Love is… A small white cat with black markings. You’ve had her since she was small and she purrs when she’s hungry and swats at you when you hold her too long, but she is yours. Love is… Laughing with your brother at awful jokes. He’s obnoxious and never listens to you, but you grew up with him and cannot imagine a life without him. When you picture it, it seems cold and lifeless and lonely. Love is… The best friend you made when you were thirteen. Your hair was short and you looked like a lesbian but she told you that you could get the boy anyways. It is odd; distance usually makes relationships drift apart but somehow it made yours stronger. Love is… The friends whose faces you’ve never seen, and whose voices you’ve never heard, but that hasn’t stopped them from becoming some of your favourite people to talk to. You do not have to see each other in person for your bonds to run deep–your friendship with them is like any other: a tangled, messy web. Messaging sites become your lifeline. Love is… The older brother you’ve always admired. The older brother who accepted you, and loved you, and cared for you. The older brother who shunned the idea of you ripping his family apart. He has never seen you as anything but his sister, and for that, you are grateful. Love is… The sister who has abandoned you, but who you cannot bring yourself to hate. You can hate her child and you can hate her lover, but you cannot hate her. Love is… The parents who brought you into this world, and tried their best. You were tired of the screaming and the arguing but that has long since calmed down. Sometimes she makes you feel ignored, but you know you can talk to her about anything. Sometimes he makes you feel like the smallest person on Earth, but you know his parents fucked him up and you hate them for that. Love is… The passion that drives you; the passion that consumes you. The passion that your life revolves around. It is what you want to spend your life doing, and you’d rather die than lose it. A life without it means not living at all. Love is kind. Love is warm. Love is wide smiles and laughter; sunshine and warm hugs. Love is cruel. Love is cold. Love is tears and marks on your skin; thunderstorms and empty rooms. Love is abstract. Love is alive. Love is not always returned. Love is seen, and love is heard; love is invisible, and love is silent. But love is always felt.
“Hogsmeade on Saturday (Y/N)?” Neville asked, beaming as he joined you in the corridor.
“Oh i’m so sorry Neville!” You sighed, “I already promised George…”
“Oh, well. Thats fine, I guess um…”
“Neville I truly am sorry, I know how we used to go every weekend-”
“Its fine.” He repeated, shrugging his shoulders. “I just hope he treats you right.” You reached up to peck him lightly on the cheek before turning the other way and walking off towards dinner. “I know I could.” He muttered.
I don’t need a parachute, Baby if I’ve got you Baby if I’ve got you, I don’t need a parachute You’re gonna catch me You’re gonna catch me if I fall -Cheryl Cole, “Parachute”
February Musical Illustration Challenge: Day 1
Sooo, against all my reasoning and better judgement, I’ve decided to do a Valentine’s inspired challenge for myself this February, where I draw a quick illustration a day to lines from songs, in order to motivate myself to draw more quickly and try new things. On days I can’t draw anything, I’ll reblog something old instead, so hopefully no matter what I will have something every day. Keep an eye out :)
You found Calum on the roof, leaning forward against the ledge and looking out over the city. Moonlight shone through his eyelashes, and you saw a brief flare of orange as he took a drag from the cigarette in his mouth.
“Hey,” you said, stepping toward him. Calum jumped a little and turned, putting the cigarette between his fingers to exhale a stream of smoke. Even in the dim light you could see that he was exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and a certain weight on his shoulders that was slouching him over.
“It’s freezing out here, Cal. Everyone’s missing you back at the party–you should come inside.”
Calum closed his eyes and inhaled more smoke. “I doubt that,” he said. “Hardly anyone even noticed I was there. I came up here an hour and a half ago, Y/N. Nobody came after me until now.”
You swallowed. You wanted to comfort him, say something reassuring, but what was there to say, really? Anything you tried to tell him would sound hollow and insincere. “Is that what you wanted?” you asked. “For someone to come after you?”
Calum shrugged and turned back to the city, resting his elbows on the edge of the roof. “That was part of it,” he said. “It sounds selfish, I know, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but wonder what the point of this is, you know? This whole life. The human routine–we work, we have shit lives, we die. That’s the end. And I can’t stop wondering why nobody will change it.”
You joined him at the edge, keeping a careful distance between your arms. You knew that he was in no mood to be touched, not when he was like this. “Maybe,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully, “maybe you wanted someone to come up here because you want a stereotypical life.”
White clouds swirled in front of Calum, but his cigarette was already put out–the temperature really had dropped, and he shivered slightly as his breath appeared against the night sky. He turned his head to meet your eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
“Well,” you said, “we’re up here, right now. How many movies have you seen, how many books have you read, where there’s a heartfelt conversation on a rooftop? Where someone leaves the party brooding, and someone comes to make them feel better? It’s common in make-believe stories, and deep down, I think that everyone wants their life to be like that. Like some kind of movie, you know? Even if you don’t think about it, you still want that. You want to live a perfect stereotype.”
Calum pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he said. “I would be offended, but I think you might be right. It’s just … now that I think about it, that’s what I was expecting. That’s why I’ve been standing up here for so fucking long, smoking and staring at nothing and freezing, because I wanted someone to find me. I wanted to feel loved, important, whatever.” He chuckled. “Well, thanks for coming up here, even if it’s not what I expected. It would’ve been really embarrassing to come down by myself, wandering around like a rejected tween.”
You smiled and ran your fingertips across Calum’s knuckles, running a path over his hand and tracing the initials tattooed there. “I didn’t mean to make you rethink your life or anything,” you said. “I just didn’t want to feed you the same sympathetic bullshit that people are supposed to spout when they don’t know what to say.”
“Thanks,” he said, wrapping and arm around you and pulling you closer to him. “I needed that, I think. It puts stuff into perspective. Now, should we go back to the party, or do you wanna go get late night tacos instead?”
You leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and letting yourself be enveloped in it all–the smell of smoke on Calum’s skin, the bite of the chilly air on your face and hands, the sound of the traffic and the brightness of the traffic lights against your eyelids.
“I just wanna stay here a little longer,” you muttered, not opening your eyes. “This moment, right now, this is what sets you and me apart from the stereotype. This is real. Us. Here. I just wanna live it for a few more minutes.”
Calum tightened his arm around your waist, and you felt his pulse flutter against your cheekbone. “Whatever you want,” he said. “We have time, we have options. We’re real.”
Thanks for 50 followers! I couldn’t include all of my new followers (since the last follower milestone) because they either didn’t have ref pages or didn’t have any full body pictures of their OCs handy. EIther that or they were ask blogs about anthros and other stuff (I can’t draw anything humanoid) or I am saving them for the next follower milestone.