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#These were not my regular color pencils so the colors look kinda weird but whatever

angelisverba · 4 years

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i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

in which y/n is just really creative and harry writes erotica under a pseudonym.

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

note: i’m so freaking sorry this took so long. thank you for being patient with me, and i hope its what you expected :) also the formatting is all wonky i have no idea why.

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

She knew what it felt like to sit and nod while someone else talked about their accomplishment. The itchy pull of heart strings; the yearning of wanting success, too.

But, she also knew how awkward it was to go back and forth declining compliments.

Which is why she never bragged about her newfound success. Or did the whole ‘oh you’re too sweet’ ordeal. She said thank you, and moved on.

Because it definitely was one.

A sudden change of no recognition to suddenly everyone wants her.

She had her friend, Lucy, to thank. Lucy had just opened up a coffee shop. One of those cute artsy ones on a street in West Hollywood somewhere, with money she had saved up over the years. It just so happened that her best friend was a talented painter, designer, and dabbled in all kinds of crafts. Y/n was known for always maintaining a tiny business of whatever it was she could come up with, and when her friend asked for help to decorate and set up shop, she jumped at the opportunity to go big.

The store was a loft-y type space. A blank, grey walls and metal; an industrial room. The first time Y/n looked at it, her mind flooded with ideas. Mirrors, art, frames, flowers, and anything that could be put up. Different themes and approaches to light up the room. But, before doing anything, she had a nice long talk with Lucy, about what she wanted to see. Had her set up a pinterest board with items for the shop. Color schemes, movies, plants, etc. From that, y/n took hold of the project, asking for Lucy’s opinion here and there, but taking most choices to her own judgement.

The end result… well, it was the reason why Lucy was full all the damn time. Y/n had turned the lofty space into an Instagram hippie galore. Lucy’s mood board consisted of a weird mix of Madonna, pearls, and David Bowie. So, all over there were some of the most famous pop-culture posters. Streams of pearls. Mason jars lined with pearls. Velvet curtains with golden tassels; the stringy ones that tickled when you rub them all over your palm. There were light bulbs and fairy lights hanging in the wooden beams from the ceiling, that were turned on everyday 30 minutes after sunset, like the headlights on cars. Additional records were set to look through and buy in a corner, and opposite that a jukebox with records that both y/n, Lucy, and Lucy’s boyfriend, Mike, had picked. The labels were written in y/n’s writing, a mix between curly-cue and messy doctors cursive; clean enough to read, messy enough to enjoy.

No plants. Or succulents, at least, but y/n had bought 5 dozens of roses from downtown. She’d hung them up to dry, left some where they were, and others she put in empty glass cola bottles that were in the center of each of the 10 booths. On the single, middle tables, y/n had placed leather table cloths. No flowers.

And the menus? Oh gosh, the menus. They were y/n’s pride and joy.

She’d closed herself in an entire day, to create the finishing look. With a copy of drinks (labeled like ‘Madonna’ and then the actual coffee order that star would’ve wanted) and the small variety of sandwiches (& other finger foods) y/n drew portraits on blackboards, used different fonts, painting mediums, and at a certain point even incorporated glitter, to create these magnificent hand drawn chalk menus.

Then the outside of the shop. This is what got her word out.

A journalist of some sort had happened to stumble upon Coffee for Rockstars the day that y/n was painting the windows.

You know, like with a brush and paint can.

She’d blocked off her workspace with chairs and caution tape, jammed her newly bought airpods in, and pressed play to her music.

The mural- Lucy labeled it, but to y/n it really wasn’t all that much, consisted of a the planet Saturn, with David Bowie, Elton John, Prince, Stevie Nicks, Freddie Mercury, and The Beatles prancing along the rings (all picked by Lucy). The window was a 5-or-so feet taller than her, so she had to use one of the chairs to reach the top half of the planet.

While she painted Elton’s fluffy feather suit on, the journalist had approached her, his waist pushing through the tape y/n had put up.

“Excuse me?” he called out to her, hands positioned on one of those Canon Rebel whatever they were called everyone seemed to be carrying around these days.

And Wild Night by Van Morrison may have been playing a little too loud because y/n didn’t hear him the first time, and he had to call out again, leaning forward slightly to catch her attention.

“Excuse me?” The guy says a little louder. This time, she sees him, and turns while removing her headphones, getting paint on her forehead and hair.

“Oh!” she said, startled. “How can I help you?” Her cheeks flame a bit when he gives her a boyish smile, lips twirling up to the corner of his eyes. He’s cute, she thinks, floppy hair that’s sunbleached at the tips from the sun, and freckles in the bridge of his roman nose.

“Yes, actually. My names’ James. I was wondering if I could take your picture for an article I’m doing. I work with the LA times, in the local business section, and there's a piece on West Hollywood’s hottest places. This one’s trending.” He lifts his camera in a ‘here it is!’ gesture.

“Me?” she asked in disbelief. Her eyebrows raised high above their usually places, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Shouldn’t you be photographing inside? You know, like the people?”

“You worked on this place didn’t you? That’s what Lucy told me. You’re a big part of what makes this place hot ‘n trendy. Plus, this live painting action will look wonderful…” he trailed off, his glance drifting to the window and to the picture she was painting. “It’s really good. Deserves some recognition.”

“Uhm…” Y/n looks around. There’s people on the opposite street staring at her, some that linger as they walk by. She catches a window roll down as the car goes by.

She’s always been small. In size, in popularity. She’s never been in demand. If she said yes, there's a possibility that that would change. A small part of her wanted that… she could finally start her business, like she’s always wanted to...

“Okay, how do you want me?”

He laughed, and told her to just continue with what she was doing. So, she did. She added more paint to her glass palette, and unprofessionally used her bare thigh to rid the brush of the excess paint. Momentarily, the brush found its way to the bite of her teeth, so the girl could put her earphones back in and get back into the right headspace to work.

The journalist, chuckled as he watched her, amused by her tactics, how she leaned back to look at the bigger picture. He was done in a matter of minutes, taking pictures of everything she’d set up in her closed off area. The tarp she’s laid on the floor. The cans of paint; red, blue, yellow, green, white, and black. An uneaten sandwich and a glass bottle filled with pink liquid (lemonade and a bit of vodka, y/n’s choice of drink when she was painting, claiming it got her ‘creative juices flowing’).

He has to get her attention again the same way, because she’d managed to lose herself in what she was doing.

“You’re all done?” she asked him, once again plucking the earphone out with a yank.

“Yep, got more than enough.” James said, placing a black cap on the lens of his camera. “Can I ask you a few questions?” Y/n smirked a bit, thinking back to her school days when smartass teachers would respond with ‘i don’t know, can you?’ and she nearly did as well.

She didn’t though. She just said, “Go right ahead.”

“Well, first thing’s first,” he reached into his front pocket, and pulled out his phone. Who keeps their phone in their front pocket, she thought. “Name, age, and what you did for Rockstar’s cafe?”

“My name is y/n, I’m 21, and I was interior and, as you can see, exterior, designer as well for Rockstar Cafe.” She’s shifting awkwardly side to side, tugging at the ends of her large, orange Garfield shirt nervously. Flashes of her jean cut-offs peeked where her shirt lifted.

“Tell me a little bit about the process of creating the entire ‘astro-70’s’ vibe you got going on here are the shop.” James doesn’t look up at her, because he’s furiously typing away at his phone, noting down what y/n says.

“Well, that was really Lucy’s doing. She provided me with pictures of things she wanted, kinda like… uhm.. that aura? I guess you could say that she wanted the place to have. I worked side by side with her, to make this happen. This was her vision, I just helped it....” she struggled for a moment, to put her thoughts into words, “come to life.”

He looked up at her then, a small smile on his lips. “What’s your favorite thing about it so far?”

“I’d say, the way the menu is set up. An artist’s name, and the drink they’d get. Lucy did her reasearch, and found out like, I guess you could say, their ‘regulars’. So, what’s on the menus are what the artist actually would like.” Subconsciously, she points to the inside of the shop, referring to the menus.

“Last question, have you ever done anything like this before?”

Y/n stammered for a moment, then said, “No. I haven't.” She taps the tips of her shoes together, all paint splattered and scuffed. “Nothing at this level of big. I’ve always kinda, worked on crafts. In highschool I had a small business, where’d I’d sell personalized things. I think that’s why Lucy trusted me so much. Because I have a history of reaching to the stars when it comes to paper and pencil.”

“That was great. Thank you so much, y/n. It was interesting to hear about you, and the cafe.” James places his phone back in his front pocket, and hooks his thumbs onto the straps of his camera as if they were suspenders. “Is there a website or business card you’d like me to reference in the article, after your name and all that?”

“I don’t have anything like that actually. Just that I worked with Lucy, I guess you could say.” She puckers her lips at the end, shaking her head slightly.

“Okay, well then. I’ll leave you to it. It’s coming along amazing.” James nods politely. “Have a great rest of your day, y/n.” Then walks away.

“Bye, James.” She twiddles her fingers at him her way of saying goodbye. It doesn’t take her long to get sucked back into her work. In fact, as soon as she puts the earphones back in, she’s gone off the face of the earth, and doesn't notice when a green-eyed stranger stops to stare at her, right by the tree that she’d wrapped the caution tape around. The man pinched his lip as he watched, eyebrows furrowed with the same concentration y/n had for her work.

Except that he was watching her. The way her wrist flicked, how she tilted her face to look at what she was doing. How she stood like a flamingo, with her ankle pressed against her calf. The way she blew the wisps of hair off her mouth.

He watched her intently, wondering who she was and how did she get there and what her name was.

And then,

Brushing those thoughts out of his mind, he walked into the shop and didn’t look back.

“Y/N!!” Lucy yelled from the counter.

Y/n, covered head to toe in sparkly purple fabric, rushed out with a bit of hummus on toast in her mouth still.

It was Halloween, and Lucy had demanded they both dress up as part of the uniform at Rockstar that day. Y/n, had decided she would go as Selena Quintanilla, and had crafted herself a halter top-style romper with purple cloth she had bought at the fashion district earlier that week. She’s woken up early too, and gone to her mom’s house so she could do her hair, and make up (given she’d lived at the same time Selena had).

Lucy, ever the creative one, teased her blonde hair, spray painted it with a cheap can of green hair dye from the dollar store, and bought a pinstripe tux. TA-da! Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice.

“Y/n!” Lucy was hissing now, impatient and demanding. It was a busy day at Rockstar. Social media influencers had come out for photo-ops and the like. Also, Lucy had a deal going of buy one get another iced coffee half off, and a free cassette with the $20+ purchase.

“I’m coming, Luce! I’m coming, Jesus Christ,” y/n finished off chewing, tugged on the halter top to make sure nothing would pop out of place and washed her hands in the sink to help Lucy at the register.

After she finished, she took place along side the three baristas, Kelsey, Tilly, and Kim. Kelsey was a broke college student, Tilly an Asian girl who doubled as a pole dancer on certain nights (she wore a mask to make sure her identity stayed secret), and Kim was a 30- year old who lives in his parents house. Bit of a creep if you asked y/n.

“Y/n, you wanna take order 48 or 50?” Asked Tilly while rinsing a measuring cup.

“I’ll take 50 and start on 52.” Y/n responded, tying the apron straps behind her neck. She didn’t tell Tilly that she picked order 50 because she hated making espressos, and order 48 consisted of three espressos. Order 50 was only four iced coffees.

After she finished decorating Lucy’s coffee shop a month ago, Lucy didn’t offere y/n a job, but she was always around to help, and Lucy paid her for it. After class, y/n would stop by the shop, and that would lead to her working as a barista. Which she didn’t mind, the money helped and it gave her something to go. Otherwise, she’d be at home with her nose stuck in a regency novel and a buzzing feeling of want in her crotch at the cue of poetically beautiful yet smutty words.

“Order number 50!” She called out. She set the plastic cup on the pick-up counter and plucked a stray from the jars to place alongside the drink. Seconds later, the drink was picked up by a tall and tanned man with green eyes; nails painted black; rings adorning each finger; soft, pink lips and a scruffy jaw. Curly strands of brown hair peeked out of a green beanie.

He smiled at y/n. The way you smile at the cashier in the market. Polite. A bit disconnected in the eyes. He said, “Good morning, Selena. May I have a cup holder please?”

In a British accent made heavier by the morning gruffness in his voice. Scratchy, deep, manly. And incredibly sexy.

Of course, y/n took a moment to take in and drink the image presented before her, but after she felt her cheeks heat up like the fire underneath a witches feet, she cleared her throat and responded with, “You recognized who I was! Kudos to you, sir!” with a grin on her red lips. The man chuckled, and took the carton cup holder y/n gave him.

“Have a great rest of your day,” was the last thing he said before he walked away. Y/n stared after him, watching the way his thighs filled in the fitting yellow pants he where, and how his biceps looked deliciously muscular; bulging in a white tee.

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, Lucy!” Y/n skipped back to her post in front of the screen,and began reading off orders for Tilly, and Kim to make, and picked one for herself. Two iced coffees, one heated croissant. She was in the middle of measuring the milk when Lucy called her name again.

“Lucy, I’m doing it, okay?” Y/n responded, frazzled.

Lucy sucked on her teeth. “Y/n, come over here.” When y/n looked up, she saw that not only was Lucy looking at her, but a tall skinny blond with a sharp cut bob and a long white silk dress.

Confused, y/n dumped the milk into the mixing cup and handed the order over to Kelsy for her to finish. “Yes?”

“This is Karime, and she wants you to help her decorate her store.” Lucy held a palm out towards the woman. “Karime, this is y/n.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Karime said, and y/n had to restrain from cringing at her nasally, high-pitched voice. “I love what you’ve done with this place! My store could use some re-camping, and when I saw the article I just had to come and see if I could hire you.” Karime makes gestures with her manicured hands, and titles her head in ways that makes her hair shake like sheets in the wind.

“Oh! Um…”

“Why don’t you go ahead and talk with Karime, we’re all covered back here.” said Lucy, an extra-pleased tone in her voice; the voice she used with customers to keep them happy, y/n had recognized. Oh so now you don’t want me to work? y/n thought to herself, but gave the same smile the green-eyed stranger had given her, and walked out through the waist high swinging door to meet with Karime.

“So, I wanted to know if it was possible to hire you on a month to month basis. Ou could come in the first week of every month, decorate, redecorate, while I suggest and give you a picture of what I want, like you did for Lucy.” Karime had a bamboo handle purse, and they clacked together every time she moved her hands in ‘here’ or ‘there’ gestures.

They’re both standing at the start of the record shelves, and Y/n is awkwardly shifting her weight from foot to foot and fiddling with her hands. She’s sweating, too. This was huge. Big. Is this what networking was? Getting the word out? Expanding? If she said yes, it’s possible that it’d create a cycle. Someone else would come in, asking for help, to hire, to contract. It was a rush. She was giddy, excited. But most of all, nervous. One, because she’s a bit clumsy in the social aspect, and Two, because she had a standard to meet.

Despite all this, she said, “Of course, when do I start?”

Then, Karime had given y/n the address of her shop (a weird mix of aromatherapy, kale smoothies with books), and they decided on a day to meet up (the second day of every month starting November, two days from that day).

Karime left after that. She hadn’t bought anything. Lucy congratulated y/n, squealed over it even, and Lucy never squeals. Kim looked over at them when he heard Lucy, and tried to ask what all the fuss was about. Lucy demanded he go back to work, and y/n ignored him.

When closing time came, the girls did the bare minimum, and rushed out to pregame at Mike’s apartment. Like crazy teenagers, Lucy and y/n shared three bottles of a Stella Rosa bottle that had been on sale at the grocery store at the corner of Mike’s apartment complex. Inside, Mike was 2 beers in, and claimed he wouldn’t drink anymore since he was the DD.

“You guys go on and drink yourselves black.” he said, sitting on the couch with a water in his hand and Lucy in his lap. Mike, a slender punk rock kid who proved his mom wrong in the fact that his like for the color black is ‘not a phase’ is the sweetest guy y/n had ever met. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for Lucy, always doting on her, and if she asked, would rip out his heart and give it to her.

Y/n was jealous. She yearned for a relationship like theirs, and no matter how long she waited, how hard she tried, Prince Charming never showed. Instead, she was stuck with watching Mike and Lucy rub into her face what she wanted so badly.

Affection. Love. Companionship.

Cheers to that, y/n thought. Her bottle of Mango and whatever the heck the flavor was called, was nearly done and she could still walk in a straight line. The wine was juice in her hands. Child’s play. Water. It had no effect on her. Not until she was three bottles in. It took an entire bottle of Smirnoff vodka shots to get her going once. Only then could she completely let go.

“A lonely soul drowns in Stella Rosa, Mike.” Lucy, her hair sticking up like Einstein from the re-teasing she’d done in the bathroom. “There it stands, taking the shape of Selena. Poor, poor, Selena.” Lucy giggled. A teasing jab that made y/n pout, and y/n heart to clench because she knew Lucy was right. A lonely soul she was.

“That’s not very nice of you, Lucy.” Y/n pointed at her friend, bottle in her hand. “First you yell at me at work, now you make fun of my love life?” Shes joking, too, but there's a bit of truth to her words. Meaning, Intention.

“Drink up, lonely soul, and prepare for the battle that lies ahead: the making intercourse with an attendee of the club.”

“Blah,blah, and screw you.” grumbled y/n, finally, finishing the bottle with a final drink.

Not that y/n had anything against it, but fuck the club. She hated it. She only ever went because Lucy or Mike or whoever else begged her to go with them and promised something in return. (Lucy promised she wouldn’t ask her for help the following day). She hated the lights, how load it was, and how much she was being touched. Sweaty men and women alike, rubbing up on her in places where she didn’t want to be, it was too hot, and her toes always got stepped on.

“The usual for you, y/n?” Mike was yelling. His mouth was at her ear, but even then, only some of what he was saying made it into her ears. She simply nodded, and lifted up to fingers. Two gin and tonics. One part water, three parts gin.

Lucy and y/n had managed to snatch a tiny booth when they walked in, and this was the place y/n was planning to spend most of her night. Not out on the blue-lit dance floor, not standing at the bar. Sitting at the dark booth, glumly sipping at her two gin-n-tonics.

“You are not gonna sit here sippin’ glumly at your drinks, got that?” Luccy pulled at the lapels of her suit, popping her collar so the tips touched her jaw.

“Lucy, please.” Y/n’s bangs were deflated and her lipstick was smudged, at her friends comment, she sunk into her seat and pulled her head around.

“Let’s go.”

Lucy tugged her onto the dancefloor just as some song by Cardi B or Nicki Minaj (y/n couldn't tell anymore) blared through the speakers, and the bass beat thrummed in her chest. They stayed for a few minutes, and in those few minutes, y/n’s toes grew numb with how much they’d been stepped on, and her hair was beginning to stick at the back of her neck. Lucy’s black and white makeup was gleaming with her sweat, and her hair dropped with condensation.

It looked a bit funny really. Selene and Beetlejuice together on the dance floor. An odd pairing, but a parenting nonetheless. Lucy led her back to where Mike was when she got tired of dancing, and like an obedient puppy, y/n trailed behind her. When Lucy ordered y/n to chug her drink, she did it.

She couldn’t say not. Not to Lucy. Not to Karime. Not to James.

She couldn’t say no.

And because she couldn’t say no, y/n woke up the next morning and couldn't remember a thing. She had a Katy Perry Last Friday Night moment. Sadly, there was no really hot guy next to her on her bed, and thankfully, she hasn’t wearing headgear.

What woke her, was the pain behind her eyelids that started when the light hit her. With a groan, she hid in the crease of her elbow while she scraped her thoughts together. Y/n was still in her Selena get up. She itched, smelled, and had a headache that hurt like...well, it hurts so much that she didn’t even know what to compare it to. She felt on her nightstand, and there it was. Bless his heart.

Mike had left her a glass of something cold, and two pills. She didn’t know for sure because she didn’t have the energy to peek and see, but the class was probably pedialyte. The hangover cure. The pills were Tylenol. They had to be, because he knew ibuprofen doesn’t do shit for her.

“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” y/n mumbled. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the dry roof of her mouth, and when she swallowed, there was a dangerous taste of gin to her spit. Pressing her fingertips to her aching temples, she curses Lucy for making her go out last night, and Mike for letting y/n chug alcohol.

Unfortunately, she makes the stupid mistake of rising quickly from her potition on the bed to ‘get it over with’ and not even a full second goes by when she feels her stomach contents worming up her throat. She had to clamp her lips together and rush to the bathroom with her blanket wrapped around her ankles so she doesn’t barf all over her floor.

She doesn’t make it in time, and she spilled her gut on the toilet seat, before she’s made it so that her head is positioned right over the toilet bowl. She heaves and heaves until her chest hurts from the muscle contractions and her throat burns from the amount of acidity her bile holds. Tears drop from the corner of her eyes to where her thumbs grasp the seat because it fucking hurts and she’s gotten throw up in her hair.

The pain in her chest seems to have gone deeper, and wrapped its sharp talons into her heart. Her tears become purposeful; there’s a reason behind them not. She wishes there was someone there to hold her hair. To rub her back and tell her it was all going to be okay. To bring her the glass of pedialyte of her bedside table and coax her to drink it because she’d forgotten it.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, y/n gets up and flushes the toilet, wiping down the toilet seat with paper from the roll. The blanket, still curled around her ankles, she picks up and hoists it over her shoulders. She gurgles water from the sink before heading out, avoiding making eye-contact with the horrendous image in her mirror.

Pedialyte goes down like the gin did last night, and she throws in the pills when she drinks, simultaneously pulling the strings so her blings flip downwards and cut off the light coming in from the outside. Quickly, she strips from the itchy Selena ensemble, and slips on a red t-shirt with the Kool-Aid man’s face on it over her head. Y/n has learned that its worse to go to bed and not eat, so she doesn't get back into bed, even though she really wants to and instead throws the blanket on top of her scattered pillows, and turns to make breakfast in her impossibly tiny kitchen.

She lives in a little lofty space in the downtown area. The cheapest of all her options, and the best kept compared to the rest. The windows were blackened around the edges, and her air conditioner didn’t work, but hey, at least she had a roof over her head that she didn’t have to share with her parents. And she liked the window wall, too, and how the windows propped open on hinges. The way her brick walls looked during golden hour. It was very pretty. Relaxing.

Slowly but surely, she’s built herself a little home that she feels comfortable in. In her tiny little space, her favorite thing was her radio. An absolute steal at the thrift store: a really old radio with big knobs and the red line that moved left and right when you tried to pick a station. She went to it now, and turned it on at a soft volume. The song that always feels like it's about a one winged dove by Fleetwood Mac came on, and she hums it softly while she turns on the stove. It click, click, clicks on when the gas catches flames, and she pours oil into a pan to crack an egg over it. The white edges sizzle, and bits of oil jump up and splash onto her skin. It happens so much it doesnt hurt her; she doesn't even flinch. When the egg begins to turn golden, she turns down the knob, and goes back to her fridge in search of an avocado. Call her a trend follower, but she’d be damned if egg and avocado didn’t hit the spot. Plus, she makes an ace toast.

Surprisingly, the smell of egg (her dad likes to say eggs smell like ass) doesn’t upset her stomach, no. Actually, her stomach grumbled when she smelled it, and the ache that had begun to spread across the lower region of her abdomen made her hurry to cut open the avocado, and pop in a slice of sourdough bread into the toaster. She fore-went mayo that time, instead just wanted to get something into her burning stomach because she was so hungry. Her eyes blearily while she does all this.

By the time she’d spread her avocado and egg of the long slices of bread, the radio was playing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun By Cindy Lauper and y/n is doing a little happy dance on her way to her wicker table by the window, next to the bookshelf resting against her wall. Before she sat down, she reached for a novel on the shelf, and set it alongside her plate on the table.

Biting into her toast, she opened the book.

Dani’s cheeks blushed a wine-pink color. She looked away.

“You confuse me so,” she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear.

“How?” He grazed her jaw with gentle fingers, enough to turn her so she’s looking at him.

“You say that what we have, this spectacle we put on, is simple only to convince the people you will be a good king, but them you look at me… like that.”

“Like what? Like I want to kiss you?” he whispered, smiling faintly. “Because I do.”

She seemed not to know what to say, and resolutely, she turned so she sat facing forward between his spread thighs, back to him.

He realized then, that her shyness had caught up with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and set his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m no expert in etiquette, Your Highness, but I’m sure this is high;y improper.” She sait, stiffly and primly while he cuddled her.

“Proper? They call me Rafe the Rake. I’d say, my little peach, that we passed proper a long time ago.”

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled.

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.”

He chuckled at her response. “It’s a hellions name. It suits you well, all right. You can call me Rafe, if you like.”

“I do not wish to call you Rafe.” “No?”

“It’s a scoundrel’s name. I wish to call you Rafael. Like the angel.”

“An optimist, aren’t you?” Rafael began combing his fingers through her hair, sifting through the silking

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

She sank back into his chest with a sigh. “That feels wonderful.”

“I should probably warn you,” he leans forward so that his lips are pressed against the shell of her ear. “I’m rather gifted with my hands.” She tensed again when he leaned down and nibbled on the skin of her neck, but Rafael left her melt in his arms when he continued his sensual massage on her shoulders. “Are you uneasy with this?” He paused to take her hands into his own, feeling as if he were young again with the first girl he had taken a liking towards.

“No,” she said quietly.

“Good.” With fingers still threaded through hers, he drew her hands back, and pinned her arms ever so gently behind her for a moment, gazing down her neckline at her creamy chest. Her breasts her small, but awfully perky and firm. He wondered if he could fit the entirety of one in his mouth. He bet that she’d like it if he did.

Y/n paused for a moment, and clenched her thighs together. A buzzing feeling was starting to form on her clit, and she felt the space where her thighs touch grow warm. The Kool-aid man’s eye popped with hoe erect her nipples were. She was aroused. And she knew that the feeling would only grow more intense the longer she read, which she planned on doing. So, she picked up her plate, placed it in the sink, and took her and her book into her dark room.

Her novel, Our Sign of the Times by Lemus Knox was tatted and bent this way and that from all the times she’s cracked the pages open for a steamy read. A painting of a bodacious woman and handsome prince posing in front of a castle adorned the front cover (one of the main reasons why she bought it). The was was strong, with raven hair and a strong jaw that portured strongly as he kissed the brunette woman in a lilly gown that he held in his arms. The castle was cottage like, with ivy covered walls and stone hedges; complete with a moat and bridge wrapping around the area. The author, Lemus Knox, painted the image himself, as he say so in the acknowledgements. No one knows who he is, how old he is, where he lives, or anything else about him really. A pseudonym, he says. A way to keep his life private life and still do what he loves to do: write.Y/n stumbled upon his book two years ago, in the best sellers section at Barnes and Nobles, and has been slowly falling in love with him and his characters ever since.

When she settled back into her blankets, y/n opened her book, and placed a single hand on her tummy, over the Kool-aid man’s mouth.

“It’s getting dark,” she said rather breathlessly, “don’t you think it’s time we head back?”

“I like being on the water at night. You can’t see. You can only hear the wares and you have to feel,” he teasingly brushed his fingers over the tops of her breasts, “your way back to shore. Feel your way through the dark.” He whispered into her ear,one of his hands splaying on her stomach and pushing back up, up, up to her breasts. “A man has to know exactly what he’s doing.”

She arched against him with a soft catch in her breath as he finally cupped her small breast in his large hands; her generous nipples turned hard underneath his circling thumbs.

“Rafael,” she moaned breathlessly, arms wrapped against his neck as she pushed her swollen mounds against his roaming hands. “We can’t. We’re not married yet.”

“Oh, my sweet love.” Rafael’s hands slid back down against her belly and began stroking her thighs. “I don’t plan on deflowering you yet. I simply wish to learn what it is you like.”

“But… I do not know what I like.” Her words were gasps of dreamy pleasure.

“Then I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Knowingly, y/n’s hand began to follow the same path that Rafael’s had. Thumbs circling against swollen nipples, fingertips teasing the insides of her thighs.

Her head was cushioned against his chest, and she turned her fact to him, seeking his mouth in innocent yearning. He lowered his head, and parted her lips with long strokes of his tongue into her sweet mouth, savoring the way she tasted. She reached up, and caressed his cheek as they kissed in slow, soulful agony.

While she ran her fingers through his unbound hair, Rafael deftly inched her skirts upward over her exquisite legs. His heart pounded as she let his hands roam under the gathered layers of silk gown and muslin petticoat. He groaned into her lips when his fingers came to the edge of her white stockings, and found tenderly warm skin. His groin flooded with heat and his body turned rock hard in an instant. Unwilling to push her beyond what she was currently willing to give him, Rafael fought to keep his needs in check.

Having been with many of the calculating damsels of the court, he knew that Dani was unlike them. She was soft, fragile, small, so precious in his arms. And while she may think herself independent, Rafael wanted nothing more than to hold her close and protect her, as much as he wanted to give her glimpses of what was in store for the night of their wedding.

Under her dress, he took his time exploring, kneading, caressing her belly, her hips, all the while devouring her mouth. Behind closed eyelids, he smiled to himself when she began to writhe and twist in his hold, virginal madness getting the best of her.

“Rafael, Rafael,” her voice grew drunk with urgent need.

When he stroked her at her ore, he was more than pleased to find she was soaked with silky wetness, throbbing under his fingertips with pure female invitation.

“Dani,” he mumbled against her earlobe, as her took her skirts with his empty hands and raised them higher and higher. “Would you like to watch?”

“NO! I couldn’t.” Her chest heaved. “Don’t make me.”

“Watch me touch you.” he murmured as his fingertips began to circle. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my darling. I only want to fulfill your desires. Watch me pleasure you. Look at how beautiful you are , your sweet body. My wild, virgin love.”

“Oh , Rafael!” she turned and kissed him ardently. A burning moisture inexplicably rose behind his eyelids, and quickly fled as their kiss ended.

He kissed the curve of her neck, moved by his shy uncertainty as she lowered her heat to watch as he touched her, panting slightly. She was so ready, he thought in pure agony as his hardness chafed against her back through their clothes. It would have been easy to take her then and there, on the warm glossy planks of the deck, but her repeatedly shoved that temptation aside, vowing to prove his respect for her by making their wedding night her first time.

Y/n, too, was panting as she continued to read, her vision growing blurry with pleasure and need.

His thumb deftly teased her jeweled center, while his middle finger gently stroked inside her tight, fluid heat ,and as he kissed her ear and the back of her neck.

Y/n threw the book aside, letting her own hands take the pace it needed to to bring her to her high. HEr slender fingers deftly pumped in and out of her slick hole, the hand that was holding her book now rubbing fast circles against her swollen button. Wet mewls left her swollen lips, and her chest arched to meet hands that weren't there. The feeling of clenching in her abdomen and a squirming need something increased.

She left herself clenching on nothing, pinching her pert nipples with damp fingers as she rubbed faster and harder circles onto her mound.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” she gasped under her breath, a long groan escaping her as she felt it instenifsy; anticipation of water nearly spilling. It hit her like a splash of cold water, her head thrown back against her pillows with her mouth open; a scream and no sound. Her body felt electrifies, her veins fueled by fire.

And when it died out,

She fell back like a ragdoll, limp and tired onto her sheets. Y/n was all droopy eyelids and noodle limbs after her orgasm.

She fell back asleep with sticking fingers on top of her red Kool-Aid man t-shirt.

“... you know what I mean?”

“So… you don’t want a beach theme?” y/n asked. Karime, dressed in another silk dress, but this time in floral red pattern, was having a very hard time identifying the theme she wanted for her Aromatherapy cafe/library.

“No, but I just want like, beach-y vibes. Airy? Ooopen. Yes, open.”

“So plants,” Y/n jotted bulleted notes into her planner, in a blank section under ‘Karime’. “White and green color scheme. Open, clear room.”

The two are standing at Karime’s shop, three streets away from Rockstar; an alarmingly vast space with plain walls and counters. Y/n has a lot of blank canvas to work with, and much to improvise because Karime wasn’t being exact with her vision. She hadn’t even set up a moodboard like she said she was because ‘an LA girl has a wild life you know, hun?’

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know.

“Okay now, what’s your budget?” she asked, her tone businesslike but full of warmth and interest.

“Um, how much do you think you’ll need?” Karime wasn’t looking at her, no, she was picking at her cuticles, and pushing them back with her thumbs; her nails had grown and blank space separated the polish from her skin. Karime was across y/n, behind the quick-serve counter where smokey machines and masks where all lined up; one for each stool.

“Plants are expensive. If you want big and already grown plants, they’re expensive- ranging from $20 to, I don't know… maybe $80?” Y/n taps her pen on her chin. “Furniture, and other wall decor I can craft and thrift, so that right there is maybe $200? $400 tops.”

“Okay.” Karime said, shrugging her shoulders with a crescent moon smile on her pink lips, “I’ll write you a check for $3,000 to start. I don’t want anything from second-hand like Goodwill or anything like that. I’ll give you addresses to pre-selected antique stores and the likes. Now, you mentioned something about measurements?”

“Yes! Thanks for reminding me,” she’d forgotten all about that, and it truly is a key process in the decor department. “Do you happen to have a measuring tape?”

“Actually, yes. There’s one in the back, I’ll go get it.” Karime pushed herself off the granite table top, and turned on her heel to walk through a golden confetti curtain, leaving y/n seated at the counter.

For a moment. She fiddled with the tubes coming from the humidifying machine in front of her, an opaque purple bowl with two tubes sticking out from opposite sides that connect to facemasks that cover your mouth. They’re cool to the touch, but warm when her fingers linger. A humming sound emits from the machine when she accidentally presses the start button, and she pushes it again in a panicked state to make it stop. She decides it’s best if she stops messing around with expensive machinery, and instead turns to looking at the small amount of people that are in the shop.

There’s no one really up and about at 10 in the morning on a Sunday. The few that were, came with laptops to do work in the library section of the shop, with coffees on their tables, or some kind of breakfast, which had to be from somewhere else because Karime didn’t have a menu for food. Just drinks.

One of these really risers, a man who hunched over a sticker covered Mac, looked strangely familiar. Y/n was staring at his choice of clothing (a worn down Brittney Spears shirt with jeans and rolled at the ankles and pristine white vans) when he turned to look at her. It was then, looking onto his dazzling green eyes and watching his taffy pink lips curl into a smile and a hand coming up in a small wave, did y/n recognize that it was the stranger that recognized her Halloween costume a few days ago.

Cheeks heating with clear embarrassment, y/n raised her own hand and timidly twiddles her fingers. She mouthed hello and tried to keep from cringing when he raised a finger to rub under his nose to hide the way his lips twitch upwards. His nose scrunches and wiggles, and his eyes wrinkle at the corner, a cheeky gleam in his look.

“Y/n!” Karime, reappearing, held a ruler in her hand. A ruler. “This is the best we’ve got, babe.”

Her head snaps from the familiar stranger to Karime, who smiled as if she’d just solved all their problems when she’d really just created more because measuring with a ruler? Seriously. Y/n curses at herself for forgetting to bring her own measuring tape.

She has no other option than to nod, smile, and take the ruler, and start taking measurements.

Like the hand-over-hand motions of steering a car, y/n has to place the ruler, mark where it ends with her nail, and repeat the process again and again.

The walls, the patio, window space, countertops, tables, and the one she’s dreading to do: the dimensions of the room the stranger is sitting in. Karime’s place was split in two and a half. A small outdoor patio, the man space with tables and machines, and the library lounging space. The library lounge space, a doorway cut into a small cozy room to the left when you walk in.

She’d yet to go in there and measure the walls and bookshelves, putting in on to last in hopes that he’d leave because measuring with a ruler is really embarrassing and it’s possible that she’d be shuffling around him.

God.

Getting a grip, she pulled her shoulders back and walked into the room, counting how many steps it took to walk through the door frame. She felt like fingers trapped in a Chinese finger trap, constricted.

Walking into the room, the stranger didn’t look up, instead he looked even more immersed in his work than ever. Eyebrows furrowed and fingers tapping away on his keyboard. He was even leaning into his computer screen, like he couldn’t get whatever it was he needed to type onto the screen fast enough.

Sure enough, staring at him, lost in whatever it was he was typing, y/n stumbled on her own two feet, and an absurd noise escapes her lips when she tried to catch herself.

She doesn’t turn to see if he’s looked at her (he did, with a grin that showed off his bunny-like teeth) and instead hangs her head and makes her way to the opposite wall. Great way to be inconspicuous, she thought to herself.

The wall opposite the stranger, was tall, like the others were. And even though she was sure that it was most likely the same dimensions, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Pulling up a chair so she could stand on it once her arm couldn't reach anymore; huffing because Karime had those really heavy metal chairs that screeched if you didn’t pick them off the floor. Seven feet later, y/n had to step up on the chair, wobbling on her legs while she hiked up, pressing harder on the wooden ruler to make sure it’s place didn’t move.

Her nail pins into the wall, at the end of the ruler, before using her other hand to move up the start of the ruler where her nail left off. When the ruler reached her hip, y/n stumbled leaned forward and effectively knocked out her balance so she was left flailing, falling, fa-

Not falling.

No, not falling, because two hands grip her hips, and pull her back on the chair to make sure she doesn't fall flat on her face. Her eyes are pinched un closed anticipation, waiting for the smashing of knees against the cold, hard floors but it never comes.

“Gotcha!” says a deep british voice. A warm gust of minty wind flutters in y/n’s nose, and when she opens her eyes. Glittering green eyes, wispy strands of hair, and petal pink lips.

Right. In front. Of her face.

“Selena, you’ve really got to be more careful,” he says, chuckling as his speaks so his words are broken with sounds of laughter. He’s even lifting her up from her leaned position off of the chair, and settling her down on the floor, biceps tightening and a humming noise coming from his throat as he does so.

She’s flabbergasted. Doesn’t know what to say because she doesn’t think she’d ever been picked up before. Its ridiculous really, seconds away from eating shit on hard ass surface and all she can think about is how she was picked up. But jeez, who could blame her, the man was hot.

All sharp jawline, clavicles peeking out of his shirt, and the column of his throat such a nice pretty color. Quite handsome, really.

“Shit,” y/n finally manages to get out, her eyes wide, shoulders tense, and instinctively, her fingers are digging into his shoulders (though she’s not aware of it yet).

“You alright?” The man says, when he notices the way she’s gone rigid. He doesn’t say anything about the way her fingers are gripping at him.

“Uhm, yes. I am now. Thank you…” Y/n’s voice comes out in breathy spurts, and her forehead glistens like she’s just run to catch the bus. That’s when she noticed where her fingers were placed; the way the white cloth dipped in from the amount of pressure she was exerting onto his skin. Cheeks turning a darker pink, she cleared her throat and avoided looking at him when she removed her hands.

“Harry” He mumbled. “My name’s Harry. Yours? Not quite sure if it’s Selena or not…”

“HA!” A loud exclamation, a bit too loud that it was awkward. “No. Not Selena. Y/n.” She looked into his eyes them, raising her chin the last inch to move from Brittney Spears face to his eyes. Eyes the color of light streaming through a tree leaves in a forest on a spring forest. Y/n sucks in a breath.

“Well, wonderful to meet you, y/n.” He leans towards her, a ringed finger pointing jeeringly at the stick still in her hands. “I gotta say, measuring with a ruler?”

“Very efficient. As you can see,” She shakes the hand the ruler is in, and then uses the ruler to point at the seemingly innocent metal chair “You should try it sometime.”

“Only if you catch me.” Harry grabs his own wrists behind his back, his shoulders hunching forwards and head shaking side to side a bit as his speaks.

It takes a moment for her to drink in what he’s said, to fully react with a scoff and a smile. “Catch you? I’ll hold you up on my shoulder’s myself.”

“Then we’ll both end up sprawled on the floor, all roughed up and bruised.”

They both laugh at their jokes, and Harry even goes as far as to clap his jean clad knee. When it gets quiet, their laughs dying down, Harry speaks again.

“Saw you in the paper. Helped decorate Rockstar didn’t you?”

Y/n’s jaw drops. Her lips opening and closing like a fish eating crumbs at the water’s surface. “The paper? What paper?” This was news to her. She was aware that the article James would write would be like, online or something. But a physical paper. That’s a little bigger. And him having remembered. Having identified her.

“The local paper. WeHoVille.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, one side of his lips pulling up in a confused manner. “Was picking up a sleepy time tea and honey at the Wholefoods, and you painting was a feature next to the counter. Didn’t show your face, but I walked past that day and remembered.”

“The paper… wow. I didn’t know. But yes,”Y/n twirls the ruler on in circles with her fingers, putting all her weight on one hip so on of her feet could tap loosely on the floor. “I decorated Rockstar.” After a beat, “What’d you think about it?”

“The place is amazin’!” A strand of Harry’s hair flops down to the space between his eyebrows and eyelashes, tickling his skin. He had to brush his fingers through his hair to comb it back. “Love the feel of it. Gotta stop myself from going in everyday or might blow all my money on Stevie’s usual.”

“That’s my favorite too! Next time you’re there, give me a wave down and I’ll have you covered.” Y/n’s offers had Harry’s eyebrows raised in seconds. “Least I could do, given you saved me from a concussion and all that.” She tried to explain, words coming out in a flurry from her mouth.

He chuckles at her flustered stare, the same repressed smirk that he’d given her when he caught her staring. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” Silence and then, “What do you plan on doing with the place?”

“Turn it into a greenhouse,” y/n said bluntly. The two were still standing next to the wall y/n was measuring, and Harry leaned one of his shoulders against it, moving his hands from behind his back to his front, wrapping one around the other one’s wrist.

“That’ll be nice. Even more uh, how do you say, therapeutic? I guess more relaxing than the place already is. Karime said plants?” He asked. It didn’t quite settle with y/n that he knew Karime on a first name basis, that he was interested in knowing she picked plants, and she wanted so badly to say: Karime doesn’t know what she wants, but instead pushes that feeling away and goes with,

“Well, she gave me a scope to work with. A color scheme. A gist. Certain decorations she wanted to see. So on and so on. Plants is just what I took from it. And it goes with her place because it has to deal with aromatherapy and all that. What do you think?”

“I think you’ve hit it right on. Can’t wait to see what it’ll look like.” He raps a knuckle on the wall. “Did you still need wall measurements? I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again.”

Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

“Up you get, then.” Harry pointed to the chair, and y/n raises her leg to hike up, this time with Harry’s hands placed on her hips, steadying her.

A tiny dash on the wall where her nail slid off marks where she was at when she nearly fell off the metal chair, and this is where she places the ruler. She left off at 7 feet, the ruler at her hip. Resuming the same positions, she starts to wobble again, and Harry's hands tight, holding her straight.

She guesses he hears her gasp when she feels herself wobble because he says “I’ve gotcha.”

Y/n moved the ruler up one, two, and three more times, and then her arm can’t stretch anymore and pinches one eye closed to cry and guess how many more feet are left. She guessed four… ish. On a whim, she tries to push the ruler up once more, and her shirt rides up on the left side of her hips. Warm sequential breaths hit her skin, and a shiver drops down her spine when she realizes what’s happened.

Harry, ever the gentleman, doesn’t waste a second, and slides his pointer and middle finger over her skin, his warm fingers splaying over goosebumps to pinch her shirt and pull it down for her.

“All done,” she squeaks. “Coming back down.”

Harry released her, but offers her a hand and she takes it, holding on to his as she comes down, his palms warm and rings cool; a nice contrast.

“Thank you so much for h-”

“Y/n?”

Booth Harry and y/n tun to the doorway that leads to the main room, where Karime stands with a checkbook in her hands. Y/n turns back to look at Harry. The curls behind his ears, the blonde hairs on his top lip. He turns to look at her, and gives her a closed lip smile. She smiles back and twiddles her fingers, mouthing a bye bye.

Karime walks away when she sees that y/n is following her, and takes them both back to their position on the counter.

“Here’s the check. Two thousand dollars. Deposit it into your account, and use it for gas, furniture, anything that has to do with Aromareads you can pull from this.” She opens the book and tears out the slip of paper. “I will need receipts. And your name?”

Karime glances up at y/n, only to see that she’s busy looking back through the door frame at Harry. The manager is slightly irked at the fact that the person she’s hiring to reshape her business isn’t paying attention, but following her line of gaze, Karimer can’t blame her. Harry, a usual in her store, is a very very handsome man. Towering, with broad back and a neck Karime would love to bite into if she wasn’t gay. He sat at his laptop, thighs spread and eyes hard and stern, pondering with a pout. Karime is sure that what caught my/n’s attention is the way Harry’s thighs and crotch looked at that very moment, enticing, strong, sensual.

Clearing her throat, “Y/n. I need a full name to address the check.”

Y/n’s neck snaps towards Karime, her hair getting caught on her lips at her velocity. “Uh- yes, sorry it’ll be Y/n Y/l/n.”

Karime repeated her name, and asked for her to spell it, which she did while stuttering mildy.

“Here you go.” Clicking her pen against the marble countertop, Karime handed the check to y/n. “Listen, by no means do I wanna pressure you, but if you could get this down before the holidays are in full force, I would love that.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take me that long.”

And it definitely didn’t.

On Monday, y/n spent the entire day (and part of her night) driving to most of the places Karime had sent her through a text. She spent a few minutes googling the places and looking through the pictures that came up and cursing every time it would redirect her to yelp- because really who has yelp? The antique stores were all spread out in the Los Angeles area.

There was one in Long Beach. The pictures showed a really big warehouse with chair lying on top of each other and tables littered with little statues and the likes. Here she bought baskets. Tons of them. Gus (the owner) has dedicated an entire isle to them. When he saw y/n’s cart, the laughed then asked her “Why dolly, whadda ya need all them baskets for?” And when she told him it was for business, he offered her coupons and package deals.

“Tell ya what,” he scratched the scruff on his chin, the only hair he had because he was bald, “You buy all these baskets,” he pointed to her cart, “I’ll give you a twenty pa’cent discount on ya purchase, and if ya want, you can pick anathin’ ya want from over there because no one wants tuh buy them.” Then he pointed to a pile of books that lay haphazardly next to a stove and a turquoise refrigerator. She paid one hundred and fifty.

She walked out with wicker baskets, one being a picnic basket she snatched for herself, lined nicely with red patterned cloth and a lid for it to close, and that same picnic basket full of regency novels from the 90’s.

There was another in Laguna. A beachside thrift shop, where she paid for (very overpriced) frames of painted lighthouses and beach landscapes for that ‘beach’ factor Karime wanted. By this time, she drove back towards Hollywood to drop the items back at Aromareads because her car was getting full. She didn’t go inside, just unloaded the tings in the back and Karime took them inside. If she had, she would’ve seen Harry.

Y/n then took to the shops in the downtown area. One being, a swapmeet type place where you walked through and looked at all the furniture. They set up different sections for different themes. Victorian, regal, animal skin themed, and a hall full of mirrors. Y/n bought a large 8x8 mirror for five hundred dollars. It would be delivered the following day.

One of the sections was retro-themed, and she snapped a picture of a hip-height lava lamp and sent it to Lucy. Lucy then proceded to beg y/n through to text to please buy that I fucking need it. Will pay u back. So she bought it; $100 that she knew would be no big deal for Lucy given all the business she had.

Her final stop, were the flowers and plants district. There, she placed a large order for 30 succulents, and an assortment of nearly 100 leafy plants to fill the baskets with. She blew $1,000 there.

By the end of the day, she’d wasted nearly all of Karime’s check; a measly two hundred remaining after she refilled her car with gas (give or take some). Y/n met with Karime at around 6, in the back parking lot again, and left everything she’d bought.

“Oh! And the mirror should be delivered tomorrow before closing time.”

Karime was wearing a caramel turtle neck and black slacks tucked into latex ankle boots, her hair pinned back and tied into a spiky ponytail. Her ears were adorned with pearl earrings, and her fingers were jammed into golden rings. Y/n felt embarrassed in her measly purple jumper and paint splattered mom jeans. Her accessories consisted of a fanny pack full of nails and a hammer at her waist.

“Good, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” Karime was already turning back and returning into the shop when Y/n said:

“Actually I was hoping I could start now.” Her words lifted into a question at the end, half suggesting half stating.

Karime’s face morphed into one of confusion and surprise, but in the end she agreed, and told y/n to do as she pleased.

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented.

She walks into a frenzy of… nothing. It’s like an industrial kitchen, but completely empty. Occupied only by the things she had brought in. She remembers that she walked into the back and not the front, and it made sense because Karime doesn’t offer anything that would require use of the kitchen. Everything she has is done at the bar by the barista outside.

Karime leaves y/n in the back, where she asses her items. The baskets. The frames. And well, that’s really all there is. It would be more with all the plants coming in. She realizes that she doesn’t really have much to work with and there really isn’t much to do than hang picture frames, and there’s only five of them.

Nonetheless, she goes outside with the first frame in hand. A soft blue painting of a lighthouse on an island with light from a hole in a cloudy sky shining on the building. When she picked this one up, she knew exactly where it would go. By the wall next to the sliding door that lead to the patio. She sauntered over to the spot then, dodging a woman on her boyfriend on her way there. It was packed, and rightfully (it was a tuesday).

She reached the spot, and lifted the picture on the wall, lifting and tilting so it would fit naturally. Eventually, she found the sweet spot, and reached for the hammer she had stuck into her belt loop and the box of nails she’d placed into the fanny pack on her waist.

Without hesitation, she put the first nail on the wall, and started banging. Three taps in, and she hung the wire on the nail, balancing it so it looked the way she envisioned it. After she was done, y/n stepped back to admire her handiwork, and tilted her head to the side the way one does when their looking at a picture that’s upside down.

Perfect.

She walked around the shop then, with the purpose of noticing empty spots on the walls, anything that could be filled up with artistry. The simple tables? No they had to stay that way. Placing something on the tables would clutter them and tarnish the ‘relax’ mode people came in for. The window that faced the street? Yes. Y/n planned on lining them with hanging droopy plants on the edges, not obscuring but not leaving a clear view either. She’d have to buy shelves to place baskets on the walls. Hooks to hang them. This she would do with what was left from the check.

Yet… something was missing. The alternative-ness she knew should be there. Something ‘hippie’ and ‘aesthetic’, off the minimalist side of things.

Looking into a corner where the walls met, a light bulb went off. She knew exactly what was missing. Letters. Y/n had seen an image on Pinterest not even less than a month ago. A picture of a string of letters. Or rather, a message. It said something along the lines of ‘You are my light’ or something edgy like that. Each word had been hand cut and strung onto a piece of- she didn’t know, string? Tweed? A wire?- and hung in a corner of a room where walls met. It knocked off every box on the checklist. Minimalist. Crafty. Aesthetic. And cheap, considering how low the money was.

She knew she’d have to brainstorm phrases and pass them by Karime, but she’d worry about that later.

It was Friday. One day after the plants had been delivered, and y/n was set to work full force. Sure, she’d have to work amongst customers, but no matter. It would get done.

She started in the back. With the plants.

Y/n had bought a plastic-type lining at the Home Depot to place soil in the baskets. She lined then all first, securing the material with tape around the edges. After, came the transfer and placement. She decided this would be a better method, and if there were extras she could have Karime sell them. This way, she wouldn’t overcrowd the place and stop when she saw an adequate fill of green.

The first, a circular basket with no handle the color of a waffle cone. Because it was one that would go on a shelf, she placed one of the droopiest plants in it, a green stream of vines and shrubby leaves.

Last night, y/n had given Karime the benefit of the doubt, and allowed her to place shelves where she’d liked them So, before she opened at 7, Karime had decorated her store with wooden slabs for y/n to decorate. Taking the first plant, she walked out.

As expected, Aromareads was bustling with energy. Women with mojitos in their hands, burnt out college kids hooked up to masks, older men and women laughing like tinkling bells.

She’s walking towards the first row of shelves she sees on the wall across from her, besides the sliding doors, basket held gingerly with both hands, when she hears:

“Y/n!”

Looking to her left, she sees a sleepy, just-rolled-out-of-bed looking Harry. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the words ‘Treat people with kindness’ in a gradient rainbow color, and… and grey sweatpants. Grey. Sweatpants.

Grey sweatpants.

Y/n tries not to visibly swallow him whole as he walks towards her with an innocent smile on his face because god if she isn’t all hot and bothered right now. Her eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to his crotch, trying but failing to grasp and image of what may be lying underneath.

“H-hey, Harry,” she smiles at him meekly, her voice cracking when she speaks. She cleared her throat and said again, “hey, Harry. S’nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too.” He bows his head towards her, and endearing mannerism that has y/n’s heart pooling down to her ribcage. “I see you’ve brought out the green guns today.” A teasing grin on his extra red and shiny lips. Perhaps it was chapstick. It was rather windy outside.

“You see correctly.” She giggles at his joke, at the same time, rolling her eyes at how cheesy he was being. “Today’s the day it all comes together.”

“I’m excited to see how it all turns out. Don’t go falling on any chairs today alright?” He wags his finger at her, mocking a mother shunning her child.

“I’ll try not to. But if I do-” she said, coquettishly.

“I’ll catch you.”

“You better.” Laughing at him, she repeats his actions and lifts her finger up to point at him.

With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Harry walks away and into the working room.

Y/n watches him walk off, and walks off her own way as well, resting the basket against her hip as she went. When she reached the wall with shelves arranged in a checkered pattern, she placed the basket on top of the wooden plank, and tufted leaves so they look naturally messily placed. Unintentionally intentional; they way one teases their hair so it looks nice.

She went back to her work station: the now full kitchen, and repeated the process. Picked a basket, filled it with a plant, and took it outside. She left the hooks for last, wanting to leave of being in the way of people until she had too. Almost effortlessly, y/n filled Karime’s space with greenery. Cacti on shelves, large leaves and vines on walls, frames of beach paintings on nails. Once, she pricked her finger because her it had accidentally slipped inside the glass globe in which the succulent was in.

When the time finally came to walk into the room Harry was in, the outside was looking rather… forest-y. She liked the way it looked; a calm type of chaos. One that showed relaxation and no care for anything. Which was the point of the entire place. Come in. Relax. Breathe in from diffusers to get that extra push to decompress.

Harry sat in his usual spot, directly in spot of the doorway, in one of the middle tables. Hunched over his computer with fingers flying over his keyboard. He had earphones in this time, white buds tucked right into his ears, stray strands of hair looping and covering them. His lips were placed in a puckered pout, the scrunched pink skin twitching from left to right.

Humming to herself, y/n forces herself to walk past him, forces herself to not turn back and glance at Harry even if she can feel his gaze burning into her back. She makes it seem like the hook and plant in her hand are the most interesting things in the world. Turning it over in her fingers, and even going as far as to lift the basket (this on with a handle and curved bowl bottom) to her nose and smell it.

“Need a hand with that?” Harry says from behind her. She feels his presence from behind her, standing close enough that she can feel when he reaches to her front and takes the basket from her hands. Y/n’s heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Closing her eyes to get a hold of herself, all she sees is green. Green, the color of his eyes.

“Yes, please.” Her voice is small, shy.

Harry, feeling bold, nudged the tip of his nose on the hair behind her ear. Enough to make her notice, but not enough to make her completely sure that it was there. “Where do you want it?” He says, breath hot on the shell of her ears. Her eyes widen, and her body goes on full alert. She’s suddenly aware of the closeness of his hips on hers, the brushing of the fabric on her the back of her hand.

“Up…” Y/n steps forward, towards the wall. She places her finger on the smooth surface, and traces it over to where she wants it, doing loopty-loops to her desired spot. “...here.”

He places the nail on the wall, hits it with the hammer that y/n gives him and hooks the basket as well. He turns to her when he’s done.

“Got any more?” He asks, placing a hand on his hip.

“Yeah, in the back. Wanna come help me?” Y/n points with a thumb to the doorway, half of her body turning as well.

“Lead the way.”

So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

“S’very nice back here.”

“Wanna grab a few baskets? Place ‘em in the lounge?”

“Sure thing.” Harry wraps his hand around the handle of three baskets at the same time, and with the other, he grabs the still-packaged hooks and wait for y/n by the doorway. She hurried to grab two succulents, and met Harry at the doorway. They had an awkward moment of deciding who’s going first. A huffle of backwards and forwards until eventually, Harry held his palm out to allow her to go through while biting his lip. Y/n ducked her head and felt the tips of her ears go warm.

“So, I tried Elton John yesterday.” He said, trailing behind y/n into the lounge like a little puppy. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

“Oh? How was it?” She replied, juggling the two glass casings in her hand, and then pricking herself again. She flinches, but doesn’t make any noises.

“Think I might have a new favorite,” he said, bashfully ducking his own head and peeking at her through his hair. Her heart fluttered, and if it could, she was sure it would bust out with the dreamy sighs she suppressed.

“It’s that serious?” She asked.

“It’s that serious.” They reach the lounge, and y/n sets the succulents she carries in her hands down on a table. “Have you had it yet?” Her stretches her hands out to Harry, signaling for him to give her his items.

“No, not yet. Should probably give it a try if its changed your mind. Can you pass me a hook?” Harry gives her all four packages he holds in his one hand. When she wraps her hand around them, her finger brushes against the chubby part of his hand.

“Here you go- I only drank it ‘coz like, I’m on this diet thing and needed a drink with oat milk in it. Elton’s was the first one I saw. Woke me right up, too.”

“Diet you say?” y/n took the hammer and walked over to her desired stop, a few feet away from the one Harry had put in.

“Some altered version of keto. Had a really bad bug, had me feeling icky and ‘just decided it was the best.” He takes place next to her, watching as she positioned the nail and hit it a few times with the hammer. He held out a basket on his finger when she was done. She was a whirlwind, he thought. Busy little bee, never stopping. Harry nearly feels bad because she’s so full of energy, bouncing back from the table to the wall and arranging plants before he could even blink. “S’not fair. Not letting me do any work.” A pout appears on his lips, eyes teasing.

“You just stand there and look pretty. I’ve-” she points to herself, finger at her chin. “Got this.”

Harry grumbles something that she doesn’t catch with his chin tucked into his neck.

“What was that?’ she hums.

“‘Said, can’t exactly be pretty ‘coz you took that job too.”

Y/n’s hands still. Immediately, she feels her chest grow red roses blooming on her cheeks. She’s not exactly… embarrassed, per say. No. The familiar feeling of ants running wildly in her lower stomach began to burn, her ribcage tickling as butterflies try to creep out with beating wings. Pretty. He had called her pretty.

“Uhm, thank you?”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” His tone of voice is smug. And when she looks over at him with eyebrows raised, he’s biting his lip and his looking at her through his eyelashes like he had before, but there was no childish play in it this time.

“Say,” she picks up a succulent. “What’s it with you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugs.

“Lovin’ all up on me.” She puts the succulent back down.

“S’nothing wrong with lovin’ all up on a pretty girl.”

There it is again. Pretty girl. Y/n is on fire her entire face pink, color concentrated on her cheeks and nose as if she had taken a walk in the brisk wind.

“Stop it,” she said.

Harry’s face turns concerned, brows kissing and lines appearing on his forehead. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” All work is forgotten, and instead they stand facing each other.

“No! No, no,” Y/n’s eyes widen and her hands waving back and forth to eradicate the thought of her being disturbed by him. “S’just,” she sighs. “Not used to it, is all.”

Upon hearing this, Harry’s face breaks into a smile. “Well then,” he starts. “Better get used to it.”

“Oh, you.” She playfully slaps his shoulder and picks up the succulent again, this time actually going to put it on a shelf adjacent to the window; a little alcove Karime has placed in a weird spot.

“When do you get a break?”

“I think I get to take it whenever I want, why?” “Wanna head down to Rockstar? Craving a Madonna right about now.”

“Never pegged you as a Madonna guy,” (the Madonna was a sweet caramel iced coffee with whipped cream and chocolate chips; not actually what Madonna would drink, and the beverage itself being one of the few inaccurate ones). “Let me finish with this, and I’ll let Karime know.”

So she did, much faster with Harry’s help. He handed her nails, hooks, and the plants she asked for. He asked if he could leave his stuff in the back, and he followed her back there once again, ticking his bag into an empty cupboard next to y/n’s things. On her way out, she said a quick goodbye to Karime who she was sure didn’t even hear what she said.

Harry and her walked the short block side by side, with him playfully knocking his shoulder into hers and smiling like a mushy schoolboy when she pushed him back. They made small talk about drinks and the weather, shoulders hunched up and chins tucked in because it was a little cold. Y/n’s frayed highschool sweater wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and she had half the wind to pull her hood up the way Harry had his.

Looking over at his, his nose was going a bit raw. Pink and the skin around it a little pale. By the time he noticed she was looking at him, they’d reached Rockstar, and he was opening the door for her. Murmuring a small thank you she walked through, and stepped to the side to wait for him to step inn as well, given he’d held the door open for the few people that had been walking behind him as well. From inside, she could see him nodding and smiling at everyone who stepped in.

“You wanna grab a table and I’ll get the drinks?” she says to him when he appears next to her with hands in his hoodie pocket; she’s craning her neck to meet his eyes.

“Sure. I’ll be in the records?” He takes one hand out to point over to where the records are.

“Okay.” Y/n nods and head to the counter, where Lucy is busy taking someone’s order. She only see y/n when she walks behind the person and makes a silly face at her. Lucy laughs, but continues taking the order, and y/n pushes through the doors to put on an apron and make her and Harry’s drink.

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

“Y/n! Girly its been forever,” Kelsey bumps her hip when y/n get to work alongside her at the steaming machine.

“Yes, yes, I know. Missed my favorite baristas.” she giggles, bumping her hip a little harder and making Kelsey gasp in faint shock. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Called in sick. Poor think could barely speak.” replied Kelsey. Y/n hummed a response, and made her drink first, a hot chocolate, and set it to the side to allow it to cool down meanwhile she made Harry’s. When Kelsey noticed her reaching for another measuring cup after just making her own she says,

“Two drinks?”

“Got a friend waiting for me in the records.” Y/n explained, pumping an extra pump of caramel into the cup. She puts in less ice too, and extra chocolate chips and whipped cream.

“The records…” Kelsey craned her neck out of where customers pick of their drinks to peek tp the records section. “Wait, wait, the one in the hood?” “Yep,” said y/n, unbothered as she capped Harry’s drink.

“Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!”

“Yes, Kelsey, I am aware.” Y/n rolls her eyes and picked up both drinks, turning on her heels to walk out but nearly bumps into Kim, who stood not even an inch away from her. She backs up instantly.

“So are you and he a thing?” He asked, leaning in closer to y/n’s face,his breath smelling on the ramen he always ate during his lunch break.

Y/n, uncomfortable by his closeness, tried walking around him but he stepped to the side. “It’s none of your business Kim.”

“You never accept my dates, but you’ll accept his?” Kim’s tone is angry, and when he takes a step towards her, Kelsey steps in front of her.

“Kim, leave her alone.” Kelsey says, turning back to y/n and nodding her head in the direction y/n was heading. When she pushes past the swinging doors, she catches a bits of what Kelsey says to him in a harsh whisper, “just wait until Lucy hears about this.”

“Haarryy,” Y/n says in a sing-song voice, dodging people as she makes her way to the records. Harry’s standing with a record in his hand, legs spread apart and leaning back a bit with his other hand tucked into his opposite armpit. “Here’s your John.”

Harry takes the plastic cup from her, giggling as he looks at her.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“Still wearing your apron,” Harry wraps his lips around the straw, tongue poking out to lap at it and take it into his mouth as y/n tries really hard not to stare.

Looking down at herself, y/n shrugs, and leaves it on, taking a seat on the nearest loveseat and wrapping her now empty hand around the warm cup.

“What did you get?” He asked her.

“Willy wonka.” She brings the cup to her lips, tilting it up slowly and her mouth waters when she catches the scent of the foaming chocolate. Harry takes a seat next to her, his thigh touching her jean-clad one. He sits with them spread, leaning back in an eased position, and y/n eyes jump down to the bunched grey fabric at his crotch. And… well, there’s a larger than normal bulge through the fabric, drawstrings bending over the imprint, and y/n chokes on her drink. Some of it sputters out onto her apron.

“Still hot?” She nods. “ Gotta be careful, love. Who picked the names?”

Y/n looks over at him, head tilting to the side with eyes squinting. “Picked what?”

The cloudy skylight streamed in softly, casting a soft grey glow on Harry’s side profile. “The names for the drinks. Who picked them?” He holds his drink in one hand, straw near his face so all he had to do was maneuver his wrist to the plastic tube was in his mouth.

“Lucy did. Well, for most of them. I picked Andre 3000, Madonna, Willy Wonka and made the drinks myself. They’re not accurate though.” She sipped from her drink. “The rest of them are.”

“How much of this decor did you do? Like, concepts and stuff.” Harry takes out the tucked hand to wave around, and then tucks it back in.

“Concepts? Hmm…” she trails off for a moment. “All of them. I don’t want to say that I made this place myself, because I wouldn’t have done it without Lucy’s guidelines, but I went out, bought the furniture. Everything you see me doing at Karime's, I did here… ‘cept Karime’s is just plants and this,” she waves around her in a gesture and leaves it at that.

“Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

“W-what?” Y/n, in the middle of a sip, and very surprised at his question, stuttered at his

“‘Coz mine’s looking kinda bland right now, was thinking maybe you could help me put some life into it.”

“Harry, I-”

“Kinda like the Rockstar vibes, but like, a little less on the trendy side? I dunn-” Harry isn’t looking at her, his eyes wandering and landing on everything but her.

“Harry.” she said a little more sternly, putting a stop to his little rant. He looked at her then, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure you want me to help you decorate your home.”

“Why not? You’d be helping me is all, and I love the way you’ve made Aromatherapy and Rockstar look.” He licks his lips, moving his head to the side and bringing the straw into his mouth with his tongue (that y/n stare at for longer than necessary).

“But it’s your home.”

“I am aware. Help me make it more me.” He shifts his body towards her then, his knee bending so he chest is to her. “Please?” He makes the face Puss in Boots made in that one movie, y/n couldn’t remember then because Harry looked much cuter than that dumb cat did.

Y/n tosses this idea around in her head. Helping Harry decorate his home. She was scared, not only because Harry was cute, but because home was a personal and private space to be calm and safe. What if she screwed it all up and then Harry was uncomfortable in his own home? What is she did such a shit job that, that- well such a bad job that a horrible result came out of it again. This thing with Harry, a budding friendship? She barely knew the guy, just that he had an affinity for showering her with compliments and he made her turn more red than that really bad sunburn she got in the 10th grade after she refused to put on sunblock on a trip to a pool resort. What her point was, is that decorating someone’s home- a place where the heart is pure- is a really big job.

“Of course, this would be after you’re done with Karime’s place. Don’t wanna stress you out or anything like that.” A nike shoe, white and crisp looking like it had come straight out of the box, pressed into his thigh when he wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled his bent leg in tighter. “Whadda ya say?”

After hemming and hawing a few times, y/n finally says, “Okay. But you’re gonna have to be one million times more specific okay?” She elbows him, his position causing her elbow to poke at his pec instead of his bicep, and y/n elbows into hard muscle.

“Heyyy, can’t go hurting the girls now,” He rubs over where he poked her, and pouts childishly, even going as far as sticking his tongue out at her. “Do you need to head back? I don’t wanna get you into any trouble, y/n.” The use of her name makes her heart skip a beat. “Yes, we should probably get going.” She moves to get up, and accidentally places her hand on Harry’s thigh. Before she would say sorry for touching him, he says,

“Alway using me to hold yourself, huh? Sneaky thing, I see what you’re doin.”

“You offered! Said it yourself, I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again,” she deepened her voice, and faked a british lilt as best she could.

“I do not sound like that,” He whined.

He got up right after her, grabbing her hand to ‘pull’ himself back up, but he was really just holding it. His hand was cooler than hers (because he’d used the hand that had been holding his iced coffee) and enormous around hers. If he tried, he could close his finger tips and they’d be overlapping. When he was fully stood up, he reached around her neck, and lifted the black strap over her head, transfering the cloth over to the hand that held his cup, and then reaching again, this time around her waist to undo the knot. His front, not even a full step away from hers, and y/n got a whiff of detergent and something else she could only describe as ‘clean man’. If she were a shark, this would’ve been the moment her eyes turned black and rolled to the back of her head.

“There you go, no longer look like a little barista.” He hung the apron over he shoulder, and walked alongside her to the exit. Y/n split from him for a short second to return the apron, but then resumed her place next to him and they walked out together. She was hyper alert the entire way, taking notice of when their hands brushed, or when he pressed his bicep against hers. They walked a little stumbly, walking against each other almost. Had it been Lucy, she would’ve already yelled at y/n, and y/n would’ve walked near the sidewalk to avoid bumping into her again. But Harry?

Harry takes it like a champ. Giggling and pressing back against her, and he even placed her on the inside of the sidewalk when she walked to the side closest to the passing cars.

“So, tell me.” He starts, tossing his empty cup at a recycling bin as they waited for the light. “What kind of premeditated preparations should I take to be- as you said- extra specific?”

Y/n still nurtures her cup in her hands, the coffee lid resting on her bottom lip. “Moodboards. Magazine scraps. Room inspiration on pinterest. Make a list of things you like. Anything really. Anything that you like and would like to see in your apartment. Also, you need a budget.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout a budget. I’ll work on everything else. You want it done by a certain day?” He asked, gallantly placing a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street.

“Preferably within the next week or two. I’m pretty much done with Karime.” She straightens up when she feels Harry’s hand on her, a warm feeling spreading from where he pressed, unlike the nastiness Kim made her feel.

They’re three shops down when he said, “Gotta give me your number so I can send you everything then. You can keep me updated and I’ll keep you updated.” They pass by a tree whose branch is just low enough to graze Harry’s head, and it hooks onto the hood on his head, effectively pulling it back as he walks through. His hair looks incredibly soft. Wispy strands the color of the drink in her hands, billowing up and around his face, a ringlet falling in front of his right eye.

He licks his lips, using his fingers to push his hair back and raise the hoodie over his hair again. HE looks over at her as he does, waiting for her response.

“Oh, oh, yes. Sure thing. Got your phone on you?” Harry jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the latest model, sleek and looking incredibly small in his hands. He placed it into her outstretched palm, unlocked but not on the contact app. Y/n has to swipe through shamefully, scared he’s gonna think that she’s snooping. She puts her number under ‘y/n :)’.

“Thanks, love.” He took the phone from her, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. He hisses when he does so, saying, “Y/n your hands are so cold,” and then proceeds to take her hand and squeeze it between his own two.

She giggles sweetly, “Aye! Trynna hold my hand now?” she teased.

“No, trying to hold your hand would be this,” He grabs her hand with one, and lets it wall between them. They walk into AromaReads like that, with him holding her hand and the both of them laughing like they’d heard the funniest thing in the world.

Karime, standing at the counter and welcoming everyone as they come in, catches y/n’s eye and she smiles at herself knowingly. Y/n shakes her head while still laughing with Harry, and they both head to the back. Harry to get his stuff, and y/n to continue her job. Just when he’s walking between the isle and cabinets, his phone dings and he takes it out, his jaw dropping and palm slapping his forehead.

“SHIT! I completely forgot. I have a lunch meeting with my friend today. Fuck,” Y/n, this being the first time she hears swear words coming out of his mouth, rases her eybrow at him and chuckles. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep helping you, but-”

She raises her hand, silencing him. “You do what you have to do. This is my job anyway. Just don’t forget to text me.” Basket handles fill her hands, wicker patterns pressing into her pals, and she tucks one of the last two frames under her hand too.

“I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He types into the phone that’s still in his hand, and a few seconds later Y/n’s back pocket buzzes and chimes. She doesn’t pull it out to check. “Now you can text me if I forget.” He says finally, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“Bye, sweetheart!” He called out, turning back over to smile at her. Y/n’s lips pulled up at the corners, gazing at him with a certain look in her eye as he walked out.

“Sweetheart, huh?” Karime stepped into her direct line of vision, snapping y/n out of the daydream in her head where she’s the housewife and Harry her husband leaving to work, calling out bye, sweetheart! as he walked out the door.

Karime’s looking at her with a smirk and a single pointy eyebrow raise.

God, what had she gotten herself into?

Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

And received a text from him that same night.

She’d been in her bathtub with cucumbers on her eyes when she heard her phone chime. Chin pointed upwards and wrists perched on the edges of her porcelain basin, she lay unbothered and unmotivated to even move. Arms aching and the soles of her feet tired from walking from place to place and lifting she did at Karime’s earlier that day. Tealight candles were the only source of light in the tiny bathroom, a soft yellow glow cascading on the skin of her neck. The valley of her breast peaked out everytime she took a breath, her mind drifting off into thoughts of green eyes and warm hands, all she’d been able to think about that day.

She planned on staying there 30 more minutes, but her phone dinged again. After she thought it was the two minute thing the phone does after receiving a message, but when it dinged again, she huffed from her nose and removed the soggy cucumber sliced off of her eyes. Should’ve turned off my phone, she thought to herself, grabbing the towel she left on the toilet seat across from the tub, and wrapping it around her torso. The phone screen a blaring white light in contrast to the dimness of the candles.

Y/n, eyes cloudy with sleep and limbs saggy with fatigue, is very much surprised to see that next to the app icon on the display screen, is ‘H.’ Hey eyes pop out of her head at the realization, and her heart shakes up the fatigue to beat up a storm for the boy she’d been thinking about all day since he’d left her.

Standing in her bathroom, on bare tiles with water still dripping on her, it hit her full force. She liked Harry. Liked the way his cheek squished against his shoulder when he shrugged. They way he looked at her through his eyelashes, and they way he made sure that she was walking on the inside of the street. Liked how he smiled at her and said her name. She was obsessed with him.

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s

What do you think :D ??

And attached were varying pictures of vast rooms with big windows during golden hour and white flowy curtains with art pieces on the wall. It was minimal Even more minimal that what Karime asked for. This is what he wanted help with? Not to mention, the pictures he sent were of rooms far bigger than she’d ever seen for an LA apartment. Hell, those rooms might as well have been in Italy, one of the windows had a view of a pretty pink sunset and orange tree branches littering the way.

However, she couldn’t argue that they were very pretty rooms. Sweet and plain, easy for the eye to absorb and just the place you’d be able to melt on the floor with a book.

Or the kind in which you have slow, hazy afternoon sex, but who was she to say what harry would use his rooms for right?

Disclaimer: if this is the look you’re going for

This exact look? You’re gonna have 2 have a really big apartment

Not even a full minute goes by until the grey delivered letters turns into ‘Read at 10:15pm’ and the grey typing bubble appears at the bottom of her screen. Her palms begin to sweat and her breath hitches. She doesn’t realize she’s been holding in her breath until she releases it after his message comes through.

are you doing anything this weekend?

Y/n is confused, brows furrowed as she reads his message. Why does he want to know?

No. why? she responded.

so you can come and take measurements of my apartments. that way i know how to tweak what i want

and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

Y/n rolled her eyes and giggled at her phone screen, turning and resting her bum on the edge of her sink.

Saturday?

Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

The idiot. Of course he’d sign off a text message. Scoffing, y/n let the towel drop to the floor, and reached into the tub to unclog the drain. As soon as she felt the pop of water flowing down the pipes, she took out her arm and walked out.

On Wednesday, y/n laid in bed until 12. When she got up, it was only to brush her teeth, pee, and eat ramen with rice and egg like the asian lady in the liquor store had taught her to make. When she finished, she went back to bed. Maybe she masturbated to get herself to fall asleep again.

Maybe.

On Thursday, she went took Our Sign Of The Times and took it out to read in her car on signal hill. She finished it.

She cried.

When she went home, she started another one. Rogue Lover. This one with a really pretty purple flower on the front, and the first page when you open it is a raven haired man with shoulder length hair who’s propped up next to a busty redhead. Her nipple is in his mouth, and her head is thrown back in pleasure. Y/n fell a little more in love with

Lemus Knox upon finding the dedication was a note rather than a name.

It said:

Whoever reads this, I’ll be waiting for you where the stars and clouds meet. My heart is yours. Lemus.

Friday.

She helped Lucy at Rockstar. A bald man with a blue beard came in asking for her. He has a boutique in Long Beach. Doesn’t want to come off overbearing. Will he help her?

She said yes.They were set to meet next week.

Also, Harry texted her asking if they were still on for tomorrow and come ready to eat because I made Italian food for a few friends I had over and there’s leftovers.

Saturday.

Y/n woke up with an appetite for Italian food. She didn’t have to be at Harry’s house until 12-ish. They hadn’t really clarified. And with it being 8 am and all that, y/n decided to take some time to shower and prep herself all nice and delicate. She spent 15 minutes lathering herself in her tub, letting her skin absorb berry scented bubbles that made her mouth water, and if she didn’t know any better she’d scoop up the bubbles and eat them.When her skin shriveled, she stood and drained the water, letting the stream from the overhead wash her off, and stepped out onto her heart shaped mat, the kind with little stubs that felt really nice against the bottom of her feet.

A little while back, she’d bought a lemon face scrub from a really expensive skincare place that had a sale, and meanwhile she put on her clothes, she put some on her cheekbones and forehead to sit for 15 minutes. It required extra care when slipping her floral dress over her head. Once she managed to poke her head through, and the material rested all bunched up on her neck, the rest was a breeze. With a careful yank, the light material cascaded down her body, dropping just below her bum. Checking herself in her mirror, she smiled at the way she looked when she swayed her hips side to side. Cheeky flashes of her bum glint at her teasingly. Humming contently, she took off to wash off her face in the restroom. She was eager to find out how Harry liked the way she looked; her dress a low neckline, and she wasn’t wearing a bra because it was one of those dress in which the fabric bunched at the breasts to create a makeshift cup. The patter was a nice pink that looked nice against her skin, dainty little bows at the sleeves and in between her breasts accentuating her features.

Y/n opted for nothing other than a dark shade of lipstick, and let her hair flow down her back. As she was putting on her shoes, a pair of those recycled shoes that sent some of the proceeds to charity, she noticed that much of what she was doing felt like what she would have done if she were getting ready for a date.

And… and Harry had food waiting for her at his place (apartment? Loft? She didn’t know specifically). Was this a date? She definitely wouldn't mind if it was.

She finished, and grabbed nothing other than her keys and shoulder bag, hesitating at her door whether she should grab the measuring tape, but deciding against it after remembering that Harry, quite teasingly, had said he had one at his house.

In her car, she scrolled up her and Harry’s text to find the one which contained his address, tapped on it when she found it, and set in on the small mount on the headboard of her cart. Huffing, she set off to Harry’s house.

It didn’t take her long to get there, about ten minutes, and she parked in front of a much nicer version of her own apartment complex, but in Beverly hills. A beige building that have the similar structure of a hotel, with turquoise patios and green roofing. Palm trees making a walkway to the entrance, which guarded by a security guard who asked who she was there to see.

“I’m here to see Harry…” she falters, realizing she doesn’t know his name.

The security, an old man with a limp and scrutinizing eyes, looked her up and down and said, “Ya one of dem girls das always botherin’ him ain’tcha? I suggest you turn back and go home. Mr. Styles won’t see you.”

Y/n, with her jaw dropped, stood stunned in the middle of the pathway, not sure what to respond. Surely, he was confused. And whichever “girls that came around bothering Mr. Styles” she wasn’t one of them.

“Go on and git,” he said, crossing his arms and standing possessively in front of a keypad.

She hurried to reach into her bag for her phone, walking back to her car while she punched Harry’s “call” because she didn’t want to stand while an agitated security man watched her.

He picks up the phone, and doesn’t even give her a chance to talk before he says, “is Felix giving you a hard time?” His voice gravelly and knowing.

“The security guard? He said that you won’t see me.” She whines into the receiver.

“Ah yes, the strict old man. Gimme a second.” He hangs up on her, leaving y/n clutching the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turn white.

“Ms. Y/n?!” Felix calls from behind her. She turns around, surprised to see that his face was completely transformed with a smile. His front tooth is gold and he’s missing a molar. “You can go on ahead, dolly. Mr. Styles just called and said you was a nice ‘un.” He said, punching a thumb into the keypad behind him. “Sorry, bout that Miss. Enjoy the rest ‘ur dey!” He touches the tips of his fore and middle finger to his gleaming forehead and salutes her as she passes him, giggling and blushing.

“Thank you, Felix. You too.”

She walks through, and is greeted with a fine lobby. It really does look like a hotel lobby. Carpeted floors, a receptionist, and a door leading to a pool just outside the elevator. Before she can even wonder where to go, she hears her name being called by a familiar voice,

“Y/n, over here!” Harry calls out, standing in front of open doors to the elevator to her right. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck and black slacks that are cuffed at the ankles. Yellow tortoise shell glasses and his hair is parted down the middle making him look like MiloThatch. A lavender towelette is in the grasp of his right hand, and he’s waving it at her like soldier girlfriends saying goodbye on the platforms.

Stunned at his etherealness, y/n felt the roof of her mouth go dry. Staring at the way he filled out his clothing, she walked to him hypnotized, transfixed by his appearance. His chiseled features, boyish grin. She gravitated towards him. Enchanted.

“H-hi, Harry.” she said dreamily. Harry’s eyes raked her up and down when she came to a stop in front of him.

“Why, hello. You look exceptionally lovely right now, darling.” He rasped, looking down at her sternly, all traces of a sweet smile gone and replaced by something a little more serious. A little more sinister. His light green eyes turning a darker shade, y/n’s lips parting and knees weakening.

She musters the words to say, “so do you,” and Harry’s lips turn up at the corners.

“Shall we head up. Pasta and salad is waiting for you.” He turns away from her and presses the circular button that goes red when he pushes it.

“How was-”

“So, you-”

They both say at the same time, laughing and stopping to let the other speak and Harry says, “You go first.”

“I see you’ve a few fans that bother you, and Mr. Felix has taken to guarding them off,” y/n commented. Her eyebrow quirked at him.

Harry laughs, a single loud ha! “Felix just takes his job very seriously. That’s all.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have women-” the elevator rings and the doors open, “lined up on your doorstep.” Harry steps in first, and uses his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing in on y/n.

She steps through, and they both stand side by side in the metal encasing. Glancing up, she sees the ceiling is covered in mirror panels.

“Well,” Harry shifts his body so his front is facing her, and takes a step, shoulders taking turns on tilting forward with every slow, torturous step he takes. “Does it,” Y/n takes a step back, breath hitching in her chest, “ bother,” her back collides with the cool wall, the floors on the meter above the doors keep going, 5, 6, “ you?”

He’s a needle away from her nose, his mouth ghosting over her own and his chest rising up and down slowly while hers is an erratic mess. She’s breathing out of her mouth, her eyes shifting between his own two that are fixed and straight on hers. 7, 8, Harry’s hand comes to rest on the right side of her face, caging her between the elevator wall and his bicep, his palm cupped her jaw and running a thumb tenderly over her cheekbone.

“I-I,” she stutters.

“Cat got your tongue, petal?” His breath smells like mint and coffee. The tips of the curls that hang in front of his eyes tickle y/n’s forehead and down the side of her temple and eventually her cheek when he leans in to put his lips at her ear. “Look so pretty right now, y'know?” HIs british drawl is heavy because his tone of voice is low.

8, 9, “Harry,” she gasped, involuntarily tilting her head to the side when he noses at the back of her ear. “What are you doing?”

The elevator comes to a stop at 10, and Harry retracts, leaving her a red, heated mess and slightly panting. He takes the few steps to stand in front of the elevator doors, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled at her sweetly, his demeanor innocent as if we weren't just going to ravish her in an elevator like Robet Patterson for that one Dior commercial.

The doors open to a long hallway that turns sharply at the end to the right, a door where it would’ve turned on the left side. The right wall is a window that looks out onto the middle of the building, where y/n could see the pool that had been behind door. The flooring is a green colored tile, the same as the roofing, and the walls are a flattering soft yellow bordering on white.

Harry’s shoes, expensive looking-black heeled boots that have a rainbow pattern on the, making clacking noises against the floor with every step he takes. Y/n can’t help but feel awkward while walking alongside him, but Harry, humming along to the tune of Maneater, by Hall and Oates, doesn’t seem to share her opinions. At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn to left, and she bumps into him. Mumbling a sorry she steps back to allow him to open the door.

It’s not locked, and with a quick turn of the brass knob, the door opens and the smell of tomato and basil hits them both in the face.

Y/n’s stomach grumbles, and she places her hand over her bell and looks over at Harry with wide eyes, embarrassed.

“I take it you’re hungry?” He steps through, holding the door open for her.

“...yes…” she mumbled, stepping through.

“Just in time then because I…” Whatever Harry says is drowned out. Y/n is amazed. Harry doesn’t have an apartment. He has a goddamn penthouse suite. His living room wall is a window, his kitchen open and blending in with the rest of the space. There are no walls, just turns where the building walls connect. Tall and wide walls painted with angles of shadows and lights that stream in. No furniture other than a long, wooden dinner table and three white chairs, and his bed. A mattress and a white comforter messily strewn over pillows. Before the walls turn to the streetside view, Y/n catches glimpses of cedar wood bookshelves arranged in the middle of the room; just like in a library.

“Y/n?” Harry appears in her line of peripheral vision, a knowing look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?”

“Said, do you want spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine?”

“Mmm,” She scrunches her face like she’s thinking real hard, “fettuccine.” Then she adds, “please.”

“You got it.” He said, walking away while playing with the collar of his turtleneck. Y/n follows after him, to the kitchen isle and utilities placed in a little alcove underneath the stairs that lead upstairs. To what, y/n didn’t know.

Then she sees the pots and pans that are still steaming, the cutting boards with chopped lettuce and other vegetables and realizes that-

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

“I did.” He picks up the knife next to the tomato, and continues chopping the lettuce. “But I left it out, and it went bad. I promised you Italian so I made it myself instead. Much better than Olive Garden, anyways.” He shrugs, looking up at her and pointing with the knife to a chair across from him. “Sit.”

“NO!” She said, exasperated. “Let me chop something, too.”

“Darling, this is finished. I’ve got it. Sit, the fettuccine is almost finished. Just,” he twists his neck to look behind him, at the clock above the stove, a cat with a swinging tail. “Five more minutes.”

Y/n slides the bag she carried off her shoulder and hooks it in the back of the chair he had told her to sit on, which she still wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not fair.” she stomped her foot, a flat slapping noise of her sole against his wooden floors.

“Oh sit, or I won’t give you any food.” He tuts his tongue at her, shaking his knife and turning to turn down one of the knobs on the stove.

Pouting like a child, y/n sits down with a plop and a screech of the chair sliding against the floor.

She sat and watched Harry as he took plates out of his cupboards and placed food on them. The only noises being the quiet bubbling of pasta sauce, the tapping of his heels, clinks of plates against each other, and y/n’s grumbling stomach. Her face was still puckered in a pout because Harry hadn’t let her help him, but it slowly eased off as she focused more and more on the way he looked in his fitting black pants. The way the fabric was tighter on his ass, how his thighs flexed with each stride. Suddenly, y/n got the urge to bite into them, and she felt herself blush at her own thoughts, especially when Harry turned to her with a sweet smile of his lips.

He placed a plate in front of her, complete with salad and garlic knots.

“Would you like some wine? Got this really nice one the other day and I haven’t opened it yet. Figured since we’re having Italian, it fits.” Harry was holding a dark wine bottle in his hand, that he had just pulled out of his silver fridge.

“Harry, I would love some, but-” Y/n tried to explain that she felt bad because she came here for take out and had cooked her a meal.

“NO buts. Have some.” And instantly, there was a cup of red wine next to her plate.

Even though he had a table for eating, he placed his own plate next to her, and sat down to eat. Y/n looked at him, deflated and with a pained look on her face, while he forked spaghetti into his mouth and raised his glass for a drink.

He froze when he saw she was looking at him. Looking her up and down, he said, “Moppet, eat your food. We have work to do.”

Y/n rubbed her palm down her face, her lips pulled down. With a groan, she picked up her fork, sulking, and twirled it in her pasta.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but definitely not the mini piece of heaven that was in her mouth. Harry had managed to create the perfect blend of cheese and cream that glazed her tongue like silk. It was so good, she moaned, her fingers pressing against her mouth and head tilted back.

“S’good,? Harry questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh.

“Very,” she said, shoving more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Good.”

They eat quietly, Harry snickering at her whenever inhumane noises of pleasure left her mouth.Y/n practically cleaned her plate with the garlic knots. She only remembered about the glass of wine when Harry set his down empty, lips stained, and eyes droopy if she looked at him hard enough. After she’d cleaned her plate, she reached for the thin stem of the g;ass and drank it like it was grape juice, only slightly wincing after it had gone down, the tart acidity washing down the sweeter tones of cream.

“Slow down, Moppet. Don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” Harry said, patting her hand tenderly and pushing himself off the seat to place her plate in the sink. At this, y/n jumped from her chair and took the plates from Harry.

“You cooked, not I wash the dishes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the tip red from the wine.

“But-” Harry protested.

“No buts. Go,” she bumped her hip against his, and walked the last few steps to the sink, picking up the sponge and turning on the water. She washed the dishes, and like always, got the front of her dress wet, water splattering onto her chest. Sucking on her teeth, y/n used the towel hanging on the handle of the oven to pat off the water. Harry watched this from where he leaned against the isle across from the stove; a new glass of wine half empty.

Returning to the table, she grabbed her now full- no thanks to Harry- glass of wine and sipped from it. It settled nicely in her stomach, warming down the path it took to settle.

Clasping her hands, she said, “Okay, Harry. Let’s talk decor.”

Harry untucked his hand from underneath his armpit, and smacked his lips together, “Follow me.”

He started walking out to the living room area, and into the bookshelves y/n had seen. Up close, they were actually taller than her, just about Harry’s height. He walked past them, and stopped again at a corner where one building face meets the other. Here, he had pictures upon pictures laid out on the floor. He even had scraps of fabric.

Y/n stared, and nodded approvingly. “You did your research. Good job.” Looking closer, she saw what the images were. Albums (David Bowie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Beatles, Prince). Pop culture pieces (Andy Narwhal, Pulp Fiction, Sixteen Candles). Fabric patterns, colors, and a lot of velvet. About half of the pictures were shots of other room like the pictures he’d shown her.

To her left, Harry tapped onto his phone, and seconds later, that song he’d been humming in the hallway, Maneater, played with clarity on speakers hidden from the eye. When he was satisfied with his queue choices, he knee and sat next to his big circle of inspiration, legs splayed out in front of him looking infinitely long. Y/n noticed he had taken off his boots, and his feet, knobby and lanky, had toes painted blue and pink. He had black markings on his big toe, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Look, sit sit, I was thinking…” Harry began, patting the area next to him and grabbing a few of the papers he had spewed on the floor. Y/n, inexplicably endeared, sat with her legs crossed to the side next to him, feeling her butt press onto the cold floor, and listened to him go on and on about his vision.

Hours passed with them just talking about images, why Fleetwood Mac would go better than Prince (because Fleetwood Mac is more of an afternoon in the meadows, and Prince is a night going down the highway in Malibu) and fabric choices for the windows (i’m sorry Harry, y/n had argued, but unless you can find a near translucent velvet its not gonna work. If you want the summer in italy during the 70’s look, you need transparent curtains).

They sat long enough that the way the light filtered in at an angle according to the sun, changed completely (it was at a harsh slant with the morning light, now its at a soft bend with golden light). When the light made Harry’s face look a golden pink, he fell back onto the wooden floors with a groan and said,

“How do you do this, y/n?” He blew hair out of his lips to move the few strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

A midst the mess, she guesses they missed it. Underneath a picture of a fruit bowl and flowers, was a picture of a naked woman, with birds eye view from the bot of her head, so you could see the tips of her breasts with they way she arched her back, and the head of hair in between her thighs. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes closed and a hand fisting her own hair like she was doing to the man in between her thighs.

Her cheeks burn upon her discovery, and she feels a familiar buzz in the place where the woman in the picture had a tongue pressed against her.

When he heard her little gasp, Harry shot straight up and when he saw the image in her hands he said, “Ah, I see you’ve finally found it. Was wonderin’ when it would come out.” Reaching across her, his chest smushed againt her shoulder, he plucks it from her hands and look at it, smirking.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing x-rated work.”

She says it teasingly.

But maybe it was the way she was looking at him then. She couldn’t help it. The roots of his hair looked blonde in the light, and his eyes were clear, almost see through as light passed them. His lips looked particularly tasty, having been tinted red from the wine, glinting from his own spit, and swollen from how he’d plucked at them while he was thinking about her suggestions. The juncture of his throat was partly hidden, but she could still see every time he swallowed, hos his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. And… and it wasn’t her fault that black pants looked good on him either. The material stretching taught over his muscles, flexing with every, single movement he made, no matter how small.

So, maybe she had been looking at his provocatively, and her comment had… fueled Harry. Tuned him in on what had been on her mind.

He lifts himself with one arm from his indian-style position on the floor, up to his knees, and crawls to her. Eyes looking with hers, y/n’s chest starts to heave, her breaths growing bated; shorter; faster.

“Do you want to do x-rated work?” He said, his voice dangerously low. His rings clink against the wooden planks, and brush against her thighs when he comes close, hands bracketing her hips, his nose nudging hers.

She’s gupping, like a little guppy fish, her lips opening and close, but nothing comes out of them.

Harry’s nose moves to her cheek, pushing back her hair. “It’s okay, pet. I can ask you again. Do you want,” his lips are at her ear for the second time that day, except that she thinks maybe they’ll actually gets somewhere this time. All she has to do is say,

“Yes.” Her voice is small, an airy squeak when Harry presses a kiss to the back of her ear. Her hands, sitting dumbly on her lap, move tentatively to his chest, searching from something to hold onto. She clenches the soft fabric in her hands just as Harry starts to lean back, his palm falling into her naval, and pushing her back, back, back, until she has to stretch her legs out to lay comfortable on her back, staring up at him with bleary eyes, glossed over.

“Yes? Course you do, pet.” He moves his knees to straddle her hips, leaning down close so he’s almost talking into her mouth, and one of his hands smooths down the shape of her waist. Y/n feels herself grow wet when Harry dips his thumb into her belly button, and she’s whining because she hasn’t done anything with anybody in so long and she wants him to do something.

But, if he’s not gonna do anything, that she might as well. She stretched her neck the last of the way, flattening her lips against Harry’s. The relief is instant, she quells her desire of being closer to him, and Harry responds almost immediately, swiping his tongue on her bottom lip and licking into her when she lets him. Harry groans, because she still tastes like wine and a sweetness he can only credit to her. His kiss becomes urgent, smashing his against her soft, malleable mouth.

Y/n whimpers, hips jutting upwards when Harry takes her lower lip between his teeth, and bites down on it,hard enough to where the pain was pleasure. Although her mind is swimming, she knows that the bulge she feels through the flimsy cloth of her dress is Harry’s cock. Elated and driven mad by her need, she arches up into him, needing any friction she could.

Harry pulls away from her, their lips separating with a wet noise, and tuts his tongue at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not getting my cock tonight, y/n. Not yet.”

She mewls, her eyebrows dipping and red, puffy lips pouting, “Harry, don’t be a tease. S’not fair.” She doesn’t care is she sounds pathetic, the space between her thighs aches, and she’d like him to very much sate it “Do something, please.”

He coos at her, pressing wet kisses along her neck, his hand sneaking past her waist, to the start of her dress, and slipping underneath it. “Whining like a little puppy, aren’t you?” His hand glides of her thigh, the shill of his rings sending a violent shiver up her spine. His nail scratches a path near the place where she’s most warm. Most needy, and she moans when he feels how close he is to touching her, the splotch on her panties expanding every time he spoke. “You’re alright puppy, I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s breath hitches when his finger hooks onto the strap of her underwear, snapping the material twice with a chuckle at the cries he elicited from her.

“Harry, harry, harry,” she’s half mad with need, her eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, and when Harry sees the desperation in her slack mouth, his own features go soft, and he takes out his hand from underneath her dress to cup her cheek.

“Puppy,” he said, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he said again, “Puppy, look at me.” his thumb rubs over her cheek, ignoring the imploring whines that leave her lips, and instead leaning down and kissing her to shut her up. “It’s okay, its okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” She shouted, eyes going wide, amazed that he’d even ask that. “Do something.” She ruts up again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against her hood. Harry groans, noticing how fucking hard he is. He’s leaked through his pants, a darker splotch where his head it.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, more to himself than to her.

His hand makes the same trail it had before, flipping up her dress this time to see her clothed center. Her panties make him want to cum on the spot. Baby pink cotton with a bow on the center of the band. Biting his lip, he uses a knee to spread her thighs, and then he sees just how much she needs him.

“Oh puppy. We’ve made a mess of your panties haven’t we?” He looks at her with amusement, “Guess they have to go, don’t they?”

Y/n hums desperately, her hips writhing up to meet his fingers. Pressing a last kiss to her lips, Harry scoots back so his knees are by her feet, and he and slip off the material all the way off. Suddenly aware of how bare she is, he clasps her thighs sht, obscuring Harry’s view of her pussy.

“C’mon now, honey. Don’t be shy,” with a strong hand, he pries her knees apart and lays himself down in front of her, his breath hot on her swollen clit. From that angle, he can see how much she glistens, and how her juices spill out of her every time she clenched her hole around nothing. “Look at you, just begging to be stuffed.”

With a single finger, he slides up and down her slit, collecting her wetness, and then slipping into her.

Y/n bleats, his intrusion stirring her heat up more; she wanted more. Wanted to be filled than more with just his finger, but was scared to say. Instead she said, “another,”

Harry slid his middle finger inside her, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lick a stripe on her clit. Y/n arched her back, and moaned loudly, her eyes squeezing shut and hands touching at the area around her, looking for something to hold on to and settling to clenching at her own dress.

He hears the sound of her hands colliding with the floor, and looks up to see her knuckles going white with hoe hands she was fondling her dress.

“Y’can pull my hair, puppy.” he said against her slit, the vibrations of his words sending prickled of pleasure to the building orgasm she feels in the pit of her stomach. The second her muddled brain comprehends what Harry said, her fingers jam themselves into her his hair, just as he suckles on her. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and her gasps come out in staccatos.

Harry’s fingers are still pumping in an out of her, twisting every time he pushed them back into her. He’s looking for the spongy spot inside of her, when he hears her say something incoherently.

“What was that?” he asked her,his fingers stilling inside her.

“Said, what about you?”

Her voice is faint and weak, her voice and comment sending pin-pricks of satisfaction to his throbbing member. His heart clenches at her considerations, so touched by the fact that she’s so lost in her own heat but she’s still worried about him.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Y’gonna cum for me, puppy?” He feels the pad of his middle finger slide against something that has a different texture that the rest of her, and when her breathing hitches and she lets out a long moan, he knows hes found what he’s looking for. Y/n’s pussy clenches around, her fingers tighten in his hair, so hard it makes Harry yelp. “Clenching m’fingers, puppy, I know you’re there.”

Y/n feels the familiar slow burn of her orgasm twisting in the pit of her stomach, her entire body hyper aware of Harry and what he was doing to her. How he pressed a hand on her navel to keep her from lifting her hips, the harsh sucking of her clit, and then finally the flick of his pointer finger curling inside her. The build-up unravels, and her mouth opens up in a silent scream like the women in the picture, her body going taught, and then falling limp when the wave calms.

“That’s it, love. All better now isn’t it?” Harry slowly takes his fingers out of her, reveling in the way she’s still squeezing around him. She’s sensitive and jerking from her orgasm when He lick his fingers clean, kissing his path up her body. Her thighs, her exposed navel, her clothed valley of her breasts, her collarbones, and up her throat, behind her ear where he’s taken a liking to kissing.

“Jesus, Harry. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” She titters sleepily.

“S’my job, puppy.” He nibbles at her earlobe and down her jawline.

Alarmed, y/n’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, pushing Harry’s chest and holding him at arms length. “What do you mean, it’s your job?” She’s scared she’s just been used or something along those lines.

“I mean it’s my job. Learned a few skills from writing erotica, pet.” He responses calmly, diving back in to continue his assault on the skin of her jaw. His voice warped against her, he adds, “write under a pseudonym. Lemus Knox.”

Lemus Knox.

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

“You’re…” she’s still. Almost like that fight or flight instinct.

Harry stills when he realizes she has. He knows, simply by the tone of her voice that she knows who he is. Who Lemus Knox is.He withdraws to look at her, grinning fro ear to ear.

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

“Harry, I’d even go as far as saying I’m in love with Lemus,” she blurts, reddening as soon as the words leave her mouth, but Harry just smiles fondly at her.

“That’s okay, puppy. Lemus and I aren’t the same person. You have a right to love him,” he nuzzles into her neck, kissing down her shoulder, “Just as long as you save some love for me.”

And lying there, completely stunned ant with Harry’s hard cock pressing into her hip, y/n bursts out laughing. She laughs because she’s happy. Because she likes Harry. Because she loves Lemus Knox.

She laughs because for the first time in a long time, someone is laughing along with her, kissing her, holding her.

She laughs because she can’t wait to see where Harry will lead her.

3K notes · View notes

wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

Telephone Line

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,449

Warnings: pretty sad ngl but not angst, mentions of death, mentions of cancer, these warnings sound bad but i promise its just kinda sad lol

A/N: ngl even i dont know where this came from lol but ill prob make a pt 2? if the idea i have strikes enough material for another part. enjoy anyways tho!

MAIN MASTERLIST

A deep orange hue shines through the cracks of his blinds as Bucky looks at the new shiny exterior of his new iPhone. Being too reckless on a mission led him to a cell phone cracked in two, resulting in him having to spend four hours at the Apple store all the way in Manhattan, quite a ways away from his apartment upstate.

Low trumpets flow softly through the speakers of his record player, a bold blue box that Sharon gifted him this year for his birthday. He hums to Marvin Gaye as he goes through the device in front of him, setting up account after account, typing in password after password. Gaye was a few decades after his time, but he won’t let it show in front of Sam how much he enjoys his music.

He downloads the mindless puzzle games he had on his previous phone and is thankful that the contacts that were in his old phone were able to be transferred for him.

He locks the phone and sets it aside before taking out the small sketchbook from the drawer in his desk. He also grabs a pencil from the cup sitting on the corner of the wood and flips his book open to a fresh page. A new hobby Bucky’s picked up since Steve’s passing.

His real passing. Not the one everyone sold to the world in order for him to live the rest of his life in peace in a cabin far away, probably crowded in trees and flowers; perhaps the house is where a rainbow begins or where the sky rains golden droplets. Bucky wouldn’t know, he never visited after seeing Steve as an old man after he returned the stones.

There wasn’t anger; Bucky and Steve spoke about his plans before he left and Bucky was happy for him, he was finally getting the life he deserved after so much time spent doing the “right” thing, and not what he wanted. It was a situation of feeling… weird and awkward around this new Steve. It was a completely different Steve with different experiences, different memories. A family. Kids and grandkids and great-grandkids. Photos probably hung on the walls of the house of people he wouldn’t recognize. He always wondered what happened to him in Steve's timeline. In other words, he wonders if Steve rescued him from Hydra and spared him the eighty years of torture. He wonders if there’s any pictures of him in Steve’s house. For Bucky, it became, “I’ll go visit him another day,” until, well, there weren’t any more chances.

A sketch of what he can remember Times Square to look like from this afternoon appears on the paper. Rough lines shaping out tall buildings and people, small squares to outline the pavement, bigger boxes to indicate the shapes of the numerous cars that filled the area. He reaches for his box of colored pencils in the side-drawer of the desk when the generic ringtone of his new phone belts out loudly.

A number that isn’t saved into his phone appears on the screen. A Brooklyn area code. Maybe all the contacts didn’t transfer themselves.

“Hello,” Bucky answers after swiping his right pointer finger along the slide bar.

A hitch of feminine breath is heard before a few seconds of silence, before the three beeps signaling the caller hung up. Probably an accident.

Bucky goes to pick up his pencil again before the tone is heard once more, the same number on the screen. An eyebrow quirks upwards and he answers the phone again.

“...Hello?” Bucky says once more. Again, he’s met with silence before being hung up on. Maybe not an accident, maybe a prank caller. I’ve had the phone for maybe six minutes and this is already happening.

The same number calls for a third time and Bucky debates even answering this time. He lets it ring three times before answering.

“Hello?” He asks, met with silence. “Listen, I’m not in the mood for prank callers, so if you don’t mind-”

“Who is this?” A quiet feminine voice finally answers through the speaker against his ear.

“Who is- What do you mean who is this? Lady, you called me first!” Bucky responds, already exasperated with the conversation.

“How did you get this phone number?” She asks, voice shakier than the first time she spoke.

“I got a new phone and they gave it to me? How else do you get phone numbers?”

“No, no, no. You don’t understand. This-this is my husband's number. It can’t be your new number!” The woman responds, voice cracking this time.

“Okay, okay, hey, relax. Maybe there was a mistake? Maybe your husband received a different phone number?” Bucky offers, not really wanting to play Tech Support as he draws to wind down his day before dinner.

“No! There wasn’t a mistake, my-my husband is dead! This was his phone number and-and-and I call it everyday once I-I get out of work! How did you get this number, why did they give his away?!” Pants and shaky breaths are heard between almost every other word as you start audibly crying on the phone.

Bucky’s eyes widen, not expecting that explanation. Great, a fruit gave away her husband to me.

“Hey, okay, take a breath.” Bucky suggests, and waits for her breathing to become a little more regular before continuing. “I’m sorry they gave me your husband’s number, it was randomly selected. I mean, I hope it wasn’t the last thing you had of his voice?” Bucky tries to offer.

“Of course it’s not,” You reply, voice sounding calmer now. “I just wasn’t expecting them to give away his number like that, it stayed for a few weeks so I thought,” a humorless chuckle, “I thought they’d let me keep it.”

“I’m really sorry about your husband. I, uh,” Bucky hesitates, questioning if he should be telling this emotionally unstable widow about his personal life, but continues anyway, “I recently lost someone important to me, as well. My best friend.” Bucky confesses, fingers toying with the circular edge of the back of the colored pencil.

A pause, “Can you tell me about him?”

“He, um, was a good guy. Real selfless. He was uh,” Bucky thinks of how to talk about Steve without actually leading to the fact that he’s talking about the former Captain America, “He was a bit older than me, and he passed away from health problems. Heart problems.” Bucky comes up, technically not a lie, his heart did stop when he died.

A small sniffle, “My husband passed away from lung cancer. The doctors told me there was no other hope for him; he needed a machine to help him breathe and a bunch of tubes in him to help him do everything else. So I asked the doctors to just…” You trail off.

A sudden deep sigh escapes her, the raspiness of her voice heard through the speaker and flows into his ear, “Sorry, I probably sound like a crazy person right now, calling her dead husband everyday just to hear his seven second voicemail.” You apologize, another humorless laugh following your words.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re just trying to cope the best way you can. You miss him.” Bucky objects, still toying with the purple colored pencil in his hand.

“Um, yea.” You respond, probably not even expecting Bucky to actually listen to your rambling.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“James.”

“Of course it is,” You mumble, eyes closing on the other side of the call.

“What was that?”

“I said, of course it is. That was my husband’s name, too.”

A sympathetic smile pulls at his mouth, even though you can’t see it.

“Listen, if you even want to call again, I don’t mind. I can either listen in silence, or we can talk, or, whatever you want. It’s okay.”

“Thanks, James. That’s nice of you.” You say, voice watery, but Bucky doesn’t mention it.

“I’ll, uh, let you go, James. Sorry for any bother.” He can tell you’re struggling to hold back tears with the way your voice is straining.

“No bother at all. Have a good rest of your night, okay?” Bucky bids her, hoping she will, but accepting that there’s a good chance this poor woman will be in tears for the rest of her evening.

“You, too.”

A couple seconds of silence follow before the call ends. Bucky sighs, locking his phone once more. He picks up the pencil in front of him, ignoring the small tremor in his fingers, and presses the pencil to the paper.

He thinks about her for the rest of the night.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #oneshot #bucky x reader

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moonstruckholland · 4 years

Note

so i'm a sagittarius right, and some fanfic trope came up: coffee shop au. where this time, tom is the barista. and reader is a regular customer. how do you think it would entail? (thank youuuuu, darling💞)

A/N: Ahh! I’ve always wanted to do a coffeeshop au! I’m not super sure if it did this right, I hope you like it, honey! 💕 I kinda went a bit overboard 😅

Despite contrary belief, not every college student liked coffee

Well, at least you didn’t

Maybe you were a total weirdo but something about it just didn’t float your boat, preferring the taste of literally every other drink

Yet, somehow, you found yourself waiting in line at the Starbucks on your campus

Your favorite spot in the library was taken and seemingly so was just about every hang out place around

So, remembering how your friend had raved over a vanilla bean frappuccino, you figured it’d be a good day to try something new

You spent the few minutes waiting going over the weird names for the drink sizes, wondering who the hell decided to refer to a small drink as “tall”

You felt prepared when it was finally time for to order, until you saw the barista taking your order, all coherent thoughts leaving your brain

He had to be the prettiest guy you’d ever seen, brown curls just gently falling over his face, his chocolate colored eyes seemed to shine and gosh, his smile literally lit up the room

“What can I get for you, darling?”

Darling. One sentence and you practically in love with him already

“Um,” you blinked, trying to clear your head, “Could I get a small-I mean, tall? That’s the right one, right? I’m sorry, this is my first time coming here.”

The blood was rushing to your face as you stammered, sure you were making a fool out of yourself

“It’s alright, love, take your time,” he gave you a reassuring smile that brought butterflies to your stomach

“Okay, uh, can I get a tall vanilla bean frappuccino?”

“No problem, darling, and your name?”

“Oh, um, it’s y/n.”

He wrote your name down on the little plastic cup while you paid, handing you the receipt with another heart stopping smile.

When you got your drink about 10 minutes later (it was really crowded on this particular day) you weren’t sure if you liked which you liked more, the liquid vanilla ice cream or the cute boy who made it for you, but you did know you’d be back.

A few weeks later and Starbucks had become a huge part of your routine

What started off as once or twice a week became an almost daily occurrence

You’d get your vanilla bean and if you were lucky, see the pretty barista, who’s name you learned to be Tom, with the voice that made your knees weak

You couldn’t tell if he was just being polite, but as you showed up more and more, the more he talked to you

He would ask you about your day, make little jokes about you ordering the same thing everyday, if he was wiping down the tables around you he would ask about whatever assignment you were doing

You would happily respond and ask him questions back

That’s how you found out he was a theatre major with a soft spot for reading, despite never actually doing it and he had a deep hatred for math, specifically stats and anything related to it

Your conversations with him never went beyond the coffeeshop, you never asked for his social and he never asked for yours, but you didn’t mind, talking to him had become your favorite part of your day

If he ever wasn’t there, you’d be disappointed and in a slightly less cheery mood, though you’d always chalk it up to nothing, pretending Tom didn’t have as much as an effect on he actually did

Today happened to be one of those days

You were already upset after learning you failed the stats test you spent forever studying your ass off for, and all you wanted was to see his soft brown eyes and warm smile

When you didn’t see him there you almost left, considering leaving campus all together and just doing your studying at home

You decided against it and got your usual, hoping the sweet drink could lift your spirits

It did, just barely, a sigh escaping your lips as you sat at your usual table

You pushed away the thought of homework and pulled out the current book you were reading, figuring you deserved to treat yourself today

You were only a couple of pages in when you saw someone approach your table and heard a familiar voice shortly after

“Fancy seeing you here, darling.”

You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat

You looked up from your book, seeing Tom in front of you, his usual Starbucks apron replaced with a white t-shirt and a loose blue flannel on top, a one of the coffeeshop’s sandwich bags in his hand and his bookbag on his shoulder

“Oh, yeah, it’s not like I’m here everyday,” you smiled, feeling giddy.

“Everyday, huh? I don’t recall seeing you yesterday.”

You had to keep yourself from smiling at the fact he noticed you hadn’t come by

“I spent the day at the library with my head stuck in my stats book.”

“I have to admit, I was a little upset, I look forward to your visits.”

The breath was literally knocked out of you for a moment, your blood rushing to your face

“Well, um, you could join me right now if you’d like,” you stammered, motioning towards the chair in front of yours.

Tom smiled, taking a seat, “I’d love to.”

You were worried with it being the first time you could talk for more than 5 minutes, it would be awkward, but you found it easy talking to Tom

You ranted to him about your horrible test and listened to him describe his theatre classes, taking note of the way his eyes seemed to shine as he talked about the topic with such passion

You found out how funny he was, making you laugh probably more than anyone had before

Before you knew it, a little over an hour had passed and Tom checked his phone for the time with a frown

“I have to go, love, got class in 10 minutes.”

You wished more than anything he could stay, loving the extra time with him

You tried not to look sad as you smiled at him, telling him you hoped he had a good class

He stood up, picking up his bag with him, “I was thinking, maybe we could do this again sometime? Maybe on Friday night, around 7?”

If Tom wasn’t standing in front of you, you would’ve pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming

Tom, the cutest guy in the world, was asking you out

You reached into your bag, pulling out a piece of paper and a pencil, quickly writing your number on it

You handed it to him with a bright smile, practically glowing with excitement, “It’s a date.”

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lightsupinthenorth · 4 years

Text

Read me like an open book part 1/2

Hey! :) Here is the first part of a two-part (at least I think ah ah) Harringrove fanfiction. It’s set a few years after the events of the third season (which Billy survived, obviously ^^). It starts on Steve’s birthday just because it’s my birthday today :p

I hope you’ll enjoy ;)

Read on AO3

“It’s presents time, bitches!” Robin said, getting up from the floor, where Steve was still sprawled with Billy half-laying on top of him.

They might have overdone it a little on the weed. Steve didn’t really care, though. He was relaxed and happy. So far, his twenty-first birthday had been the best birthday ever. Robin and Billy had organized a surprise gathering in their shared flat, inviting the kids, Nancy and Jonathan, as well as Joyce and Hopper. After everyone had left earlier in the evening, Robin had gone to her room and had come back with a bag of weed bought by Billy and her for the occasion, and they had gotten positively baked.

Billy and Robin had insisted to give him his present when it was just the three of them instead of doing it at the same time as the others. When Steve had seen the weed, he had understood why. So, he was confused when Robin mentioned presents.

“What presents?”

“Your birthday presents, dingus. I know you’re high right now, but I didn’t think you were high enough to forget your own birthday.” Robin cackled.

“Hey, I haven’t forgotten. I just kinda thought… wasn’t the weed the present?”

“Pfff, no.” Billy replied. “What kind of present would that be? As if we didn’t already smoke weed on the regular.”

He made them sound like potheads. They didn’t smoke that often… Then again, it did happen more frequently than their respective birthdays.

“Yo, Buckley, can you go to my room and fetch my present for Steve too, now that you’re at it. It’s in the drawer of my bedside table.” Billy yelled, a lot louder than was necessary considering Robin was just in the next room.

Steve whined. Billy’s voice was reverberating in his head.

“Sure, you lazy fuck.” She yelled back, just as loud.

They were so noisy!

“Open mine first!” Robin said as she sat down on the floor again, extending a rectangular package.

Steve had to detangle himself from Billy, ignoring his mumbled complaints, before he tore into the brightly colored wrapping paper. He uncovered a thick book with a beautiful cover representing a sky full of stars. It was titled Long live the King.

“I know you’ve taken to reading, these days, and this novel is amazing.” Robin assured.

“It’s really not that good.” Billy grumbled, with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, you read it too?” Steve asked.

“Uh… yeah, I did.”

Billy was staring at Robin when he said it. And he was frowning.

“Don’t listen to him, Steve, he’s being a buzzkill. You’re going to love it.”

“I’m sure I will. Thanks Rob.” Steve hugged her.

He hoped Billy would still agree to help him with the book, even if he didn’t like it much. Ever since he knew Steve had trouble with written words, Billy would read to him all the time. It had become their thing. Steve loved his voice. Well, Steve loved everything about him, but that was off topic.

“Now, here’s Hargrove gift.”

Robin basically dropped the gift in Steve’s lap. The wrapping paper had multi-colored stars on it. Steve unraveled it carefully and found a set of pencils and a beautiful sketchbook. Billy and Robin’s gifts kind of coordinated aesthetically speaking, which was nice. Indeed, on the cover of the notebook was a drawing of the night sky, with the sea represented underneath. “My sea of stars”, was written on the front.

Steve used to doodle distractingly during class. He’d been doing it since primary school. After he had graduated, his doodling habit had spread to his daily life. He would draw lines absentmindedly while he was on the phone or trace random shapes on discarded pieces of paper when he was watching TV but was too fidgety to focus. He hadn’t been seriously committed to drawing, though. He had only started making it into a real hobby after Starcourt. Billy had been the one to suggest it, in fact. After he’d literally come back to life, Steve and he had become good friends, and Billy had noticed his little habit and had bought him a sketch pad. Drawing helped Steve a lot. Gave him something to do when he was feeling restless, which was the case more often than not after the whole ‘Upside-Down and co’ experience.

Steve was frustrated by his lack of technique, at first, and had almost given up on several occasions. But Billy had always been there to cheer him up and keep him going. He was certain Billy hadn’t even realized his compliments and encouragements had prevented Steve from calling it quits at least a dozen times. They spent hours together in their living room, on the couch, Steve drawing while Billy wrote in his huge notebook, with his feet on Steve’s lap. Steve was eager to spend many more hours that exact same way, drawing on the new sketchbook Billy had offered him.

“It’s… it’s really nice, Billy. I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Pretty boy.”

They hugged, and Billy didn’t let him go, half-climbing on him again as they laid back down.

“Ugh, guys, seriously, get a room.” Robin complained, which led to Steve blushing and Billy flipping her the bird.

Steve would have attributed Billy’s behavior to the weed, but they had gotten more and more tactile since the beginning of their friendship about two years prior, so the weed didn’t have much to do with it. Except that maybe Billy would have waited for Robin to go to bed before attaching himself to Steve like a koala, if he hadn’t been high.

Either way, Steve was far from complaining: the more Billy touched him, the better.

Before he went to bed that night, Steve took his secret sketchpad – the one in which he drew his best friend page after page (like an obsessed creep) – from under his mattress, and drew the version of Billy he had seen earlier: high Billy, with his lax body and hazy eyes.

A few minutes after putting his paper shrine back in its usual hiding spot, Steve fell asleep with a smile on his face, and the smell of Billy’s cologne on his own skin. He hoped all his birthdays to come would be similar to this one.

When Steve got up the next morning, Billy and Robin were eating breakfast in the kitchen.

He heard Billy say:

“Stop it, Robin. I can’t tell him, I just can’t.”

It made no sense to him, since he had missed the beginning of the conversation, but his interest was picked.

“You can’t tell who, what?” He asked as he went to the cupboard to get his favorite cereals. No way he would eat oatmeal like Robin and Billy. What a depressing way to start the day.

“I, uh��” Billy started. Robin interrupted him, though:

“He can’t tell his coworker that his new haircut looks stupid.”

“Yeah… ‘Cause it would be mean, you know.” Billy added, before putting a huge spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth.

“Uh… well, it’s true. It wouldn’t be a very nice thing to say, Rob.” Steve agreed.

He put his box of cereals on the table and sat down next to Robin, in front of Billy, who was looking intently at his bowl.

“Why do you think Billy should tell the poor guy his hair looks weird?”

If anyone said that to Steve, he’d be devastated. That was for sure.

“So he can let his hair grow back and have it cut in a more flattering way.” Robin explained. “It would be doing him a favor, in my opinion.”

Steve hummed. “Makes sense”, he said. He was more focused on his fruit loops, though. It wasn’t like he cared about the guy anyway. He hadn’t even met him.

Robin hadn’t either, so Steve didn’t know why she was so pressed on Billy giving him hair advice. Whatever floats her boat, he thought.

His roommates were weird, sometimes. Nothing could be done about it.

The next weekend, Steve and Billy were both off from their respective work, and Steve really wanted to start reading the book Robin had gotten him for his birthday.

Billy was occupied with a novel of his own next to him, and Steve didn’t want to be a burden, so he started reading on his own. After a few pages, he was already hooked, but he got tired quickly, as he always did. Frustrated, he fidgeted a bit on the couch and brought the book closer to his face, as if it would help the words stop swimming in front of his eyes.

Billy sighed.

“What’s up, Pretty boy?” He asked, only then looking up from his own reading.

“I just… would it be okay… would you read to me? Please.”

Billy sighed again, a bit louder. Steve’s face fell. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but Steve always looked forward to Billy reading out loud to him.

“Sorry… I know you don’t like this book… I’ll ask Robin to read it to me when she gets home.”

“No! I… I’ll do it, I’ll read for you. I really don’t mind.” Billy exclaimed.

Steve was agreeably surprised by the amount of enthusiasm Billy displayed and he smiled at him when he handed him the book, letting their hands brush.

“Thank you!”

Steve kissed Billy’s cheek and laid his head on his shoulder.

“Don’t mention it, Pretty boy.”

“Sure, I’ll mention it. It means a lot, you know.”

Billy cleared his throat. “Right… if you say so.”

Steve could feel the heat of Billy’s blush.

He always downplayed the nice things he did, but Steve wouldn’t have it. He would keep showing Billy he was grateful for every little (and not so little) attention. Declaring his undying love to him would be a very effective way to make Billy realize how much Steve really appreciated him, but that would also do a lot more harm than good. Steve had to focus on the big picture, here.

Billy began to read where Steve had stopped, and if Steve didn’t already know Billy disliked the book, he wouldn’t have been able to tell at all. He put his heart into it as he always did. Not only that, but Steve felt like Billy’s voice held even more emotion than it usually did.

Steve fell into a sort of trance. The story was told in first person, from the point of view of a magician in a fantasy land, and Steve imagined himself as the narrator. In his mind, he could see everything Billy was describing: the village, the fields, the magnificent castle surrounded by a dark forest in which creatures lurked, the King who lived in the castle and whom the enchanter was secretly in love with.

Hours passed before Billy stopped reading. Still, Steve had to refrain himself from begging for one more chapter. He couldn’t be greedy; he didn’t want Billy to tire of him.

“Here you go, Stevie.”

“That was great. You’re the best.”

“It’s just reading, Pretty boy. I didn’t hang the moon.” Billy mumbled.

Steve nearly said “You might as well have”, but said: “It’s far better than ‘just reading’”, instead. That was a close call.

They went to the kitchen to make dinner, and Robin came home from work right before the oven beeped.

Steve ate his meal slowly, without really tasting it, and he didn’t say much, letting Robin and Billy do most of the talking. He was still somewhere far away, in a fantasy land ruled by a beautiful king. And, if the king was a carbon copy of Billy, it was nobody’s business but Steve’s.

On Thursday, Billy went to Indianapolis, and Steve went with him. Apparently, Billy had been asked by his boss to go check and fix a few collection cars over there, and Billy had invited Steve to come with him. Said it would be fun. They’d spend the morning together and Billy would go to his work appointment after lunch.

“Not that I’m not glad to have the opportunity of going on a fun little trip or anything, but couldn’t that guy find a garage in Indianapolis to take care of his cars? There must be more than a few.” Steve asked Billy, who had just started the car.

“That’s because I’m the best in fucking Indiana, baby.” He said with a cocky grin.

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his fond smile.

“Right. Forget I asked.”

“To answer more seriously, I don’t really know. But who gives a fuck? The guy paid extra… I mean like, a big wad of cash. So, fine by me.”

Billy shrugged.

Steve found it quite weird, but it was fine by him too. It wasn’t any of his business, anyway: he was just tagging along.

He turned the radio on, and then Billy and he bickered for ages about what station to choose. That was somewhat of a tradition every time they were in a car together.

“I’m driving, so I choose. It’s driver’s privilege, Pretty boy. Suck it up.”

“But that’s not fair!” Steve whined. “You insisted to drive, it’s not like I had a choice.”

“Too bad. You lose anyway.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, making Billy laugh. The cold bastard.

When they arrived in Indianapolis, Billy parked, and they chose a direction at random to go wander. Steve got caught up in some window-shopping, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk to stare at the newest Adidas sneakers behind the glass.

Steve used to be given everything he wanted. Well, everything he wanted that could be bought with money. Now that he didn’t speak to his parents anymore and was financially independent, however, he couldn’t afford many unnecessary expenses. These shoes sadly fell into the “unnecessary” category.

Billy had not immediately noticed Steve had stopped walking, so he had to go back on his tracks a little.

“Hey, Stevie, give a guy a warning, would you? I turned to talk to you and you were not there anymore.”

“Sorry, sorry. I was just… I wanted to take a look at these.” Steve pointed at the shoes. “I don’t know why I did, anyway… it’s not like I’m gonna buy them.”

“Right… it’s fine. Let’s go get lunch, Pretty boy.” Billy said, steering him away from the shop, but not without giving the shoes a good look himself.

They ate burgers and fries in a greasy joint they had stumbled upon. The food was pretty good. As a testament to that, Billy kept trying to steal fries off Steve’s basket. At first, Steve batted his hand away, but he gave up after a while. When Billy gave him a wide smile after finally succeeding, Steve couldn’t even be mad at him. He’d gave up all the fries in the world if it meant seeing Billy smile like that. Steve smiled back at him.

In the afternoon, while Billy was at work, Steve went to a coffee shop and bought a cappuccino for himself, and a giant raisin oatmeal cookie to go for Billy. He grimaced a little as he ordered the latter. Billy really had weird tastes, sometimes.

He sat down at a table and put the cookie in his backpack, before taking out his book. He progressed slowly, really slowly, only managing to read a chapter before he had to meet Billy back at the car. Yes, Steve had trouble with reading to begin with, but the fact that this book was making him emotional was not helping him read it any faster.

He related to the narrator a lot. He, too, was in love with someone close to him yet unreachable. He, too, had to admire them in silence. And the object of his love was as beautiful and as brave as the King was described to be. The only difference was that the King was said to have brown hair and eyes.

What the characters were going through also reminded him of what had happened because of the Upside-Down, in some way. Life in Hawkins was (or at least had been) so strange that it looked like something out of a fantasy novel. How wild was that? Steve mused, as he was waiting for Billy near his car.

When Billy made it to the car, he was carrying a thick brown envelope in his right hand and a paper bag in the left.

“Want some help with all that?” Steve asked.

“Uh… No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Billy assured, transferring the envelope in his left hand so he was carrying everything on the same side and could fetch the car keys from his pocket with his newly free hand. He opened the trunk and dropped everything in it.

Steve didn’t bother asking what was in the envelope, or in the bag. If Billy had wanted to share the information, he already would have. Steve definitely wondered, though.

“I have an oatmeal raisin cookie for you, if you’d like.” He said once they were in their seats, as he rummaged through his backpack in search of it.

“Oh yeah thanks! that sounds perfect.”

Billy took the paper bag from Steve’s hand as he unparked the car. Steve would have scolded him for eating while driving instead of focusing solely on the road, but that would have been slightly hypocritical of him.

“Well, that’s a relief, because no way I’d have eaten that if you didn’t want it.” Steve made a face again.

“That’s ‘cause you have bad tastes, Pretty boy.” Billy said, taking a big bite of the cookie and putting crumbs everywhere.

Steve laughed. If only Billy knew how much Steve loved him, he would certainly backtrack on what he had just said.

“It’s delicious, you don’t know what you’re missing.” Billy said in between bites.

Steve was watching him with a sad smile, glad that Billy’s eyes were on the road and not on him. It took him a few seconds to reply.

“Oh I know, believe me. I know.”

The next morning, when he woke up, Steve found the brown paper bag Billy had come back with at the foot of his bed. What the…?

The idea of Billy sneaking into his room during the night to put it there made something tighten in his chest, but Steve was mostly preoccupied with finding out what was inside the bag.

He basically jumped out of bed, which was very unusual of him (he was the exact opposite of a morning person), and reached for the bag. There was a box labelled Adidas in it… no way! Steve opened it with shaky hands and his jaw dropped.

What… how… why? Steve was confused. Billy had gotten him the sneakers he’d been looking at in the shop window. How had he paid for them? Why would he spend so much money on Steve? Especially so soon after his birthday… This was far too much.

Steve exited his room quicker than he would have if it had been on fire.

“Billy!” Steve might have called his name slightly louder than he meant to.

Billy, who was sitting at the breakfast table with his back to Steve, jumped and put a hand over his heart.

“Damn, Pretty boy, calm down. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“What the fuck?”

Robin darted her eyes between the two of them and announced: “I’ll leave you to it”, before retreating to her room with her bowl of disgustingly bland oatmeal.

“What gives, Stevie?”

“You know what, Billy. The shoes. What the fuck? Why did you buy them?”

“Isn’t that obvious? You wanted them, and I wanted you to have them. It’s not that big a deal.” Billy was not looking at him as he spoke.

Steve’s heart nearly melted. Because that was so fucking sweet of Billy to do what he did, and then say something like that. He couldn’t possibly accept the gift, though.

“Not that big a deal? They’re so expensive, Billy… I can’t … I can’t just take them… it wouldn’t be right.”

“Look, Steve… As I told you, my client from yesterday paid really well, and it’s my money, so I get to decide how to spend it, and I wanted to spend it on these shoes, for you. So please, keep them. They’re your size and not refundable, anyway. Either you keep them or they’ll just rot in the cupboard. That’s up to you.”

Steve was almost certain Billy was bullshitting him on the “not refundable” part, but he didn’t argue. It would be no use: Billy always won.

So, he just hugged him tightly instead. Billy froze for a second, but quickly let go of the spoon he was still holding to hug Steve back.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

“You don’t need to do anything in particular, Pretty boy. Being yourself is more than enough.”

Steve was not a crier, but his eyes were undeniably misty. Billy couldn’t keep being so sweet and expect Steve to reign his feelings in. They were on the verge of overflowing already.

After finally letting go of Billy (not before leaving a kiss on top of his head, though), Steve put the sneakers on.

“Steve, seriously… you’re still wearing your pajamas.”

Steve’s pajamas consisted in frayed basketball shorts and a old Hawkins High t-shirt, so it was fine to wear the sneakers with them in Steve’s book. And he wouldn’t take these off until he absolutely had to.

“So what?” Steve asked.

Billy rolled his eyes, but his ears were red.

About a week later, Steve’s nightmares paid him a visit. They had left him alone for a while, but Steve knew they’d be back eventually. He saw Billy die again, which was simultaneously his worst and most common nightmare.

“Hey, Steve. Stevie. Wake up, please.”

He was shaken awake.

Thankfully, Billy was the one to wake him up from his dream, so Steve instantly knew he was alive and well. Steve threw his arms around him, buried his face in his neck, and inhaled his scent to calm himself down.

Billy held him close and rubbed his back, whispering reassuring words in his ear:

“You’re okay, Pretty boy. You’re fine. It was just a dream.”

Yes, Steve was alright. But the most important thing was that Billy was. That had been the object of Steve’s concern.

“I’m sorry… did I wake you?”

Billy sighed.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t mind, Steve?”

“As many times as I have to tell you the same thing.”

Billy’s room was right next to Steve’s. It wasn’t the first time he woke Billy up with his nightmare-induced screams. And Billy’s night terrors had woken Steve up a few times too.

“Touché.” Billy said. “Do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” He added after a pause.

“I don’t know… Could you read to me again?”

“Sure, if it helps.” Billy agreed.

Steve snatched the book from his bedside table and handed it to Billy, who opened it where the bookmark indicated Steve had stopped.

“You read all this by yourself?” There was awe in Billy’s voice.

Steve was blushing, but in the low light of his bedside lamp, it was probably not very noticeable. At least, he could always hope.

“Yeah… uh… I was really into it.”

He had read about seven chapters on his own, which, added to the ones Billy had read to him the other day, only left three before they reached the end.

“Steve, you did really good!”

Steve blushed even harder. His face was burning at that point. Billy sounded so proud of him.

“It’s not like it’s a great achievement, or anything… but yeah, I guess it’s progress.”

“Hey, of course it’s progress. It’s a lot, Steve. Don’t diminish your accomplishments.” Billy said in a firm tone.

“Okay, okay. I won’t.”

“Good.” Billy sprawled on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He then tugged on Steve’s arm. “Now settle down.”

Steve did as he was told and settled right next to him, resting his head on Billy’s chest and putting an arm over his waist. Steve loved the feeling of Billy’s naked skin against his. When they had first moved in together, Billy wore long-sleeved t-shirts almost constantly, self-conscious as his scars made him. Now, he slept in nothing but shorts. Steve wasn’t the only one who had been making progress.

Billy was barely three sentences into the third to last chapter when his voice broke. He cleared his throat and resumed the reading as if nothing had happened. His voice was now breathy, though.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure? We can stop.”

“I’m sure, Pretty boy. Now shut up and let me read.”

Steve effectively shut up and Billy got back to the task at hand.

In the last three chapters, the King lost his kingdom, the magician finally confessed their love and found out it was in fact reciprocated. Then, the narrator described their first kiss with the King, a kiss that made Steve’s chest constrict with longing. The fact that it was Billy’s voice describing it only made the longing ten time worse.

As Billy read the last words: “He was not ruling the kingdom anymore, but to me he would always be king. My king, my light, my love, my everything”, Steve was on the verge of tears.

He regularly went through terrifying nightmares and found himself unable to spill a single tear, but this book might do the trick. And okay, it might have been a bit mushy, but Steve was really digging it, alright?

He opened his eyes and saw a tear stain on the last page. For a second, he thought he had already started crying without noticing, but his cheeks were dry. It then occurred to him that the tear had come from Billy.

Steve put the book away from him and had to straddle him so they could be face to face. He then wiped Billy’s tears, but they kept coming.

“What’s the matter, Billy?”

Unlike Steve, Billy was a crier. Steve had seen him cry a bunch of times, when he’d been particularly tired, or sad, or frustrated. However, there was something he was not getting: why had Billy pretended he didn’t like the book in the first place? It had to be the book. What other reason did Billy have to cry right now?

“I… I’m sorry.” Billy just said before he started properly bawling and hid his face in his hands.

Steve was even more confused… and slightly panicked.

“Hey… hey… please, tell me what’s wrong. I… I don’t know what to do.”

Steve circled Billy’s wrists to ground him, but he didn’t try to pull his hands away from his face for fear it might make him retreat further into himself.

“I just… this book hits me really hard.” His voice was muffled, but Steve could still make out the words.

“But… you said it wasn’t very good.”

Billy lowered his hands. His eyes were red and puffy.

“I meant it… It still makes me sad, though.”

Steve frowned. He didn’t think a book could elicit such reaction in someone who didn’t like it all that much.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve wouldn’t have judged Billy, he would have understood. He never wanted Billy to feel so bad, and even less if it happened because of something Steve had asked of him.

“I should have… I should have said something. I’m sorry.” Billy’s breathing was uneven, and Steve could see his tears threatening to come back.

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. You don’t have to apologize. Just tell me next time, okay?”

Billy nodded and Steve smiled at him tentatively.

“Let’s go to bed.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Billy mumbled.

Steve turned the lights off before moving from Billy’s lap to lay down. As Billy snuggled up with him, Steve couldn’t help but think about his recent behavior. Billy was acting a tad strange these days. He had gotten a lot better at expressing his feelings verbally in the last couple of years, and Steve was positive that the Billy he knew would have told him the book would upset him instead of pretending he would be fine.

Steve would have to talk to him when he was more clear-headed. The last thing he wanted was for Billy to close himself off again.

Thank you for reading :D

#Harringrove #Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #fluffl #a lot of fluff with a side of plot #Robin Buckley #Harringrove fanfiction #Stranger Things #part 1 #part 1 of 2

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mysticsparklewings · 4 years

Photo

Covered in All the Colored Lights‪

Well, this looks wild and different coming from me, doesn't it? If you've been a Sparkler long enough, you may remember this character of mine from ages ago when I made This Is Where You Wanna Be, which featured her. Her name is Windith, and she's a performer who likes mixing old-time circus elements with more contemporary stuff. (She was originally just a circus performer but that felt too limiting for me, and I'm thinking it might be a little too passive for her personality. I don't have a set story for her, so her character will perpetually be in development ) This drawing was also me testing out some new paper and the new Skin Tone marker set from Ohuhu. Which I simply had to get because it meant more colors of their brush tip markers that I've tested out in the past. (Ohuhu Brush Marker Review and Sweet Ohuhu Snail) I'll cut to the chase for those that aren't interested in the longer version: I kinda hate this paper and it, unfortunately, was not the best choice for what was supposed to be a mostly-marker illustration. But I like the markers! The markers themselves are nice as always, and I like the addition of the new colors, but the one thing I have to point out is that Ohuhu is still lacking in good colors for super pale skin that doesn't have a strong pink or gray undertone. They're doing really good with peachy tones, mid-tone, warm browns, and the new colors add some really nice darker/cooler browns, though. In fact, the new marker colors are what primarily inspired me to bring Winidth back into the fold in the first place; some of the colors looked like they would work really well for her skin tone in particular, and I've avoided drawing her traditionally in the past because I wasn't sure I could capture it accurately with the supplies I had. And...that's really all I have to say about the markers, actually. As brush markers, virtually nothing has changed from the last two rounds of testing I did with the Ohuhus, and thus the only thing I can really comment on is the colors. I really appreciate having more to pick from, especially because some of the colors in the set really do stand apart from the rest of my alcohol marker collection, but a lot of the "light skin tone" options are either too orange/pink or too yellow or just generally too dark for a light/pale skin tone. So, my final commentary is the same as always: More colors, please! Now, as for that paper... I picked up a new sketchbook from my local Ross, which I've known for a while now as having a surprisingly good (maybe not the best, but surprisingly good) art supply section. This paper is by a brand called Craft Smith, which as far as I can tell seems to be very into making scrapbook/craft paper and doesn't appear to be actively selling/promoting sketchbooks currently. (At least not anywhere I could find online.) It also claims to be "Mixed Media Paper 120 lb (180 gsm)." I actually have some 120 lb mixed media paper that I use semi-frequently in the form of a sketchbook by Denik. And funnily enough, that's the same paper I used on my other two Ohuhu marker pieces. So we have both a baseline for comparison in terms of performance and in terms of feel. Now, I'm not an idiot. I did inspect the paper before I actually bought the sketchbook, and it's alarming how deceptive this paper is. It definitely has the right weight/thickness to it, even compared to the 120 lb. paper I already had once I got it home. The only truly notable differences are 1. This paper is a brighter white (the Denik paper is almost on the blue/purple side) and 2. This paper feels smoother. And the second point was actually one of the reasons I bought it, as I thought it was make for a really nice marker paper. (Smoother paper tends to be a better option for brush markers so you don't wear out the nibs as quickly) Oh boy, how wrong would I be! So, let me explain just by going through my process for the art, since that and discovering the atrocities of this paper go pretty hand-in-hand. Trying desperately to get used to my current tablet situation, I started by doing the lines for the illustration digitally, having been inspired for a pose/facial expression by some Ball Jointed Dolls over on Instagram. The lines didn't turn out perfectly, but they were good enough that I felt comfortable printing them out and re-inking them traditionally as I did for Fairy Enchanting, the artwork featured on my Commission Sheet. In that process, I would end up with a 1/2 of the drawing that didn't print correctly, the proper print out I used to do the inking, and also similarly to Fairy Enchanting, a first attempt at tracing my lines that was not turning out how I wanted that got scrapped. So, essentially, I had 1.5 test pages just for colors/color placement (as they were on regular printer paper), and 1 to see how this paper would actually handle my supplies. And while normally I'd be scolding myself for wasting paper and ink, in this case, it's actually a very good thing that happened. My second attempt at inking on this paper went a lot smoother (I think I just needed to loosen up the inking part of my brain), and I was actually pretty happy with how the lines turned out. So much so that once I discovered major problems with the paper, I actually scanned the inked version in to preserve it, just in case. And I even inked it a third time on to the Denik paper I mentioned earlier, extra-just in case so I could even do a side-by-side comparison of the two papers to show "this paper is crap, this other paper is not." (Fortunately, I don't think I'll be needing that third inking despite the tale I'm about to tell.) I started out by using the different test pages to make sure I had the right tones/colors I wanted for the skin. The swatches looked okay, so I went ahead and tried coloring the skin to test some blush and shading. Right away I noticed that 1. The ink feathers/bleeds across the page (outside of lines) way more than it should for a paper this thick, and 2. once the ink settles into the paper, it's kind of patchy/spotty. And 3. If you trying layering a light color over a darker color with alcohol markers, it makes the patchy/spotty-ness more apparent. Obviously, these things combined make layering and blending tricky without the end result looking strange and uncomfortable. Just in case there was something this paper didn't like about the Ohuhu markers, in particular (and also because I wasn't super happy with my color choices for Ohuhu for this particular hair color), I did try a test blend for the hair with some Copic markers. Nope, still feathering badly and doing the weird spotty thing. Still not layering very well without re-working the entire area. Briefly, I panicked. The whole idea for this paper was to be for markers, and I had largely intended for this illustration to be pretty markers-only. But this paper, quite apparently, hates markers. Okay, okay. I tried one more blending/coloring test, this time just seeing if I could do the skin and get it to look decent on this paper inside my lines, and while not super ideal, I did manage to get something I was mostly happy with. Likewise, my next step was to do that again on the final piece. At least then I'd have the most important part--the skin--for this piece done and then I could proceed with whatever seemed like the best option for the rest of it. So the skin actually turned out okay in the end because I was being exceptionally careful to work with the issues I'd already discovered. By nature, it's not the best (as in it would look better on better paper), but it works. I still had at least a small problem on my hands though. To be fair, even before I printed the lines off I was thinking I might try washi tape for her clothes/shawl/whatever, so the paper not liking markers really just re-enforced that idea. The problem was I still had the hair to do. I tried a couple more blending/coloring tests, trying desperately to make the markers work for that, but it just wasn't happening. The way I blend hair just requires too many layers for this paper. So my next solution was to try some tests with colored pencils. For smooth, flat color, this paper is actually pretty nice for colored pencils. For layering and blending, however, (just as I suspected before I even tried it) it's too smooth. Blending works pretty okay if you're just doing 1-2 layers, but anything beyond that is just slippery and unsatisfying, to say the least. That was my two main mediums thrown out the window. Now what do I do? Because I was largely at my wit's end, I got a little crazy and tried some tests using some Faber Castell gelatos to see what they would do. And I have to say, putting the gelatos to this paper does feel exceptionally good, as the smoothness of the paper suits the creamy texture of the gelatos. Although the gelatos don't blend out super well when you add water to them on this paper, so that limits what you can do with them by a fair amount. Not really knowing what else to do, I broke out some actual watercolors and tried those. Fortunately, while the paper does warp fairly easily (that's to be expected with any paper less than 140 lb.), the paint lays down and blends fairly smoothly and nicely. And so I finally had something to work with. There's a reason when I work with watercolors I usually don't go for a hard illustration like this, but I think I managed fairly well to get the paint to do what I wanted. I knew going in it wouldn't have the same look or dimension as my markers or pencils, so I made my peace with that ahead of time. The main thing I wanted was at least the suggestion of shading and relatively smooth coverage. There are some small areas where the paint just did what it wanted anyway, but it's little enough I don't think it ruins the whole thing. I'm sure I could've worked with the hair more to get arguably better results, but by this point, I was so relieved the paint was working that I decided not to push my luck. (I did end up having to digitally tweak it because it shows up as a little more blue on the scan than it actual is, but that's not really the paper's fault.) Since I wasn't sure what exactly I wanted to do with the face/makeup at this point, I moved on to dealing with the washi tape. Fortunately, this ended up working out fairly easily. I actually put the tape down on my inking-gone-wrong (as the areas where I needed to cut it turned out well enough it would work for this) and used an Exacto knife to carefully cut the top of tape away to make the neckline and keep the tape from covering up the little bit of hair that reaches down that far, the hair being the tricker part to cut. Even so, I had a less challenging time than I thought and I only minimally dented/cut into the very top layer of the paper underneath. (Which was why I wanted to cut the tape on not-the-final-piece in the first place; I knew indentions were going to be made from the knife no matter what I did, but it's hard to predict how bad it'll be until it's usually too late.) Once that was done, I could simply peel the pre-cut tape off of my test page and re-apply it to the final one. Naturally, the cut wasn't 100% accurate, but it was close enough that the little bit that wasn't quite right was easily disguised but going back over my lines again and filling any gaps. I went back to the face once that was taken care of, and I ended up relying on the heavy feathering this paper does to get Windith's eyes right. Originally when I drew her, I tried to give her "oil slick" eyes. As in, her eyes are black but have a rainbow sheen to them, like how if you ever see oil in a parking lot, it's black but has that really pretty rainbow shine to it. I never had to consider before how this might translate into a traditional drawing though since that drawing was done digitally and at a time where I thought digital art was going to be my primary medium going forward. (My oh my, how the tables have turned indeed...) After a couple of failed tests (failed due to personal preference and actually not the paper this time) I ended up going with a dark selection of alcohol markers in very teeny tiny dots to make a pseudo-rainbow. It's not a perfect translation of what her eyes are supposed to look like, but it's close enough to suit me. Then came the makeup. Originally, I was going to just make her lips a more natural color and largely call it done, but I didn't want them to blend in too much with her skin and even when I tried a less natural berry color I just couldn't get the blending right in such a small space on this paper. And I was also thinking it would be nice to give her eye shadow and bring the colors from her shawl-thing up into the face area a little bit. But I'd already discovered colored pencils weren't the way to go and I had a feeling I wasn't going to like how this paper handled pastels either, so I just skipped testing that altogether. After some thought, since I originally thought of Windith as a circus performer, I deiced to do some testing with gel pens (which I figured would handle just fine on this paper, given the nature of gel pens in general) and this simple kind of clown makeup. (I'm sure there's a more proper name for it out there somewhere but I haven't the foggiest idea what that said name is.) I ended up really liking that, especially with how the bright colors pop against her dark skin tone, and in that, I thought a bright color would work well for her lips, too. I tested my orange gel pen, but it was a little too bright and just a little too imprecise for my taste, so I opted for a little fluorescent orange watercolor instead. I know the makeup probably looks kind of silly to most, but I really like it and how it ties the colors together better. And besides, I think it says a lot of about Windith's character that she can wear makeup like that but still looks as confident and determined as she does here. But I wasn't done quite yet. I wanted to do something to fill the empty space in the background, but as I mentioned earlier I really was not keen on finding out how this paper would handle pastels after the struggles I'd already been through. And also I didn't really think any of my pastel colors would work all that well with the other colors going on here. It's not too much, but I ended up defaulting to some of my dollar-store stencils to add some florals and a little butterfly back there. I figured that would tie in nicely with the floral washi tape, add a bit of color, yet not totally overpower everything. I also ended up with some artsy white dots because I somehow got some random ink dots/smudges around a few edges and once I covered those up I added some more dots so it would look like an intentional part of the look. Unfortunately, said white dots did not show up on the scan. The final piece is definitely far from perfect and this paper is not good for a lot of things I was hoping it would be (I can report it seems to work pretty good for regular sketching, though, so it won't go to waste!). However, I still managed to get something pretty decent out of the equation, I think. Small victories? I may not be looking forward to making more finished pieces with this paper, but I am looking forward to playing with the Ohuhu Skin tone markers more, that's for sure. I've got a few sketches that I'm thinking about turned into a mini-series illustrating a few different skin tones with them, but I haven't decided 100% on that just yet. I do have a couple of other projects definitely coming down the pipeline though, so stayed tuned. P.S. The title is a reference to The Greatest Show, the opening them from "The Greatest Showman," the same song that largely inspired the first time I drew Windith. It's just kinda her thing now. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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giratinazero · 2 years

Text

I had. a favorite pencil.

I’ve never liked change, plus as an isolated child I very much tried to comfort myself with “HAH I’m not like EVERYBODY ELSE,” so I’d always used regular pencils. mechanical ones were more and more popular, but I was adamant that I didn’t like them and only wanted to use regular ones.

then, in,,, tenth? eleventh? grade, I took an architecture class. for whatever reason, we were supposed to use mechanical pencils, so the next time we went grocery shopping my father just randomly grabbed one from an endcap at. kroger maybe. a kinda weird place to find one.

and that has been my absolute most favorite pencil that I’ve ever used. it really fit my hand, and the click to get more lead is on the side of the grip, which is a lot more natural for me and the way I hold it. the erasers are refillable and work really well too, I’ve never had problems with them. my dad bought it for me.

and then, in my second year of college, it snapped. not the lead, obviously, but the plastic part of the tip that screws in place. it broke in a way that I couldn’t just put it back on. my favorite pencil died a senseless and tragic death that day. I was crying in math class.

I’d exclusively used that pencil for years. nothing else. it was my favorite. it’s still my favorite. we’d found it at kroger, of all places. I’d used it so much that the branding had scraped off the plastic, leaving me to hopelessly fumble my way through the internet, praying that a vague description of it would be enough to find me another one. maybe I could find the exact same color, even, and pretend this never happened.

I did end up finding the same model. never was able to find the same color. my original version was green all the way up, from the grip to the plastic body. everything else I found was a clear body with different accent colors.

it’s not,,, the same, obviously. I still consider the replacement to be a favorite of mine, and while I do continue buying pretty pencils when they really catch me, it’s still my main preference. but I’m not nearly as in love with it as I was that original one.

the other day I realized that the grip on the replacement is slowly wearing down. makes sense; I think at this point, I’ve had the replacement longer than I had the original. so I went looking again, because I’d rather avoid spending any time without my favorite pencil, if this one were to break all at once.

I actually found,,, a pack of them. in several pretty colors. still with clear plastic, but now they’re bright instead of the plain black my second one is. I bought them, because I have no idea how long this specific model will be available, since it’s been nearly a decade already. and they got here today.

one of them is a bright blue. and immediately I feel almost as strongly about this one as I did that very first one my father bought all those years ago. no idea why, and I don’t know why my other replacement didn’t quite hit me the same way, but I am suddenly very happy and feel. safer, for whatever reason.

I do still have that poor original one, too.

#gira talk #whirring processors #no idea why I'm talkin about this but

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camphaven-rp · 6 years

Photo

Welcome to Camp Haven, SERA AHN!

CAMPER INFORMATION:

Age: 21 Date of Birth: 19 May 1997 Mutation: Paint Manipulation Staff: Meadowlark Cabin Junior Counselor

MUTATION INFORMATION:

Sera has the ability to to generate paint as well as turn parts of her/entire body into paint. She can’t generate an infinite amount (currently limited to 2x her own mass) and generating more than her limits leads to exhaustion.

The paints can be used to form constructs ranging from simple shapes to more complex items. Constructs can dry out if used and ‘unrefreshed’ for too long, leading to a very brittle state, and can also be washed away (same can be said for her paint form).

Anything she paints, she can bring to life with some level of autonomy. Doesn’t matter if she uses her own generated paints or just regular paint (her own generated paints tend to last longer and regular paint has to be some semblance of wet so she can’t bring the mona lisa to life). Same weaknesses as mentioned before.

She can slightly alter her appearance with her paints, however if a bucket of water was thrown at her (or it starts raining) the alterations wash away (and does a weird scary melty thing with her face)

ICEBREAKERS:

1. What color are you? How does this color make you feel?

I have two answers for this. As an artist, I’m all colors. Every piece has its own pallet and that applies to me. My pallet as an artist changes daily and matches whatever I’m working with. But as a person, I’m kinda monochrome. I’m black and white and everything in between. And colors don’t make me feel anything, it’s what you do with them that does.

2. Sunrise, daylight, twilight, or night? Why?

Twilight or night. I’m a night owl, the sun is my mortal enemy. Also the sky looks the most beautiful during twilight.

3. What quote do you think best describes your life?

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.”

4. Describe your favorite material object that you already own.

Nothing. Materialism is stupid and there’s no real reason to get attached to things. That’s all they are: things. I could burn all the shit in the world and everyone would lose their goddamn mind. Granted pyromania on it’s own tends to do that but besides the point. I have no “favourite” material object. But if I had to pick, my laptop and drawing tablet. What? I’m a millennial, I practically live on the internet. Plus, the other I need to make a living.

5. If you were stranded on a desert island, what three items would you want to have with you?

God, you guys like to ask some morbid things. Why the hell would I be on an island anyways? The outdoors is garbage to begin with. Fine, here’s some semblance of an answer: Paper, pencil and lighter. Entertainment for the first two and a way to get myself off the island for the last one.

6. What is the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you that you’re willing to share?

Bold of you to assume I’d be willing to share anything embarrassing.

#camp:welcome #kim chungha #staff #meadowlark

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rhiezus · 4 years

Photo

KIM YOOTAEK ▰ GET TO KNOW.

“ i'm not young enough to know everything. ”

name: kim yootaek

nicknames: nino (he has no memory to why)

age: he is around twenty four.

zodiac sign: sagittarius.

FAMILY.

their parents names: seol taeha and kim mansook

their siblings names: seol bomi (half-sister)

favorite childhood memory: when he was about two years old, his parents got divorced and although he doesn’t remember at time when they were actually together and in love he still kinda looked up to his father, even if he went live on his own after his mom moved away and ended up marrying again. his father would visit him in years following, but it became less and less until they only talked on the phone and soon only on facebook or something like that. so his favorite memory is still of his father, despite he being a very emotional distant and weird man, he was quite fond of yootaek when he was little and when he was five or six year’s old he took him on a trip to his hometown in the countryside and they had a whole day together. yootaek really remembers every thing about this day, he remember falling asleep on the bus and his dad waking him up, remember him feeding him sandwiches from his bag, they went fishing and his father caught a very small fish so they had to pay for their meals but his father was so happy that it wasn’t a bad thing, then they played soccer with his dad’s school friends and by the time he woke up he was already home in his mom’s arms again. the whole feeling of being wanted, happy and innocent, is what makes this memory so special to him.

favorite family member: although he doesn’t quite show it, his favorite member is his half sister, bomi. he was very jealous when she was born, but he couldn’t help but take care of her and they ended up becoming good friends. she makes him laugh and for her he does kinda feel special to work and bring pizza in the evening, he wishes to have her low pressure in life but nevertheless he likes her as a person and that counts in a family that he couldn’t care about anyone less.

APPEARANCE.

faceclaim: youngk (day6)

height: 1.81

allergies: none.

diseases: had struggled with pretty bad anxiety in high school, he is better now but sometimes takes medication for it and when he can afford he tries to visit his psychiatric.

blood type: A+

fashion: he is punky, likes black and cheap necklaces. uses the same sneakers for years and years, he even has clothes that are very sketchy and with holes in it but he wears it anyway because he says “it adds character” to his sense of style. he doesn’t try to fit in with his rich friends, for that reason he is not afraid to go thrift shopping and find gems. wears the same thing over and over when he really loves it, but he never smells though he is a clean guy and has a nice scent.

tattoos: his first tattoo was just after he graduated from high school and had a bigger paycheck in his part time job, it’s pretty self explanatory, he just wanted to do something brave and crazy and decided to do a tattoo. he didn’t even search for a studio, he went in the first and coolest he found and asked for that. this one was after getting into collage, he just found it really awesome and did it. now, in this he was very drunk one day and decided it was a good idea to text his friend who is a tattoo artist that he wanted something like that, the next week he didn’t have the courage to say no and just decided to go for it cause well, you only live life one.

piercings: both his ears, and he wears earrings a lot too.

HOME LIFE.

born: busan, south korea.

resides: idk where the university at.

pets: can’t even take care of himself.

vehicle: doesn’t drive yet, doesn’t even have a license, he literally walks everywhere and takes the subway and bus a lot too cause he is just poor.

EDUCATION.

major: public relations.

career: honestly? he applied to public relations because it seemed to be the easiest course to get accepted at, and he did get in but despite his belief he actually likes it. he is very good at handling crisis, talking to people, debating and finding a common ground, he can blend in well with any kind of crowd and be appreciated for it but more than that he is an observant and likes to judge others by that. that’s why he wants to be a content strategist, dealing with pr issues at companies and stuff like that... right now he goes in between jobs at burger king, offices and the regular part times.

trained in: because of all the odd jobs he did since middle school, he knows how to work at a lot of places and can deal well with troublesome situations. he learns things very quickly and thinks almost strategically at everything.

languages: korean, barely english, just the usual to survive but he does say he speaks english in his resumee. he plans on taking english classes on the university to learn more, he is just procrastinating it.

BELIEFS.

religion: none.

felonies: none, yet.

drugs: had tried it, but he gets very aloof and hates it.

smokes: he prefers cigarettes and marijuana, so at a party if he is tempted to get high that’s very you will find him trying to loosen up. doesn’t smoke every day though, is just occasional or when he is stressed at the end of the week. but can’t deny he already had taken a test very high though, cause he did.

alcohol: he gets more high than drunk, if he drinks he is a complete mess and does a lot of crazy stuff, like crashing things and burning things down that’s why he tries not to drink alone to lose control.

diet: none, he drinks and eats everything.

RELATIONSHIPS.

sexual orientation: pansexual.

availability: free as a bird.

looking for: ain’t looking, he is not the type to believe he is ever gonna be in a serious relationship but doesn’t oppose to it if it ever does happen depending on the situation. he has a weak for independent women and reckless boys, so he gets more crushes than he likes to admit.

PERSONALITY.

hobbies: listen to music, taking the bus, working, studiying (or just pretending to study when he is in fact on youtube gossip of youtuber’s he doesn’t even know anything about), more music to listen... likes to watch movies and definitely has a letterboxd account, his favorite genre is of course suspense and documentaries, has a pretty thirsty desire to know useless and intellectual stuff, that won’t add anything to his life, he just wants to learn things non-stop. more listening to music, and sleeping in, sleeping late, not sleeping at all.

traits: hardworking, decisive, independent, loyal, perceptive, sage, aloof, misguided, opinionated, resentful.

mbti: estp.

moral alignment: chaotic good.

chinese zodiac: rat (is outgoing, cheerful, and sociable in character. they can get along well with different people, so there are a lot of friends around them. facing hardships, they show bold and positive personality traits due to their acute instinct and calmness.)

hogwarts house: gryffindor.

tarot card: the devil (a hedonist through and through. they follow their own pleasure, instincts, and take risks. people might find them to be intimidating at times but no matter what, there’s no denying they have a certain allure.)

tv tropes: the main character’s best friend that for some reason you feel so dangerously attracted to.

song: level of concern by twenty one pilots,

ideologies: oh my god, he has a lot on his mind but he doesn’t exactly believe in anything concrete because that’s too much responsibility to back it up. he is that option in bitlife when people ask if you believe in god and you say “which one?”, because somehow he doesn’t see rights or wrongs in any of them. people believe in whatever they want to believe, as long as they do it good, and honestly he doesn’t think people are doing so well with their beliefs because the world is fucked up so something needs to be changed about that. so he doesn’t believe, he just likes to keep all his options open and listen to everyone fair and square.

FAVORITE.

band: I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME.

song: lucozade by zayn malik.

book: doesn’t have any.

place: his favorite place is taking the bus, any window seat on the bus for him is the most peaceful and neutral place on earth is like taking a trip to another dimension.

memory: his favorite memory is from when he went to the university for his first class, because he thought it was gonna be easy and even though he forgot all his pencils at home he just fucking memorized everything to write down when he was at his part time job later and it was just an exciting day, he finally had a goal for a change other than earning money to survive. he realized he could be someone, learn something and that was life changing.

person: he is very fond of taegon, actually, he feels like he is his only true friend despite their really different upbringings. he doesn’t share all his hardships with him, but he knows the other understands and they speak almost without words, they just vibe together and there is no other special reason to have a favorite person as, vibing is everything.

movie: inception dir. by christopher nolan.

tvshow: how to get away with murder.

sport: soccer.

food: korean barbecue, just meat.

beverage: redbull.

color: steel grey.

#nao sabia nada #agora vai saber #ele é legal coitado #só é pobre de marre #task.#yootaek.

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dragonasheswrites-blog · 6 years

Text

The Heaven We Didn’t Choose, Chapter 7: In Which Skeletons are Explained

...From a scientific and magical point of view, of course.

First: Chapter 1: In Which a Child Makes a Friend

Previous: Chapter 6: In Which Everybody Threatens Sans

Next: Chapter 8: In Which The Internet is Invoked

Click here for the story overview.

By the time Sans tracked down Attie (who had somehow crawled into the dryer and was rocking herself back and forth) it was after 1:00.

This was a problem, he realized as he consulted the schedule Undyne had pinned to a cupboard with a paring knife. Lunch was supposed to end at 1:00, and he had no idea what to even start cooking.

“Can I have a hot dog?” Attie asked. “You make hot dogs, right?”

“Uh...sure, but…”

“Okay! Where are they?”

“I don’t think I…” He checked the fridge, just in case. The shelves, to his surprise, had actual groceries on them. Huh. Someone must’ve stocked up. Half of this stuff he didn’t even recognize. Weird.

To his everlasting shock, one drawer held a six-pack of ‘dogs. On the package was a pink sticky note covered with Boss’s handwriting:

YOU CAN HAVE HOT DOGS FOR NO MORE THAN ONE MEAL PER DAY, SANS. BUNS ARE IN THE CUPBOARD. ~THE G&T PAPYRUS

Ooooookay.

Sure enough, a quick survey of the cupboards (also stocked with more food than Sans was used to seeing) turned up a package of buns - the good kind, not the cheap tasteless things he threw on the ‘dogs at his stand.

Cooking them properly was...more work than he really wanted. He didn’t have a rolling warmer in the apartment, and he didn’t want to wait for the ‘dogs to slow cook anyways. He slipped both ‘dogs into their buns and stuck them in the microwave for half a minute.

Amazingly, the ‘dogs didn’t explode (unlike most things he microwaved). He sent out a tentative thread of magic to feel for temperature, not trusting his bones to give him an accurate read. It felt...less than boiling hot, but beyond that he wasn’t sure.

“Uh, here, kid. Bone appetite, heh. Careful; not sure if it’s hot.”

“Okay!” Attie grabbed the ‘dog with both hands, took a big bite, and winced. “Iff a liffle hoff,” she said, mouth full. She swallowed anyways, so he wasn’t too worried.

“Hey, kid; if that’s too hot for ya, wanna see somethin’ cool?”

“Sure,” she said, before taking another huge bite.

Sans opened his mouth, tilted his head back, and shoved the entire hot dog, bun and all, into his mouth. He felt his magic protesting - he wasn’t really made to do this - but he ignored the discomfort and resisted the urge to cough.

Attie was staring at him with huge eyes, a half-chewed bite of hot dog visible in her mouth. He waited a moment for his magic to dissolve the ‘dog enough to talk, then laughed at her. “What, you can’t do that?”

“No,” she said around her masticated food. She closed her mouth, realizing her error, then chewed and swallowed with a thoughtful look on her face.

Sans knew that look.

The girl held the remaining half of her ‘dog out to him. “Teach me,” she demanded.

“Yeah, no, kid.”

“Why not?”

“Humans aren’t built like us. You’ll choke yourself, then Undyne’ll kill me, then Boss’ll kill me, then your mom and her mom’ll kill me. I’ll be super dead.”

“You’re silly, Mr. Sans.”

“Yep. That’s me, regular comedian.”

“Teach me!”

"No, kid!”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” She blinked rapidly, her lower lip extended.

“What, is that supposed to make me more willing to teach you how to suffocate on ‘dogs? Hell no, kid! And stop making that face; the lip shit is super creepy!”

“Awww,” Attie muttered, dejected, to her ‘dog.

“Tell ya what. You finish your ‘dog, and when it’s science time I’ll tell you all about how a skeleton can eat a whole ‘dog at once. Okay?”

“Okaaaaay.” She finished her meal in the largest bites possible, sending herself into more than one coughing fit.

Science wasn’t next on the list, though. Next was something called Grammar, which Attie tried her best to wiggle out of. She wouldn’t capitulate until Sans reminded her that she couldn’t see her mom until her schoolwork was done.

Schoolwork went by very quickly after that.

He wasn’t sure how much of it was actually correct - according to the note Undyne had left, the worksheets would be delivered to Tori for grading - but he was impressed by her speed.

True to his word, he spent the entire 45-minute “Science” time slot sitting at the dining room table explaining what he knew about a skeleton’s magical digestive system. He even let Attie drop things into his mouth - jelly beans, mostly, after they found some in the cupboard and he accidentally revealed that he’d never eaten them before - so she could see that they vanished instead of dropping out the bottom of his skull.

“You don’t look like a real skeleton,” Attie said, peering intently at the juncture where his skull met his spine. “You’re shaped really different.”

“I promise you, I am 100% a real skeleton. I just don’t look like a human skeleton.” And if he had a buck for every time he’d had to explain that to a human he’d have a whole herd.

“That’s what I meant, sorry.” She narrowed her eyes, then leaned over and slapped both hands to Sans’s cheeks.

He flinched, hard, but the impact - despite its force - did no actual damage. He stifled the urge to slap her hands away. “What’chu up to, huh?”

“Your face feels funny.” She tapped her fingertips against his cheekbones. “You feel kinda soft.”

He growled. He wasn’t used to being touched, and having someone - even someone so small - put her hands on his face was really uncomfortable. “You can stop that now, kid. Don’t make me remove you.”

She paused, then looked him in the eye sockets. She must have been able to read some part of his expression because she snatched her hands away and sat back into her chair. “Sorry, Mr. Sans.”

“‘Tsokay. Just...don’t do that again, yeah? You wouldn’t want me to put my hands all over your face, would’ja? No? Then don’t do it to other people.”

“But you’re so cool!"

He coughed. “That’s no excuse, kid. You gotta ask before you do that to someone.”

“Why?”

“It’s...polite?”

She tilted her head to the side. “But you don’t care about being polite. You’re a asshole.”

“Just...it’s...yer mom’d kill me if I taught you bad habits, okay? And it makes people uncomfortable, and I know you’re too young to really understand yourself in relation to others but you don’t do things like that, okay? You’ll learn as you get older.”

“Okay.”

“And it’s kinda rude to call people assholes. Just...while we’re on the topic.”

She giggled. “Okay. But you still are one.”

“You got that right.”

Silence.

He rubbed the back of his vertebrae. “Ooookay, then. Uh, what’s left on the list?”

Attie ran into the kitchen and consulted the note. “Art!” she called back.

“Huh? Art? What kind of pansy school bullshit is that?”

The girl stomped back into the dining room. “My favorite."

“...Oh.” He pondered this. “So...what do you do for ‘art?’ I don’t know a damn thing, but isn’t art pictures and stuff?” Hadn’t Boss called his spaghetti ‘art’ at some point? Did that count?

“I mean...I guess I can color,” she said. “I have my coloring pencils in my bag!”

“Okay, but...aaaand she’s gone.” Sans pondered chasing after the kid, but decided it would be too much effort. He was tired. Between keeping up with Attie and texting Frisk periodically throughout the day, he really just wanted a nap.

She returned a few minutes later with a box of pencils and a pad of paper. She didn’t say anything or ask questions - a miracle, given how the rest of her schoolwork had gone - but instead hummed to herself as she emptied the box of pencils across the table and began to draw.

The scratching of the paper and the off-key humming was...strangely calming, actually…

“Mr. Sans!”

“Hrk-wha?” He sat up quickly and looked around. When had he put his head on the table?

Attie was leaning towards him. Her pencils were packed up and sitting neatly atop a small pile of loose papers. “You were asleep,” she said.

“Oh. Uh, sorry, kid.”

“‘Tsokay. Mommy takes naps sometimes too. I don’t usually take naps anymore ‘cause I’m a big girl now, but Mommy says that sometimes grown-ups work too hard and have to take naps.”

“Yeah, sometimes.” He was feeling pretty groggy.

“Also, your phone was ringing.”

“Shit!” He dug around in his pocket until he found the offending hunk of metal.

“Bad word!” Attie howled.

Frisky Dreamer 3:25 PM Sans, you’re late for your check-in. Just because I’m drugged into unconsciousness does not excuse you not sending an update and stuff. I am so high right now Ignore that last one

Frisky Dreamer 4:03 PM Sans, I haven’t heard from you in two horse. Hours.

Frisky Dreamer 4:22 PM SNAS, ANSER UR DAM PHONE!

“Uh, kid? Don’t you have a phone too?”

“No...oh! Wait!” She pushed herself back from the table and tottered off down the hallway. Sans sighed and tapped out a message.

You 4:26 PM Were doing art Kid really drew me into it

The response was immediate.

Frisky Dreamer 4:26 PM You fell asleep again, didn’t you.

You 4:27 PM Hey do u wanna have us come visit u or not

Frisky Dreamer 4:27 PM Whatever.

He grinned. Apparently, that worked on both mother and daughter. Speaking of which… “Kid? You find that phone? We need to head out if we’re gonna go see your mom.”

“I found it!” She returned with the phone in all its pink and blue glory. “I have a message from Mommy, see?”

There was, indeed, a message from Frisk asking (in a much nicer tone) how her day was going.

“Hey, what’s that less-than-three thing mean?”

“Oh. It’s a soul! See?” She held the phone on its side.

“That’s...weird. And isn’t that upside down?” Sans flipped the phone on its other side.

“But I’m a human! Our souls go the other way.”

“Oh. Right. Anyways, are you ready to go see yer mom? I’d better let her see for herself that you’re in one piece. I don’t think she believes that I haven’t eaten you yet.”

Attie giggled, but awkwardly bundled into her coat and shoes anyways. She seemed to be struggling with her shoelaces. It was funny to watch.

“You, uh, got that, kid?”

“Maybe. These aren’t my favorite shoes. My favorite shoes are pink and they have flowers on them and they light up when I walk, which is why they’re my favorite. Those ones have velcro on them so I don’t have to tie them, but these ones just have shoelaces.”

Sans nodded noncommittally. He briefly considered helping her but…

...Nah.

She eventually knotted them into submission and tucked the ends of the laces inside the top of her shoes. Shrugging, she grabbed the stack of papers and tucked them under her arm. “Okay! I’m ready!”

“Uh...what’s with that stuff, kid? I thought that was your art.”

“It is! I drew pictures for Mommy. I’m gonna show her and see if she can hang them up in her hospital room. She usually hangs them up on the ‘frigerator, but there isn’t a ‘frigerator in her room I don’t think.”

“Fair enough. Okay, you ready?”

“Yep!”

He put both hands on her shoulders. “One, two,” and... teleport.

Attie grabbed onto his arms for support when they reappeared in a protected nook across the street from Ebott Medical Pavilion. “Oh! That time it wasn’t so bad!”

“Yeah. You should get used to it soon enough.”

“That’s pretty cool! Can you teach me how to do that...that…”

“‘Ts called ‘teleporting,’ kid. Disappearing and reappearing in a different place, kinda like the world’s best shortcut. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but...it can get pretty sciencey. And no, I’m pretty sure I can’t teach you how to do that, either.”

She pouted all the way up to her mom’s room.

He opened the door first, not wanting to interrupt anything, but Frisk was awake. And waiting, of course. “Sans,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument, “Why don’t you come on in.”

He came right the heck on in, one hand guiding Attie in front of him. “Say ‘hi’ to yer mom, kid.”

The girl paused for a moment, staring at her mother. Frisk did look pretty bad still. Sans hoped Attie wasn’t going to scream or cry or cause a fit; he knew he’d be blamed if she did.

“Hi,” she said in a very quiet voice.

Frisk smiled. It was the same smile she’d worn earlier when he sent her the picture of Attie and Undyne, and he fought the urge to look away. “Hey, baby girl. Won’t you come up and give me a hug?”

“I-I don’t wanna hurt you when you’re sick.”

“I’ll be okay. Just make it a gentle hug. No jumping.”

The little girl tiptoed up to the bed, leaned up, and gently put her arms around her mother. They both sighed at the same time.

“Now what did you bring me? Oh-Sans, chair.” She gestured towards the aforementioned furniture, which had been moved against a wall.

Sans sat.

“I brought you pictures!” Attie said. She laid out each page individually on the bed, covering the blanket almost entirely. “This is the room where I slept last night. See? It’s full of skeleton stuff! It belongs to a guy called Mr. Boss, but Undie said that wasn’t his real name.”

“It isn’t,” Frisk said. “His real name is Papyrus. But go ahead.”

“Oh, right. This is Mr. Pa-py-rus’s room. He let me sleep on his bed, ‘cause he said Mr. Sans’s room was pretty messy. It is, y’know.”

“Oh? When were you in Sans’s room?”

“I hid in there before lunch. Mr. Boss - I mean, Mr. Pa-py-rus - came in and was beating up Mr. Sans because of paperwork. Then Mr. Pa-pyrus tried to fight me until Mr. Sans finished the paperwork.” She held up another picture. From his vantage point, Sans could barely see three blobby figures: two black and red, one blue and pink and black. “See? Mr. Pa-pyrus is trying to fight me ‘cause I told him not to beat up Mr. Sans. Mr. Sans finished the paperwork before he stopped talking. He talked a whole lot, more than Granny Ree does sometimes.”

“Papyrus...tried to fight you.”

“Yeah. I was kinda mad that Mr. Sans did paperwork instead of saving me, but it’s all better now.”

“What?”

“He said ‘I’m sorry, kid’ and I said ‘I forgive you.’ And he said that he would’ve stopped Mr. Papyrus if he’d really started fighting, so it’s okay.”

Frisk pulled her daughter in for another hug. Over the child’s head, she gave Sans a long, intense look. He squirmed in his chair a little.

“Fine. I guess...it’s okay, if you aren’t hurt. I’ll have to have a long talk with Undyne about this, though; I don’t want you in a house where someone’s going to attack you at random.”

“It wasn’t an ‘at random!’ He tried to fight me because I told him not to beat up Mr. Sans. Remember? I told you.”

“That’s right. Hey, Attie, could you do something for me?”

“Yyyep!”

“Can you get me a drink of water? There’s a water fountain at the end of the hallway, out and to your left. Here’s my cup. Go out, fill the cup with water, and come right back so you can show me the rest of the pictures. Don’t spill.”

“Okay, Mommy!” She wiggled off the bed, careful not to wrinkle any of her drawings, and left the two adults alone.

Sans glanced at the side table. “You already have a cup of water,” he muttered.

“That’s not the point. You know that.”

He did. “Look. You know that the best way to get Boss to stand down is to give him what he wants. He wanted paperwork; I finished the damn paperwork. It’s not my fault Undyne changed her schedule without telling me.”

“If you hadn’t fallen asleep in here earlier, you wouldn’t have had to rush.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly running on a whole lotta sleep. You know, after carting you and Attie all over town last night.”

Frisk’s hand clenched the blanket over her knee, then relaxed. “I...that isn’t what I wanted to talk with you about. Sans...does that happen on a regular basis?”

“The naps? Well sure. I’m-”

“Not the naps. Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m asking about.”

The look on her face said that she was not in the mood to be messed with; she wanted answers, and she knew he could give them. Strange, that this human was the only one to realize that his stupidity was an act. “...Yeah, I know. And…”

What could he say?

“Sans?”

“Yeah. Just...I don’t know how to answer that. Boss...he gets aggressive when he’s angry, you know? And I’m one of the things that makes him angry the most. It’s my fault, really. You get it, right?” He winked.

Frisk’s expression didn’t change.

“A-anyways, I’ll watch the kid closer. She can...I dunno, hide out in my room when he’s around. I’ll clean up and everything. That way she won’t have to see it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. I didn’t ask why it happened, or whose fault it was, or how you plan to cover it up. I asked how often it happens."

“...Not as much as you’re thinking, but more than you’d like.”

“How typically vague. Are we talking once a day? A week? A month?”

“Couple times a week? I dunno. I’ve never charted it out.”

“Alright. Alright." Frisk took a deep breath. “That stops now. Whatever you and your brother do when there aren’t kids in the house, that’s your...ah...business-”

“Hey!”

“-but I won’t have the pair of you scarring my daughter. Both of you will be on your best behavior, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Mommy!” Attie shuffled in with a glass full of water, her tongue peeking out from between her lips and a look of concentration on her face. “I...almost...have...the...water...OOPS!”

She tripped over her own feet and the water spilled.

“Attie!” Frisk was halfway out of bed before she was stopped short by the plastic tubes the doctors had stabbed into her arms.

It didn’t matter much; Attie was floating gently in mid-air, faintly glowing. “Blue!” she cooed.

“Sans,” her mother said, “Put her down. Gently.”

He did.

No one spoke for a long moment.

“I’ll excuse it just this once, because it looked like you were keeping Attie from getting hurt. But if you ever - ever - use blue magic on my daughter again, I will hunt you down. Is that clear?”

“Yeah, Boss.”

Frisk slammed her hand onto the bedside table, causing both Attie and Sans to jump. “I am NOT your BOSS, Sans!”

“Yeah, uh, sure.”

A nurse popped her head into the doorway. “Everything alright in here, sweetie?”

“Yes,” Frisk said. “We’re fine. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Anytime a loved one is sick tempers run high, y’know? Y’all just take a deep breath; no worries. Oh, and visiting time is almost up, unless your honey there wants to stay the night.” The nurse wiggled her eyebrows.

It took Sans a beat to realize that the nurse meant him, not Attie, and he wanted to crawl into his own hood in embarrassment. “Nah, gotta get this kid into bed. Early mornin’ and all that.”

“Alright, then, sweet thang. Y’all take it easy and let me know if you need anything.” She closed the door gently behind her.

Sans carefully avoided looking at the humans.

“Alright, Attie; time for you to go now. Come give Mommy a kiss and head home with Sans, alright?”

There was a shuffle as Attie did as requested. “Can I come see you tomorrow? I didn’t get to show you the rest of the pictures.”

“Maybe. Mommy’s pretty tired. If everything goes well, then yeah.”

“Okay. G’night! Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

“You too, Attie.”

“I won’t. I bet the bedbugs are scared of Mr. Papyrus.”

“I’m sure they are.”

A small hand in his interrupted Sans’s studied ignorance of the proceedings. He glanced down to find Attie grinning up at him. “Ready to go, kid?”

“Yup!”

“‘Kay, then.” He gently started to tug her out of the room.

She resisted. “Wait! You didn’t say goodbye to Mommy!”

“Uh...bye, kiddo.”

“Her name isn’t kiddo, Mr. Sans.”

“Bye...Frisk?”

The woman on the bed breathed deeply, but didn’t look at him. “Text me when you get home. You owe me a few check-ins.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They left.

#Dragonashes writes #Undertale #Underfell #The Heaven We Didn't Choose #Sans #Attie #Frisk #Homeschooling #Frisk is on pain meds #Vague discussions of abuse #Fixing problems fills Frisk with DETERMINATION #Even when they're Sans's problems #Those bed bugs are terrified of Papyrus by the way #The skeleton brothers have 0 problems with bedbugs #The lack of anything that would attract bedbugs has nothing to do with it

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pennyfynotes · 7 years

Photo

8.10.17 // 11:00am // guide to school supply shopping

this one was requested by @catharticstudying (thanks for the request!)

so it is upon us. every studyblr's favorite time of year. no, not going back to school (though i guess some of you enjoy this?), but getting new stationery/school supplies! here i've compiled 2 lists (one for hs, one for college) of some essentials you might consider getting for the coming school year (and some reasons and some links). read til the end if you want some tips for getting the best prices/saving money! xoxo, m

*also not sponsored or anything by any of the companies i link, they're just products i enjoy+have used for years*

high school:

1. spiral notebooks. i personally prefer notebooks to binders. they have smaller rings, which comes in handy as a lefty, and provide a layer of "padding" that you don't get if you just write on a single sheet. i think it makes for smoother writing. you can still tear out pages (unlike composition books) which i also like. accel (the staples brand) makes good, plastic cover notebooks with a nice plastic pocket for less than mead/five star, so i go for those.

2. binders. personally i use these for compiling study guides i've made + other resources. you can also take notes/keep your notes in these if you prefer being able to rearrange (which isn't an option in notebooks). i personally prefer having a few 1/2 inch or 1 inch binders because they are more portable and i don't put much stuff in binders, but some people like to keep everything in a 3 inch one, it's all up to preference!

3. folders. these are great for organizing handouts and you can get one for each class to stay organized. i was always a little too lazy to punch holes in things, so this was my binder substitute. if you get the ones with prongs, you can also make little "booklets" like you can in binders, so i also used these for study guides. some other types of folders include:

>>> multipocket folders: great if you don't want an individual folder for each class

>>> expanding file folders: these are a little bulkier, but you can still bring them to class if you choose. another great binder alternative (especially if you like all your things in one place). i also use mine to file old school work and keep it at home.

4. a planning system. i'm sure you've seen these all over studyblr, but they are really useful. keeping track of important dates+assignments will make your life a lot easier. you can use a planner or a bullet journal or whatever you like. here are some options:

>>>planners: lilly pulitzer (super pretty for someone who wants something decorative but is too lazy to do it themselves. also super expensive so you can guilt yourself into using it), erin condren (these seem pretty popular? also pricey though they look lil cheaper through staples?), happy planner (still quite cute+customizable, but a little cheaper at $20ish. you can get it at michaels so use that 40% off coupon)

>>>>>>>>for even more affordable options, try target or staples :) it doesn't have to be expensive to keep you organized! (i've linked cheaper options from each store)

>>> bullet journals: moleskine (cream paper, thread bound, hard/soft cover, dotted/gridded/lined/blank paper), leuchtturm 1917 (same as moleskine but with only hard cover and an index in front -- i've linked my current bujo), muji dot grid notebook (more affordable, spiral, white paper)

>>>>>>>>or just use whatever notebook you have laying around/want to use

5. calculator. depending on the level of math/science you're taking, you'll either want a graphing (the model i used and loved, though idt they sell them new anymore) or scientific calculator.

6. pencil case. pretty self explanatory. i prefer canvas bc of the stretch (unfortunately idt they sell the one i have anymore so i found a standard one) here's some stuff to put in it (links are to personal favs):

>>> pencils (mechanical | regular)

>>> an eraser (these are annoyingly hard to find)

>>> dark blue/black pens (i personally only use black). favs include: pentel energel, zebra f-301, bic round stic

>>> more colorful pens (tbh not totally necessary). more favs: bic atlantis, staedler triplus, pilot g-tec

>>>>>> colored pencils are a great, cheaper alternative to colored pens if you're on a tight budget. or crayola supertips!

>>> highlighters (so i don't actually use these i just color code with pen or underline, but you might want them) i linked some pastel ones from amazon (since they seem so trendy) that are a fair bit cheaper than the more popular brands

>>> white out (i prefer tape bc no dry time. also don't really use this much...)

>>> ruler (i love my little folding ruler from taiwan)

>>> post its (notes + flags/tabs)

7. a backpack. get one that will last over a super cheap, "cute" one from f21. definitely a better investment. i used my jansport for 8 years before getting a new backpack this year (but that wasn't because the bag was worn out). you'll be carrying a bunch of books, so get something with good back + shoulder padding!

8. water bottle. ok not really school supplies, but still very necessary. stay hydrated! (unlike me, the shriveled prune)

college/university:

you'll probably need all (or at least most) of the above. here are a few extras:

1. laptop. pretty self explanatory, but you can do sooo much on these. look up answers, watch lectures, take notes, do hw, write essays, you know the drill. (link to the one i have -- not cheap -- which is no means necessary)

>>> and obviously bring/have a charger

2. external battery. you'll probably be out and about much longer than you were in high school and having a portable way to charge your phone is a lifesaver.

3. flash drive/hard drive. if you have a really important presentation, i wouldn't just rely on emailing it to yourself. also, if you do a lot of your work on your computer, backing files up is probably a good idea (hey m, you should implement your own advice...)

4. dry erase board+marker. the board is good for studying for exams/doing practice problems without using too much paper and the marker is good for (use with the board, obv) when the library study rooms have no markers aka always.

5. smallish stapler. i print so much stuff around campus and there isn't always a stapler. having one i can carry around is amazing. (i also don't like the super baby ones so *i think* this is the one i have)

saving money:

1. keep an eye out for sales: this is obviously a good way to save money. knowing what you want and looking for sales is the best way to go.

2. use coupons: i know a lot of major school supply stores (target, walmart, staples etc) don't do this, but if your local store does, go on the hunt for those coupons.

3. michaels. kinda tied to the above point, but michaels always has coupons. you won't be able to get a lot of stuff there but sometimes you can find planners/notebooks/sticky notes and colored pens/pencils. they have weird stuff in weird places, so be thorough.

4. marshalls/tj maxx + the like. these places are great for water bottles, backpacks, organizational items as well as cue notebooks+planners. the last 2 will always (at least usually) be more expensive than your generic notebooks, but sometimes cheaper that the regular, super cute stuff.

5. amazon. they can sometimes have cheaper prices than in store retailers and also have a huge selection of stuff.

as usual, this was a lot, but i hoped this helped! lmk if you have questions or have other things you'd like to see for the bts (not beyond the scene) season :)

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sleepinglightt · 6 years

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Do all of em' man

1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?Depends on if they wanted to 🤷🏻‍♀️ 2. You talked to an ex today, correct?Yes, a couple of them actually 3. Have you taken someones virginity?Not that I know of 4. Is trust a big issue for you?Uh yeah 5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently?Yeah 6. What are you excited for?Going skiing in Washington over Christmas break!! 7. What happened tonight?Lots of drama, lots of tears, and lots of anger 8. Do you think it’s disgusting when girls get really wasted?Kind of, being drunk is okay but being wasted makes me uncomfortable unless I’m wasted too 9. Is confidence cute?Yes, but cockiness isn’t 10. What is the last beverage you had?Root beer 11. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust?Um 1? My grandpa probably, he’s pretty dope 12. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?I own several  13. What are you gonna do Saturday night?Probably nothing honestly  14. What are you going to spend money on next?Christmas presents 15. Are you going out with the last person you kissed?Nope 16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months?I hope I change for the better 17. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?Probably my best friend briann, she knows everything about my life and she puts up with my bullshit all the time I’m #blessed 18. The last time you felt broken?Less than 10 mins ago  19. Have you had sex today?No, I wish tf 20. Are you starting to realize anything?I’m starting to realize I really need to take care of myself 21. Are you in a good mood?I’m kinda blah 22. Would you ever want to swim with sharks?I wouldn’t mind swimming with a whale shark or nurse sharks, ya know… the ones that don’t attack 🙂 23. Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s?No, I wish :( He has the prettiest eyes tbh 24. What do you want right this second?To be happy  25. What would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy?I probably wouldn’t say anything and I’d probably just cry  26. Is your current hair color your natural hair color?Nope 27. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?Hell no 28. What was the last thing that made you laugh?The post about the catholic and the Christian church arguing or whatever  29. Do you really, truly miss someone right now?Yeah 30. Does everyone deserve a second chance?Not everyone, but most people do.  31. Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to?No 32. Does the person you have feelings for right now, know you do?Idk 33. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda?Nope, but I try not to drink a lot of sodas 34. Listening to?The sound of my fan  35. Do you ever write in pencil anymore?Yes, every day. I only write in mechanical pencils though bc it makes me uncomfortable to write in regular pencil. The lead is too think and it just najdmfjiclakjdj 36. Do you know where the last person you kissed is?Yeah 37. Do you believe in love at first sight?Nope 38. Who did you last call?My bestie for the restie, briann  39. Who was the last person you danced with?I haven’t danced in a while 40. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed?As a sign of affection?? Idk?? 41. When was the last time you ate a cupcake?It’s been a long ass time 42. Did you hug/kiss one of your parents today?No, my mom isn’t really affectionate like that and my dad is 2,000+ miles away 🤷🏻‍♀️ 43. Ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?Uh all the time wdym 44. Do you tan in the nude?I don’t tan at all  45. If you could, would you take back your last kiss?No, I think everything happens for a reason  46. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night?Nope, unless you count talking to myself 47. Who was the last person to call you?My best friend briannnnnnn 48. Do you sing in the shower?Sometimes 49. Do you dance in the car?Sometimes 50. Ever used a bow and arrow?Yes 51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?Senior pics 🙂 52. Do you think musicals are cheesy?Yeah kinda but I still like them 53. Is Christmas stressful?Hell yeah 54. Ever eat a pierogi?I feel like I have but I don’t remember 55. Favorite type of fruit pie?Cherry or lemon, but not sweet lemon fuck that 56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?I wanted to be a horse back rider I was weird 57. Do you believe in ghosts?Kinda 58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?All the time 59. Take a vitamin daily?I’m supposed to take an iron supplement  60. Wear slippers?Not really  61. Wear a bath robe?Nah 62. What do you wear to bed?Normally just shorts and a t shirt 63. First concert?Pierce the veil  64. Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?Target 65. Nike or Adidas?Nike 66. Cheetos Or Fritos?Cheetos 67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?Sunflower seeds 68. Favorite Taylor Swift song?Um none of them I never really liked her tbh :// 69. Ever take dance lessons?Nope, I can’t dance  70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?Not really 71. Can you curl your tongue?Yes 72. Ever won a spelling bee?Nope 73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy?Yeah 74. What is your favorite book?Probably looking for Alaska 75. Do you study better with or without music?Without  76. Regularly burn incense?Nope 77. Ever been in love?Yeah 78. Who would you like to see in concert?David Bowie but he’s dead RIP 79. What was the last concert you saw?Pierce the veil 80. Hot tea or cold tea?Cold tea bc I’m a southern gal 81. Tea or coffee?Coffee 82. Favorite type of cookie?Snickerdoodle orrrrrrr white chocolate macadamia nut 83. Can you swim well?Not really 84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?Nope 85. Are you patient?Nope 86. DJ or band, at a wedding?Band 87. Ever won a contest?I don’t think so? 88. Ever have plastic surgery?Nope 89. Which are better black or green olives?Green 90. Opinions on sex before marriage?It don’t matter as long as you use protection kids!  91. Best room for a fireplace?Living room 92. Do you want to get marriedYeah

BOOM THERE YA GO

#asks

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empresspilaf-blog · 7 years

Text

these are actually hella fucking cute y’all

I’m answering all of these because as previously stated I have a real thing for filling stuff out. I like being asked questions it’s fun, keeps my brain workin’ :D

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? More milk. And I never drink it at the end. I can’t, I’ll get sick. I can’t drink milk, and if I have cereal too often I’ll get sick. But it’s just not right if there isn’t lots of milk D’: 2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? NOOOOOOOOOOO DDDDD: 3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? Anything? I think there’s a Mythology book around here somewhere with a peanut M&M’s wrapper in it.

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? I don’t put anything in tea, and I’ll drink black coffee, but sometimes I put creamer in it. If it’s available. I like peppermint mocha best yum :D

5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Nope! I think it’s pretty nice, actually. It’s one ofthe few things I actually like about myself lol. I hate my body and my acne but I think my nose, eyes, and smile are decent. I had braces so my teeth are straight. I didn’t wear my top retainer though so there’s a small gap, but it doesn’t bother me. Except when I eat apples. The skin always gets stuck >:( My teeth could be whiter, and they’re small and square looking, but I think my smile is alright.

6: do you keep plants? No, but I want to. I just can’t keep up with that stuff. And my room faces a very shaded yard so sunlight really doesn’t come in.

7: do you name your plants? I totally would! 8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? I prefer to draw with pencil/colored pencil, charcoal, and I’m trying to use inking pens. I suck at painting lol. I did just get a tablet, though, and Autodesk Sketchbook. So that’s been fun to play with. 9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? Oh yeah. I would love to be able to sing really well. So far I can do a decent Marilyn Monroe impression lol. My favorite thing to sing along to is No Doubt. I love Gwen’s voice. It’s a good exercise too, all the vibrato and crazy patterns she does. I also like to sing Heart, too. My boyfriend says I sound pretty good, but I still won’t let anyone else hear me lol. Even though he’s a musician and probably knows what he’s talking about, I still don’t think it’s that great haha 10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? Yes.

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends? Hmm I can’t think of any that don’t require a long explanation lol. Well okay, how about this. I didn’t ever really drink until I turned 21 (almost exactly a year ago, January 17!), and then when we’d hag out with friends and I’d get drunk, I’d start going up to people whispering “Hey. I’ve never been drunk before” in their ear lol. Like ever time it happened (which wasn’t all that much, I’m still not a huge drinker). It got to the point that now if I drink, everyone goes “Watch out for Robyn, she’s getting drunk for the first time!”

12: what’s your favorite planet? Uranus ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Hehe uhm Jupiter, because it’s full of gas, like me? I’ve honestly never really thought about this. I think Neptune is the prettiest, and I like the idea that humans may be able to live on Mars. ~Sailor Pluto is my favorite Sailor Scout. :D

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? A mess hahahahahahahahahaaha. She has three cats and I have a dog. We both have depression, anxiety, BPD, OCD, and ADHD. (fun fact, our diagnoses are identical. We both have PTSD as well). But we love doing crafts and not cleaning our rooms, so I imagine there would be glitter, scrap fabric, pencil shavings, and wadded up paper everywhere. Among the pet hair, of course! 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! 99% of the solar system’s mass is the sun! (shit!) 16: what’s your favorite pasta dish? S P A G H E T T I

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? Uhm well I’ve literally had every color lol. But right now, I’m having a lot of trouble getting red to stick to the lengths, it keeps fading to brown immediately. My hair is very damaged so it’s not too cooperative at this point :/

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. Uhm ok so I have IBS pretty bad, right? My friends and I went to Denny’s one night. We came back to one friend’s house, and I needed to fart (Sorry, this is gonna be gross lol). So as my friend Nick was coming up the stairs, I stuck my butt out and farted on his chest area. Only I didn’t fart. I pooped on him. HAHA and now everyone laughs at me because I shit on the bass player! The best part was I ran to the bathroom and I had my boyfriend get my spare undies from the car (gotta have those when you got that Irritable Bowel), and when I went back downstairs, Nick had no idea what had happened lololololol 19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? Nopeee 20: what’s your favorite eye color? I mean as far as what I find attractive, brown. Big brown eyes. On guys and girls. But especially guys. Girls with light eyes can still be cute but I think dark eyed men are just the best <3 That’s not to say there aren’t also some attractive men with light eyes (points to Bradley Cooper, Chris Hemsworth, Conrad Veidt, J o n a t h a n J o e s t a r). 21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. My smiley backpack! I just started really using it about a year ago, but I got it when I was like 3. so it’s around 19 years old. I actually just ripped one of the straps out partially last night, and I gotta sew it (thanks for the reminder!). It’s about a foot in diameter, and it’s just a giant yellow circle with a simple black smile and eyes and two straps. 22: are you a morning person? If by morning person you mean I stay up all night and am awake still when morning comes. Though I was up from Thursday evening to last night with no sleep, so I slept all last night and have been up since 6:30 this morning. 23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? Well since I’m pathetic and I don’t have a job and the Kent State University won’t let me have Financial Aid (due to dropping my classes last semester because of HEALTH ISSUES, wtf), every day is like that. I hate it, actually. I do nothing but sleep. I stare at my computer for hours, scroll tumblr and Facebook, get out drawing supplies and then stare at the paper and cry, lay in bed and cry, cry and cry ;u; 24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? My boyfriend, Mr. Alexander Tortorella. He’s been one of my best friends since 2010, and my boyfriend for a little over 2 years. Also my two closest friends, Taylor, who I’ve been best buds with for over ten years (we even got tattoos together) and my friend Ryanne who I mentioned before (the one with all the problems like me lol). 25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? No where, I’ve never broken into anyplace. Other than my car once because I locked the keys in it lol. 26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit? I actually have these flat slip on clogs that have like a brown sweater fabric that I got in 2006. I wear them pretty much all fall/winter if I’m just running to the store or to someone’s house. If there’s no snow, of course lol. I also have Converse I got in 2007 that have the British flag on them, and The Who’s logo on the tongue. there’s smiley faces drawn on the rubber at the toe, and along the side banding one one of them are lyrics to “What a Catch Donnie” by Fall Out Boy.

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor? I love regular bubblegum’s taste but it doesn’t last long enough to bother. 28: sunrise or sunset? Sunset 29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? Uhh…? My friends aren’t really “cute” people hahahahaha. I mean Taylor has called me “Bobert” for years and that’s funny lol 30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? Yeah this one time when I was little I floated too far on a raft in Lake Erie and thought I was gonna end up in dying lol. I mean compared to other things that have happened in my life that really isn’t anything too bad, but the fear I felt at the time was so immense. 31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. I love socks! Cool socks. I’ve got Marvel hero socks, whale socks, Star Wars socks, Sailor Moon socks, Winnie the Pooh sicks, sailboat socks, and funky pattern socks. I hate sleeping in socks though. I also have a collection of black dress socks from marching band haha 32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. I got naked and chased a friend down the street when I was 17. That was my one experience being drunk before I was 21 lol 33: what’s your fave pastry? Friggin Oreo Poptarts. They count. 34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? Little Pooh! And Big Pooh! I have a like 2 and a half foot sitting Pooh Bear and a small one. I dragged them both everywhere when I was little. I still slept with the small one until I was like 16. But it’s so worn and falling apart, I needed to switch to a larger version to cuddle lol. Now I just kinda cuddle whatever teddy bear or stuffed animal I grab haha 35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? Yes, but I don’t really have them. I do have some super cool Norman Rockwell notecards. And I have rainbow pens I use to color coordinate notes. I’’l freaking rip a page out and re-write everything if i mess up. 36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now? Well I’m currently listening to “Fly” by Sugar Ray and I’d say that’s doin’ it pretty well :D 37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? Yeah so have you seen a tornado’s aftermath? 38: tell us about your pet peeves! People who chew their nails (Glares at Alex, even though he’s not here). Girls who talk all hood, and act dumb for attention, then get offended when you don’t take them seriously. 39: what color do you wear the most? Black lol 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you? I wear a ring everyday, I only take it off to shower. Alex has one too. They’re silver bands, and they have the coordinates to our high school engraved in them (that’s where we met). One has the latitude, one the longitude. Inside mine it says “Alex”, his says “Robyn”. 41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving? White Oleander by Janet Fitch. 42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! I just like Starbucks. I’m a white girl. Sue me. 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? Alex 44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? əʇndɯoɔ ʇou səop 45: do you trust your instincts a lot? Oh, no. I overthink everything 46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. I can’t just do this on the spot!!! The other day a friend asked if I was going into the medical field, because I was really nursing my beer lol 47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? BEANS. All beans. Fuck beans. 48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? Yep, spiders. 49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? The last CD I bought I think was Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance. I’ve had every word of it memorized for like 10 years, but I never actually owned a hard copy. The last record I bought was probably Houses of the Holy by Led Zeppelin. *note; as I was moving on to the next question, the song “Houses of the Holy” came on my iTunes o.O (though let it be noted as well that the song “Houses of the Holy” is actually on the album “Physical Graffiti). 50: what’s an odd thing you collect? Souls. And old empty bottles. Like empty pop bottles. Not so much anymore, but I have a ton of them in my room that I use as decoration 51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? Pretty much anything from Def Leppard’s Pyromania or Van Halen’s 1984 reminds me of my dad because those are his favorite albums (and 2 of mine) 52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? I mean the salt guy is funny? I’ve really been slacking in the dank meme area lately. I am truly ashamed. 53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? I have only seen Beetlejuice of those (I knowwww), and I like it, but the heavy late 80′s asthetic creeps me out a bit. Not the stuff that’s supposed to be creepy, but all the black and white checkerboard and stripes, bright colors, and things like that lol 54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? My dog, because I wouldn’t let her have her bone back (it was bed time!) 55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? We don’t need to discuss that. Once again; I have BPD. That should tell you plenty. 56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Not being an asshole. That’s about it. 57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? I mean I do sometimes, other times I just listen and enjoy it. My friend Nick did a project for school (he’s a music production major) where he mixed the original tracks differently, and he made the bass and snare more prevalent and now the original sounds empty to me hahaha 58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? Lol what??? I mean I drink wine more than anything, but I probably drink more vodka than anyone else too lol. Most of them just smoke that reefer to be honest. Alex and I don’t, he doesn’t drink either. And I rarely drink vodka. But no one else ever does lol 59: what’s your favorite myth? The brown sound lol. The idea that there is a decibel so low that if you hear it, you’ll poop yourself! They proved it to be false on Mythbusters, though. 60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? I used to write poetry a lot. I actually was published in a national anthology of selected student poets in 9th grade. I have trouble being creative anymore, though. I like Thoreau and Walt Whitman. We studied them in 11th grade. 61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received? I’ve never really given a gag gift. Though one time I wrapped a robe I got my sister in a series of boxes and duct tape just to mess with her :D I wouldn’t say I’ve ever received anything “stupid”. 62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? Nope. I like apple juice, though. Orange juice makes me sick. Acid reflux issues. 63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? OOOOHHHHHH Gotta be in alphabetical order. Though currently my books are strewn across my floor, mixed in with clothes, my Sailor Moon VHS collection, shoes, makeup, blah blah blah 64: what color is the sky where you are right now? Really light grey. Ohio is bland and gross. 65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with? My friend Taylor. she doesn’t live very close so I don’t ever see her anymore :’( 66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? I have a few I made over the summer. My favorite is just a bunch of daisies. I love daisies <3 67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? Lol indifferent. That’s what today looks like, and pretty much everyday around here. 68: what’s winter like where you live? Well when I was younger, it was snowy and bright and fun. Now it barely snows, and it’s always gloomy and muddy and gross. My basement flooded a couple days ago because it rained so hard. 69: what are your favorite board games? MONOPOLYYYY. I got a Dogopoly for Christmas hehe. I like Sorry and Clue a lot too. 70: have you ever used a ouija board? Nope

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea? Green tea, and the youthberry/ wild orangeblosson tea from Teavanna 72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it? yeah pretty much. And I still always tell myself I won’t forget shit, and then I do. 73: what are some of your worst habits? Smoking cigarettes, sleeping too much, drinking pop instead of water, picking my nose lol. I’m twitchy and fidgety but that’s just the OCD and ADHD. 74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Uhhhhhhhhh “Big fat faggot”. (that’s actually how he would describe himself, he likes going up to people and saying “I’m REALLY gay”) 75: tell us about your pets! I have my darling baby Mae Mae, she’s around 9(??) she’a a black mutt that looks like a bear/wolf lol. I got her from the Humane Society. Then there’s Bellatrix, who my mom got from the HS. She’s a brindle boxer, almost 4 years old. We have a 7 month old kitten named Hosta. My mom found her in the hosta bushes outside this summer, so we named her after the flowers lol. We also have a guinea pig, of my sister’s, named Alfie. He’s about 2? 76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t? I could use a shower. 77: pink or yellow lemonade? Pink <3

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? I thought they were cute in Despicable Me, but it’s gotten way out of hand. 79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? Alex once bought me ice cream and flowers and made a sign that said “sorry for being a douche”. I don’t even remember what he did wrong, it was cute :3 80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? Well a few months before we moved in, I painted them purple. Then I decided that was boring like a couple weeks before we moved, and I got tihs cool 70s-looking (or even 30s really) floral wallpaper with like gold and pewter flowers and I put it on two walls. I painted the one wall orange, the tiny bit around the closet sage green, and the area around the door with chalkboard paint. Then I got mad one day about a year later and went and bought light green and covered the orange. I still don’t really know why lol. 81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. Dude what? I don’t stare at anyone’s eyes? 82: are/were you good in school? HAHAHAHHA. I got suspended for mooning someone. That’s all you need to know. 83: what’s some of your favorite album art? Queen’s News of the World has a sweet cover. Def Leppard’s High N’ Dry, Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, Aphex Twin’s “Windowlicker” single, of course. Green Day’s Dookie, Dio’s Holy Diver. There are aa TON but you know. I’m getting sick of typing lol 84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? I’m planning on getting a lot lol. Currently a Ginger Rogers close-up on my forearm. I have a Pooh sketch on my side, “You’re braver than you believe” (Pooh quote) written in my friend’s handwriting on my right shoulder, and “There’s still time to change the road you’re on” on my right foot (”Stairways to Heaven” lyrics). 85: do you read comics? what are your faves? Yes, Marvel, Infinity Gauntlet is my favorite. (not including manga because I’m ready to be done with this lol) 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? Yeah, they’re cool! Currently I’ve been listening to To Pimp a Butterfly a lot, actually. 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Star Wars (original 3), Back to the Future, A Clockwork Orange, Metropolis 88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? A R T D E C O, art nouveau 89: are you close to your parents? My mother. I don’t talk to my father much. He was abusive to me, he’s an alcoholic. 90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. I don’t really have any? I don’t live cities very much. 91: where do you plan on traveling this year? I’m going to North Carolina for a wedding, that’s about all I can think of. Probably going camping. 92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? CHEESE ME BABY 93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most? Well I’m mostly just at home doing nothing so it’s just kinda down and pushed back out of my face. But when I go somewhere it’s usually something pinup-y or 2 buns on top of my head. 94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? Taylor’s was December 29. But mine is Tuesday! :DDD 95: what are your plans for this weekend? Alex has a show tonight, so there’s that. 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? ”Remind me tomorrow” 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? Don’t know, I’ve never taken one of those tests. I’ve started to, but I can’t really answer the questions right. My answer can go either way, my mood is always changing. I don’t believe it’s easy to pin down a BPD patient’s type. I’m a Capricorn, and I’m not really into Harry Potter. My IQ is pretty high though, lol. I’m proud of that. It’s the one thing I have haha. 98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? I don’t remember, but I know I whined the entire time because I’m out of shape lol 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. Uhhhh. My brain isn’t functioning at a very deep emotional level right now lol I can’t think of any? I guess “Blown Away” by Carrie Underwood, it reminds me of my father. 100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? Neither. I don’t want to change the way things are now. Sure, I’d love to tell myself “Don’t gain twice your body weight” and “don’t drop our of high school or college” but like, Butterfly Effect. I know somehow that would make it so I never reconnect with Alex, or I end up dating someone I wasn’t happy with, or what if somehow I got in a car wreck and died as a result of something stupid? And I don’t want to see the future. What happens happens and I don’t want to live in anticipation.

Feel free to talk to me about any of this stuff! I welcome friends, I’m lonely haha

#i did it #it's been two hours #TWO #HOURS #long ass post #oops #me #personal #someone please read this #lol #I doubt anyone will #but the sound of my keys is nice #long #read me #my life is boring

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years

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Arteza Watercolor Polaroids

On a bit of a roll with the painting stuff lately, aren't I? I mentioned in my last piece that I had a specific piece coming up to talk about the supplies I used, and this is it! So let's talk about the 60 set of Arteza Watercolors, shall we? Boring stuff out of the way first: I purchased the set from Arteza's website while it was on sale for $35, and signed up for their email to get an additional 10% off discount code. I was too cheap to pay $4 for express shipping, but the paints arrived about 4 days later, so the wait wasn't so bad. The set comes in a sturdy paper/cardboard box, and the paints are 6-tubes to a little plastic tray, five trays deep in two columns. I was a little confused at first because my assumption was that the paints would be laid out with the first ten in the first top two layers, but actually, you make your way down the column on the left for the first half of the paints, and then down the second column for the second half. It doesn't make much of a difference, it just took me a minute to figure out that's how they were arranged so that I could swatch them in the correct order. The tubes are 12 ml each (which seems like a fairly standard size watercolor tube from my experience), and each one has a label around the top indicating the color, with the color name printed on it. Just a note that I did have one tube, my Ice Blue, that had a little bit of this sticker/label that had ripped off at some point--I assume while it was still at Arteza's factory since the missing piece was nowhere to be found in the box. This also isn't a huge deal, but I think it's worth mentioning since this combined with my experience with Arteza's colored pencils proves that they do have a few minor quality control issues that pop up from time to time. Here's where things get a little more interesting, as when I swatched the 60 colors out initially, I was also testing for something else beyond color selection. (Incoming tangent on the way paint dries, presented in small text so you can skip over it if you have no intention of letting the paints dry and then reactivating them or otherwise don't care.) The price for these is awesome--$30 or $40 (depending on where you buy from and sales & such) for 60 colors that have proper pigment and lightfast information is a great deal, considering some other brands of student quality paint can cost upwards of $30 for as few as 10 or 12 colors, and professional quality paints can cost over $10 for one 5 ml tube--However, I initially passed on buying these because when I first started looking at them (not long after I'd only just started getting into watercolors) I was big into the idea of converting the paints from tubes to pans in a travel palette, but a lot of the reviews on Amazon and from more experienced artists that I value the opinions of made it pretty clear that these paints don't seem to like doing that. They dried funny, or weird, or somehow "wrong," to make them into pans. And so I wondered, is that why they're so inexpensive? To swatch the paints, I squirted a teeny tiny drop of each color onto a piece of plastic I was just going to throw out anyway instead of mucking up a nicer plastic palette and having to clean it off if the paints did indeed dry in such a way that they were unusable. (I.E. couldn't be reactivated and used again like most watercolors.) I swatched twice; once on a piece of watercolor paper that I cut so it fits comfortably in the box with the paints, and again on a thicker piece of regular paper that went in my swatch book for quick color reference. I had a decent portion of each drop left, and so I sat the "palette" aside and let it dry overnight. Being the skeptic that I am after other art supply experiences, I just had to see what they would do. The next day, sure enough, the dried paint looked pretty sad. The dots were exceptionally dry (even for dried watercolor), some looking like colorful desert rocks, and some had dried so much that when my faux-palette was bumped they completely detached from the thin plastic, either in one whole chunk or some in smaller pieces. I was thinking I was going to find what I'd heard to be quite true. Still, I had to try just to be sure. It was a little weird though; the first time I tried reactivating the paints, I made a little Artist Trading Card (more info on those here) with my usual black-tree-silhouette-sunset look, and at that point, I noticed it seemed like the darker a color was the more water it needed to reactivate and the less well it did when reactivated. Granted, I only used maybe five colors at most, and it was a pretty small piece. Then I went on to make my Mon Cher painting with paints fresh from the tube on a proper palette, deciding the little dots I had leftover wouldn't be enough or offer enough pigment/color coverage for what I had planned. Naturally, I had no issues there. But I chose not to clean off the paint from the palette right away. Just out of curiosity, I tried closing up the palette in a ziplock bag to see if that would slow or stop the drying, and even if it didn't, I still wanted to keep trying reactivating the paints because I wasn't satisfied with just the one test. The bag seemingly did nothing as the paints still fully dried, but that may have been that I needed a newer bag since this one I had used before for other things and could have very well had an airhole in it I didn't know about. I had already decided that I wanted to make some more art as my "review/first impressions" piece on the Arteza watercolors since I was so happy with how the Mon Cher piece turned out that I wanted to focus on the painting itself, rather than talking about the paints that made it, and so I ended up slicing up a large piece of Canson XL watercolor paper into Polaroid-sized pieces (yes, official Polaroid size! I looked up the dimensions and measured accordingly!) and figured I'd make however many I felt like out of the nine pieces I'd cut, and then upload them as a set and talk about the paints there. Which brings us to where we are now. For all four of these, I used whatever dried paint I had left; both from the not-palette and the remnants from the Mon Cher painting. No fresh paint squeezed out at all. This time, the results were noticeably better, except on the last one where I was starting to run low on some of the colors and I think I got a little carried away with the water since the piece wasn't turning out the way I'd pictured it in my head. My conclusion on the state of the dried paint alone is that while I don't think I'll be procuring a specific palette to convert these into pans, I can definitively say that they aren't totally useless once they've dried, and that was really all I wanted to know. And just as an aside, if you do want to convert these into pans, you can try added a couple of drops of Glycerin (which you can usually find with soap-making supplies in craft stores), or a little bit of honey (or both if you're feeling adventurous). Both are used in watercolor formulas to help the paints retain moisture; even some professional quality brands like M. Graham specifically use honey in their watercolor formula. I haven't ventured that far yet, but I may try some things in the future and if I do I'll let you guys know how it worked out! Now on to something about the paints besides how they dry in the palette I noticed right away in my swatching and on my Mon Cher painting that these watercolors lean on the more opaque side, which to some watercolorists may be a problem, but it usually isn't to me, as there are some effects and details I like to work with that instead of having to pull out other supplies. You can probably see this exhibited best in the first one, which I think almost looks like a gouache painting, rather than watercolor. You can also see this effect pretty good on the third one, especially since most of the black on that one is watercolor as well, unlike the first and fourth ones, where the black portions are either stamps or pen. This also means that the color spread pretty far without much paint with the more water you add to it. But they also water down pretty nicely, as seen in the Mon Cher piece and as you can see somewhat on the second one here. And likewise, they layer up pretty nicely too. I was also pretty surprised that these watercolors didn't seem to mind having other supplies put over top of them; My white gel pens and black pens didn't fight me really at all with them. And I did use a little pale yellow PanPastel around the moon on the second one since I was afraid I'd end up with a harsh water line if I tried to use yellow paint to glaze it. It wasn't all peaches and cream, though. On the fourth one (the one with the snowy evergreen trees), I'm not really sure how much of it was the paint and how much of it was the paper (as this Canson XL watercolor paper is lower quality than the Canson Heritage L'Aquarelle paper I did the Mon Cher painting on, and lower quality watercolor paper that isn't 100% cotton can have issues with certain techniques) and how much of it was just user-error. But as you can see, what was supposed to the Northern Lights did not turn out as pigmented or as nicely blended and arranged as I had envisioned in my mind. To be fair, I was starting to run low on the blues and the pink I wanted to use, so that may have contributed to me making personal errors in fear of completing running out and being stubborn in not wanting to put any more out for this one last small painting. I ended up trying to use my white gel pen to save that last one, and if I'm honest I'm still not sure how I feel about the final product. I feel like it is kinda pretty, but I think the reason it just doesn't work for me is that, as I said, it's almost nothing like what I had pictured in my head. I'll have to try this look/technique again and try different paints, different paper, etc. and see if I can get closer to what I see in my mind's eye. I supposed I should also mention that on the second/pastel moon one I also had some trouble getting the clouds exactly how I wanted them, but that comes down more to A. me being very particular about the clouds and B. the ever-present unpredictably of watercolor. At the end of the day though, I really like how these Arteza watercolors handle, and I'm pretty eager to do more with them. And, I don't normally say one way or the other on my watercolor opinions, but this time around I feel comfortable saying that I think these would be a good choice for a beginner, even the smaller set options and not just the full 60 set like I got. And this is where I'll talk about the color selection: You can kind of tell when you swatch these out that the first 24 colors are probably the exact arrangement you'll find in the 24 set, as you've got a fairly basic color layout: White, a few yellows/ochres, orange, a few reds, a rose/magenta color, a couple of purples, a few blues, a couple of greens, a couple of browns, and a black. From there the color layout seems pretty randomized to me, including a Neon Pink kinda all by itself and some really pretty pastel colors, and some really nice muted pale earth tones too. I think this is one of the first times where I've felt like the color selection is really well-rounded and there aren't really any major switches I would make if given the choice. If anything, I can think of some colors I'd love to add on to the set (some more Neon colors since the pink is one of my favorite colors to work with so far, and I'd love to see some metallic/shimmer shades with the same formula), but as of right now I can't say I'd replace any of the existing choices with them. One more thing I will mention: The paints do have identifying number codes, much like the Arteza Expert colored pencils do. And while I figured not all of the colors would match/have colored pencil counterparts, I was surprised to find that seemingly none of them match up, even ones that have the same name. For example, in the colored pencils, "Noir" (black) is A012, but in the watercolors, it's A163; likewise, Apricot in the pencils is A034, while the watercolor is A212. I'm not really sure what's the deal there, and I don't have much else to say about it other than it was just kind of weird to me. (Then again, I don't know why that surprised me; Prismacolor has both alcohol markers and colored pencils, many of which are named the same and look pretty much the same, but the numbers for those don't match either. So I don't know why these should be any different.) Regardless, I do really like them and this honestly makes me want to try their 60 sets of Gouache and Acrylic paints a lot too, since these turned out so nice, I've been wanting to try gouache, and if you've been paying attention to me lately you'll know I've been dipping my toes into acrylics lately. I'm closer to getting the acrylics than the gouache partly because I have technically used those before and they're cheaper, and I do have my eye on another, cheaper set of gouache I think I'd rather have as my first set to see if the 60 set would even be worth the investment anyway. The point I'm trying to make: I like the Arteza tube watercolors, and as long as you don't mind dealing with the drying issues (in/on a palette; on paper they dry just fine ) that I mentioned at the beginning of the description in small text, then I think if you want to give them a try you're in for a bit of a treat. They may not technically be professional quality, but I'd say they make a pretty good stand-in if the idea of paying $10, $15, or more for one tiny tube of paint (or over $100 for a much more limited palette) is entirely too much for your wallet to even think about. Speaking which, there may or may not be another watercolor piece on the horizon made possible only by the magical power that is clearance stickers at the art supply shop, so stayed tuned for that. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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