this is really #cliche and it's probably been done before but "art student!clary takes a figure drawing class and their first nude model is bio student!izzy" au
omg but ive never written it so im completely down
so isabelle, being a college student, needs some extra money and it just doesn’t feel right asking her parents for money when they’re already helping her a considerable amount with her schooling and considering she’s only in her undergrad and still needs to go to graduate school and then medical school she’s going to be a financial burden for a while
so when she sees a job posting for a model for a figure drawing class, she’s like “sure, why not?” because she’s comfortable with her body, she wouldn’t mind sitting around and having people draw her for a couple hours a week
and it’s not actually all it’s cracked up to be because sometimes she has to sit in really uncomfortable situations for a long time and she can’t move and it’s a little weird when some of the obviously new artist freshman boys are staring at her and not really taking it all that seriously
but the second class she does it for, it’s different. and, it’s possible that it’s different because there’s a gorgeous redhead who happened to sit right in front of where izzy faces and izzy can’t help but stare at her the entire time
and clary, being that this is her first figure drawing class and she had really just drawn still life before that, is disproportionately nervous when it’s time for their first nude model
and that just gets even worse when the model comes in and oh no she’s hot and sits down right at the perfect place for eye contact
and the first day she’s there, clary gets just about nothing done. she’s too busy being nervous and when her professor walks by he clicks his tongue and clary can just feel the waves of disappointment coming off of him
but the next week she tries again. and this time… it’s probably the best thing she’s ever drawn
the curves on the model’s body are just perfect and realistic and so life-like that clary is honestly really impressed with herself
and each time izzy comes back (because their professor wants them to get familiar with the same body at different angles since this is their first figure drawing class, to kind of ease them into it and also teach some kind of lesson about perspective) she just gets better and better
and her professor is just raving about clary’s portraits
and eventually curiosity gets the best of izzy and as they’re all packing up she can’t help but walk over (wearing a robe, because otherwise it would just be awkward) and look at clarys drawing and… honestly… it takes her breath away?
like, damn, izzy thought she was beautiful but the way that clary draws her just makes her feel incredible. she’s never seen herself in this way and something about the vibe of the picture just feels warm
and when izzy finally tears her eyes away from the picture, clary is staring at her back and looking so scared and so vulnerable and they just stare at each other for a moment before clary practically whispers “what do you think?”
and izzy just doesn’t know what to say because its just… so beautiful and she feels so full of light
so instead she just sticks out her hand and says “i’m isabelle lightwood. can we get to know each other outside of class?”
and it’s not exactly an answer but it’s also more than an answer at the same time
It’s not a ladder, you point out. It’s clearly a stepladder. You aren’t sure why you’re the only one who knows the difference. Maybe those are details that only matter to you.
You don’t usually pay attention to the sensationalist headlines of newspapers and tabloids, but you start looking a little closer when they’re paired with the grey-and-wine-colored portrait photos of a young man— stoic, handsome, and familiar. Thousands of people see the same photos when the issues circulate, but nobody else sees the same person that you do.
The answer is, as always, in the Court Record, but it’s rarely obvious. Everyone else makes it look so easy, but you feel like the evidence only ever says two things to you; the first is that it could be anything, like picking out one voice in a chaotic chorus, or that it seems like it’s nothing at all, as though you were listening for the shrillest scream in a silent film.
When you do present a piece of evidence, you hope more than anything that the music stops. Where is the music even coming from? Maybe you’re the only one that hears it.
You’ve spoken to the dead enough times to know it’s the living that you need to watch out for.
You finally meet him again, the man from the tabloids and rumors. But just as soon as he reenters your life, suddenly he’s gone again, leaving behind only the evidence that he means to, and you wish you could forget that it happened at all. But his name forms scars on your heart and you learn soon enough that you can never really prepare yourself for the dull knife that tears them open again whenever it’s spoken.
The idea of questioning a parrot seems ridiculous, but it’s seen more than it’s trained to say, and there’s so much it would tell you, if it could.
It isn’t long before you become the subject of rumors yourself, and your mistakes become your definition. What you’ve built suddenly becomes piles of rubble and debris around you, but you don’t ask for anyone’s help. Not while there’s someone who still needs yours.
Logically, you know that everyone you know has parents. Of course they do, but you know better than to ask about them, since the lingering presence of grief and guilt that you’ve had too much practice identifying tells you everything you need to know.
When something smells, it’s usually the Butz. Even when he isn’t there, even when he hasn’t been there for years, you still know. It’s the Butz.