss your mother goodbye before work, or give her presents. Your mum would prepare a fancy dinner for him, usually to thank him for everything he’s done for their family. They would go on dates, spoil each other, “I love you"'s would be heard every now and then. Or after an argument they’ll fall asleep and the next day they’ll get up with smiles on their faces and a forgiving speech already made up.

“My parents are divorced.”

Are they single? No, at least one of then has moved on and met somebody to love.

And that is my point. They got their hearts broken once, why do they risk it for the second time?

“Hey are you okay?” the blonde girl asked next to you, clearly worried.

“Umm yeah? Why are you asking?”

“You have these weird expressions while you’re writing and you scared the shit out of us. Also I’m really curious to know what caused you this” your male friend sipped his iced coffee. You laughed at him closing your notebook leaving your pen inside it and copying his movements. The cold liquid felt hydrating.

“I don’t think you will any time soon baby" you placed your cup at the table. “And to be honest with you, nobody will"

“The disrespect! Girl, we’ve been here for the past two hours and this is the first time you're talking" her voice sounded serious at first, turning to more playful after. They both knew that you were an artistic soul, always with a pen in your hand ready to imprint your thoughts at a paper. Writing meant everything to your existence, the only getaway from the world.

“You need to be more confident with your writing y/n. You are talented and you keep wasting your talent away. Imagine how you can change the world with all your inspirational things you write for us, all of your creative stories that I have no idea how your mind is capable to think of them. And I'm not saying this because I'm your friend, this is my honest opinion”

“And some may say that you are just a hopeless romantic. But I am in awe with you and how you describe feelings that are so difficult to talk about.”

You smiled bright at your friends. “What did I do to deserve friends like you guys?”

“You were just lucky that we felt sorry for you that day at the library” he took your hands into his and turned to the girl next to you, that had wrapped her arms around your torso and had placed her head to your shoulder. “Do you remember how lonely she looked?”

“Ouch"you said moving your hand towards your heart playing it hurt. “Oh my Gosh, was I like this?”you asked biting your lip. It was your first year at a new busy town, with people that looked way cooler that you were, a lifestyle out of your comfort zone. Denying that you didn’t seemed lost would be a lie.

They both nobbed their heads laughing and you covered your face thinking how much you have changed the past few years and even though you still wokred with yourself, you had made progress there.

«I think we should go guys, it's getting late and I have work to do» the man of the group announced, Gigi next to you complaining that he just ruined her night for the dumbest reason «in history»

«Who goes home to do work? Have you lost your mind? Let's go get a drink» she turned to you «Is he crazy?»

«I mean he may have a reason»

«Are you siding with him now? Do you have a boyfriend and you just don't want us to know?»she leaned to his side wanting to learn more curious. Your friend was the person that wanted to know everything about the others, not because of the gossip, she wasn't like that. The reason behind it was that Gigi felt the need to protect her family and close friends from bad situations. And to do that, she pressured others just so they can help her create a picture about them, a guide for her that she might need in the future.

Noel on the other hand seemed more like incurious about his friend's private life. Not that he didn't care, but he would wait for the other with no pressure. He was there for who might needed his help, whenever they felt ready to open up. Lies was the only thing that he couldn't forgive. From anyone.

«I'm gonna kill this bitch I swear» he got up following you that you were already behind them giggling with them.

«You are so annoying Noel» Gigi grabbed you by the arms and made her way to the exit of the cute café you spent your afternoon at. You glanced back at him with curved lips but eyes drowning with tears of laughter, while he was getting up from his chair, laughing with his sweet laugh of his and looking around for things that you might have forgot.

«Oh I'm sorry» you heard your friend apologizing at the same time you crashed with her back. You turned your head at her ready to reassure her, before your eyes met a pair of brown ones.

«It's my fault I wasn't paying any attention» a blonde boy next to him apologized shyly.«Ladies first» they both stepped back making room for the both of you to make your way out. You took a look at the boy that caught your attention at first smiling shyly back at him when you noticed him doing the same. You held onto your friend tightly as you walked away, giggling with her quietly.

«Gigi what was that?» you asked after a while, being sure that none of them would here you.

«I have no idea» she said before slowing her step finally staying still in front of you. «But they looked cute» her eyes made their way behind your back.

«Yes he did» you mumbled taking a look at your shoes. At the very time you realized what words your mouth left out loud you corrected yourself quickly «They were cute yeah..um..where-where is Noel?» you shallowed the inside of your cheeks staring back at her.

«Behind you» she replied with a smirk. «Hey baby y/n forgot her pen there, would you wait for us? Just for a minute?»

«What? No-»

«No she didn't, I checked everywhere. Y/n just search again at your bag»You rolled your eyes and opened your bag, diving your hand into the mess inside just for you to reveal the pen that was missing apparently.

«I can't with you guys sometimes» her walking far from the two of you had you chuckle at your friend, yet thinking that something would have come out of this. But it was just a stranger, a handsome one, that you would never see again. The chances of meeting this man were minimal so you tried to not distract your mind with possible scenarios.

You were curious though. What would have happened if you went back there? Maybe he wouldn't be there, not all people like to enjoy their drinks inside a room with others. Maybe he would have been sitting at a table with the blonde guy talking about his day or problems hat he might have. How will his voice sound like? Or he would be the one listening to his friend.

Or they would be waiting for their girlfriends to come.

It sounded more realistic at that time.

«What happened now?». You grabbbed his arm slowly walking behind the blonde annoyed girl friend of yours. The irritated sound of his voice was showing, tired of her attitude she had the past xouple of minutes.

“She is just a little mad at us, you know she had other plans for tonight. What can I say? We are bad friends I guess" you joked making the boy next to you roll his eyes smiling.

_

Few days later you found yourself into your little appartment, working at a new assignment that had to be ready in a couple of hours. Your fingers tapping the keyboard faster that lightning, the words showing in front of you in seconds, your mind working nonstop, new ideas popping every now and then out of nowhere.

Three hours later and ten pages were ready to be sent back at your boss. Ten pages fillled with things that only God knew how much you loved them.

The power of art. How art can change someone completely, how people can be reborn, how the prospective of life can turn, how individuals could change into creatures ready to rule the world with their creativity, their visions of a better future.

Your phone rang unexpectedly, the sound of the familiar ringtone disctracting you from checking possible mistakes on your writing. You picked it in your hand, the photo of your blondie friend lit up the screen.

“Hello” you answered happy to hear her after days.

“Hi y/n, what are you-” a loud car horn stopped her from finishing her sentence, voices from far away screaming, a chaos starting to build up. “Watch where you’ re going phycho” you bit your lip curious as her aggressive tone sounded from the other side of the phone.

“Are you okay? Gigi?”

“Why do all idiots get driving license?”

“I don't know babe, let's just pretend that they didn't pay others"

“That's true" she paused for a while and then continued “Yeah anyway, what are you doing?”

“I just finished my article. Do you wanna come over?” you suggested.

“I was thinking if you're interested in meeting at that café we went with Noel” it was only ten minutes away from where you lived, so it worked perfect for you.

“That sounds like a plan”

“Great! I'm gonna be there in twenty minutes so take your time"

“Okay I'll see you soon" you hanged up the call and moved to your closet. The weather was cloudy and windy, unlike the day before. People were walking down the streets holding on to their jackets really tight, so you assumed that it was getting really cold out there, a feeling of sadness covering you from the inside as summer was coming to an end sooner that you'd thought.

_

Ten minutes after you were outside finally, hugging your body as tight as possible, holding your own jacket, try to protect your self from the cold. Your rapid steps got you to your destination earlier that usual. You opened the door, the warm air hitting your face, the smell of coffee and donuts filling your lungs. You scanned the space around you, an empty table catching your eyesight a few meters away from where you stood. You sat there ans waited patiently for your friend to come and join you. The attention of yours caught the food that was getting ready to be served to customers, looking like the most attractive thing in the universe. I'm getting one of these for sure.

“Sorry for being late. Guess who I bumped into” Gigi interrupted your thoughts as she sat at the chair across you.

“Bratt Pitt?”

“I would have died. Try again I'll give you one more chance”

“Is it a celebrity?” you leaned to her half smiling.

“Nope" she shaked her head and crossed her hands down to her chest, leaning back.

“Then why would I know? Was it your ex?”

“Who sees their ex and smiles like that? Wake up"

“I give up"

“Do you remember the two cute boys we saw here?” she placed her arms at the table. “Yes don't look at me like that. They will be here in a few"

“You invited two strangers? What if their intentions are bad? Have you lost your mind?” you started panicking, yet making sure that you won't drag all the attention to you from the others.

“That would have been fun for your miserable life but no they're not bad. They seemed really nice actually and that's why I told them that we will be here so shut your mouth. And you even said that you liked that brunette boy, you should thank me”

“I never said anything like that Gigi. And I don’t care if they are the nicest people we've ever met, they're still strangers-“

“Not anymore" she lifted her arm and then stood up with a bright smile on her lips. “Um hey guys" she greeted them and then pointed towards you. “This is y/n I told you about" you got up and turned around so you can meet them yourself.

“Harrison" the blonde guy said to you and you smiled back at him.

“Y/n" you shacked his hand politely. He did not seem bad at all and even though you felt sorry for him, it was still irresponsible from her to act like this. You made room for him to pass you and came face to face with the brunette boy.

«I'm Harry» so that's how his voice sounded like.

«I'm y/n. Nice to meet you» he shacked your hand and you couldn't ignore the feelings you got, the warmth, the electricity you felt, the sensation just from the palm of his hand. You sat back down, across your bestfriend and next to Tom.

At first you felt really awkward, compared to Gigi that looked so confident and never stopped talking, moslty about her life, how she ended up in this town, what she's studying, her hobbies. She was a person that had the ability of opening up to strangers real quick, very friendly. She made you feel like home, like she was the big sister everyone wanted. That's how she won a place into your heart, you have always needed a friend like her, and she was at the right place the right time.

«So y/n what do you do in your free time?» Harrison asked.

«Oh..um I write I guess?»

«You have to see what she wrote last week. I admire her talent and I'm sure she will get far one day»

«It's not that big of a deal» you grabbed the cup in front you. «I just love writing about life and things in general»

«I would love to read something of yours» you heard Harry speaking and you turned to watch him. His curls seemed perfect covering a little of his forehead, his cheeks a light red, probably from the heat, his eyes staring back at you.

«You think so?» he caught you by surprise, as mostly the people that learnt about your obsession with writing never actually asked you to read anything from your writings, and maybe there was a chance that this was the reason behind you doubting all of your work. It was a battle that you didn't ask for.

«Yes» his lips turned into a smile, your did to as you couldn't help it. And you met him only half and hour before.

Their stories were interesting. Harrison had a passion for acting and was actually preparing for a really big project that he couldn't share much information for. But your curiosity was loud, you wanted to learn about this job, or how he was able to handle his emotions.

Harry was into photography, a fact that surprised you in a good way, and as you heard him talk about it more as the time went by, both of you gained more confidence and comfort around each other, absorbing plenty of informations.

At this point you thanked your friend for inviting them, and noted to do that in person after. They were truly the nicest people and seemed like two boys that you would totally hang with them anytime.

“This is amazing. I would love to see them one day” you stated. He moved closer to you, his one arm came behind your chair and rested there.

“I'm free for you anytime, as long as I'm gonna read anything, a poem or a story, only of yours”

“You really want to read them? They are not that good” you pointed at Gigi "Don't listen to her"

“You're really cute” he pulled your hair behind your ear “And yes I want to read one of your writings, I know that they will be good, I can already tell how artistic you are and I like that” he really said that? Was this true?

“Hey mate we have to go. Tom is waiting for us" Harrison pushed Harry's arm destroying your little moment, thankfully cause you actually didn't have any answer for his statement. Just questions that he wasn't going to answer.

“Already? He can't wait for a little more?” Harry got up after Harrison as he wore his jacket.”I'm so sorry girls. We'll make up for this I promise you. And I'm gonna bring my work with me just for you" he whispered his last sentence to you, while the other two of the group were talking on their own.

“It's okay don't worry. I'm sure he has a reason for whatever happened"

“No my brother is just a asshole and not responsible but don't let me get started" you laughed for a moment and watched straight at you, Harrison and Gigi hugging each other. They seemed like they got so closed within an hour only. It was unbelievable how she knew exactly what to say to win everyone's heart and mind. “I'm just hoping that I'll be able to see you again"

“Um I hope to as well" you smiled at him goodbye and waved at the two boys, that were walking now outside the café.

“You're lucky that I have Harrison’s number”

“What?”you turned your attention back to her. She was in a really happy mood and it showed not only from her expressions but from her body language as well.

“You dumbass how are you gonna see him again if you can't find him huh?”

She was right.

“I'm sorry for earlier. I was wrong" you apologized, feeling sorry for staying mad at her when all she wanted to do was to get you out of your comfort zone.

“You're still thinking about it? Just tell, how was he? He was cute right?”

_

After 2 hours of gossip and analyses you were finally back at your safe place, wrapped around with your favorite blanket and your favorite movie on. Everything seemed okay when a message from an unknown number called you back into reality.

‘Hey this is Harry! I forgot to ask your number but I was lucky enough to find it. Goodnight<3'

-----------

he is so cute what the hell?????

#Harry Holland #harry holland x you #harry holland x y/n #harry holland x reader #harry holland fluff #harry holland fic #harry holland imagine

[ghosttotheparty]

say my name and say it twice (cotton candy skies)

18. chapter seventeen also on AO3

Lucas is still smiling as he shuts his door behind himself, a canvas tucked under his elbow, brushes and empty glass jar in hand. It’s a soft smile, the type of smile that’s absent-minded, that’s only really there when he’s forgetting something (in this case, the shoebox of oil paint tubes, which could be used as he plans on painting), the type of smile that only comes out after talking to his mom.

It was a Skype call on his bed, her in the designated computer room. (She complained that she wants to show him her room. He reassured her that he’ll see it when he visits, eventually. This made her smile excitedly.)

She looks better. Healthier. Happier.

Her cheeks have filled out a little, and there’s colour in her face, a flush across her skin that makes Lucas smile. The glimmer in her eye in back, the glimmer that wasn’t there the last time he saw her.

She showed him her nails, which she painted recently, and she was nearly jumping in her seat with how excited she was. He’d had to ask her to hold them in place long enough for him to see them clearly and he’d shown her his nails, laughing. They’re the same colour. She squealed, and she did jump in her seat.

He smiled the whole time she’d talked, about the nice nurse with the red hair, though she couldn’t tell if it was dyed or natural, about one of the other patients, who is covered in tattoos and will tell the stories behind all of them to whoever asks, about another who won’t talk or make eye contact, but let her pray with him.

“He smiled so brightly when I asked,” she said. “And we prayed for his kids, and you, and he didn’t talk after, but it was nice to get to know him that tiny bit, you know?”

“That’s really nice, Mom.”

“So what about you?”

“...What about me?”

“Any new friends? Any new boys?” (She asked this with a silly quirk of her eyebrows and a smile.) (And his face flushed.)

“I don’t know. I’ve been hanging out with Milan, and Zoë and Senne.”

“Zoë and Senne…”

“Zoë and Milan have lived together for a while and Senne moved in with Zoë. They’re nice, you’d like them.”

“No new friends?”

“Mom, I’m doing virtual school. I haven’t really met anyone.”

“No one?”

“I mean, there’s…”

She started cooing here, and he looked away, chuckling.

“Tell me!”

“There’s this guy—”

“Oh, gosh.”

She adjusted her seat, pulling her legs up and propping her chin on her hands like a child at storytime.

“He’s…” Lucas had sighed, smiling, speechless.

“Describe him.”

“Beautiful.”

She’d laughed.

“Now are you speaking as an artist, or..?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Okay, keep going.”

“He’s…” He sighed again. “He’s got nice cheekbones.” He touched his own cheeks absentmindedly as he talked. “And a good nose.”

She started laughing, harder.

“Speaking as an artist!” he interrupted, defensively, also laughing.

“No, keep—keep going.”

“His eyes are brown, a really pretty brown. And his eyelashes are dark. He’s got a mole here.” He’d touched next to his own eye and she’d cooed again.

“He’s good to draw?”

“Really good to draw.”

“You’ve found your muse!”

“I think so.”

She’d paused a moment, smiling and clapping giddily.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

He’d flushed, a smile stretching across his blushing face.

“Yes.”

She’d screamed.

“But it’s a secret,” he’d added. “He’s not out to his friend. And I don’t know if he’s out to his mom.”

“Do you know his friends?”

“Some of them, yeah. They’re nice.”

“Okay.” She’d grinned. “Tell me more about him.”

“Uhm… He’s got a little sister. And he’s a really good brother to her, he’s got her drawings on his wall. And he helps her with her homework. He plays guitar for her.”

“He plays guitar?”

“He plays guitar!”

“Lucas, he’s perfect.”

“And he’s a ballet dancer.”

“What?”

And Lucas had just started giggling, nodding as she squealed again, louder.

“I love him already.”

“You’ll like him.”

“I’m gonna meet him?”

“Eventually, yeah.”

Lucas suppresses a smile as he turns into the living room, startling when he sees Milan sitting on the sofa, his legs crossed in front of him, his phone in his hands.

“You’re still here?” he says, placing the canvas on the coffee table. “I thought you had school.”

“I don’t have class today.” Milan lowers his phone and smiles up at him as Lucas nods awkwardly, unsure about if Milan had heard any of what he’d said to his mom. “So you emerger from your den to make art when there’s no one home?” Milan gestures at the canvas and brushes.

“Uh… yes?”

“Just so long as you don’t get paint on my carpet.”

“I haven’t and I won’t.” Lucas sets the brushes down too, cocking his head sassily as Milan raises his eyebrows. “And actually I kind of need paint to paint, I’ll be right back.”

When he comes back, Milan is laying on the sofa, looking at his phone. He doesn’t look up as Lucas places the heavy box full of tubes of paint on the table.

“Was that your mom?” Milan asks as Lucas kneels and sits on the floor, pulling out the bottle of white spirits. Lucas looks up, taking a breath before answering.

“Yeah. We haven’t talked in a while, it was nice.”

Anxiety builds in his chest when Milan drops his phone and looks at him, even though there’s nothing in Milan’s face or eyes to indicate that he’s about to interrogate Lucas about his relationship with Jens. (And Lucas didn't even say Jens’s name. Though, he supposes, maybe Milan could guess, based on the description, even if it wasn’t that specific. But there are so many people in the city; it’s not like Lucas only knows who Milan knows.) (Of course he does only know who Milan knows. But Milan doesn’t know that.) (His thoughts are going too fast for him to catch up.)

“Next time you call can I say hi to her?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Milan grins cheekily and looks back to his phone, and Lucas shakes his head, smiling as he pulls out a tube of paint.

He forgot the palette.

---

Lucas likes seeing Jens, waiting out in front of the studio with his duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. As Lucas gets closer, he smiles, noticing Jens’s pointe shoes, hanging off the bag, the straps of the shoes messily tied to it, and the smile grows when he realises Jens is wearing black tights, the almost sheer material stretching over his legs as he steps toward Lucas.

Lucas is practically checking him out, even as Jens reaches out, beaming, and pulls him in, pressing their mouths together in a messy kiss. As their lips move together lazily in a greeting, Jens grabs Lucas’s hoodie, pulling him into the alley.

When they pull away, Lucas places his hands on Jens’s face, pushing away his hair and running his thumbs over his cheekbones.

“What’s up?” Lucas asks, seeing Jens’s smile. It’s small but bright, looking like he’s trying to suppress it unsuccessfully. Jens shrugs, kissing him again and then pulling away to look at him, brushing his fingertips over his forehead, pushing a curl out of the way.

“What is it?” Lucas presses.

Jens looks so… happy. There’s a shine in his eyes like he has a secret. Lucas can’t help but smile back, dropping his hands to hold Jens’s hood.

“What?”

“I, uhm…” Jens’s smile grows and he leans in, kissing Lucas deeply (Lucas lets him) before pulling back. “I told the guys about the ballet.”

Lucas pulls away further, looking at him as Jens beams, and Lucas blinks in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Jens looks proud, and Lucas lets out a happy laugh, tugging him in to kiss him. Jens slides his arms around Lucas’s waist, pulling him closer. Lucas can feel Jens’s smile against his mouth.

“How did it go?” he asks when they separate.

“Good. I did a pirouette, and Aaron said, and I quote, it was ‘graceful as hell.’”

Another laugh bubbles out of Lucas and he kisses him again, pride filling his heart.

“And Moyo and Robbe?”

“Good. Surprised.”

“Well,” Lucas says, tilting his head back and forth. “Valid.”

Jens chuckles, tilting his own head and looking at him almost fondly.

“Yeah.”

They gaze at each other for a second, Jens's hand slipping to the small of his back as Lucas strokes the exposed skin of Jens’s neck.

“I’m proud of you,” Lucas says quietly, and Jens beams, his whole face lighting up. He kisses Lucas again, gently sucking his lower lip before releasing it.

“What made you decide to tell them?” Lucas asks after a second, and then the shine is back in Jens’s eyes.

“Uhm,” Jens sighs, looking away over Lucas's shoulder before looking back into his eyes. Lucas looks right back at him. Eye contact is weird sometimes. But it’s always easy with Jens.

Everything is easy with Jens.

“Moyo found something. Online.”

Lucas’s heart drops, suddenly nervous, though he doesn’t really know why.

“Found what?”

“A picture. Of me.”

Lucas can feel his smile drop and his hands still on Jens, but he doesn’t say anything. What could he say?

“He found your account,” Jens finishes, knowing.

“My account,” Lucas repeats absently, stepping back slightly. He barely hears himself.

“The art of existence.”

Fuck.

Lucas steps back again without thinking, his fingers still wrapped around the fabric of Jens’s hoodie. He lets out a sort of huff, a breath of anxiety and regret, and stammers, “I’m sorry.”

“No, Lu—”

“I shouldn’t have…” He trails off, shaking his head as his eyes flicker back and forth between Jens’s. Shouldn’t have posted the pictures, shouldn’t have taken the pictures, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have—

“No—Lucas, baby.”

Jens’s hands tighten around his waist and pull him back in. Lucas stumbles as Jens tugs him closer, his hands flattening against Jens’s chest to catch himself. Jens is smiling.

“It’s okay.”

Lucas’s brow furrows in confusion and he takes a short, deep breath. Jens nods as he does, sliding his hands over Lucas’s sides, trying to calm him.

“It’s…”

“It’s fine. It’s okay.”

“...Why?”

“Why is it okay?” Jens laughs lightly as Lucas nods, shrugging. “I don’t know. It just is.”

“But it’s… I shouldn’t have…”

“Baby.”

Jens takes a deep breath and nods slowly as Lucas copies him.

“Why are you so fine with it?” Lucas asks after a second.

Jens sighs, adjusting his grip on Lucas.

“I don’t know. I think something about you calling me your dancer, just…”

Lucas scoffs and shakes his head as Jens grins, and Jens leans down to kiss him, one hand coming up to hold the back of Lucas’s head.

When they separate, Lucas sighs, slipping his hands to hold the sides of Jens’s neck, his eyes still closed. He can feel his heartbeat start to slow down, though he hadn’t noticed the spike.

“You okay?” Jens asks quietly.

Lucas nods and opens his eyes, looking up at him. Jens’s eyes are soft on him, smiling, though the rest of his face is still.

“You don’t think it’s creepy?” Lucas asks, his voice soft, as his thumbs brush back and forth over Jens’s warm skin.

“Mm…” Jens kisses him. “I think if it was anyone else, maybe.”

Lucas scoffs again.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

Lucas pulls him in and Jens leans down slightly so their foreheads press together. Lucas’s eyes close again and he takes a deep breath, hearing Jens do the same. Their bodies sway together, and Lucas wraps his arms around Jens’s neck, pulling his head back only to lean in and bury his face between his arm and Jens’s neck. He doesn’t see Jens smile, but he feels Jens’s arms wrap tightly around his waist.

“I told them not to follow you,” Jens murmurs, and Lucas hums against his neck. “Figured it’s a safe space kind of thing.”

Lucas’s lips curve into a smile and he lifts his head enough to kiss Jens’s skin.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

They stay there for a moment, holding each other and swaying, while the clouds shift above them, as cars speed down the road and people chatter on the sidewalk in front of the studio.

“How did Moyo find it?” Lucas asks suddenly, pulling away to look at Jens’s face. As he looks, Jens’s eyes open slowly, like he’s sleepy.

“No idea. I don’t want to ask in case it starts up another round of interrogation.”

“Interrogation?” Lucas raises his eyebrows.

“Mhmm.” Jens smiles softly and his eyes scan Lucas’s face. “They call you the mystery Instagrammer.”

“You didn’t tell them it’s mine?”

Jens shakes his head, the smile fading, and Lucas brushes his thumbs over his cheekbones fondly.

“That’s okay.”

“I’m not ready to come out.”

“That’s okay,” he reassures him again, nodding and smiling.

“I don’t know what I’m so scared of,” Jens says.

“You don’t need a reason.”

Lucas leans up and kisses him softly.

“You can be my dancer and I can be your secret.”

Jens smiles and kisses him again, sighing as Lucas’s hands slip into his hair. Lucas smiles when he feels Jens’s teeth dig into his lip gently.

They both gasp as they part, their faces close enough that Lucas can feel Jens’s breath on his face, soft as the wind.

“I don’t want you to have to be a secret,” Jens says.

“It won’t be always,” Lucas brushes his thumb over his skin, softly touching the mole by his eye. “Just until you’re ready.”

#ok again #im sososo sorry this took so long #idk what happened but i feel rly bad #but the next chapter is already in progress #so hopefully it wont take as long #vds #van der stoffels #vds fic #van der stoffels fic #jens stoffles #lucas van der heijden #jens x lucas #lucas x jens #say my name and say it twice #cotton candy skies #cotton candy skies always look better in person

[salthaven]

Make a Change P15 (an Explanation and Summary)

Part Fifteen (An Explanation and Summary)

So, as I recently posted, I don’t plan to continue this story any longer. As much as I loved writing it, I also...fell out of love, I suppose. I just don’t have the time, passion, or motivation to try forcing myself to write it anymore, and it’s unfair to you guys to have to accept a sloppy second, something thrown onto a document for the sake of a word count and an update. I want to write stuff I’m proud of, and that just wasn’t happening with this story.

That said, one reader asked for a summary, so that they could get some closure. Luckily, I have some notes that I took as I planned the story and started writing it, and I thought you’d like to see some of them. This includes three things: 1. The schedules for most of the main characters 2. The heroes I was planning on bringing in and 3. All of the ideas I had for “Who on Earth will Marinette end up with?” (This was a doozy.) Along with this, I want to talk about other pairings I had in mind. 

With that all said, let’s hop right in!

The Schedules:

I really planned out their schedules, just so I could start figuring out who the Quantic Kids would be. I had a general idea in mind: Each student at Collège des Arts would have to take their four core classes (History, Language Arts, Mathematics, and Science), a language, and then their last period would be a two hour block that focused on their artistic talent. I set it up this way so that I could integrate the Quantic Kids into Marinette’s life. (Along with this, I made it so the whole school had lunch after fourth hour, so that the morning had four hours of classes, and the afternoon had three. I note this, because some schools separate lunches based on fourth hour, so that there is an A, B, and C lunch. I...did not feel like dealing with that, and I wasn’t sure how French schools do it but I doubt it’s like that.) 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s schedule: 

1. History (right next to Félix, later on stuck between him and Adrien) The original plan never had Adrien’s arrival, it was supposed to be a moment of comic relief where Marinette and Félix were just kind of half awake and barely conscious at any given time during first hour. This is why their history teacher, Mr. Marcel, was either wide awake or dead asleep. I thought it’d be a cute moment to show off the dynamics of their exhaustion or energy, depending on the day. I didn’t show this off nearly as much as planned, however, because I shifted my focus soon after.

2. Language Arts (with Allegra). A nice, calmer class seemed perfect for Marinette, who’d probably still be waking up. Allegra is calm and classy, so it only made sense to pair the two up for the second hour.

3. Science (Claude’s here!) Loud and exciting, just like their class seems to be, it was a perfect pairing. 

4. Math (with Allegra and Claude) I wanted to show off Allegra and Claude’s...chaotic dynamic. 

5. English (with Allan) Marinette wants to be a fashion designer, and she had to take a language, so she thought “hey, fashion is pretty big in America, let’s learn English”. (It was also the only class I could think of that she and Allan would take...more on that later.)

6. Fashion Design. Pretty self-explanatory.

Allegra: 

1. German. Allegra likes opera music, and wanted to mimic the sound of some German singers accurately. 

2. Language Arts (with Marinette, as mentioned above)

3. Science (a different teacher than Marinette and Claude, though. What a pity) (Also I apparently called it ‘physics’ in my notes and I just noticed.) 

4. Math (With Marinette and Claude)

5. History

6. Choir (She’s a singer.)

Claude Mercury:

1. English (It was for the theatre, but also for Shakespeare, but more accurately….for Shakespeare’s more inappropriate humor.) (and memes)

2. History

3. Science (with Marinette) (Lots of explosions and fires were planned)

4. Math (With Allegra and Marinette) 

5. Language Arts

6. Drama. He was just a simple thespian lad who wanted to have fun and make friends, what can I say?

Allan:

1. Math

2. Science

3. Language Arts

4. History

5. English (with Marinette) He likes hip hop and rap, and wanted to learn English rap, too. He, like Claude, also loves their memes, and I planned to have a few moments where he explained some to Marinette. 

6. Dance. Mainly hip hop, although the boy can break dance a little bit

Félix Agreste: 

1. History (with Marinette) He’s tired in the morning, but good at reciting dates. Again, had a lot more planned for this.

2. Math

3. Spanish. (“Come on, guys, it’s logical. It’s one of the most spoken languages in the world.” -Félix, probably.) I also planned for Félix to already know English. I wanted a cute chapter where he tutored Marinette, only for Claude to start dramatically monologuing because ‘why do you help her but never help me? The betrayal, Fe, the betrayal!’ 

4. Language Arts

5. Science

6. Music (he’s a piano boy in my heart) (maybe also good at violin) (a classy young man) 

Adrien Agreste:

1. History (with Marinette)

2. Language Arts (with Marinette)

3. Science (with Marinette)

4. Math (with Marinette)

5. Chinese (with Marin- oh, wait, we’re done with that!) This class, along with his next, is another reason Adrien relaxed so quickly at the school. By taking Chinese at school, he was able to convince his father to stop the at-home lessons, clearing up some of his schedule.

6. Music. Same as above, playing piano at school meant he didn’t have to do it at home so much.

The Heroes:

“But salthaven, you already introduced the heroes! Envision and Viperion, remember?” Haha, as if those were the only guys I had planned?

Yeah, I had more. Four more.

I wanted the Quantic Kids to be heroes. I had three of them for sure chosen, names and Miraculi assigned to them. (Allegra was my only problem child, but I’ll explain that below.)

The first was supposed to be Allegra. I was going to make her the Fox, with the name Mélodie. I’m pretty sure that was her original hero name, back during the PV stage of this show, and I wanted to pay an homage to her inspiration. But then Félix got it, because I didn’t end up giving him the Cat (yeah, I was really salty when I started this, and I was planning to go the same route that I do in my ao3 fic, Of Patience and Pettiness, and take away the Cat from Adrien to give to Félix.), as Adrien learned from his mistakes. So Allegra waits, and Envision springs to life with Viperion.

Next would be Allan. Miraculous: Bee. Name: Mellifury, based on Mellifura (aka the Africanized Killer Bee) + Fury. He was supposed to be an unexpected storm. A dancer, he uses rhythm in a way that throws off opponents. Uses the spinning top like it's another limb, throws the game way off when first introduced. 

Then we’d have Allegra. After a while, I decided that the Rabbit would be best suited for her. Messing with timelines is a tricky business, but Allegra has a knack for details and organization that would leave her cruising through her tasks with some practice. While it’s nothing musical, it would be fun to see. Name: Cottontail. 

Finally, after an interesting fight that would cause Nathalie to lose the Peacock...Claude would step in. Bold and flashy, the thespian knows how to strut his stuff. But again, he’s a thespian, and theatre kids know when it’s time to hide in the shadows and stay unseen and unheard. With dark blues that can hide in the name and stand out in the daylight, Claude would become Le Paon, turning the tide and becoming a major help for the team. [At first, he dealt with some sickness, but after a talk with Ladybug, who in turn talked to Fu, the Miraculous was fixed and Le Paon could fight as easily as the rest.] He’d use sentimentals wisely, although he’d have a bad habit of monologuing as he created them. 

The Ships:

The moment we’ve all been waiting for. Our first question: Who the hell was Marinette going to end up with? Well, that answer changed throughout the story.

The first choice: Félix. I wanted Marinette to move on from Agreste...and fall in love with Agreste. It humored me, and I was in love with a bunch of Felinette one shots at the time. (And, again, very salty towards Adrien at the moment.) 

But then I redeemed Adrien. No problem, I thought. Marinette could choose between one of the boys...and the other would date Luka! (I mean, did you see the Instagram picture of Luka and Adrien. Luka with either Agreste would be cute, just imagine the musical moments they could have together)

But then I Akumatized Juleka, and Luka was right there...and I made Marinette fall for all three guys. So I decided “Hey, she can just date all three!” And so that’s the final choice, because I’m apparently a sucker for poly ships. 

But I mentioned other ships, didn’t I? So let’s talk about those!

First: Luka with an OC. Yep, I was going to bring in a new girl. It was actually going to be one of my friends, due to a conversation we had that went as follows:

S.H. (Salthaven): So I’m thinking that I’m going to pair up Félix and Marinette. Thoughts?

F. (Friend): Okay, but what about Luka?

S.H.:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

F.: Well then pair me up with him!

So I did. Or I was going to...but then poly ship idea happened. 

As mentioned above, I also considered Luka with either of the Agreste boys. Whoever Marinette didn’t date. Again, couldn’t happen because I went for that sweet poly route. 

Finally: Claude and Allegra. What can I say, they act like an old married couple in my mind!

And that’s everything! Once all the heroes were chosen, and romantic confessions set aside, the Miraculous Team was going to gear up and take down Hawkmoth once and for all. Fun times, the end, we all get a happy ending.

So I hope that makes up for my rather abrupt end to this story. Thank you all for the time you put in, reading my writings, and I hope you enjoy the other works I plan to create! Until next time. <3

#MakeAChangeAU #Make a Change AU #one last time baby #wow this feels bittersweet #i hope yall like it #<3 #thank you guys for following this story while it lasted it means so much

[wakaoujisenhime]

Hello! I have a birthday on 20th of July. Can I ask scenario about GoM, Kuroko and Kagami congratulate me on my birthday? If possible, send it on 20th of July, please.

A/N: First of all: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEAR ANON! I hope you have a pleasant day and thank you for trusting me with such a personal request! Also, I’d like to apologize if this reached you later/earlier than expected, but I didn’t know in which timezone you’re at so I decided to post this at 12AM on the 20th of July (my time)! Have fun reading it and enjoy your birthday!! (●´□`)♡

Tags: GoM and Kagami x reader ✅  SFW ✅  fluff ✅ friendship ✅

image/art source: zerochan [this artist apparently had a pixiv (ID 4452434), but no matter how hard I look for them on any other social platform, I remain unsuccessful ;-; so if you know anything about them make sure to tell me!]

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Birthday surprise - GoM and Kagami x reader

“I can’t believe I signed up for this...”

“Oh come on Midorima-cchi! I know it’s going to be a complete success, you have my word!”

“Kise-chin I think you’re the last person he wants to hear that from...”

“Kagami what the hell man? Step aside would you?”

“Shut up Ahomine! Last time I checked, this was my house so you’ll do what I say, got that?!”

“I’m starting to think that this might not have been such a good idea...what do you think Kuroko?”

“It’s true that this wasn’t the best idea you’ve had, but I’m sure (Y/N) will like it nonetheless.”

The countless murmurs immediately quieted down, the moment they heard the front door being unlocked.

“It’s time..”

“Is everyone ready?”

“Where are the confetti??”

“Watch out you idiot, I almost dropped the cake!”

“At this rate, even the neighbors will find out what we’ve planned...”

As you slowly opened the front door and peeked through it, all you could see was pure darkness.

“Kagami? Are you there?”

Silence...

I thought I heard someone talking...must’ve been my imagination.

With careful steps, you entered and looked for the light switch in your best friend’s apartment and the moment you flipped it, seven men appeared before you, all as colorful as the rainbow. Six of them were holding a party popper in their hand, while the dearest one to you held a big birthday cake in his hands.

“Happy birthday (Y/N)!”, they all cried out in unison while the colorful thin papers of the confetti flew around and onto you.

While you just stood there in surprise, some of the boys helped you out of your jacket, took your bag, and brought you to the living room where an enormous buffet had been organized. There was one table on your left that was exclusively decorated with nothing but desserts. By the sloppy way the frosting was covering some of the cupcakes you immediately recognized that they must’ve been handmade by one of them (Murasakibara most likely).

You shifted your gaze to the bigger table in front. This one was beautifully arranged with several different dishes and upon further inspection, you noticed that the majority of them were your favorite foods.

“D-Did you guys prepare all of this...for m-me?”

Saying it out loud sounded as unbelievable to you as the fact that all of them had gathered together in order to celebrate your birthday, but seeing is believing.

Kuroko placed his hand on your back and gently patted it with a smile as he answered: “But of course, I mean today’s your birthday after all, so that’s a given.”

Just as you were about the embrace the young man next to you, Kise hooked his arm around your neck and pressed his cheek to yours.

“That aside, (Y/N)-cchi needs to open her presents!”

“P-Presents? Don’t tell me, you guys-“

Instead of answering you, the yellow-haired man looked to the side. With wide eyes, you followed his gaze to the small but wide end table and on top, there were eight presents, all in different colors and sizes.

This surprise was overwhelming you to such an extent that small tears were forming at the corner of your eyes and if it were not for Akashi and Aomine to separate you from Kise’s ‘cuddle attack’ you probably would’ve started crying.

“Kise, it might be for the best to wait until we’ve eaten and then move onto the unboxing.”

“Yeah what he said and on top of that the food is going to get cold if we don’t hurry up and eat!”, the man enthusiastically said as he was already in the process of sitting down and starting to eat.

While the others began holding him back and lecturing him, Midorima sighed next to you and slightly shook his head in disappointment.

“I’m sorry (Y/N) if this isn’t the party you were expecting, but the moment Akashi suggested this, we all thought that it might be a good idea to surprise you in Kagami’s house by using the pretense of him needing some help with his homework. Looking at it now, it might not have been such a good idea.”

He squinted his eyes as his long finger adjusted the black glasses he rarely took off his face while you looked back and forth between the scene that played out at the table and the man next to you.

After observing it all for a short while you laughed delightfully, reassuring the green head next to you that this was the best party you could’ve wished for.

With a small smile, he guided you to your chair and helped you sit down in a gentlemanly fashion. The others joined you not long after and the dinner party started, every single one of them raised a toast to you, and since you had a different relationship with each boy they all had their fair share of stories or experiences they enjoyed alongside you.

When you guys finished eating, the presents were the next in line.

“I was wondering about this, but why are there eight presents?”, you asked the moment they sat you down in the middle part of Kagami’s couch. They all grinned and Kuroko took it upon himself to answer your question: “We thought it might be a good idea for you to not only receive personal presents from everyone but a group present as well...so we decided to make you something with everyone’s combined efforts.”

Your smile couldn’t get wider at this point...or at least that’s what you thought.

When you began opening each beautifully wrapped box, your state of happiness kept on increasing until you reached the final present.

With slightly trembling fingers you opened it and found a group photo you guys took after Vorpal swords won the game, that’s when all the tears you kept in started flowing down your cheeks.

The boys that were surrounding you had to calm you down first, before moving on to the final part of your birthday party.

Desserts.

Still sniffling you rubbed your eyes and looked at the colorful display of sweets in front of you, but what brought a smile to your face was the way Murasakibara explained how he’d baked all of them by himself. His purple eyes were shining so brightly that you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself.

Just as you were about to reach for a small macaron, the giant gently slapped your hand away and pouted in such a cute way that you couldn’t really get mad at him for stopping you.

“(Y/N)-chin...these are for later. Now comes the cake.”

And once again you came face to face with the beautiful birthday cake you were firstly greeted with. The purple-haired man carefully handed you a knife and instructed you on how to perfectly cut out the first piece after you had successfully blown out all the candles.

While you guys ate and enjoyed its sweet taste, you took a trip down memory lane, remembering all the hard yet fun times the seven of you had experienced. You were glad to have gotten to know these guys and being able to spend your days with them like that, filled your heart with immense happiness.

This was the best birthday you’ve ever had.

#knb scenarios #knb x reader #gom and kagami x reader #knb fluff #━𝙺𝙽𝙱 #━𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽'𝚂 𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙾

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 4  (Calum Hood AU)

I WORKED THE very next day, and to say Mack threw me right into the thick of things would be a massive understatement.  Roger was working again, and Mack tasked him with teaching me how to make the most basic of coffees before setting me loose.  They really were swamped; the morning rush lasted well into lunchtime.  I knew how to use a cash register fairly well, so for a while Roger and I divided the duties.  Once things died down for a brief period, he showed me the more complex drinks, each one more confusing than the next.

“You’ll get it,” he told me encouragingly when I’d added too much foam to an espresso.  I put my hands on my hips and blew out a sigh.

“I’ve always been told I brew some killer coffee,” I explained.  “This should be natural.”

Roger chuckled, swiping a rag through some mugs.  I liked him; he was easy-going even under pressure, but knew when to be firm with the difficult customers.  He said that all their best baristas had quit recently to go back to school, and that Mack was left swamped.  

“You’re not in school?” I asked, getting someone’s chai latte ready.  This was one drink I was fairly good at concocting.

He scoffed.  “Are you kidding?  I could never do that college shit.  I’d much rather work at a place like this and do my art on the side.”  Roger did art commissions for people that were actually pretty amazing; he was like Picasso with spray paint.  I admired his confidence in his work, even though any parent would be terrified if their kid wanted to be a freelance artist.  But Roger believed in his talent, and didn’t let anyone convince him otherwise.

There were only two people left in the shop and they’d both been served, so Roger decided to take a quick break.  He said it would be my first “test run” to see how well I did on my own.  I rolled my eyes at his mock salute, but inside I was a nervous wreck.  I wanted to do well--no, needed to.  I needed something to go right for me.

Five minutes passed with no new customers, and I smiled at the thought of not serving anyone while Roger was gone.  Unfortunately, my prayers weren’t answered as the little bell tingled, signaling someone’s arrival.

A tall, chestnut-haired guy approached the register, rubbing the slight stubble on his chin as he examined the chalkboard menu above my head.  I fought the flush that wanted to rise to my cheeks; he was cute, with dark jeans and a casual blazer that probably meant he had a complex coffee order ready to go.

He sent me a shining smile.  “Hey, could I get a cappuccino?”

I huffed, and his expression turned quizzical.  “Sorry,” I answered quickly.  “This is my first day, and the last cappuccino I made...wasn’t great.”

“Should I order something else?  How ‘bout a french roast with cream?”  I appreciated his sense of humor at my inexperience.

I narrowed my eyes playfully.  “Oh no, I’m gonna make you that cappuccino.  Whether it will be edible is still up in the air.”

He laughed, and I noted the way his hazel eyes crinkled when he did this.  

“Can I have a name for the order?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy,” I repeated, and he grinned before taking a seat at the window bar.  Inhaling deeply, I turned to start making the cappuccino.  Espresso, steamed milk, foam.  How hard could it be?

Harder than I thought, apparently.  The drink I ended up concocting was way too milky and overflowing with foam.  I felt my face redden as I presented it to Jeremy, who examined it carefully.

“I know, it’s terrible.  But I did warn you.”

He went to pick up the mug, the crinkles by his eyes returning.  “Are you kidding?  This is absolutely exceptional.  I think I’ll have to come back tomorrow if you keep up this fine work.”

My face hurt from smiling so wide.  “Well, I’ll be here, probably burning some coffee beans or spilling milk.”

I was disappointed to see Jeremy leave once he’d finished his coffee, and Roger materialized behind me when the front door finally shut.

“How do you already have cute guys hitting on you?  And I got a glimpse of that cappuccino, it was awful.”

“He must have had to choke it down,” I joked, giddy at the thought of seeing Jeremy again.  “

Roger rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, I’m guessing it wasn’t that hard to pretend to like it.  Cute baristas have that effect; you’re great for business, you know.”

I pushed his arm playfully, and Roger flipped me off.  

My first day and I already loved this new job.  The rest of my shift took up the majority of the day, until the sun had started to sink below the horizon.  I hung up my apron on the hook in the back room and said goodbye to Mack before walking out into the cool city air.

The grin on my face refused to cease throughout the whole bus ride back home, and I practically sprinted to the house.  Maybe things were finally looking up for me.  If I channeled all of my energy into work and school my life might finally get back on track, the way it was meant to be.

I wanted to burst right through the front door, but even before I reached the porch I could hear yelling from inside.  Muffled shouts were coming from the kitchen, and as I slowly stepped into the foyer the voices became clearer.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”  This was Ashton, and his voice was raised in obvious frustration.

“I was thinking about myself and what was best for me.  College was way fucking harder than I thought it would be.”  My blood ran cold at Hannah’s response.  What did Ashton find out?  Who told him about Hannah’s secret, and did he know about mine?

Quickly joining them in the kitchen, I noticed Luke and Michael in the living room, looking like they wanted to melt into the sofa.  I sent them a confused glance, and the subtle shake of Luke’s head told me how serious this was.

Upon seeing me, Ashton turned his attention away from Hannah, scowl deepening.  “Did you know about this?”

I swallowed roughly, trying to read the message behind Hannah’s pleading eyes.  “Um, know about what?”  It was a stupid attempt at a bluff, and Ashton saw right through it.

“That Hannah isn’t home from school on a break, she’s home permanently.”

My mouth opened slightly in an attempt to respond, but Ashton cut me off.

“I mean, why would you leave a university like that?  With everything you could have achieved there?”

This caused my brow to furrow.  So he thought she left on her own, when in reality she was kicked out.  I slid my gaze over to Hannah’s, and she communicated through a silent expression of desperation.

Don’t say anything, she seemed to be begging.  Go with it.

I gave the smallest, most imperceptible I could.  It was Hannah’s secret to reveal, and I wasn’t going to drive a deeper wedge between her and Ashton.

All of a sudden I felt someone come up behind me, and knew without looking it was Calum.  I glanced over, and his dark eyes met mine briefly.  He was much closer than I thought he needed to be, his chest practically touching my shoulder.  Biting my lip, I faced forward again and tried to ignore his soft exhales on my neck.

Pressing a hand to her forehead, Hannah said in a clipped tone, “Ashton, with all due fucking respect, you never went to college.  You have no idea what it’s like, so I don’t understand why you think you get an opinion.”

Ashton looked ready to punch a hole through the drywall.  “For fuck’s sake, Hannah, because I care about you!  College was supposed to help your future, so what the hell are you supposed to do now?”

This silenced her.  I felt so bad for Hannah; knowing it was all her fault, that she failed so abysmally in her classes and was forced to come home.  She was smart, just not in the typical bookish sense that a university demanded.  I wished I could give her some of mine, because I certainly couldn’t use it right now.

Inhaling shakily, she bawled her fists.  “Ashton.”  Her voice was so weak I thought she was about to cry.  “My future is going to be just fine without you freaking out over it, okay?”

Ashton scoffed, hands on his hips and eyes blazing.  I prayed he just let go of his anger at being lied to, and went over to comfort Hannah.  Yes, she was still lying to him now, which would certainly blow up later, but she needed support.  

My prayers were answered when Ashton let out a defeated exhale and wrapped his arms around Hannah’s smaller frame.  The two of them practically dissolved into each other, breathing together as one.

After a minute they separated, and Ashton cleared his throat.  “We’re gonna go back to my place, spend the night.”

Michael and Luke just nodded, and Calum walked out from behind me to join them in the living room.  As Hannah passed by me, she grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze.  “Thank you,” she murmured.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to process everything.  I felt Calum’s eyes on me, and instantly my heart stopped.  He’d seen Hannah say something, which meant he knew our answers were bullshit.

I felt trapped by his deep brown gaze, completely immobile and at his disposal.  The cogs in his brain were so clearly turning, and I was terrified he would say something.

But then the moment ended, and he looked away, releasing me from his clutches.  

After getting myself a glass of water and grabbing my school bag I collapsed onto a chair at the kitchen table.  Michael grabbed a soda from the fridge and leaned against the stainless steel door.

“Crazy,” he commented, head shaking in disbelief.

“It was like my parents were arguing,” Luke said, shuddering.  “But those two could get through anything, seriously.”

Calum remained quiet, of course, but his expression was thoughtful as ever.

“Hey, how’d your first day go?" Luke asked.  “Did you show them your killer coffee skills?”

I chuckled, flipping a pencil between my fingers to relieve some of my pent up anxiety.  “Turns out my skills are less than killer.  I can brew some great black coffee, but no one really orders that.  I think it’ll be really good, though.  The people are great, and the customers were actually nice.”  My thoughts drifted to Jeremy, and a small smile danced across my lips.  “I have an early shift tomorrow though, 7am.”

“Rough,” Michael replied.  “Godspeed, I won’t be awake till noon.”

I chuckled, and was surprised when Calum finally spoke up.  “The customers are nice until you screw up someone’s triple shot macchiato and they flip their shit on you.”

I bit my lip, dreading that scenario.  “I’ll, uh, try to avoid that.”

Calum nodded, and with that he disappeared from the kitchen.

Pulling books out of my bag, started mentally organizing the work I had to do.  Luke and Michael went off to bed, Michael opting for the futon downstairs since Ashton and Hannah had left.

I was alone in the kitchen, trying desperately to focus on the study of neurological activity in the sleeping brain, but I just couldn’t get my mind off of Hannah.  We were both lying to everyone we cared about, and sooner or later the truth would come out.  I wasn’t prepared to face the music about my parents, though, and the last thing I wanted was people finding out I was destitute.  If I could just hold on a little longer, work for a while and keep studying, everything would be fine.

The hardest part would be putting up with Calum.  He was so cold and brooding, and clearly had no respect for personal space as I learned tonight by how close he stood to me.  I could still feel the tickle of his breath on my neck, and raised a hand to gently rub the skin.

- - - - -

I had no idea I’d fallen asleep at the table until someone was shaking me awake.  My eyes blinked open, blurry from sleep and disorientation.  It was still dark out, and I wondered who would be up at this hour.

“What’s happening?” I asked, my voice gravelly.  I rubbed my eyes and made out Calum’s figure standing next to me, arms folded with a frown.

“Would you rather I let you sleep through your shift?  It’s 5:30, and I know you’ve got a bus to catch.  And, you know, take like an hour just getting ready.”  Before I could process what he said he turned away from me to fiddle with something in the cupboard.

I was slightly shocked.  Calum remembered when my shift was?  And cared enough to wake me up?  I had no idea what to make of this, and was too tired to work it through.

“Thanks.”  I yawned and began to load my books back into my bag, moving slowly as my body was weighed down with exhaustion.

“I think the point is to read the books, not use them as pillows,” Calum criticized.

Scowling at his attitude, I ripped the zipper a little harshly, causing him to actually look over.  

“I was reading them,” I rebutted.  “I just...got tired I guess.”

“Aren’t college kids supposed to be responsible and organized?”

“Are you saying I’m not?”

He crossed his arms, body language defensive.  “I’m just saying, you’re the one who fell asleep and almost missed your shift.  I’d say that’s pretty irresponsible.”

Sighing loudly, I rubbed my temples to try and banish the slight ache in my brain.  “It is way too early for this stupid argument,” I muttered.

“We’re not arguing, I’m just telling you.” 

“Yeah, well, thanks for telling me I’m disorganized and irresponsible.  Got anything else to say, or can I get ready for work now?”

I stood up and started towards the stairs, glaring his way.  Calum just shrugged, smug expression painted across his stupid face. 

“Nope, wouldn’t want to make you late.”  I was tempted to slap the sardonic smirk right off his face, but opted instead to leave him alone in the kitchen.

I took a quick shower and made myself look presentable as possible, changing into work clothes and grabbing my bag before quickly escaping out the front door.  I didn’t feel like running into Calum again after his wonderful wake up call.

Work was busy in the beginning, and Roger and I struggled to keep up for a while.  But our rhythm from yesterday finally kicked in, and with each drink I served I felt more and more confident.  When the rush ended, the two of us high-fived and let out triumphant exhales of relief.

“You know, Scarlett, you and I make a good team.”

I grinned at Roger, overjoyed at how quickly I was picking up new skills.  I just hoped Mack was impressed enough to give me the job in two weeks.

Before I could answer him, the bell jingled.  I recognized Jeremy’s chestnut hair immediately, and suppressed a squeal of excitement.  Just what I need, I thought giddily.

When Jeremy approached the counter I made sure to look calm and collected.  He smiled that winning smile, and I felt my knees go weak.

“Told you I’d be back,” he said.

“What can I mess up for you today?  A latte maybe?  I’m getting good at screwing those up,” I informed him with a laugh, and I was glad to see the crinkles by his eyes return.

“Actually,” he began, making my heart somersault with worry.  “I’m not here for coffee.  I’m here for you.”

My eyebrows shot up, and I hoped my face didn’t betray my secret exhilaration.

“Really?” I responded, pressing my lips together.  “And why is that?”

“Normally, I take girls out to places like this on a first date,” he said, and I was hanging on to every word.  “But seeing as you’re probably sick of it, how ‘bout we skip that part and go straight to dinner?”

My face broke into a wide smile, and I was almost too excited to reply.  “That’s really considerate of you,” I joked.  “Dinner sounds amazing.”

Jeremy actually looked relieved, like he was nervous I’d say no.  As if anyone could say no to that face.

“Great, that’s great.  How about tonight?  I’ll pick you up at 8.”

“Sure, give me your phone and I’ll add my number.”  He passed it over, and I fought to keep my fingers steady.  Handing it back, we smiled at each other like idiots.

“See you tonight, Scarlett,” he said, and I watched him disappear out of the cafe all the way down the street.

I turned to see Roger gaping at me like I had three heads.

“What?”

“How come no one hits on me like that?” he pouted.  

I tapped my cheek in contemplation.  “Maybe it’s those spike earrings?  They’re wildly intimidating.”

Roger snorted, and waved his hand at me dismissively.  “Oh shut up.  You’re about to bounce of the walls you’re so happy.”

“Hell yeah I am.”

#5 seconds of summer #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #5sos smut #calumhood #calum hood imagine #calum 5sos #calum hood smut #calum hood fanfiction #calm #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin smut #masterlist #luke hemmings #luke hemming imagines #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings smut #michael clifford #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford fanfiction #michael clifford smut #youngblood #sounds good feels good

[kimjongdaely]

The Art of Sin [Chapter 4] [M]

Gang!AU, Racer!AU, Tattoo Artist!AU

Pairing: Chen x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, vandalism

Summary: He’s an artist. He does it all for the ‘art.’ Tattooing. Racing. Sex. All because he thinks they’re beautiful. There’s no one here that doesn’t know his name, because it’s everywhere. On every graffiti-filled wall, every tattooed skin, every cheer of the crowd. His name is there somewhere, because it’s all his—this world. And when he lays his eyes on you—well, he’s never seen anything more beautiful. And he’s going to make you his masterpiece.

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3 [M]│Chapter 4 [M]│Chapter 5 [M]│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8 [M]

You blink, groaning at the light that streams in through the curtains. You roll over, snuggling deeper into the sheets, refusing to get up just yet.

You hear a soft chuckle, warm lips that brush your forehead. “Awake yet, princess?”

Your eyes snap open, for a moment being unable to recognize the voice. There’s a gentle smile on Chen’s face, a little amused as he watches the confusion, then realization flash in your eyes.

“I’m awake.” You mumble, feeling suddenly embarrassed, painfully aware of your nudity—and, well, his. There’s no reason to be embarrassed though, you remind yourself.

“I’m going to go shower.” He says, getting up and stretching. You avert your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat. You’re only able to hum a reply before he heads into the bathroom, the sound of water running seconds later.

You push yourself up, locating your discarded clothes and putting them back on. You try your hardest to comb through your messy hair, waiting for Chen to come out so you can use the bathroom next. You pause, staring at yourself in the mirror over the bedside table, seeing your disheveled appearance and the dark hickeys that litter your neck. Looking down the neck of your shirt, you find that your chest and stomach are equally covered in hickeys.

Oh god, this is so embarrassing. You hug yourself, shivering as you remember what happened. You don’t even know what happened. You were never the type to do one-night stands, never the type to sleep with a guy you literally just met.

And yet here you are. You’re not sure if the churning feeling in your stomach is regret. It’s hard to pinpoint what you’re feeling at the moment.

The shower stops. You feel your heart pound as you listen to soft shuffling through the bathroom door, and moments later Chen comes out with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, steam rolling out.

You quickly look away again, a conditioned reflex. He chuckles, ruffling the water out of his hair. “What’s wrong? You saw me last night, didn’t you?”

You feel so fucking warm right now, and you kind of want to jump out the window. “Y-Yeah...sorry, I don’t usually do this so I’m a little...shy? I guess?”

He laughs again, pushing the wet hair out of his face and holy shit how does someone look so good— “You sure weren’t shy when you were begging me to fu—”

“Okay! Yes!” You shoot up, yelling to cover his words, embarrassed and annoyed of his teasing. “You were quite the jerk yesterday, by the way.”

He saunters over, pulling your chin towards him, letting you see his shit-eating grin. “Sorry, you were so cute that it made me want to bully you.”

His warm breath fans over your cheek, and he smells amazing. Like vanilla and warm fires, a comforting scent that makes your body relax and tense at the same time.

You shiver at the warmth radiating off him, and you want to get closer, want him to hold you but you’re definitely not going to be that girl. Even if you did sleep with him.

He smirks, cocking his head teasingly at you before pulling away. He grabs his shirt from the floor, pulling it on. “By the way, where do you wanna go?”

“Go?” You repeat, confused. You try not to look at him as he wears his pants.

“For our date.” He answers, finally fully dressed. “You said you would go on one with me last night.”

You blink, puzzled. You have no recollection of such conversation whatsoever.

“Well, I’m not letting you back out now.” There are so many secrets hidden in his smile. Your mind blanks, unable to comprehend the situation you’re in.

“I don’t mind going on a date.” You start slowly, “But why me?”

He scoffs. “Are you really asking me that after last night?”

“My question still stands.”

He pushes the hair out of his eyes again, since they keep falling back down. He huffs, “It’s because I think you’re beautiful.”

You raise a brow at him. “Why thank you. But you’re pretty shallow, aren’t you?”

“I am.” He answers without any hesitation whatsoever. “I am very shallow, actually. So?”

You blink at him, letting his words seep in. You can’t help but burst out laughing at his bluntness. Well, at least he’s very honest. “Alright. Meet me at the aquarium at nine. You have my number, right?”

He cocks his head oddly at you. “Why? Can’t we just go together now?”

“No way. I’m going home first.” You tell him.

He still looks confused. “Why bother?”

You poke the gap between his brows like you would to a child, wagging her finger. “It’s a date, right? I can’t be going in these dirty clothes.”

“Dirty.” He laughs, earning a good smack on the head.

The aquarium is bustling with people. Not surprising, since it’s Saturday. You feel refreshed after a nice hot shower. You’re glad you chose the aquarium off the top of your head, because you’re sure you’d melt under the sun if you chose something outdoors.

Chen is ten minutes early, which is a surprise. You expected him to be late or something (he just seemed like the type of douchebag), but no. He looks good, hair swiped up and changed into a loose, flowery shirt that you’re pretty sure only he can pull off, and black leather pants. He looks like he actually made an effort, and that makes you smile.

“Hey,” he greets, a grin on his face as he sweeps your look. “You look nice.”

You flush, “Thanks.”

It feels weird to be on a date with him like this. Everything about this is weird, since you’ve completely switched up the steps. Shouldn’t people normally go on at least a few dates first before they sleep together?

You peak at him from under your lashes, watching him smile charmingly at the worker behind the counter of the ticket booth. You hardly know him at all, to be honest. Just his first name and occupation.

He gets the tickets, and you head towards the entrance of the aquarium, letting the cool air hit your face. Waiting in line was absolute torture in this crazy heat.

You love the coolness of the aquarium—not just in the sense of their great air-conditioning. You love the shades of blues you see everywhere, the calm atmosphere as you stare at the sea creatures swimming about. Everything here seems like it might stop time, and you can spend days just sitting here staring at the tanks.

If only there weren’t so many darn people today.

“They always start with shallow water before they go into the ocean, right?” Chen asks, glancing at the long line of people hogging the sides of the fish tanks. “I wanna see the sharks.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Of course you do.” Somehow you knew he would say that before he did. Like you know him better than you really do.

“Then let’s breeze through this section.” He says, grinning like a child would on a field day. Which, you suppose, is an accurate depiction of what’s happening. He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers. “Wouldn’t want to get separated.”

It feels odd holding his hand like this, but not unpleasant. Though you’ve slept with him, this is the first time you felt anything that remotely resembles being a couple.

You shake that thought away. You’re on your first date. He might not even want to pursue anything after this. You shouldn’t get your hopes up or dream up silly things.

You grab some snacks as a quick lunch before you go further.

Like he said, you scanned the tanks near the beginning—they didn’t seem all that interesting and you sure as hell didn’t have the patience to wait for all the people to get their fill before moving on.

You head through the tunnel, seeing the sharks and other colorful fish swimming up ahead, a scuba-diver waving at the guests as he feeds them. As you near the Open Ocean exhibit, the lights get dimmer to resemble the real habitat, and somehow it seems less people loiter around here.

You and Chen sit down in front of the giant tank, just watching the fishes. This is calm and quiet and you sometimes wish you could bring a book and just sit here until they close.

But that would be a boring date, so you offer to leave.

“It’s okay.” He answers, staring at the fish. “I wanna stay in the air-condition for a little longer.”

His answer surprises you a little, but it makes you happy. Like he feels the same way.

How wonderful would that be?

After dinner, Chen sends you home like a gentleman. The whole day has been surprisingly chill; uneventful, even. It’s just a date like any other, and though you had a lot of fun and really enjoyed his sarcasm and wit (as well as countless fish jokes), you can’t help the strange nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You were also pretty skeptical about letting him send you home. Sure, you slept with him and went on a date with him, but you’re not sure you trust him with your address.

He didn’t exactly push for it either. He was so casual about it, his tone telling you he didn’t really care either way.

Regardless of any hesitation, you let him send you home anyway. You might regret it if he turns out to be a serial killer, but somehow you doubt that.

“Today was fun.” Chen says at your doorway, flashing you a charming smile. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Yeah.” You answer, smiling back but it’s a little forced, and apparently he can tell as he blinks at you. He doesn’t comment though, ignoring it completely.

“Good night.” He bids, giving you a small wave before he turns, heading back out.

You don’t know why you did it, or what came over you but you grab his arm, pulling him back. He looks surprised, his brow raised as he stares at you. You gulp, feeling a shiver roll down your spine, hearing alarms blare in your mind but you ignore all of them. “Are you lying to me?”

You’re not even sure what you were trying to do from blurting that out; such a random thing to say, especially after a great first date.

He blinks at you again, his eyes shining with shock and mirth at the same time. He tilts his head at you. “...No?”

Okay, you definitely phrased it weird. You steel yourself, letting go of his hand since he doesn’t seem to be leaving anymore. You look him in the eyes, trying to decipher them, though you find nothing. “Last night you were...different.” You swallow thickly, weighing the words and grabbing for the right ones. “When I was getting my tattoo, during our date, you seemed so...proper. So charming and that...freaks me out, if you know what I mean?”

He gives out a little laugh. “Uh, no? Isn’t that good?”

“It should be.” You answer. “And I would’ve bought it if last night never happened. If we went straight to the date instead of the sex.” You shake your head, your tone slightly accusing but at the same time deathly certain. “You’re faking it, aren’t you? All that prince charming act. Who are you? Why are you hiding yourself from me?”

He stares at you for a second, really staring you down, as if seeing you in a new light, as if he’s trying to decide if you’re friend or foe. It makes you uncomfortable, makes you shift and avert your eyes.

Then he chuckles, a dark chuckle that brings shivers down your spine, that makes goosebumps erupt over your skin. He corners you against the doorframe, making it so that you can’t go in or out. He leans in, a smirk on his lips. “What if I am faking it? So what? Princess, you don’t want to know who I really am. You should just accept what you’re shown. Believe the lies. No one gets hurt that way.”

You shake your head, terrified and curious at the same time, whispering, “But I want to know.”

He chuckles again, breath fanning your cheek before he moves to lean into your ear, his lips grazing the shell and you shake, become putty in his presence. “Trust me. You’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m not scared.” Your voice is tiny though, an evident contradiction. Of course you’re scared. You really are; all the possibilities swimming in your mind but somehow...none of that matters. You want to know. Need to know, almost as if your heart and mind are desperately begging for the truth.

He pauses, contemplating before he breathes out, pulling away. “Alright.” His voice is low, his eyes dark. He smirks as he holds out his hand for you. “Don’t regret it.”

He takes you back to EXO Customs, but holy shit.

This is nothing like you’ve seen before. There are lights flashing, people absolutely everywhere. It’s crazy loud, music booming along with people’s cheers. Through gabs between the people, you see beautiful race cars lined up, people making bets and drinking alcohol.

“W-What’s going on?” You ask, a little terrified of the wild atmosphere, sticking a little closer to Chen.

“A race.” He answers. “We often get challenges and get into races. Happens most weekends. It can get pretty intense.”

“And you...?” You ask, staring at him.

“I race, yeah.” He shrugs. “Sometimes, not always. Only when they need a spot filled or when things seem fun for me.” He points at a glossy black BMW, red streaks of flames painted on, seemingly glowing under the flashing lights. “I painted that beauty. Not too bad, eh?”

“Wait.” You feel dizzy, the lights and colors flashing through your vision. You feel like you’re suffocating, being in this crowd. “You race? You spray paint cars? This race, is it—”

“It’s illegal.” He answers. “We do illegal racing. Drug dealing. Part dealing. Whatever.”

You feel a little sick, unable to believe what you’re witnessing. Illegal stuff. You’ve never touched anything illegal before—always heard rumors and gossip and always rolled your eyes at them. You were never one to go down such a path, to mingle with such people and yet here you are.

“What’s wrong, princess?” He leans down, whispering hotly in your ear so you can hear him above the booming music. “Regretting already?”

You swallow, wanting to admit that, yes, you do regret knowing. He was right. God, he was right about staying away. Believing the lies. You could’ve stayed ‘good.’

But it’s too late. Deep down you know that.

He laughs, voice mixing in with the crowd and he tugs you away, leading you to the garage. “This way.”

He pulls you in, and it’s dark. There’s a pungent smell of gasoline, metal and sweat. Lights reflect off the walls, but it surprisingly drowns out most of the sound, though you can still feel the thumping in the ground, can still hear them in the distance.

“Now you know.” He opens his arms, spinning slowly in a circle as if to show you all of him in its entirety. The illegal racer. Member of a goddamn gang. You should’ve known better. “So,” he breathes out. “Who am I?”

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly. “I think I still need to figure that one out.”

Amused, he laughs. “I’m really liking you.” He corners you against the nose of a car, an abrupt motion that has you fall back, half sitting on the hood. The coolness of the metal makes you flinch. 

“Chen?” You’re a little scared when you call his name, but he merely smiles at you.

“Hey, now you know who I am.” He says. “I don’t have to hold back anymore, right?” His lips find their place on your neck, adding more hickeys to your collection of them. You wonder if he’ll ever let them fade entirely before he adds more.

You moan, and he helps you sit more properly on the hood of the poor car. His scorching hands trail up your legs, and you’re already feeling weak.

“They probably can’t hear you,” he murmurs against your skin, already slick with sweat, “but just in case, can you keep quiet, princess?”

You nod your head, lifting your hips so he can pull down your shorts along with your underwear. You grab his shoulders to steel yourself, holding in a gasp when he slips a finger into you.

“Already wet?” He asks, tutting. “My, you’re even more eager than me.”

He fingers you slowly, and you wonder if he’ll do the same as last time, denying you your orgasm. Still, you obediently keep quiet, digging your nails into his shoulders as you try your hardest not to give in so quickly, not to let your hips move on their own.

He chuckles, seeing the effort you’re putting in. He puts in another finger, curling them and aiming straight for your sweet spot. You see black spots at the ecstasy, heaving as you desperately try to keep in your scream. Your eyes roll back as he hits that spot continuously, gaining in speed. Just from finding it once, it seems he’s already able to recognize where your sweet spot is.

He drags his thumb over your clit, rubbing it profusely, abusing it and you throw your head back, rolling your hips into his hand so desperately as you feel the knot begin to build.

“Chen, please.” You rasp, already unable to control yourself as you move more hurriedly. “Faster. I-I’m going to cum.”

“Cum.” He growls, fingering you even faster, adding a third finger and you almost scream, if he didn’t cover your mouth with his other hand. “Cum for me, princess.”

The sounds and colors explode as you hit your high, body arching, head thrashing as you have no other outlet. His fingers pull out, dripping wet and you flush, so embarrassed of what you’ve done in a public place. He licks his fingers clean, laughing quietly. “Damn, that was hot.”

“Shut up!” You hiss, pulling your pants back on and hopping off—hating the wet, sticking feeling—immensely horrified that you let him do such a thing. “What if someone came in? What if—”

“Chen, you in there?” A deep voice comes, and you cover your mouth to stop the absolutely appalled gasp, glaring at Chen who merely shrugs.

“Yeah,” he answers as a tall form enters. The lights come on, and you blink at the sudden brightness. “Did you finish brooding?”

You recognize the man, his icy white hair. You’ve seen him working on cars when you came for a tattoo. He scowls, a dark expression as he glares at Chen. “Shut up, asshole.” He sees you then, his expression changing immediately into surprise. “Hey, you finally got laid?”

“Yeah,” Chen grins, a cheeky grin filled with mischief as he grabs your hand, pulling you quickly out the garage. He calls back, “Sorry, Yeol!”

What a crude way of saying it. You wonder if you’re just that to him. But you don’t have the time to get angry as you wonder why he apologized before you remember what you had done. On what you assume to be one of Yeol’s cars.

Oh.

Shit.

“CHEN YOU FUCKING DISGUSTING SON OF A BITCH! I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Chen merely laughs, and you can’t help but follow.

Previous Chapter [M]│Next Chapter [M]

The Art of Sin Mini Masterlist

EXO Customs Collab Masterlist

A/N: I did most of this in one sitting. I’m patting myself on the back. I hope you guys are enjoying this fic so far, because I really am! And I’m excited for what’s to come~

Tags: @ninibears-erigom @baekwell--tart @fairyyeols @suhoerections @kpop---scenarios @skjdln @yeoldontknow @kyungseokie @loser-dot-com @writingstuffandmore @enchanting-exo @vivianhuynh77 @dear-fake-diary @weirdsofagirls @wongxiexie @lovebuginlove @noonaofjungkook @thesoondongiefiles @joolsreadsfics @bluepsycopanda @sebootyforlife

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[buckylokistark]

Paintings ~ part I

Summary: Loki fled his home, too tired of being the cause of his father’s constant disappointment. With help from Heimdall, he escapes to Midgard, the last place his father would look for him. In dire need of a job, he meets Y/N, a struggling artist trying to be recognised for her work. Can they help each other or are they holding one another back?

Masterlist Paintings

Loki wasn't the top of the class in Asgard. With muscles that just wouldn't grow and strength that was nearly non-existent, it was inevitable to be one of the underdogs.

"But brother, are you even trying?"

"No determination to make any progress."

"Are you sure you and Thor are related?"

"Seriously lacking in strength, not recommended in battle."

"Well, I guess someone had to be the runt of the litter."

"Lost all fights held."

"Get up and fight! And you call yourself a god?"

It wasn't until he discovered his true heritage that he ran away from everything. Heimdal saw him coming, had already opened the Bifrost to a still unknown planet.

"Midgard", Heimdal replied to him as he approached the gate.

Loki nodded, Midgard was so unknown, the last place anyone would seek for a magical Frost Giant. Now the only thing that remained was to act like an ordinary mortal. Easy, right?

________

The jingle of the bell made you look up to the door. A handsome man, looking very lost, stood on the doormat, shuffling his shoes to get the soles clean before stepping in the store, the door falling slowly shut behing him.

You left the safety of the register and moved to the front of your showroom, meeting the man halfway in front of one of your first paintings, a 100 by 200 centimetres piece inspired by the New York artist Basquiat.

"Hi, how may i help you?"

The man looked at your face, still relatively bothered by the fact he needed to act like he needed help from a Midgardian of all creatures. He was a god, after all, worthy of so much more than what he has been given.

Realising he had no other options, he sighed and took a deep breath before speaking, "I saw you were looking for a shop assistant and I was wondering if I could fill that position?" His posture never changing, radiating constant power through the whole shop.

You were a bit confused how and why a man in a black two-piece suit looking rich as hell even wanted to work here, or anywhere in this neighbourhood really. Shaking away your confusion, you composed yourself before answering his question.

"Yeah, the application is still open, I will have to ask you a few questions up first though, starting with your name..."

"I sense no complications there. The name is Loki, Loki Laufeyson."

Shaking his outstretched hand and replying with yours, you led him to the back of your shop, where your atelier was positioned. The atelier wasn’t much, but then again, so was your showroom. The showroom was 3 by 5 metres, your atelier 3 by 3. Shelves adorned the wall on the left, stacked with all kinds of paint, brushes, spray cans and small canvasses. The wall in front of you was filled with half finished paintings, an easel in the middle of the room holding another one. A tiny table was cramped next to the doorway, two plastic chairs folded against said table.

Walking inside, Loki noticed the plastic sheets on the floor, littered with dry splashes of paint. You gestured to the plastic chair next to the door, seating yourself in the other.

"I’m sorry to hold this meeting here but I have no better place to hold it." You shrug your shoulders apologetically before grabbing some papers that were strewn on the table.

"First of all, I need to see some sort of identification."

Loki nodded and turned to his bag which he had abandoned behind his chair, quickly conjuring a fake, yet very real looking, ID.

You took it from his outstretched hand, looking at it thouroughly before handing it back and nodding.

"I hope it is okay to have an $11.00 wage, it is all I can afford to lose. This job requires you to be good in accounting, resume is not a necessity, I just need someone quick to look after the showroom when I'm gone, you see, I need to inspect the places of customers, so I can make the best painting for them, one that fits their house.

So, what makes you want this job?"

Loki took a deep breath. "Well, I always loved art, but my father was really old-fashioned, always wanting me and my brother to learn how to fight, have brute strength, let the woman stay at home and clean and the men work hard, be a real man, so I had to sneak to my mum and she taught me about different art-forms, cooking, reading, the more feminine side of me, so to speak.

Once I realised I needed to grow up and get a job, I thought why not somewhere fun. I searched and searched, then I found this shop and I was immediatly sold."

"And you don't care much about the, well, significantly smaller wage than normal?"

"My parents are very wealthy, I only started to search for a job because I longed for stability. Work keeps people going, it creates a rythm in your life, something neverchanging in a world of everchanging things." He didn’t mention his ability to replicate and multiply objects, nor the prying eyes of his landlord who was becoming very suspicious about his lack of job and overflow of money.

"Well, I believe you have what it takes, so I’ll give you a two month contract and if everything runs smoothly, we’ll add another six months to it. Sounds okay?"

"Couldn’t be better. Thank you for the opportunity, I will do my best."

"I have good faith in you. Now, would it work for you to let me call you when I need a hand, so you can stay home when you’re not necessarily needed?"

"Oh yes absolutely, I have nothing else to do anyways, nothing that can’t be moved anyways." In his head Loki was already planning to spend his time your shop, the art having taken him captive.

"Great, now the only thing left is for you to fill this last sheet and sign these two papers, one for me and a copy for yourself."

Loki looked at the papers, signed them and then looked at the last form. He just had to fill in his full name, date of birth, his personal and house phone number and his email address. After he finished writing, you ended the conversation, claiming you had a project to finish by tonight. You bid each other a final goodbye and went your separate ways.

As the weeks progressed, you and Loki found a suitable schedule. You had to admit, seeing him in your shop was a bit odd at first, but you had become so used to him being there that it was as if it never was any different.

He always arrived when the clock struck 10, never after, never before. It was weird, seeing as he was only needed when you’d call him. It made it easier when you needed to go and visit people though, but he made you wonder if he had any form of a social life, just working surely couldn’t be good for your health?

Voicing your thoughts, on the other hand, was harder, seeing as you suddenly had more work then you had all year. You started to suspect it had something to do with Loki, though you were, as previously mentioned, too busy to mention.

Just like now, where your project made you lose track of time, which resulted in you being stressed, more so than normal.

"Loki I am so sorry I need to go, I have an appointment in 10 and I still need to clean and I need to change out of my painting clothes and I can’t make it in time!"

Loki watched you run around the shop, catching you by your upper arm as you rushed past him to get out the door. You paused your stressed rambling, looking up at his face, inches away from yours. His hands reached to the collar of your blouse, fixing the weirdly folded seem. Only now you noticed how intimate this position actually was, his breath fanning over your face and his chest touching yours. With dry eyes from the staring, you blink, suddenly remembering your client.

You cleared your throat and took a step sideways, moving to the door.

"Thanks, I will see you once I get back?"

Loki blinked, before smiling and answering, "yes, of course elskling."

He had taken to calling you that, his family’s Norse roots shining through.

Satisfied with the answer, you walked out the door, quickly getting in your car and driving as fast as allowed to try and make it on time. This client was still anonymous, and asked you to meet him in the coffee shop in the Stark Tower. The coffee shop, The Iron Coffee, was notorious for their strong coffee, a replica of the original Italian way. Why your client wanted to meet you there was still a mystery, even though this tells you a lot about him. He likes strong coffee, wich suggests he either has Italian or West-European roots, he likes things to be straight forward, he likes caffeine, what points to him having a job with long days. He obviously has no shortage of money, given the fact he offered to pay for the coffe, which is not cheap at all, and the fact that the price offered for this job is ridiculously high, even if you had to paint a painting to cover an entire wall you would’ve charged less.

You finally arrive at the cafe, a minute to spare. Quickly grabbing your bag with writing equipment (how did that get here?), you opened the door and rushed inside.

The first thing you noticed as you entered was the way a black haired guy in a suit stood up and looked at you. Well, you thought he looked at you, it was a bit hard to see with those big sunglasses on his face.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to him, his eyes, you suspect, following you all the way.

"Hello, my name is Y/N, are you the one i had an appointment with?”

The man smirked, finally removing his sunglasses.

“Depends, are you Y/N?” You opened and closed your mouth a few times. Having recognised his face, you realise you were standing right in front of none other than Tony Stark, former CEO of Stark Industries and billionaire.

#loki laufeyson #loki (marvel) #loki odinson #loki #loki fanfic #marvel #marvel mcu #loki x reader #reader insert #imagine #sad #mental abuse? #michelle’s writings #Paintings ~ Loki Laufeyson

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

“Why” tags are going here because Tumblr’s a baby who can’t handle all these words at once. :P

Why:

#but i spent my whole life absolutely CONVINCED that wings belonged on my body. it just... tok me a good long while to figure out Why.

#Oh THAT'S why everyone's freaking out over that post.

#at first I was like ''Wow this is Srentha to the core!'' And then I read ''why this unreasonable answer at the sight

#honestly this is why i'm basically addicted to empty-mind meditation?

#??? why do people do these awful things to Good People though

#i don't know how or why and i don't remember ever having Learned about That Letter? but my mind automatically knew it was 'hath' somehow

#Of course that DOES beg the question of why a LORd of CHAOS doesn't... you know. CHANGE it? ??

#first of all: REM WHY ARE YOU COMING to OHIO of all places???

#okay but. randy how did they MEET what's the STORY why are they HATING on TEXAS

#or like. a Sarcastic Joke because cyborg was once like ''why aren't you miss mary sunshine''?

#''What are you DOING. You RUN. ALWAYS RUN.'' and i was like. ''why bother getting into adventures if you're gonna RUN though..''

#I don't know why but I always score better on Customer Service Questionaires when I choose responses like ''I'm sorry

#i've never seen that still before and I CAN;T FATHOM WHY because that is FANTASTIC!

#I don't know why but ''novice suddenly ends up with super incredibly powerful abilities'' is one of my FAVORITE TROPES!

#I have no idea how/why but these just gave me Massive Leyla and Srentha Feels.

#my usual turnaround time for Dreams to Real Life is about two weeks. not sure why but it happens to like 7 people in my immediate family

#Especially with the bells. I don't know why but bells always remind me of that place. ~<3

#Nobody intrinsically knows how to solve problems that hurt another person. That's why COMMUNICATION is so important!

#also: Good Post re: Why Danny is So Actually-Great

#why does everyone spell ''bear with me' like that?

#i know right? Why did I never think of that??

#why do i love this so much

#that's basically why Evanescence became my favorite band. it's not all romo-/sexually-centric

#i've always read it the same way and didn't notice Why Everyone Stopped Liking Her but that also brought that particular Change to light...

#groans eternally in Tumblr's direction. why even bother with all these updates.

#Oh THAT'S why Eda could do glyphs! /joke

#thaaaat's probably why Fancie Word Choice has always been a strength in my writing.... {lD;;;;;

#velvet and sheer... why have I never seen that combination before? It's GLORIOUS

#That's probably why he's so good at spontaneous Travelling too. Lots of practice when trying to find her... /owo

#This is why House and Senate votes count though! The President may have a lot of control over the military but a strong H+S

#I know MC Escher was a master of this (whatever This is) and that's why he's one of my favorite artists.

#okay but I'm intensely curious why he didn't have a plan to take HIMSELF out and thought he'd have to rely on THEM dsfndsgmfhdgj

#I wonder why he'd need to attack/defend while shifted? Can he also use such magic when he's not shifted?

#but I think that variety is why her every new album is so refreshingly Different.  Her singing ALONE improves so MUCH with every album!

#the only difference is that I imagined the fire came with smoke and that's why her gasp was so strangled and she grabbed her throa

#honestly this is why i'm basically addicted to empty-mind meditation?

#i'm cleaning my room and i misplaced it. badfnmkngjf;lk this is why i hate cleaning

#but scenes like this are why i love DC's latest gen of animated movies

#that Friends As Family theme was super important to why i love the 80's comics too..........

#this is why i read fanfic

#i think she feels slighted in some way but i can't pinpoint Exactly Why let alone HOW.

#and it's like.. Halfo f why lapis's characterization is so Shaky for me? Because the girl barely talks??? And she has like 7 Speech Modes

#^^^^ GUYS THIS WAS ALERINA. This is the environment Dove was raised in! This is why losing her mother tore her apart! ^^^^^

#This is so so SO important and delves deeply into why language is so important for learners and general humanity alike. ~<333

#that's why my tag for Old People Stories isn't specific to any generation. it's just Shitty Adults Being Shitty

#I write primarily about OCs and I know that's why my readership is so low. I write stories for a Dead Fandom that has declined sharply.

#you know? so that's why my Affirmations Tag is like 60% Steven UniversE Content at this point. 8F It's Helping Me Learn!

#It's a CIRCADIAN THING not an INSOMNIA THING. I don't know why my doctors don't believe it's NOT the same as INSOMNIA

#oh is THAT why my love language is ''all of them''?

#and i hardcore headcanon ry ouwearing glasses when he gets older. so why not?

#i Suck at the aCTUAL DRAWING art but i'm i na bit of a fallow period with the org and personal life. so why not?

#i'm already planning an aviary for the doves. so why not? (they'd be Very Separate from teh raven though. for obvious reasons)

#let's add to the Emotional Whiplash of Today pile. sure! why not!!

#but i got the dvd and i have vlc so why not use them i guess? i already had it in the drive for the extras and this way there's .....

#She can hop dimensions so why on Earth-- ALL the Earths-- hasn't she Been Relevant to ANY multi-timeline crisis yet???

#yes of fucking COURSE Dove and the rest are in Team Transition too!! Why on Earth-- on ANY earth! wouldn't I transition them too?!

#so why on earth did danny chase get shafted so hard?????

#about WHY or if she's GONNA be OKAY or HOW or--

#So gentle and soft and concerned and really quite quiet and subtle... which might be why others didn't pick up on the Love Vibe

#but the last one I reblogged didn't have that specified! 8O i don't know why one of my special interests is Unusual Instruments

#why WOULDN'T you snog a snitch if it could bring your dead loved ones back though? Why on Earth WOULDN'T you???

#but it's about ''they're very different. but they're friends!'' It just never talks about why or how that's important.

#(i think that's her full name for some reason but i don't know why or when i heard/saw it. somebody please correct me if i'm wrong!)

#I must be an Asker. I've never understood why people are so convinced they Can't Say No if someone asks?

#i also think PTSD makes you react to fear Differently from Pure Adrenaline Responses... but i can't unravel Why right now

#And also at the time I couldn't fathom why someone would think she was autistic. because i didn't know myself

#god this foreshadowing was just. so sincere and heart-rending and when this episode came out I *DID* wonder why she'd say that...

#I'm STILL trying to figure out why Srentha thought Dove was confessing that she has heartworm. (i know she Does Not in fact

#at first I was like ''Wow this is Srentha to the core!'' And then I read ''why this unreasonable answer at the sight

#i can't figure out why though

#If my Harmony Core theory is correct: it would explain why they're playing their music So Hard.

#the fact that my first reaction was ''why though'' is..... concerning?

#raven's like How? Why The HELL. and dove doesn't have a good answer besides ''it felt like i needed it.''

#fun fact: i misread this as ''zatana zatara / MICHIGAN '' and i was like... ''why the fUCK--''

#i don't know why there's all this fanart of

#and also sugar skulls are delightful but you should really know what they MEAN and REPRESENT and WHY they're sweet and flamboyant

#if someone is passionate; angry; or distressed over a topic: She doesn't always understand WHY until they EXPLAIN it. If they do at all.)

#oh hey why was THAT line never a meme

#this is why we need

#but that doesn't make it any less FRUSTRATING because I've been wORKING THROUGH the pptsd and why won't it STOP?

#(because that's why we have to pay for everything from movies to individual channels now. let's be real)

#i've never understood why winter and fall were the only ~fashionable~ seasons for wearing black.

#I mean to be FAIR some of the government DID mobilize and that's why we got the Stimulus Bill.

#But DC... this bullshit is why we can't have nice things

#and as soon as I looked it up: y first thought was ''Oh is that why we call them Abner?'' My second was ''Is that what *I* am?''

#also if you're as powerful as zee it probably comes second-nature so why WOULDN'T you throw it around to stop an argument?

#okay but if SPINEL doesn't know then how/why would BLUE know

#what? no i didn't just stare at this for a solid two minutes and read it over five times. no.. why would I do that?

#that's because it's not ''cool'' to hate on it so why would it be ''cool'' to like it ironically?

#why WOULDN'T you snog a snitch if it could bring your dead loved ones back though? Why on Earth WOULDN'T you???

#but it's not like a ragey angry thing. it's like........ war of attrition? why yes i think i WILL sign the 47th petition for the same thing

#over and over again and rewound and replayed until i got the whole spell written down. why YES I'm a little hyperfixated! why do you ask!!!

#tag game #rhs blog

[missweber]

Lardo Week Day 2: accident

Here is my entry for day 2 of @lardo-week

Chapter 2 - happy accidents 

(chapter 1 can be found here)

One of Larissa's very first studio assignments at Samwell didn't actually take place in the studio. To fulfill the assignment, they had to go to a sports practice and fill a number of sketchbook pages with gesture drawings of athletes in motion.

As an assignment, it was a darned good one that she normally would have enjoyed. The only problem was that Boston was in the middle of a heat wave and even teams that had practice at ass-o-clock in the morning would be sweating through their jocks and/or sports bras in five seconds flat.

In short, yuck.

(Also, Lardo had already learned the hard way that charcoal and copious amounts of sweat were not mixy things.)

She skimmed through the athletic calendar looking for something like 'competitive air-conditioned yoga' but figured in the end that ice hockey—emphasis on the ice—was her best bet.

If it hadn't been for her phone's battery conking out in the middle of the night and killing her alarm, she would have gone to the women's practice at o' dark early. As it was, she got to Faber after the men's team had already taken to the ice.

She got a few curious glances from the players, but their captain (she assumed it was the captain) barked at them to pay attention to the ice, not the stands. One of the coaches nodded at her sketchbook and asked, "Professor Davila's life drawing class?" without expecting an answer. 

It wasn't until she actually started drawing that Larissa realized why she was the only member of her class who had taken advantage of the cool of the rink. Yes, she had heard of the hockey team's general loudness and obnoxiousness, but that wasn't the problem. The shouts and insults ('chirps,' she would later learn) were a comfortable part of the background along with the swish-swish-swish of the skates and the clatter of the sticks.

The problem was more fundamental than that, and brought with it an echo of her mother's protests of you need to focus on what's practical, sweetie. You need to set yourself up for a successful life.

Practical would mean staying at home and taking the T to school every day. Practical would mean constant, well-meaning, 'we just want the best for you' commentary on her choice of studies.

Well, fuck practical. And what did it mean to be successful, anyway?

A small, exhausted part of her said that successful people didn't have to work at one of the campus dining halls to make up for what her partial scholarship and college fund wouldn't cover.

And drawing hockey players wasn't the most practical way to succeed at this particular assignment. 

Larissa was debating whether or not she should just give up and join the majority of her class at the soccer fields when someone scraped to a halt right in front of where she was sitting.

Whoever it was had better not ask her to 'draw him like one of your French girls,' or he would need a gastroenterologist to remove his hockey stick from his ass. 

"What?" she snarled.

The player wasn't anyone Larissa had met before. She would have recognized that mustache for sure. His eyes were wide, and he held his stick in front of him in both hands like a talisman.

"Wow," mustache-guy said. "I was going to tell you to try to capture my left side, because that's the best angle if you want to do a portrait of me, but _damn _if that isn't the single scariest death glare I have seen in my life! Jack! C'mere! You gotta see this death glare!"

The captain skated over, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Leave the nice artist alone, Shits." He turned to Larissa. "I apologize. In advance. For everything."

He grabbed mustache-guy by the back of the jersey and skated off with him in tow. 

Mustache-guy flailed and squirmed, but not to the point of actual resistance. "Jaaaaaack! You need to stop and talk to the scary lady! That death glare! Put her on D, and we'll have Brown shaking in their skates!"

The captain (Jack?) mouthed a silent 'sorry!' at her before turning his attention back to practice.  

She had just made up her mind to go draw soccer players for the rest of her assignment when the practice finally ended. She flipped through her sketches and was pleasantly surprised to find that she had nearly two-thirds of what was required.

She was less pleasantly surprised when mustache-guy scraped to a stop in front of her again.

"Um, I know this is really fucking forward of me, and you are totally free to say no—and wow, it's kind of fucked up that I even have to say that, isn't it?—but anyway..."

Oh, god. He was going to ask her out, wasn't he?

"I absolutely get it if you don't want to, completely one-hundred-percent get it, but could I see what you've been drawing?"

Lardo could only stare for a moment. "It's just gesture drawings," she blurted out even as she shoved the sketchbook at him.

"Gesture drawings?" He pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth so he could turn the pages. She could see how he looked at each little sketch in turn, not just skimming, but looking.

"Yeah. We're supposed to focus on capturing how the human form looks in motion."

The figures were roughly blocked out, with the occasional thick and swooping line showing the curve of a spine or sweep of a leg.

"These are really neat," he said after a while. "I mean, they're kind of scribbly in parts, but you can really see what's happening. Hell, I can even tell who some of these guys are!"

'Jack' was a tall, solid figure with classical proportions. "You can see how this this fucker just moves with power! Ah! Adonis made manifest on earth! And that's Johnson if I ever saw him," he said, pointing at a mess of foreshortening.

That was the goalie, captured as he dropped to block a puck, practically folding himself into something out of an Escher drawing in the process.

"Rans and Holster," he said, pointing at a tangle of overlapping forms that were still two separate people even though they occupied the same space. 

He turned to look through the pictures again, which was more flattering than Larissa would ever admit to anyone, while most of the other players headed towards the locker room.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm glad to hear that they work. I was beginning to think that coming here was a mistake."

The betrayed look on his face would have been hilarious if it wasn't so heartbreaking. "Mistake? No! There are no mistakes! Only happy accidents!"

Larissa laughed. "Did you just quote Bob Ross at me?"

"Please don't tell me you're one of those snobby art students who–"

"Bob Ross is awesome the way Mr. Rogers is awesome," she said plainly. "I'm not into his actual paintings, but you gotta love the way he loves what he does."

"Amen," mustache-guy said, sounding more serious than she would have expected. He was looking at his captain—Jack—as he said it.

(It was only after Larissa became Lardo that she would understand even half of what was going on with that look and everything behind it.)

"So why were you worried coming here was a mistake? Please tell me that none of the guys were douchewaffles! I know we're loud, but it's like we're the lacrosse team!"

"Ha! No, Professor Davila warned us away from them. What threw me were the pads. They make it hard to see what's actually going on, anatomy-wise."

She almost regretted that the instant she said it, because she could imagine all of the lewd comments she had just set herself up for.

That didn't happen. All that happened was that Mustache-guy nodded solemnly and Captain Jack glanced over to make sure he didn't need to come over and apologize for something.

"I see. It must be like trying to draw the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man."

"Close enough." She didn't laugh, but she did let a hint of a smile show through the unimpressed look.

"By the way, you can call me Shitty. That's not my real name, but that's actually worse."

"Hey, Shits!" Jack called out. "Ask her if she's interested in the team manager job!"

"Team manager? Like managing your team? The hockey team?" she asked Shitty. Strangely, the name fit him, but not in a bad way.

Shitty nodded.

"I don't know how to skate!" she shouted at Jack.

Jack stared at her as if she had just sprouted two extra heads and a tail. 

Shitty cackled. 

Johnson, who had been hanging around doing not much of anything, muttered something about not being needed after all and left the rink.

Shitty wiped away teas of laughter. "Aw... I think you broke Jack's poor, Canadian brain. Anyhow, skating isn't needed for the job. Dealing with stinky hockey equipment, on the other hand, is."

She shrugged. "It can't be worse than what I smell like after working the deep-fryer all afternoon. What's the pay like?" she asked, because being practical did have its time and place.

The pay wasn't much, but it was better than what the dining hall offered. 

"Well, I'd say this was a successful drawing session," she said as they exchanged fist-bumps. 

"Yup. Here's to happy accidents!"

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #my fic #lardo duan

[spn-mediabigbang]

Rules (for Mobile)

(We understand our rules page isn’t accessible via mobile, so here are the rules in a separate post.)

Welcome to the SPN Media Big Bang Rules!

Welcome to the second annual SPN Media Big Bang, a collaborative fan creation challenge similar to fandom bangs that you're probably used to, but with a movie, TV, book, or video game twist! Writers are free to write SPN fanfiction based on the media of their choosing - that means fusions, AUs, cross-overs, and 'inspired by's! Artists will anonymously claim these fics, then create two pieces of art and a banner. We've allotted authors seven months to create a fanfiction of at least 20k words, and given artists three months to create glorious companion pieces of art.

Readers, keep an eye out on February 22nd, 2020 for promotions (everyone loves teasers before the movies!) Then April 18th, 2020...grab your popcorn and settle in, because SPN Media Big Bang (MBB) fics go live on a screen near you!

Sincerely from the Directors of SPN MBB 2020,

Malmuses, jscribbles, and Blueeyesandpie (Sunny)

About the Mods

Meet your Directors!

"Aaaaaaand cut!"

Meet the three freaky-deaky minds that will be running this year's SPN Media Big Bang. This wacky trio will be the point of contact for teams participating in this year's challenge.

Jscribbles and MalMuses run all social media for SPNMBB, moderate the Discord community, and will act as support for all people involved in this bang.

Blueeyesandpie (Sunny), this years spectacular addition to the moderator team, will be the first Art Director of this challenge! Sunny will be overseeing the art channels, acting as first point of contact for all artists, and will be generally supporting all the artsy needs of our artsty-fartsy folk.

The Directors are judge, jury, executioner, cheerleaders, fangirls, and a shoulder to cry on - though they hope there is minimal crying unless it is crying with joy because the challenge is so fun.

MalMuses (Director)

MalMuses will be your whiskey aunt, your mom, your best friend, and now, potentially your very own Director. Mal has been in the SPN fandom since Season 9. A late-bloomer by fandom standards, but fully enthusiastic!

Her favorite movies include V for Vendetta, The Village, Shaun of the Dead, Dale and Tucker vs Evil, and All of the Halloween Movies. In terms of fic taste, she's the token darkfic, murder-husbands fan, with a decent seasoning of H/C and pure angst. Oh...and fluff for dessert. Nom.

Jscribbles (Director)

jscribbles has been watching SPN since the first episode... It's been 84 years. She remembers watching the first Castiel episode and thinking, "Who the hell is this guy? I don't like it. I don't like it at all." It only took about one episode's worth of Cas screen-time before she was hopelessly obsessed with that trenchcoated son of a bitch.

Her favourite movies involve anything that'll give her nightmares, a mental breakdown, or fits of laughter that last three days. Some would include Bridesmaids, The Evil Dead, The Time Traveller's Wife, Galaxy Quest, and The Lion King. Her favourite fanfics involve anything super dark that include one or more of the boys crying and/or having a bad, bad time -- with a happy ending!

Sunny (Art Director)

Sleep? I don't know her! Sunny's your personal solar-powered battery: hit-her-up for a pick-me-up, any time of day or night. She only got into SPN two years ago, but she's happy to share who and what she loves with anyone who will listen.

Her current favorite non-SPN media includes Good Omens, Stranger Things, and American Gods, but her faves list is miles long. When it comes to fic she gravitates toward Endverse!Cas...give me that snarky nihilism any day, baby!

Discord Rules

All participants will be required to join our Discord community. If you are not part of the Discord community, unfortunately, you will not be considered officially signed up for the bang.

Authors and artists will receive a link to our Discord server in their welcome emails.

This community will serve as a home-base for all participants of the SPN Media Big Bang to share resources, cheerlead, find betas, brainstorm ideas, and chat in general. This community will be an inclusive space for creativity, and of all people, identities, ships, and ideas.

The directors will be there for you as cheerleaders, support, to answer questions, and to clarify rules. Participants in this community are expected to behave like adults, especially since this is an 18+ community and are expected to deal with their interpersonal issues themselves. That being said, directors will step in if a complaint is made, or someone is discussing their fics/art in the wrong room. Our priority is to keep the claims process as anonymous and fair as possible.

General Discord Rules

Our rules are very simple:

Authors: Do not discuss your fics at all in 'The Green Room' (General Chat) or 'The Red Carpet' (Introductions). These rooms are open to all server members and any discussion of your fic or fic ideas will jeopardize the anonymity of the claims process. All fic chat is to be in the 'The Writer's Room', the portion of our server dedicated to inter-author communication.

Artists: Do not discuss your art in the 'The Green Room' (General Chat) or 'The Red Carpet' (Introduction). These rooms are open to all server members and any discussion of your art or art ideas will jeopardize the fun and surprise of posting day. All art chat is to be in the 'The Art Department', the portion of our server dedicated to inter-artist communication.

Everyone: Everyone is entitled to their opinions. We do not police what is discussed in the chats, because we believe everyone is an adult and can handle themselves. That being said, we do strive to be an inclusive server and expect participants to be respectful of each other. The directors reserve the right to step in and intervene if they feel the need. Sexism, homophobia, racism, xenophobia, and other forms of offensive disrespect and intolerance against participants may result in disqualification.

Please note: If you sign up as both an artist and author, you will have access to all the rooms, however, you understand that if you decide to sign up as both, you will be restricted to claiming a fic (as an artist) only on the second day of claims. If all fics are claimed on the first day, then that may mean you won’t be able to claim a fic if there are none left. Also, you may register as both an author and artist, but you may not make art for your own fic.

Furthermore, if you are participating in any other fest or bang, please respect their rules and do not use our server to discuss your fics from those fests.

Roles

When participants enter the Discord server, they will be asked to disclose the following information:

What role did you sign up for? Artist, author, both.

Preferred Pronoun?

How did you find out about the SPN MBB?

Authors, once you get your role, please pop into the general author's chat and introduce yourself to your new author family:

What movie(s) do you plan on basing your fic(s) on?

Link us to one of your fics, if you'd like!

General Channels

The Red Carpet: This is our introduction channel. Once you answer the above questions, a director will welcome you and set you loose into the server to be with your people!

Announcements: Only mods can post in this channel. Any new announcements, including reminders of check-ins, general news, and rule updates will be in this channel.

The Green Room: This is a general chat. Every participant will have access to this channel. No discussion of your fic or art here, please.

SPN Spoilers: Season 14/15 spoilers go in here.

The Director's Studio: A director's only channel.

The Writer's Room (Writers Channels)

General Author's Chat: As with anything in The Writer's Room, this is authors only. Anything goes in General chat, but if it's very NSFW, please take it to the General NSFW Author room.

Sprints: This room is for sprints -- surprise! A sprint is a timed speed-write. Writers usually record their word count before and after the sprint to see progress.

Looking For Beta: This channel is for authors who need help finding a beta or an alpha.

Author's Brainstorm: This is a channel where you can get specific help on parts of your fic, so that the general author's chat doesn't get bogged down with discussion about one person's fic. You can post entire passages, get grammar help on something specific, etc.

General NSFW Author: Be as raunchy and inappropriate as you want here. This ain't your momma's channel -- unless it is, in which case, your mom is invited.

The Art Department (Artists Channels)

Artist's General Chat: As with anything in The Art Department, this is artists only. Anything goes in General chat, but if it's very NSFW, please take it to the General NSFW Artist room.

Artist's Brainstorm: Feel free to post your bang WIP pieces here for critique and help from other artists.

Artist Beta Search: This channel is for authors who want help finding a beta.

Artist Resource: Please feel free to post helpful resources in this room. Sharing is caring.

General NSFW Artist: Be as raunchy and inappropriate as you want here. This ain't your momma's channel -- unless it is, in which case, your mom is invited.

 General Rules

These are the rules for the 2020 SPN Media Big Bang. These rules are in place to make sure that this bang runs smoothly for all of our participants and readers. If you are unclear on any point, please contact the mods. The excuse “I didn’t know” or “other bangs don’t have those rules” don’t fly, so please ensure you read and understand the rules. The Director team is very nice, very chill, and very open to communication, so please ask if you have questions.

Please note: any of the following rules may be changed or be amended. We’ll let you know in the server if there are any major changes, and always refer to this rules page for current rules if you’re questioning anything.

Please also note: The mods reserve the right to subject individual participants to additional check-ins if they have previously participated in one of our bangs and missed check-ins without prior permission, skated around rules, or exemplified otherwise problematic behaviour that is not conducive and is unfair to an project that has you as part of a team. We also reserve the right to subject individual participants to additional check-ins if they are late to/or don’t submit a check-in during first-check-in. We may also remove the participant from the challenge if the reason for missing the check-in is insufficient.

Director? What's a director?

Great question. Here at the SPN Media Big Bang, we refer to our mods as Directors, because duh, movie-themes...and because it's fun. (And because we're nerds.)

Once registered, any issues, comments, concerns, and random exclamations of love and affection can be directed to your mod.

Who can sign up?

Anyone, although you must be over 18 on the date of your sign up.

How do I sign up?

You must register on the sign-up form. We will post the link to our registration page on our Tumblr. You must provide us with the following information, so please be prepared with this once you click into the form:

AO3 username (a requirement for authors).

Artists may sign up with whatever username they want to be known by and referred to within the required Artists Note; they may use any site they wish to host.

Are you an author or artist, or both?

Are you 18 or over?

Do you understand the rules?

Do you understand that you are required to use Discord?

Any questions or concerns for the mods?

Directors! The SCHEDULE! Please, tell us all about it.

Mods will send out reminder emails, but it is your responsibility to know the schedule.

Participants must meet all check-in points and submit drafts on time.

The schedule is determined right at the beginning of the challenge and will be both posted in the Discord server as well as on the Tumblr. Again, “I didn’t know about this-and-this date” is not an acceptable reason to miss a check-in or posting requirement. Please be organized; we suggest adding these dates into your calendar.

We are open to talking about changing/moving dates. We want this challenge to be fun for participants, so if there is a general consensus on a date change, we’re open to negotiating that. :)

Something in the rules is unclear… Help!

All participants are expected to follow all the SPN MBB rules. If you do not understand something, it is your responsibility to contact a mod for clarification.

Communication

Participants must communicate with their artist/author and the mods in a timely and civil manner.

We have a pretty firm rule about civil communication in the Discord. Participants are expected to reach out over DMs if there are issues they are having, and understand that the public chats are not the place for that. Similarly, the mods will not scold or embarrass someone in the public chat if they’re doing something wrong, we will handle that in the DMs. It should be understood that goes both ways. Everyone is human, we all make mistakes, we are all adults, so let’s be kind to each other. Teamwork makes the dream work!

The BEST way to reach us is through Discord. The SPN MBB email will only be used to receive sign up, check-in, and posting confirmations. If you email us a question, it may be a while before we see it. Please DM on Discord whenever possible, and remember to tag a @mod if you require help from us, it ensures we see your question when we’re online next.

Pairs are required to do an initial check-in with their partner during the first 48 hours of being assigned to each other. There will be several check-ins throughout the bang. These are mandatory.

Does the fic have to be written in English?

Yes. If some characters do not speak English, please provide subtitles.

Internet and Email Access

Participants must have reliable internet and email access. The mods will not be able to help you in case of software or equipment failure. Have backups and a plan.

Can I talk about and promo my fic anywhere?

Do not promote your fic or art on your own social media accounts prior to your posting date, except for your official promo which you can reblog from the SPN MBB social media accounts.

To ensure the anonymity of claims, please don’t reveal any details of what you’re working on publicly prior to claims. It is perfectly fine to discuss privately one-on-one with your alpha or beta reader, or in the official Discord server.

Can I pick my own partner? How do claims work?

You will be teamed up through the art claims process and may not pick your own partner.

As for how claims work; all authors will provide information (details will be posted on the server) and a summary which the mods will then assign an author-less ID tag to. A few days before claims day, all artists will have access to the summaries, and can pick their top three fics for which they’d like to create art for. On claims day, the artists will submit their top three choices to the mods, and once all fics have been claimed, the teams will be announced publicly. We do not announce pairings live.

What if I need to drop out?

If you drop out before Art Claims, there is no penalty.

If you drop out after Art Claims, you will be barred from participating in any future rounds of this Bang or any Bang run by this mod team.

Help! My artist disappeared/dropped out. What happens now?

We hope that this never happens, but unfortunately, we always have a couple. Don’t fret, little birdie, the Directors will ensure you have art!

We will assign a pinch hitter artist. The artists in this community have been awesome so far and no one has been left behind in the past. <3</p>

Disqualification is a thing. What sort of things could lead to a disqualification?

My dudes, we don’t like to do this. As a matter of fact, if this could be avoided, everyone would be immeasurably happy. However, sometimes it happens. What types of things could lead to a disqualification?

If you act like a dick. What qualifies acting like a dick? Being nasty, name calling, repeatedly rude to your fellow participants, mods, or your partner qualifies as Dick-age.

Racist, sexist, xenophobic, homophobic, hate-speech, transphobic etc. rhetoric.

Not reading the rules, disregarding rules that you don’t like, and/or failing to follow them. As we’ve said: “I didn’t know” is not a valid excuse for dropping the ball when rules are clearly posted in advance and reading them is a requirement of registration.

Failing to provide the requirements for art and/or fic.

Failing to communicate with your author/artist and not replying to the moderators in a timely fashion. If you go missing and do not communicate for 7 days of someone trying to reach out to you, you will be disqualified and a pinch hitter will be assigned.

Final Thoughts

Finally, please use common sense. Your mods will do the best they can to make sure this challenge runs smoothly. So, if a rule says you can't do X, don't try to find a loophole that allows it.

The Moderators also reserve the right to bar future participation for inappropriate behavior toward any mod, author or artist, or for breaking any of the other rules of this bang. If you are unsure about anything, please just talk to us!

Fic Rules

SPN Media Big Bang? What does that MEAN, Basil?!

For this challenge, we are looking for our authors to write a SPN fanfiction based on a movie, TV show, video game, or book. The works created can be a fusion, canon, an AU, it can be 'inspired by', or a crossover. Please see the links below for more information on the differences between those type of crossovers:

Fusion

Crossover

AU (Alternative Universe)

'Inspired by': These fics are fics that are based on media but don't share the characters or even necessarily the setting, but do follow a similar plot structure or series of events. Some characters, events, or entire scenes may parallel the media's scenes. If you need an example, please message a Director.

What are the content requirements for fics?

Fics: minimum of 20,000 words, and no max.

All genres, all ratings, all characters, all ships & gen, all kinks (barring underage) allowed.

RPF and underage is not allowed. Please don’t DM us asking for an exception, it won’t be granted and we won’t argue with you about it. It’s a hard no. All characters in your fic engaging in sexual activity must be at least 18 years old, and graphic, dark violence against minors is also heavily discouraged. If the violence is absolutely necessary for your fic, it can only be mentioned in passing, and cannot be a focal point of the scene/overall story/plotline.

The title of your fic does not have to be the title of your media (movie/book/tv/game), however, the original title must be included in your AO3 tags and summary, e.g. “Inspired by That Movie”, “A That Movie AU”, or “An SPN/That Movie Crossover”.

You must tag/warn for any of AO3’s major archive warnings, including MCD, non-con, underage, and graphic violence. Please tag fics appropriately. The Mods reserve the right to disqualify any fic with deliberately misleading tags.

You MUST have a beta reader go over your fic before your posting date.

Dub-con, non-Con, and other darkfic staples are also allowed, but they must be appropriately tagged. These situations are only to be described in graphic detail if the parties involved are over 18, as per previous rules.

You cannot submit more than one fanfic.

Co-writing is allowed.

Your fic must be at least 50% complete, with the remainder outlined, in order to qualify for artist claims. “I don’t outline” is not a reasonable excuse for not meeting these requirements.

If you are co-writing a fic, each author must register individually.

Your work should be brand new for the challenge or a previously unpublished WIP.

There will be an official AO3 collection and all fics are expected to be added. The mods will do these in bursts every few days during posting, so please be patient if your fic doesn’t show up in the collection right away.

Your fic must be posted in its entirety on your posting date (i.e don’t post a chapter every few days.)

You cannot commission or request more art from other artists for this fic after the bang. The fic has been written for this challenge, and part of that includes being in a strict partnership with only your assigned artist for this project.

If you are uncertain whether your fic qualifies in any way or have circumstances not outlined here, please email the moderators with details. Again, “I didn’t know” is not a reasonable excuse for oversights, so please ask, ask, ask. <3</p>

Teaser (Promo Rules)

The SPN Media Big Bang wants our artists and authors to get all the love they deserve and therefore we are offering promotion for their SPNMBB… Kind of like movie teaser trailers!

 Authors, leave your audiences on the edge of their seats, shoving popcorn into their mouths (and missing, pitifully.) Audiences, please turn your cell phone off, pay no mind to the sticky cinema floors, and for Chuck’s sake -- don’t put your feet up on the seat in front of you!

 Promos will take place on the SPN MBB Tumblr.

These are the guidelines for teasers:

 Author Guidelines for Teasers

Promo Graphic: This is where your banner will go. Your artist should have that completed for you in between claims and the promo deadline.

Fanfiction Title: Please provide a title for our reference. You may change it for posting, but please fill this section out.

Author:

Artist:

Rating: Please use the AO3 rating system.

Genre:

Pairings: List your pairings, if you have them. Make sure to outline your main pairings, and any secondary pairings you may have.

Movie: This is where you tell your lovely audience which movie you chose to base your fic/art on.

Summary: Please include your summary here. Try to limit it to 250 words (we want a teaser, not the whole movie!)

Warnings: Please include any warnings, triggers, etc. If your fic includes any of the AO3 archival warnings, they must be mentioned here. This isn’t the place to tag non-triggery items such as bottom!/top!. Those are legitimate things to mention, but for the purpose of this challenge, are not considered triggering and should go in your tags.

Tags: Tag it up! Let us know what to expect in your fic. Be specific enough that we know what to expect (or look for!)

Artist Guidelines for Teasers

Our challenge requires that artist provide a banner for their partner’s fic. It can be as simple or as complicated as you want; this is your art. We do have a few simple guidelines, however, so please review this section AND go read the artist rules.

Fic title, author name, artist name, and mention of the SPNMBB must be included.

Make new art. Please don’t use previous art you’ve made, or someone else’s edits. Everything must be fresh and customized for this collab.

Please see the promo rules for dimension and banner rules.

Art Rules

Participants may register as both an author and artist, but may not create art for their own fic regardless of circumstance.

Artists will be granted one fic in the first round of claims. Additional fics may be claimed in the second round of claims if desired.

By participating in the claims process, artists are agreeing to create a minimum of one promotional banner AND two pieces of artwork per fic claimed.

Artists may create more art if they desire, but they are not required to do so.

Additional banners, text separators, icons, and other decorations are welcome, but do not count toward the minimum art requirements.

Banners must be original artwork at a minimum size of 540x360 pixels. (This is a 3:2 aspect ratio if you prefer to work at a larger size and then scale down.) Banners should contain the fic title, author, and artist. They should not contain any elements that may spoil the fic for readers.

Artwork should be a minimum of 540px wide if posted to Tumblr. Final size and orientation are up to artist, with the understanding that extra large artwork may not display properly on mobile devices.

All fics will be required to have an artist’s note, which will be included with the fic at all times. This note should include links to the artist’s chosen website(s), as well as include a line or two about the artist’s experience creating the art- inspiration, process, etc.

Art must be posted in a masterpost on the social media platform of the artist’s choice on the team’s assigned posting date.

Art must also be embedded in the AO3 fic itself. The artist is responsible for hosting art on a service that allows remote linking. Authors will be responsible for embedding the art in their fic. More information on that will be posted closer to the posting dates.

Artists must regularly communicate with their authors. This is a partnership, not a commission; frequent progress updates will ensure everyone involved has a good, non-stressful, experience.

Please note: If you sign up as both an artist and author, you will have access to all the rooms, however, you understand that if you decide to sign up as both, you will be restricted to claiming a fic (as an artist) only on the second day of claims. If all fics are claimed on the first day, then that may mean you won’t be able to claim a fic if there are none left. Also, you may register as both an author and artist, but you may not make art for your own fic.

#Rules #mobile #spn mbb rules

[canardroublard]

TMFU, Gaby’s fashion, and some feminist film analysis

Back when I slapped together a reblog post about the men’s fashion in The Man From UNCLE in between physio appointments, which somehow got like way more notes than I ever really expected or even wanted, I didn’t address the fashion of the lead female character, Gaby. It was outside the scope of the OP, and I didn’t feel like I had anything new or interesting to say about Gaby’s fashion, or lack thereof.

(My beta says those earrings are the ugliest thing ever. I disagree. It’s a wonder we’re still friends)

Anyways, we see only one brief scene of Gaby in her own street clothes, and a slightly longer sequence of her in her work clothes. The rest of the film, she is wearing clothes chosen for her by Illya. Saying “we just don’t have enough info” is a perfectly reasonable approach to this. So this was the other reason I had no intention of making this post.

But then people started getting interested. Someone reblogged commenting about Gaby’s fashion, and I discovered that I have very strong opinions about something I’d previously claimed was unknowable, and it made me wonder what was going on in my brain.

Then I talked to some other TMFU friends who all seemed interested in what I assumed was common knowledge/nothing unique. So, they may have been feigning interest out of politeness, but it activated the art history side of my brain, and here we are now!

The boring stuff but please read this

I am not attempting to tell anyone how to interpret this film. I am not even trying to change people’s minds or persuade them to my thinking. All I am doing is sharing my thought process. I wasn’t even going to do this for Gaby until people asked. To this end, please don’t attempt to argue with me about this. I don’t want to argue. I won’t respond to it. If you disagree, then please, just move along.

And I’m going to remind people that I love TMFU. I love this movie so much it hurts. Why am I putting this reminder here? Because I am about to apply some critical analysis to it, and in places this will be cynical, and it will not always look kindly on the film. If you just want to exist in a happy “I love TMFU!” bubble and not hear anything less than 100% positive about the film (which is a totally valid choice, I don’t fault anyone for that), then don’t read. But don’t yell at me for being mean or criticizing the film, because I warned you.

Tldr; or, if I were still being graded for this stuff here’s my thesis statement

When analysing Gaby’s fashion, there exist considerations which don’t apply to the male characters. Namely, she is a woman and the male gaze is a thing. So I am very, very wary about taking at  face value any expressions of traditional femininity in the choices made  for her outfits, hair, makeup, etc. Therefore, when considering her character, I find it much more useful and informative to give more weight to the aspects of her appearance which do not connote traditional femininity, rather than those that do.

For readers who have studied enough  media analysis to follow my thought based on that alone, there’s the thesis statement, y’all can go home (or at least skip to the end where I come to a conclusion). If you’re lost, then read on.

(mobile readers, the cut here might not work, and if so I apologize for what is going to be a very long post. Tumblr’s “keep reading” functionality is inconsistent at best, but I tried)

Context is for kings essential for analysing media in a meaningful way

(Or, some brief background. Stick with me here, we’ll get to the good stuff soon)

So, art doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Attempting to analyze any artwork (in this case a film) while disregarding the culture it was created in and the intentions of the creator is...not going to get you very far. Asking “what is art” is a question that quite frankly exhausts me at this point (looking at you, Duchamp) but the closest I’ve ever come to an answer is that the only thing that separates art from everything else is intent. And intention only exists within cultural context. So yes, intent and context don’t just matter peripherally, they are one of the biggest considerations one needs to make when analyzing works of art. The creator in this case being Guy Ritchie et al, the culture being British/American Popular Cinema in The Year of Somebody’s Lord Two-Thousand-And-Fifteen. 

Everyone views and creates (if applicable) art through their own distorted, murky, imperfect lens of personal experience. And one of the most persistent Things in western art is that cishet men create art based on their experience of Being A Dude. This is crucial, because this lens of cishet male perspective literally underpins almost all of western culture including popular culture. And thanks to feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey, we have a name for this.

The male gaze and you

I’m going to quote Wikipedia here, because honestly this intro sentence sums things up rather neatly (with one exception which I will address momentarily).

In feminist theory, the male gaze is the act of depicting women and the world, in the visual arts and literature, from a masculine, heterosexual perspective that presents and represents women as sexual objects for the pleasure of the male viewer.

What does that all mean? That the Viewer and the Artist are both cishet men by default, and any women are Subjects of art. Women are viewed, never viewers. Men take action, women are subjected to actions. Furthermore, women are supposed to be pleasurable to view. By men. Since the Viewer is male by default.

But I would disagree that the pleasure is inherently based on women being sexual objects. That’s honestly a really damn limited read on the whole theory, and it’s one that Wikipedia itself contradicts later in the article. More broadly, cis men also derive other forms of pleasure from the presentation and viewing of female bodies, including aesthetic pleasure (the enjoyment of looking at beautiful things).

The theory of the male gaze is not without limits. As originally theorized, afaik it’s not particularly intersectional. It doesn’t really address queer perspectives or perspectives of POC. However, these issues are something I just can’t address here, unfortunately. And when looking at popular media, I still find the concept of the male gaze, imperfect as it may be, is a helpful means of analysis, so it’s worth having in your toolbox.

Circling back, the easiest way to sum up the male gaze, if you’re still not super clear on what it is, is with a demonstration.

Ever seen a shot like this in a movie?

And did you immediately roll your eyes? Feel gross? Congrats, you have just perceived and reacted to the male gaze.

Now we actually get back to TMFU

But the male gaze also shows up in many more subtle, insidious ways than fanservice-y boob shots. For this post, let’s focus on the following considerations, which might help everyone follow my thought process more clearly.

Gaby is a woman

She functions as the love interest of Illya in the script (I am not talking from a shipping perspective. What you ship does not matter for this discussion. I am talking about the narrative function of Gaby in the script as written. Put on your “cishet man” goggles for a moment)

Illya is a man who is attracted to women, specifically Gaby (again, I don’t care if your shipping conflicts with this. I am analyzing the film based on a literal reading of it as if I were a cishet man. Why? Because that’s who made the film. That’s who it’s “for”. I am all for queer readings of film--hell, I ship OT3, I myself have chosen a queer reading for how I interact with it, but I’m not critiquing people’s readings, I’m critiquing the film itself and to do that I have to critique its intentions and cultural context.)

Cishet men are traditionally only allowed to be attracted to women who are conventionally attractive. If they were to be attracted to anyone else it would destroy their fragile senses of self and their heads would explode or something. At least I assume that’s what must happen, based on how terrified they are of it.

Therefore, Gaby must be conventionally attractive, because it is literally required of her or otherwise the whole underpinning of western straight malehood crumbles and then where would we get such a pure, vast source of unadulterated toxic masculinity?

(Yes, this is a very cynical read on things. I’ve studied, like, three centuries worth of this bullshit. I’m tired. Let me be cynical.)

Or, to force myself to be less cynical, Gaby has to be pretty because...nope, this is still going to turn out just as cynical.

But what I will say in favour of this movie is that it gives Gaby and Victoria both a lot of agency and general awesomeness, which is quite unusual in this sort of big-budget action film, and it’s one of the big reasons I love it. I’m not saying that the entire film is sexist. On the contrary, there’s a ton of stuff to celebrate about how it portrays its female characters. But these aspects don’t change the cultural context, and we still have to consider the impacts of the male gaze.

Anyways, point being is that as filtered through the male gaze, Gaby is never given the option to, say, wear no makeup (or the appearance of such, as the guys are afforded, this being cinema where “no makeup” still means makeup) because that would look “ugly”.  Instead she needs to have a “baseline of pretty” which is way higher than reality because she is not a real human being with her own agency, she is a character created by a cis male writer/director team in a film directed by a cis man in a genre that caters to cishet men.

Gaby doesn’t exist in a vacuum. She exists battling centuries and centuries worth of sexist convention.

Now then, remembering all of that, let’s actually look at her. There are woefully few good pictures so I’m going to have to piece things together a little. Starting with the coveralls.

This is a great look, I love it. And I’m going to give Ritchie a lot of credit here because it would’ve been easy to go for a “Michelle Rodriguez in F&F sexy mechanic lady” look. In case I need to provide a visual:

(Repeat above gif about rolling my eyes)

Now, to be clear, I am not making any judgement about the way any real-life women dress. I’m sure there’s plenty of female mechanics who have their hair down and wear tank tops while working. That doesn’t bother me. I don’t care if real life mechanics choose to do their jobs in a string bikini. Or in cosplay of the bee from Bee Movie. I don’t care (and quite frankly it’s none of my business) because they are real people who can make their own decisions. But what I am talking about here is a fictional character who does not have her own agency. I am critiquing how male creators choose to dress their female characters.

So I personally choose to read much more into the unpretty  aspects of Gaby’s outfit, because these are not the “obvious” or “easy”   things. Obvious and easy are “of course she wears makeup” and “of course her hair looks good” and  “of course she doesn’t look like a swamp witch  who bathes in mud and spends her days cursing passing men”. Those things don’t challenge or disrupt the assumption that women must look attractive for male consumption.

Gaby’s introduction to us is with her in a pair of grease-stained, baggy coveralls, not wearing any obvious makeup (again, this is cinema, so she is wearing makeup. For cinema the goal posts around “wearing makeup” always need to be moved from where they’d be irl). There’s very little here that screams ‘pretty’. And that is fascinating to me.

I don’t know how deeply Ritchie thought this through when giving final approval to the costume, hair and makeup. But unpretty is not the default here. It’s a choice

And look at this. This is the stance and dress sense (and socks!) of a woman who does not give a damn about looking good for the male gaze, whether the in-movie gaze of Napoleon, or the implied gaze of the viewer and creator. It’s not ‘pretty’. And this is the only time in the film we see Gaby in her own everyday clothes, as she only escapes East Berlin with the literal clothes on her back.

So how do I think Gaby dresses? I think that for the most part she dresses....like this. Practical. Comfortable. With a few simple touches of things she likes/finds pretty, perhaps, but not with a specific interest in being pretty. She dresses for herself, not for others. And if that isn’t something to aspire to, I don’t know what is.

#gaby teller #tmfu #the man from uncle #meta #costume design #male gaze #fashion #thank you to michael bay for providing me with such a good example of the male gaze

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Ephemera Chapter Three (Early)

Ephemera: In art, transitory written and printed matter (receipts, notes, tickets, clippings, etc.) not originally intended to be kept or preserved.

Alternatively, things that exist or are used for only a short time.

Description: Nobody knows who Vante really is. Everything about the popular artist is shrouded in secrecy: from his face to his name to everything in between. After years of working for his art gallery, Y/N feels she may just be the closest thing he has to a friend. Between her success at work and her relationship with campus hot-shot Jeon Jungkook, Y/N’s life has never been better. But is Jungkook truly who he says he is? And who will Y/N protect now that she knows Vante’s livelihood may be on the line?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (f) Reader x Taehyung

Word Count: 7.2k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Gang!Au, Art History Student!Reader, Film Student!Jungkook, Art Student!Taehyung

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Hey guys! I decided to say screw it and put links in here. I feel like the chapter functions much more cleanly this way, so hopefully the Tumblr gods take pity on me. Anyway, this chapter is early!! As per a request below the last chapter, I’ve gotten this one finished a few days before Sunday, so it’s goin up. I’ll post Chapter Four on Sunday as scheduled! As always, please feel free to send me a message if you’d like! Comments, questions, critiques, theories, send them my way! I’ll respond to all asks received within a day of receiving them.

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

I removed my heels in the stairwell and began jogging barefoot up the steep flights. However harebrained, my scheme was working well. Panting, I carried my shoes in my right hand and used my left to claw my way up the railing, pulling my aching body up the stairs. As I approached the tenth floor landing, I paused and caught my breath, careful not to heave on my inhales and exhales. I pushed open the heavy door and emerged just outside the gallery, Jungkook’s back receding into the shadows of the hallway.

He wasted no time.

Silently, I maneuvered my way into the gallery, guiding the door shut behind me. I set my shoes and purse on the floor beside the front doors, gritting my teeth as I labored to be as silent as possible. My footfalls were gentle as I tiptoed through the shadows, creeping close to the walls in case he suddenly turned around and barreled back onto the floor. I heard the sound of his shoes squeaking against the wood down the hallway, a brisk pace, and found myself rushing as well to keep up.

I slipped into the hall and found his back still turned to me, turning silently into the break room. I straightened a little and crossed my arms. If I hadn’t found anything useful in there, he sure as hell wouldn’t. I walked quickly into a dark alcove beside the break room door, pressing my ear against the wall to hear him. But he was quiet as a mouse as he searched the room. Predictably, he only spent a few moments inside before deeming it fruitless and stepping back into the hallway. Under cover of the shadows, I watched him rake his hands through his hair and shake his head with a huff.

He turned on his heel and I pressed myself back against the wall, deeply shrouded in darkness, as he passed me. Without a second look, he was inside the backroom. I rolled my eyes. If he thought he’d make any headway back there, he was in for a nasty shock. Not only was the backroom an absolute disaster, it took near pinpoint accuracy to find your way around. I suspected the kid might even get lost in the stacks of canvases if I didn’t keep a close eye on him.

Carefully, I followed behind him, slipping through the door and padding it as I led it back to its frame. Once secured, the door released a tiny groan and I exhaled long and slow, my hands frozen on its metal surface. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was it. This had to be it. That metallic clanging had to have alerted Jungkook to the presence of another person in that dark backroom. I was caught. I was certainly caught.

But seconds ticked on in silence. Then minutes. And after several agonizing moments, I straightened my back and turned around, brows furrowed. I scanned the big room for him and saw nothing. The only sound in the room was the rhythmic falling of his footsteps, echoing dimly around the space. The factory lights flickered overhead and I righted myself, composing my breathing with a silent pat to my chest.

I crept behind him, always separated by at least one row of art supplies: haphazardly stacked canvases, broken easel legs, shelves of paintbrushes that I couldn’t name if you paid me. I could see him through the gaps in the shelves, his eyes scanning the supplies like a predator. There was something in his expression that I didn’t like, and in the brief glimpses I got of his face I could sense a desperate sort of hostility. The nameless look burned into the back of my mind as I followed him, watchful over his every movement.

Eventually, he found his way to the back of the room where Vante left the paintings he wanted displayed. Just like earlier today, I watched the yellow light swing in the draft and catch on something in the corner.

Unlike earlier today, Jungkook saw it too.

I heard his breath catch in his throat and, before I could react, he was jogging toward it. Looking now, I could see that the vague outline I’d noticed before was more than that. It was a door, covertly disguised to match the wall. Beside it, a keypad which Jungkook uncovered from behind a rectangular canvas. My eyes went wide and I glanced around quickly, searching for anything to distract Jungkook with. But as I did, I noticed something new. In the top right corner of the room, hanging from the ceiling and trained right on that camouflaged door, was a camera. Surely, I was in view as well, hiding halfway behind a shelf of gauche paints. I looked right into the lens, stared at it long and hard. I had no doubts. On the other end of that camera could be Vante himself. I steeled my gaze and lowered my head, a nearly invisible nod, before I cleared my throat and stepped out from behind the stacks.

Jungkook nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to face me with beet-red cheeks and eyes as wild as his wind-swept hair. There it was again. That gambling look. Like he had a losing hand and I’d called his bluff. I crossed my arms and smiled, staring him up and down.

“Y/N, I-,” he began, then looked around the room frantically, hands poised awkwardly at his sides.

I cut the tension with a laugh and tilted my head to the side. “Baby,” I drawled, laughing again. “I told you to get my keys, not snoop around my workplace.”

Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed a little and he breathed out a shaky laugh. “Sorry. I just got kinda curious being in her after hours,” he said, fishing around in his front pocket and tossing my keys at me. They arced through the air before clattering to the floor beside my bare feet. He furrowed his brow and crossed his arms. “Where are your shoes?”

I picked up the keys and tilted my leg to expose my swollen ankle. “They were hurting me so I left them by the door,” I said with a sigh, fanning my hair out behind me. “Shall we leave?” I asked with a saccharine smile. “Or are there any more secrets you wanna find?” My eyes slid to the door before him.

He stiffened. “I…I mean, are there more?” he asked, blinking at the door. “Secrets, I mean.”

Quietly, I peeked at the camera, crossing my arms and pleading with whatever higher power was out there that Vante was watching. I sighed and approached Jungkook, placing my hands on his shoulders and wheeling him around towards the aisle. I was careful to guide him away from the camera, praying that he wouldn’t notice it.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, patting his back before leading the way back out to the floor. With a pang in my stomach, I realized that my note to Vante was gone and my keys remained.

“So he went snooping around?” asked Nara as I sat atop the front counter, my feet swaying. She carefully pried open one of the bunny cages and adjusted the water bottle with a huff. “Kinda suspicious.”

“Kinda?” I asked, shaking my head as I watched my sneakers bump the front of the counter. “It’s all…it’s all adding up to something really unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant is a nice way of putting it,” she said with a snort before turning her attention to the hamster cages, carefully refilling their food. “How can you be so casual about all of this? Isn’t it, like, pretty serious?”

I hummed a little and shrugged. “I mean…didn’t it all seem too good to be true from the start?” I asked, then laughed a little, surprised by how sad it sounded. “Why would a guy like him be interested in me anyway? I think it was only a matter of time anyway.”

Nara turned to me and rested a hand on her hip, brows knit as she scanned me. There was a tangible worry in her body language, and the way she looked at me made me feel like an animal on display. The daylight caught on her skin as it streamed through the pet shop windows, revealing tired bags beneath her eyes.

I sat upright and hopped off the counter, walking toward her with a pout. “Nara, are you sleeping?” I asked.

She scoffed and gave my shoulder a shove. “Your boyfriend might be using you to commit espionage and you’re worried about my sleep?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

I sighed and grabbed the strings of her apron which had come undone at the front. Carefully, I retied it. “You didn’t answer.”

She flitted her hand and shrugged, evading my gaze by pursing her lips and watching the bunnies play. “I might be spread a little thin lately with this class.”

“What class?”

“English lit,” she said with a sigh, stepping away to tend to a cage full of newly vaccinated puppies. She reached down and patted one on the head. “I’m slaving over this essay and my prof won’t give me an extension because of work.”

I furrowed my brow and crossed my arms. “Do you not have any time to finish it? Are you working too many hours?” I asked.

She tossed her head to the side and chuckled. “Y/N, please. I have a mom of my own, I don’t need you on my case too.”

I stiffened, glancing away, and rubbed the back of my head. “I’ll stop nagging.”

She hissed a little and shook her head. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have worded it that way,” she said, approaching and scanning my features softly.

I smiled. “It’s fine,” I said with a shrug. “Whatever love I may have missed out on, Dad gave me tenfold.” I laughed, ready to change the subject, when the front door bell dinged and both Nara and I stiffened to greet the customer.

A young guy, maybe mid-twenties, sauntered in. His eyes were sharp, glancing around the pet shop like he might find secrets hidden in the abundant potted plants or the pee pads set up in the corner. His demeanor was rather reserved, lips set in a thin line, dressed in all neutrals with a cap obscuring his face whenever he looked down. He didn’t seem like the type to visit a pet store of his own free will.

But as Nara approached, I realized this wasn’t his first time here. She grinned and stood beside him. “Hello again. It was…Yoongi, right?” she asked with a giggle. The man lifted his head and only met her eyes for a scant second before clearing his throat and glancing toward the tabby cats sitting behind a panel of glass. “What are you looking for today? If I remember correctly, last time you bought a food bowl?” she asked.

The man shook his head, edging away from her. Something about him was suspicious, but I kept my mouth shut and simply watched from afar. “Need food now,” he said curtly, his voice rough and low and distinctive.

Nara spared me a glance and wiggled her eyebrows from across the store. I chuckled as I slowly eased back against the counter, hands pressed behind me. “For that cat you mentioned? What have you been feeding it the past few days?” she asked. “You found it on the street, right?”

The man glanced at her curiously before clearing his throat and nodding. “Um, yeah,” he said, scanning the pets before wandering closer to me where the rows of pet foot were stacked.

We locked eyes for a moment and, after a tense few seconds, I looked away first. “What kind of cat was it again?” asked Nara, walking close behind him with her customer service grin pasted across her face.

He furrowed his brow and glanced at her. “What’s it matter?”

“Well,” she began, still smiling, “different cats need different diets. Some cat breeds require special diets and-,”

Nara began her speech about the importance of a specialized diet and both me and this Yoongi man visibly stopped focusing. The man ran his fingers along the fronts of several bags of cat food before grabbing one and, sliding past me, set it on the counter beside the cash register.

Nara paused her lecture and tilted her head to the side, eyes wide. “Oh! Will this one be okay? Are you sure you don’t want to go with-,”

“This one’s fine,” said the man, finally looking her in the eye. When he did, I realized why he’d been avoiding it this whole time. His pale skin went slightly reddish here and there and, before the blush could spread, he looked back to the food, letting his hat cover his face.

I smiled and stepped away, biting back a laugh. “A-alright then,” said Nara, the same charming dusting of pink on her cheeks as well.

I slouched over my painting, staring abysmally down at it as it stared equally abysmally back at me. Professor Jung patrolled like a shark, staring over our shoulders as we stared at our freshly dried paintings. It wasn’t like the thing was going to change the longer I stewed on it. But each time Professor Jung skulked by I painted myself as the dutiful student, pondering my piece with furrowed brows and quiet, contemplative exhales. Truthfully, it was still the same depressing, grey piece it had been days prior. Only now, there was a horrible dash of yellow glaring up at me. The forms were jumbled, blending into one another. The colors were boring. The technique was tactless to say the least.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “So? What do you guys think now that you’ve has a few days to sleep on your pieces?” asked Professor Jung with a clap of his hands.

I jumped a little and lifted my eyes to meet his at the front of the classroom. “Illuminating,” offered one student with a snicker, to which Professor Jung simply leveled his eyes with the kid and cocked a brow.

“Taking time to rest and think on a piece of art can help you all become better artists. Things tend to come into perspective once we take a step back,” he said, nodding.

I stiffened, eyes wide, and stared at my professor for a long moment. Was that the key after all? “I still think mine looks like an elephant,” mumbled a girl beside me to her friend, to which the friend giggled behind her hand.

Across the room, Taehyung caught my eyes. How long had he been watching me anyway? The two of us locked gazes and neither made a move to smile or wave. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like I’d been caught doing something naughty. I felt my cheeks flush under his intense scrutiny, and even across the room I could feel the intensity of his eyes on me. His brow was set low, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, jaw set staunch and shoulders slumped. Today he didn’t look quite so put together. He looked as if perhaps he hadn’t slept well, and he hadn’t had the time to meticulously craft an interesting ensemble, sitting instead in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans that exposed the muscles of his knees. Like the ones Jungkook liked to wear.

I cleared my throat and glanced away, eyes falling to his painting as it sat on the table. It looked pretty from far away, some delicate landscape of thick trees and a distant cabin, but I couldn’t look for long because as Professor Jung monologued, I noticed something peculiar.

Taehyung’s sweatshirt wasn’t just some Hanes throwaway.

It was Givenchy.

My brows knit as I stared at the logo emblazoned across his chest. He didn’t seem like the type to seek out high-end brands, and being a student I’d naturally assumed he, like me, was broke to the bone. But the longer I looked the more curious it became. Not only was his sweatshirt name brand, but it looked like his shoes were authentic Doc Martens. Even his pants seemed like they were made of high-quality denim.

Before I knew it, class was dismissed and to my surprise, students began gathering their things to leave. Startled, I jumped out of my seat and collected my belongings, struggling to hold my canvas without dropping my backpack or my cold cup of coffee.

I huffed a little with the effort, but I had little time to lament my frustrations because before I could even react, my painting was snatched away from me. “Hey-,” I began, but stopped short when I realized it was Taehyung towering over me, a soft smile on his face that didn’t quite touch his eyes. In his hands were both our paintings. “Taehyung,” I breathed with a grin.

He nudged me gently with the corner of his canvas and jerked his head toward the exit. “Looked like you were struggling.”

I chuckled and ran my fingers through my hair. “You could say that,” I said, sighing.

The two of us set off down the hallway, our arms brushing now and then. “What have you been up to these days?” he asked.

“It hasn’t been that long since we argued about What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim,” I countered with a grin, eyeing him sidelong.

He smiled back at me, but again it was a halfway smile. The kind you give when you’re holding something in. “Long enough for something to have changed,” he said, jerking both our canvases up against his side to avoid accidentally smacking a passerby.

I pursed my lips and thought a moment. Had anything changed? Jungkook was still acting like himself, whoever that really was. After catching him in the act, I figured perhaps I’d have had the courage to confront him about it. But reality was endlessly disappointing. Every time I saw his name light up my phone, I was filled with something cold and restless. Something that demanded to be addressed. But all I could do in the end was read and cherish his every word and respond with a heart.

I was pretty pathetic, wasn’t I?

“Nothing,” I said with a nod, picking at the cuticles on my free hand. I took a sip of coffee, and found it displeasingly chilled. “Nothing’s changed.”

Taehyung glanced down at me and scanned my face. I glanced away down the hallway with a sigh. “You know-,”

“Forget it,” I said, waving my hands. My coffee sloshed coldly against the paper cup and with a sigh I carefully tossed the thing into the closest trash can. I turned to Taehyung with a wide smile. “Let’s do something, hm? I’ve got some things I wanna forget about and you seem like a good distraction.”

His brows lifted and he stared at me with round eyes. “Do something?”

I nodded, snatching my painting from beneath his arm and holding it close. I smiled. “I’ll take you to my happy place,” I said, laughing.

“Hey, Mr. Kim!” I called as I guided Taehyung past a few courtyard benches.

The ground was slightly uneven, and the footpath below us was overgrown with thin plants. Easy to trip on, and I’d know. Past the stone archways, we entered the cafe. Mr. Kim sat with a big smile behind the counter, his head in his hand as we entered. I waved and gently sat my painting beside a stool by the bar, hopping up and sitting down as Taehyung followed suit. I watched Taehyung’s eyes flit over the paper lanterns hanging on strings overhead, touch upon the old brick wall hosting hundreds of polaroids of friends and patrons, the many potted plants, the delicate yellow flowers beside us. The place was warm as ever and cozier than usual. Patrons milled about the large bookcases or sat quietly gazing out at the busy Hongdae street. I shucked off my jacket and slung it over the back of my stool.

Mr. Kim, a weathered man with a big heart, grinned as he began working on my drink, not even sparing a moment to ask what I wanted. “Who’s this?” he asked, eyeing Taehyung over the coffee maker. “Not the boyfriend Nara showed me.”

Taehyung stiffened and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could I laughed and shook my head. “He’s a friend,” I said, resting my cheek in my palm with a smile. “Last time we hung out, we went to that coffee chain on campus.” I stuck out my tongue in mock disgust.

Taehyung’s eyes went wide. “Was the coffee bad?” he asked, real concern in his expression.

I laughed and patted his arm, but retracted my hand as his cheeks went pink. “No, it’s not that,” I said, grinning at Mr. Kim. “Just that this place has the best coffee.”

“What is this place?” asked Taehyung with a wondrous look around.

Mr. Kim slid my coffee in front of me before beginning work on Taehyung’s. “It’s called Nunchi,” I said quietly, watching Mr. Kim as he worked carefully. He’d entered the zone: that perfect space where all his focus was on his task. Nara and I used to take advantage of this zone often as kids. “You know what nunchi is?”

He nodded, entranced by Mr. Kim’s capable movements like I was. “When someone is really good at reading other people’s emotions. Like…being in touch with what other people are feeling without speaking and reacting well to it.”

“At least you know,” teased Mr. Kim with a wink my way. “Miss Y/N is still working on her nunchi.”

I gaped, patting my chest. “Hey! I have excellent nunchi!” I said, wagging my finger at Mr. Kim.

“Your dad has excellent nunchi,” Mr. Kim said with a loud laugh, the one that came from his gut like a shout. “Anyhow, here at the shop we know what you need even when you don’t know it yourself.”

Taehyung jumped a little before glancing at me out the corner of his eye and offering a smile. “So you know each other well?” he asked.

I nodded with a soft chuckle. “Too well,” I joked. “He’s my best friend’s dad.”

“And your dad’s business partner,” said Mr. Kim, raising his brows.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, sighing. “My dad lives out on a ranch. What he harvests, he sends here for their seasonal menus.”

Taehyung stared at me with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you weren’t from Seoul.”

I laughed, patting his shoulder. “How could you? We only just met.”

Taehyung’s expression faltered for half a second before he laughed and nodded, rubbing the back of his neck gently. “You’re right,” he said. Mr. Kim slid him a cup on a white platter and took a step back with crossed arms. “What’s this?” he asked before taking a sip, eyeing Mr. Kim over his glasses. He placed both hands around the coffee cup.

“It’s a latte,” he said, chuckling. “Caramel latte, not too bitter. Outsourced beans so it’s pretty nutty.”

“Nutty?” asked Taehyung, turning to me.

I laughed. “It’s the aroma,” I said, cupping my hands around Taehyung’s and bringing the coffee up to his nose. “Take a whiff.”

His eyes fluttered a little before shutting, brows furrowing as he inhaled through his nostrils. “Mm,” he breathed, nodding once before lowering our hands. I grabbed my own drink and took a sip. “I could smell it.”

I nodded, sighing into my drink. “Of course you could,” I said with a smile at Mr. Kim. “Because our barista is a master.”

Mr. Kim tipped his baseball cap and laughed. “I’ll fix you two a snack,” he said, walking easily into the small adjacent kitchen.

I sipped my drink quietly, watching the coffee swirl around the glass. “So what’s your drink?” asked Taehyung, turning to me with a gentle smile, his chin in his hand.

I slid it to him to sip. “Antoccino,” I said.

He pulled a sour face as he took a drink before politely pushing the saucer back to me. “Bitter,” he said.

I laughed, pensive as I took another drink. “It’s half milk and half espresso. I figured you’d hate it.”

“So that’s why it’s called Nunchi,” he said with a knowing nod. “He knows what we want.”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. I wished I could say the same about myself. Perhaps Mr. Kim was right. Perhaps my nunchi wasn’t quite as good as I thought it was. “Hey, uh…thanks for coming out with me today,” I said, running my fingertip along the rim of my glass.

Taehyung visibly went stiff before coughing a little, passing it off as a laugh. “Um, no. It-it’s fine. Honestly, I’m happy you invited me,” he said.

I peeked up at him and smiled a little. “You seem like a very nice person,” I said, thinking back to that day at the gallery. How suspicious I’d been. Looking at him now, taking quiet little drinks of his latte like a cat, it was hard to believe I’d ever thought he was capable of being underhanded. “I’m sure you have more important things to do,” I said with a nod.

Taehyung jumped slightly and stared at me. “What? No! There’s nothing,” he said.

I chuckled and nodded. “It’s okay,” I said, surprised by the somberness in my voice. “Forget I said anything.”

Taehyung was quiet for a long moment, each of us staring at our coffees without uttering a word. “Are you doing okay?” he asked finally, his voice soft like a whisper.

I swallowed hard and smiled, unable to meet his eyes. “Mhm,” I said. “Sorry. I asked you to come out and forget the bad stuff, and here I am throwing a pity party.” I turned to him with a smile. “I think I’m okay. And…well, if I’m not then I will be soon.”

His eyes were dark and troubled. He kept opening and closing his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Like he couldn’t find the right thing to say, or perhaps there were too many things to say that he couldn’t pick one. He sighed and rubbed his nose bridge before lifting his eyes and offering a barely-there smile.

“There’s always gonna be something to make you sad,” he said with a nod. “That’s life.”

“You’re right,” I said, forcing a smile. I suspected he meant to be comforting, but the words hung in the air like dead weight and settled uneasily on my chest.

He shook his head. “No, that’s not it,” he said, grabbing my arm. I stiffened, turning wide eyes toward Taehyung as he stumbled over his words. “I-I’m not very good at this, but…what I mean is that we can’t control all the bad shit that happens to us, but we can control how we react to it. We don’t always have power over life, but we always have power over ourselves.”

I furrowed my brow and stared at him, puzzled. “But what if it’s something really serious? Something you desperately need to get to the bottom of but can’t?”

He released my arm and turned back to his latte, blinking at it as he took another sip. He peeked at me out the corner of his eyes. “Well then you’ve got a choice to make,” he said carefully, eyes sliding back to his drink. His lashes brushed the apples of his cheeks and, sitting just like that with a quiet thoughtfulness to him, I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed handsomer than usual. “Are you gonna let the fear of the unknown consume you?” he asked, then lifted his eyes to meet mine. “Or are you gonna take back your power?”

My heart raced as our gazes locked. There passed a moment of profound understanding. Like neither of us needed to explain ourselves to know what the other had meant. Like he knew without knowing what I needed to hear. I pressed my lips thin and set my jaw.

Before I could respond, Mr. Kim returned with some cheesecake, two forks, and a big welcoming smile. Taehyung and I both smiled our thanks and wordlessly took a bite.

Jungkook and I sat quietly in his apartment, lounging on his couch as a crime documentary droned on his television. The evening outside was cold and brisk, but inside nestled beneath several layers of blankets, I was toasty warm. Every now and again, Jungkook’s fingers would brush against mine beneath the covers like he was trying to initiate physical touch and, on impulse, I’d jerk away. I only removed my eyes from the screen to check my phone once in a while, sneaking covert glances around the small living room for clues as I did.

I was trying my best, but every second I sat beside him was a second that felt like forgery. Each time his tender eyes would wash over my face, I’d feel a tickle in my stomach that I couldn’t ignore.

If only reclaiming my power was easier.

At around six, relief finally arrived in the form of Kim Seokjin.

“Hello, children. Papa’s home!” he called, slamming the front door open with a big, powerful laugh. He tossed the plastic grocery bags aside on the tiled kitchen counter and throw his arms out wide.

Laughing, I hopped out from beneath the blankets and rushed him like a football player, colliding against his chest with a thud that stole his breath. He sputtered a little as he patted my back, Jungkook chuckling from the couch. I pulled myself away to give the older boy a proper once-over. It had been a few weeks since I’d seen him, but every time he came around he seemed goofier than before. Now he stood above me with a big grin and wiggling eyebrows. There was mischief in his dark irises.

Carefully, I took a step back and crossed my arms, peering at him. “What are you plotting?” I asked, cocking a brow. God, if only it were that easy to interrogate Jungkook.

Seokjin clapped a hand to his chest and gaped, wide-eyed. “I am hurt!” he called, staggering back against the counter with more than a little theatrics. “My roommate’s girlfriend doesn’t even trust me!”

Your roommate’s girlfriend doesn’t trust your roommate either, I thought with a scowl. “What’s in the bag, Jin?” Jungkook asked, suddenly at my side with an arm draped over my shoulders.

I peeked up at him, the skin of my neck warm where his cheek touched it. Seokjin smirked and opened one of the plastic bags, beckoning us to look inside. Underneath the yellow glow of their fluorescent kitchen lights, several six-packs of cheap beer lay atop one another, some half-toppled over on their sides.

I laughed and shook my head. “You two can feel free to get shitfaced on a weekday, but I’ve got class tomorrow morning.”

“It’s a Thursday,” said Seokjin, rolling his eyes. “Barely a weekday.”

“Don’t you two have work or something?” I asked, crossing my arms and bowing out from underneath Jungkook’s embrace.

Jungkook’s back stiffened and he turned to me. “Why do you ask?” he said, something guarded in his eyes, something not quite trusting.

Wait…

Was he suspicious of me now?

I might’ve laughed if it wasn’t so alarming. I furrowed my brow and gestured toward the drinks. “You hate being hungover at work,” I said, recalling what felt like an ancient conversation between the two of us early in our relationship after a night of barbecue and shots.

His expression softened and he puffed out an uneasy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Just…uh, felt like you were scolding me.”

I matched his laugh with one of my own before clearing my throat and grabbing for a can of beer, yanking it from the plastic. It was lukewarm, probably disgusting, and definitely a bad idea. But the evening had yielded no new information, and Jungkook wouldn’t let me out of his sight. No matter how much I scanned the apartment under his watchful eye, I couldn’t find anything that would help me figure out what was going on.

And besides, what if drinking loosened Jungkook up enough to spill something on accident?

I cracked it open and tipped the cool tin can against my lips, guiding the acrid beer down my throat with an unpleasant frown. I hissed as I finished my swig and winced a little. I’d almost forgotten how much I hated beer.

But it had been worth something at least. Because as I gingerly nursed my second sip of beer, Jungkook grabbed for a can of his own. Without thinking, I reached my drink out to touch the rim of his before locking eyes with him. Of course, he was infuriatingly handsome. Dark eyes with an innocently cocked brow, a smirk on his lips revealing perfect teeth, soft hair that bounced a little the two of us took a drink together.

But in that smirk, I knew he held secrets.

And it was time I started revealing them.

“On my life, I would!” called Seokjin from the floor, already plastered from the looks of it and from the volume of his voice.

Jungkook and I sat leaning against one another on the couch, laughing. “You would not pass up a date with Hyolyn just to be on Law of the Jungle!”

“You wouldn’t last!” I exclaimed in tandem.

Seokjin shook his head, eyes shut, stubborn and drunk as a skunk. And from the way Jungkook was leaning against my shoulder, he was pretty far gone himself. “I would do fine,” protested Jin with a nod, eyes still shut.

Jungkook took a moment to wipe beneath his eyes before turning to me with a dopey grin. “Alright, Y/N. Your turn,” he said.

Suddenly, Seokjin’s eyes were open and focused on me. He sat upright and looked at me seriously. “Y/N,” began Jin with a cough. “Would you rather find out who Vante is but lose your job, or never know who he really is but work for the Gallery forever?”

I stiffened, brows furrowed, and crossed my arms. It was a horribly pointed question, and I wasn’t drunk enough to take is innocent. “I’d rather never know,” I said with a decisive nod.

Jungkook went still beside me, but his eyes remained trained on my face. He seemed much soberer now, much more focused. “But doesn’t it make you crazy? Being so close to him but not knowing who he is?” he asked.

I blinked and edged away from Jungkook’s side, watching my lap. “If he’s hiding, there’s a reason,” I said with a nod.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Jungkook, his tone revealing a longtime frustration. As if he was finally scratching the surface of an issue that had bothered him a long time. Out the corner of my eye, I saw him cross his arms.

“What if he’s really creepy?” asked Seokjin, eyeing me carefully from the rug.

I shook my head. “I trust him.”

“You’re naive.” I expected Jin to respond, but the words came from Jungkook who by then was staring into the middle distance as if I’d really upset him.

I scoffed and turned to him. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but something in me was burning. “Vante has been nothing but kind and supportive to me, and he’s been a part of my life longer than you have,” I said with a sigh. I turned back to Seokjin. “Watch what you say,” I said, looking them both in the eye.

Before either of them could speak, my phone began buzzing in my pocket and I jumped. Nara’s name lit up my screen and without a moment’s hesitation, I unlocked it and pressed it to my ear.

“Y/N!” she called, audibly relieved.

I raised my brows. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Ugh, it’s Hyun,” she whined into the receiver.

I sat upright and furrowed my brows. “Your dog?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

“Yeah, he-,”

“Hold on,” I said, shaking my head.

I glanced around the room as Nara audibly shuffled on the other end. The air was no good in here, stagnant and awkward after my outburst. Not to mention the way both boys seemed to hang on my every word like they were hungering for more. I needed to get out of there, get some fresh air, clear my head. Restless, I stood to my feet and turned to Jungkook, gesturing with my hands to the front door. He feigned a smile and nodded as I shuffled out into the outdoor hallway, bracing the cold with a shiver.

Something wasn’t sitting right with me. If Seokjin was the one who asked the question about Vante to begin with, did that mean he was in on this too? And what about the alcohol?

Had it all been planned from the start?

“Sorry, I’m at Jungkook’s,” I said with a sigh, gripping the bridge of my nose as a headache began to take hold.

Nara was quiet for a moment. “How…is that going?”

“Not well.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, somber.

I shrugged, but I felt my posture go rigid. I cleared my throat. “It’s fine. Anyway, what about Hyun?”

She groaned. “Well I agreed to do a group workshop for the paper I’ve been talking about, but I realized I forgot to put food in Hyun’s bowl. I don’t know when I’ll be home and I’m at the library right now and I’m just kinda worried about-,”

“Nara,” I interrupted with a laugh. “Breathe.”

She inhaled and exhaled before coughing a little. Was she getting sick? “Sorry. Um…I know it’s shitty, but if you could just swing by my apartment and fill his bowl I’d owe you my life.”

I thought a moment, watching my knees as the buckled slightly in the chill. Vante wasn’t wrong when he chastised me for being a pushover. And with evidence still possibly lingering in Jungkook’s apartment, and a new accomplice to think about, I wasn’t sure I should be so hasty leaving. But the longer I stayed, the worse things became and I hadn’t found anything useful yet. What made me assume I’d find anything now?

And besides, it was Nara.

I sighed. “Yeah, uh I can be there in fifteen,” I said, glancing out into the blistery night.

“Ugh, you’re a life saver! Seriously,” she said, her voice going distant on the phone.

“Don’t mention it,” I said with a smile.

“Love you!”

“Love you too,” I said as the line disconnected.

I rubbed my arms and slid my phone back into the pocket of my jeans. My face was hot from drinking and my body felt exhausted after a week of work and classes. I wanted to find someplace to collapse and take a nap, but something told me that I wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

I stretched my torso a little before walking back inside the apartment. But, to my surprise, there was no bickering between Jungkook and Jin, no witty banter, no pillows being thrown across coffee tables. Instead, there was just the steady drone of the TV and the absence of both boys. I scanned the kitchen, then the living room. Nothing.

Perhaps this was my opportunity…

“Newcomer Ori Technologies is hosting a charity banquet next month to celebrate their first year in operation, and it’s rumored many big names will be in attendance. To name a few-,” said the newscaster on the television as I quickly shut it off. Odd, I was certain we were watching MNet when I left the apartment.

Carefully, I crept around the room in search of something, anything, that might give me answers. But everything was as normal as it had always been: monochromatic paintings on the walls, potted plants sitting half-dead in the corners, pillows sitting slumped against the backs of the couches. There was nothing new to be seen here.

But in the silence, I could hear the dull, muffled back-and-forth of conversation. As silently as I could, I poked my head down the hallway and strained to listen. I could only make out faint words like Gallery and trying, but most of what was said was entirely unintelligible to me. I suspected Jungkook and Seokjin had stolen away down the hall to hide in the computer room. Jungkook took great pains to make that room soundproof so he could play games in peace, so their discussion had to be pretty loud if I could hear it.

An idea came to me that had my nerves jittering. Beside the computer room was a room I seldom entered. I’d only been in once, and it was under Jungkook’s supervision the first time I’d visited the apartment.

Seokjin’s room.

If he was indeed involved in this whole mystery, perhaps it was time to change my focus. Silently, I approached the door and slipped inside the chilly, pitch-black bedroom. I steeled myself with a deep breath, my forehead pressed against the door separating me from being caught. Who knew what would happen if they found me snooping around? Who knew if I had any reason to suspect Seokjin? I was certain that if they found me, I’d be cooked one way or another.

And if Jungkook disappeared, then I’d never know the truth.

Somehow, that unsettled me more than anything.

I nodded and summoned my courage to flick on the light. Suddenly, the darkness gave way to light grey wallpaper and collages of photos on bulletin boards. The room was sleek and clean, and the walls were decorated with sentimental pictures of Seokjin and people I didn’t recognize. A few photos featured Jungkook, but again they were surrounded by unknown faces. I scanned them for a moment before dropping my eyes to Seokjin’s work desk.

Atop the white lacquered wood was an expensive computer and not much else. I sucked in my breath and leaned down before it, running my fingers along the drawer. I couldn’t afford to waste much time, my ears hypersensitive to any noises coming from the hallway. I pried open the drawer and stared into it with wide, eager eyes.

Sitting at the bottom were several notebooks and one manila folder. The conversation from outside seemed to be quieting down, and my nerves were on fire. Without thinking, I yanked the manila folder out from inside and opened it on the floor beside Seokjin’s desk chair.

My heart skipped a beat.

Inside the folder were dozens of legal documents. I shook my head and fingered through them. They all seemed to be public records, transactions, contracts, things relating to business. Perplexed, I flipped to the final page in the thick pile.

And there it was.

Vante’s elegant, distinctive signature at the bottom of a document I didn’t recognize. And, right beside it, a name I could only vaguely place.

Kim Namjoon.

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[katiesclassicbooks]

Review: Watchmen by Alan Moore Illustrated by Dave Gibbons

Synopsis:

Watchmen is a graphic novel that was written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Dave Gibbons. It was published in 1987. In the midst of the threat of nuclear warfare, the world is reimagined as if super-heroes really exist in this graphic novel. The group of super-heroes also known as the watchmen, presented in this story are all psychologically complex. We get glimpses into their pasts and their different viewpoints. They all have different viewpoints on how to save the world. Also, complicated and imperfect morality. 

Storyline:

I was hooked and astounded by this multi-layered story. There really was so much packed in here. This shows a world that is overshadowed by potential destruction and Armageddon. A world plagued by the threat of nuclear warfare. Yet, in this world super-heroes are real and what are super-heroes for except to save the world? It’s so much more complex than that though. These super-heroes are flawed. They are just as human as everyone else (well most of them) and have been shaped by their pasts. They all have different viewpoints about the world, saving it and fighting crime. All of which are interesting, all seem morally complicated and none seem like exactly the right answer. Also, the question is asked ‘who watches the watchmen?’ What is behind it all? Does anyone really have the right to make decisions on behalf of humanity or other people? If superheroes existed would they have that right? Do policemen and the law have that right? Do political leaders have that right? Does anyone have that right? I’ve read that Alan Moore is an anarchist and within that theme of ‘who watches the watchmen?’ I can see his anarchy seeping through. This story was so engrossing, thought provoking and wonderfully executed both through the storytelling of Alan Moore and the artistic talent of Dave Gibbons. 

Setting:

Watchmen is set in a slightly altered 1980’s where some of the history has changed a bit because of the existence of superheroes. The setting was great and since this is a graphic novel was shown through art rather than described with words. I really did love the art style in this graphic novel. I mean, this is the first graphic novel/comic series I have ever read so I don’t have anything to compare it too, but I really did love it. My favorite color palette and setting was when Dr. Manhattan was on Mars. I loved the blue and the pink. All those images when he was there were so cool. Perhaps the scenes on earth were so busy, that the simplicity, space and yet beauty of the drawings of Dr. Manhattan being away from it all just kind of did it for me. 

Characters:

The characters and the concepts they explore are what really made this book. Through their exploration all the themes of the novel emerge. First of all there is Rorshach. He is ultra pessimistic and you could say even potentially a nihilist. His focus is smaller and he sees the worst of humanity. It seems like he thinks it’s hopeless, but yet relentlessly fights evil. He doesn’t seem to look as much at the big picture as the others though. While I liked Rorshach in a way and he was an interesting character, he was not a favorite. Then there’s The Comedian. He also sees the worst in the world. He sees the world as a big joke. Therefore he decides to cash in on the joke and reflect humanity’s worst qualities. Sure he’s a superhero, but he also works for the government. He was not likable to me for obvious reasons. Ozymandias was a favorite character of mine, although I didn’t completely agree with or admire him. In fact, what is so great about these characters is that you don’t agree with or admire any of them completely. They and their ideologies are all flawed. Ozymandias has a utopian, optimistic vision for the future. He wants to bring a resurgence of all that is great about humanity such as knowledge and art etc. His idol is Alexander the Great. He says that people in the 20th century either were taking a pessimistic or optimistic approach. Seeing the potential for enlightenment or seeing it all as hopeless and almost wishing the world would end. (Don’t think much has changed in the 21st century either). He obviously sees the potential for humanity. He is known as the world’s smartest man and he sees that everyone taking sides and fighting wars just constantly leads to division and can now lead to mutually assured destruction. He decides that humanity needs a threat from outside in order to unite them. I really liked that concept and his vision for a utopian future. The problem is, that plan leads to the sacrifice of the few for the many. Which, morally doesn’t seem right and most definitely not a perfect plan. While he has good intentions for the long term of humanity, he is still very egotistical and seems like he wants to conquer the world. He is the one that really brings up the question ‘who watches the watchmen?’ because he is the one that changes that fate of the world. Did he have the right to do that though? I thought it was interesting that within this story there was a guy reading a comic book about pirates and it paralleled the main story. It was juxtaposed really well and this one image stuck out to me in it. This one man is trying to make it back to his hometown to save everyone from a ship that will take everyone to hell. He has been shipwrecked and is left on an island with a bunch of corpses. He sails to his hometown on a raft that floats on the corpses. The image of him going to save everyone from hell, yet being propelled there by the corpses of others really tied into the rest of the story and what I feel Ozymandias does. It was a good image for what people do in war regardless. Jon or Dr. Manhattan was perhaps my favorite character. I loved his sections. He is the result of an experiment gone wrong where he was completely disintegrated, but he reassembled himself and now has super powers. Timelines got messed up with him and he experiences all time at once. I found him utterly fascinating and the section where it talked about how he experiences all time at once really got me thinking about the nature of time. I put the book down for awhile after that part because I got so caught up in my own musings on time. He also questions whether anything even made the world. He says its a clock without a clockmaker. He says nothing ends. You could say that his views are similar to the meaninglessness that Rorshach sees. I think Rorshach is so much more nihilistic though and I almost feel like Jon shows infinity and infinite potential perhaps. Jon becomes separate from humanity. He doesn’t see how in the grand scheme of things humanity serves any great purpose. He wants to detach from it all. He starts to do that, but then another character named Laurie reminds him of the miracle of life, so he returns for a bit only to become disgusted and leave again. He seems to want to detach from humanity and feeling. Sometimes though it seems he misses and might long for human connection. While he represents disconnection and wanting to disconnect from humanity, Laurie and Nite owl aka Dan seem to cling more tightly at the end to human connection. As the world has gotten more divided people have become more divided. Laurie sees death around them, she’s been confused by her past and she’s been disappointed in trying to be in a relationship with someone as disconnected as Jon. Nite Owl has fallen into boring middle aged retirement and feels a sense of impotence. All these factors bring them together to both try and fight crime and to connect with each other. Laurie I feel is more driven to connection. Nite Owl gets a thrill and feels important when he is fighting crime. These are the complex characters of Watchmen and I understood all of them and yet didn’t quite agree with any of them at the same time. They show different reactions to the world and humanity. Pessimism vs. optimism. Connection vs. disconnection. 

Did I Like It?:

I absolutely loved Watchmen! I wasn’t sure what I would think of the graphic novel medium or this story and it absorbed me, it made me think a tremendous amount and I just think it is a masterpiece that’s very powerful!  It impacted me and I will be thinking about it for a long time to come. My love gave this to me to read as it is his favorite book and he thought that I would get it and appreciate it. I am so glad he did! He was right and I can’t wait to discuss it more with him. Noting how much I have loved his recommendation, I think I’ll be keeping him around for awhile haha. He also recommends V for Vendetta, which I want to read soon now as well. 

Do I Recommend It?:

Yes! So highly. To most people. Doesn’t matter if you think you won’t like a graphic novel or superheros. This book demands to be read. It contains so much and is just a fabulous thought provoking creation. 

~Katie 

#Watchmen #Alan Moore #Dave Gibbons #Graphic novels #Comics #Superheros #1980's #Hugo Winner #Book Review