an art student, one would think Ronan would be used to half-naked models by
he is. His figure drawing class brings in a new model every time they meet
twice a week, though sometimes they bring back old models if the class is
particularly inspired by them. The models are everywhere from female to male to
non-binary, and Ronan had thought he’d
seen it all. Of course he’s attracted to the male models if they have nice
bodies, but usually it’s just a thought. He’ll look up from his notebook,
appreciate their body for a second, and then start sketching their muscles,
zoning out as he lets his pencil or charcoal do the rest. If Ronan thinks about
them outside of his artwork besides that, it’s usually because he feels sorry
for them having to sit in weird ass poses requested by the class for what must
be two painfully long hours. He looks at them as a project to tackle more than
anything else. He doesn’t feel flustered around any of them. He definitely doesn’t raise his hand and
request a pose.
why the hell is he doing that now?
professor looks surprised – of course she is. Ronan has hardly even spoken in
this class, let alone raised his hand. A small smile soon adorns her face
however, she has always supported Ronan for whatever reason, and nods in his direction.
“Yes, Ronan – go ahead.”
looks back at their new model and abruptly forgets how to speak.
doesn’t know if all of the models before him
were just shitty or what, but Ronan swears he has never seen a more beautiful
human being in his entire life. He has short, dusty hair that falls across his
head in what can’t be described as anything but a mess, but it’s a beautiful mess, like fucking movie star
hair perfectly tousled by the wind. He has ocean blue eyes that seem to pierce
right through him when he turns to look at him, and the utterly bored look on
his face just makes Ronan ache more. His face is dotted with thousands of
freckles, Ronan would love for an opportunity to count all of them, and his
figure is tall and thin. But the part about him that completely floors Ronan is
his hands – oh God his hands. They’re boyishly big, jutting out
from his slender wrists and supporting large knuckles and long fingers. His
hands look like he’s been working hard all of his life and Ronan can’t stop
staring at them. He wants to kiss those hands – he wants to feel those hands
all over his body.
has never reacted this strongly to a model before. Ever.
matter where he looks Ronan feels like he’s going to explode. Oh, and did he
mention that the guy’s shirt is off? Ronan can’t even begin to describe what
the sight of that scarred and muscled chest is doing to him.
Professor Kawalski’s concerned voice somehow penetrates into his brain, and he
realizes with a start that he’s been staring at the model like a love-struck
fool for who knows how long instead of requesting his pose.
dusting pink with embarrassment, Ronan looks at his notebook in an attempt to
escape and clears his throat. “Uh, yeah – could you…”
he directs the model through the motions. He has the model—Adam, his brain
supplies him unhelpfully—sit with his back facing the class, leaning back on
his hands. His legs are stretched out in front of him and he tilts his head
over his shoulder, looking like someone has just called for his attention.
Ronan wants it like that, to seem like they stumbled upon a scene of Adam’s
life rather than making it obvious it’s just a figure drawing. And while he
laments that he won’t be able to stare at his chest through the whole drawing—someone
else will surely request that anyway—he wants, needs, Adam’s hands to be the foreground of the picture.
wouldn’t be right otherwise.
Adam settles into position, his eyes lock with Ronan’s. “Is this right?”
struggles to swallow through his suddenly dry throat. “Yeah. Perfect.”
class settles down then to get started on their sketches. Ronan finds that Adam’s
shape comes to him effortlessly, little details he’d never bothered to identify
on other models popping out at him every time he looks up. It’s a wonder he
gets anything done at all, actually, because every time he glances up and
stares for just a bit too long, Adam catches him and stares back with what
looks like a smirk on his face. Ronan
wants to hate him for it, but he loves it instead and he slowly loses his mind
as he drowns himself in everything Adam
finds himself adding the smirk on when he gets to his face; it improves the
casualness of the pose, he thinks. It looks like Adam was relaxing, and then
turned to smirk at someone who just told a dirty joke. Or at least, that’s the
scene Ronan is imagining in his head.
most of the figure itself doesn’t take him too long, Ronan gets caught up in
the features that he can’t stop staring at in real life, too. He spends about
half an hour just getting his freckles right, dotting them all around his face
and on his shoulders. He’s absolutely in love with the freckles on his
shoulders. The last hour he spends entirely on Adam’s hands. He draws them with
care and affection, adding in every detail he can see. Maybe it’s just an
excuse to stare at Adam’s hands (it definitely is), but Ronan’s proud of how it
turns out. If someone looked close enough at his drawing, they could see the
freckles on Adam’s fingers, the way his large knuckles jut out and give
structure to his hand and fingers, that tiny little scar he has on the back of
paying more attention to detail than he ever has before. While his classmates
request different poses throughout the two hours, Ronan just focuses on his
original pose for Adam, using the new poses to add details to it that he couldn’t
see before. As he brushes in the way Adam’s hair lazily sprawls along his
forehead he wonders what it would be like to draw his fingers through it, if it’s
as soft as it looks.
wonders if he may be idolizing Adam just a bit too much.
pencils down!” Kawalski calls, startling Ronan so badly he literally drops his
pencil on the ground. Noah, the guy who has sat next to him all semester,
snickers at him. Ronan flips him the bird. “Let’s all thank Adam for his
patience with us today!”
looks utterly embarrassed as the room is filled with light applause. Ronan
wonders if he’s new at modeling or if he’s just like this every time. He
wonders which one is more endearing.
Ronan carefully tucks his notebook into his bag and shoves away all of his
pencils and erasers, he wonders if it would be too strange to request Adam back
again. Ronan believes he can’t be the only
person who was so enthralled with him, so surely the class would back him up if
hey, Ronan, was it?” a voice says from behind him. When Ronan turns, scowl already
sitting habitually on his face, he nearly has a heart attack.
is standing there, right in front of him, within touching distance. Ronan illogically has the urge to pull away,
suddenly flustered, but then he realizes: Adam is standing there. Right in front of him. He has a ratty old
Coca-Cola shirt on now, Ronan realizes sadly as he stares at Adam like he’s an apparition.
he says intelligently. He has no grasp of what Adam could possibly want to say
to him – how does he even talk to this boy? He can’t very well tell him he’s
enjoyed staring at him and imagining him in mildly erotic situations for the
last two hours, though that is the
truth. Ronan doesn’t lie. He just smartly doesn’t say everything that runs
through his head.
if this is weird,” Adam says, luckily filling in the conversation for where
Ronan failed. “I just…I just really liked the pose you gave me, and I was
wondering…if I could see it?”
a moment, Ronan just stares at him. His immediate reaction is no holy hell Adam can’t see it! Ronan had bared his heart on that damn
paper, in that damn sketch, for this damn boy. Just the thought of how Adam
would react to seeing Ronan’s attraction and affection puked onto his notebook
yet, against every instinct and nerve screaming in his body, he pulls his
notebook back out of his bag and hands it to Adam. “It’s the one in the back,”
he says uselessly, not knowing what else to say. Anything else is too
terrifying to bring to life.
Adam flip to the correct page and just stare at his drawing is the most painful
thing Ronan has ever experienced in his entire life. And he’s been through hell
and back. It’s almost worse that he can’t tell what Adam think is thinking
through his expression – it’s irritatingly blank, except for a spark of
surprise in his eyes.
don’t know what to say,” Adam eventually murmurs, and to Ronan’s horror starts
flipping through the rest of his notebook.
embarrassment, and the familiar self-hatred flares to life as one big ball of
anger in Ronan’s chest, and he digs his fingernails into his palms to stop
himself from lashing out. Gansey and his counselor have helped him get better
about non-violent ways to unleash his anger, grief, and other intense emotions—it’s
why he got into art in the first place—but having his heart exposed and crushed
like this is worse than anything he’s felt recently. Dammit, this is why he had closed up to people
after his dad died!
it’s so shitty,” Ronan growls, hurt leaking like venom into his voice despite
his best efforts. He reaches to grab his notebook back, but Adam quickly tucks
it into his chest, like he’s protecting it. Ronan just blinks at him in
no, it’s not bad, god how could this be—” Adam, seeming to realize that Ronan
has no idea what the fuck he’s trying to say, pauses to take a deep breath
before staring directly at Ronan and saying, “I didn’t mean to imply that. It’s
just that no one’s ever drawn me so, so…beautifully
before. Like, you draw me like I’m worth something, like I’m…lovable.”
doesn’t know what to think – he doesn’t know how to react. On the one hand, he
kind of wants to throw his fist into whatever or whoever made Adam feel like he’s
worthless and unlovable. On the other hand, Adam, beautiful, freckled Adam just
gave Ronan’s sketch the highest possible compliment. On the third hand—you don’t have three hands, Ronan’s
brain supplies unhelpfully—Adam apparently saw right through his sketch and to
the deepest part of Ronan’s soul.
love for Adam is tangible enough for Adam to notice, and that is the most
terrifying thing he has ever heard in his life.
feels like he needs to blow something up. Set something on fire. Instead he
brings his arm up to chew on his leather bands and, pointedly not looking at
Adam, says, “I’m just drawing what I see.”
apparently the right thing to say, as Adam’s entire face brightens into a large
smile. Ronan passionately wishes he had his notebook back, so he could draw it.
“Wow, that’s um…wow. Do you…do you want to go out for coffee sometime?”
Ronan wasn’t so surprised already, that
would’ve sent him falling right off his stool. He’s so in shock that for a
moment he’s convinced Adam is messing with him. Why would he have any reason to
want to take some crazy artist on a date—oh
God—especially one who had just drawn him like he was the most beautiful
thing in the entire world? It sounds rather creepy, to Ronan. Against the aching
want in his chest, he complains weakly, “You don’t even know me.”
doesn’t seem to deter Adam in the slightest. “I’d like to.”
blushes at that, feeling warm and excited and giddy. It’s been a long time
since someone has wanted to climb through his spiny walls and get to know him.
He hadn’t realized it until now, but maybe he’s been waiting all this time for
someone to want to. He can’t help but smile. “If I agree, can I sketch you
tips his head back and laughs, and Ronan wants to sketch him. Again. Jesus, he’s
just found his motivation for his next one thousand art projects. Maybe more
than that. He wonders if Adam will laugh for him again. If he’ll let him caress
I’ll even let you pick the pose again, since it’s obviously been your goal all
along,” Adam teases, grinning and leaning forward to whisper in Ronan’s ear, “I
also do full nudes, if you’re interested.”
spine nearly snaps he sits up straight so hard, blood rushing to both poles
making him abruptly dizzy. Holy fuck.
he breathes, embarrassed when Adam pulls back with a snicker. Suddenly he leaps
to his feet and practically throws his phone into Adam’s free hand, babbling in
a flustered way he didn’t even know possessed him, “Okay listen, fuck, here’s
my phone, just put your number in or something and I’ll…I’ll text you. Actually,
I hate my phone, so maybe you should text me. I might not reply, but I’ll come
whenever and wherever you want to meet – I literally don’t do anything. I just
sit in my room and sketch. That’s it. Sometimes my friend Dick bothers me.”
He might as well have thrown an I love
you somewhere in there.
his surprise and relief, though, Adam doesn’t seem overwhelmed – if anything,
he finds the whole situation amusing, if his wry smirk is anything to go by. Ronan
badly wants to kiss him. Fuck this is a mess.
watches as Adam plugs his contact info into Ronan’s phone before handing it
back to him. Then he just stares at him, an eyebrow raised. It takes a few
awkward moments of getting lost in Adam’s eyes and knowing absolutely nothing
about phone etiquette for Ronan to realize he’s waiting for Ronan to text him
so that he’ll have his contact info, too. Feeling like a blundering idiot,
Ronan texts him a simple message—guess
who—before pocketing his phone again, relieved to get it out of his hands.
pulls out his own phone as he gets the message, and the small smile on his face
is worth every moment of suffering in Ronan’s life to get to this point. He
spends a few moments editing the info before also pocketing his phone and
sending that smile at Ronan. Ronan forgets how to breathe. “Great. You know, I’m
actually free now – do you wanna get lunch? There’s a great pizza place not far
would run through hell and back for this boy. Again. But he tries to regain some sense of his pride and
integrity, so he leans back at his whole height and says nonchalantly, “Fine.
Only if you let me drive.”
Adam smiles widely before flipping to another page in Ronan’s notebook and
showing it to him. “But first, tell me about this raven.”
Bettie Page rose to fame in the 1950s for her pin-up photos. She is often referred to as the “Queen of Pinups.”
In 1959, Page became an Evangelical Christian. After her fame wore off Bettie Page’s later years were marked by depression, violent mood swings, and several years in a state psychiatric hospital suffering from paranoid schizophrenia.
On the 28th of October, 1972 Bettie was arrested. When police answered a call placed by her ex-husband Harry Lear. When they arrived on scene they found him and Bettie out on the front yard with Bettie hitting Harry, repeatedly punching and verbally attacking him.
Bettie would stay at Jackson Memorial Hospital, a state mental care facility for six months spending most of the time under suicide watch. At age 56, Bettie was arrested again. She had stabbed her elderly landlords on the afternoon of April 19, 1979 in an unprovoked attack, during a fit of insanity.
Bettie Page died from a heart attack on December 11th 2008