A Work of Art
a Dark Artifices story
by EmilyHelene
The song She Looks So Perfect (5sos) inspires this story and while I read another story written with this song as the prompt by tumblr-user thefuriousmoles, I made sure that mine was nothing like theirs. I really wanted to incorporate one of the lines and the one that stuck out the most to me (for obvious reasons, art, lipstick, kissing) was Your lipstick stain is a work of art. I really hope you enjoy the story (I've been on an inspirational roll with these guys and I just couldn't not post another one) and that you review, favourite, like to your heart's content.
"We should not be doing this. This violates so many rules, not to mention we're invading her privacy, Emma."
"What rules?" Emma asked, shooting him an innocent look. Her voice had been barely above a whisper, but he had heard her all the same.
"Seriously, Izzy will kill us."
"I just want to see her room, by the Angel, Jules," complained Emma. Of all the inhabitants of the New York Institute, the most private was without a doubt Isabelle Lightwood. Emma, however, also found her to be the most intriguing Shadowhunter she'd come across yet. She knew how to do make-up. And while that seemed like a stupid skill that Emma would swear up and down she would never need, there was a tiny chance that she found it a tiny bit interesting. But only tiny.
"And I still don't see why you had to drag me into this…" Julian's discomfort was obvious. He never went into girls' rooms, save his sisters' or Emma's, but invading Izzy's privacy seemed like a crime against an Angel. "Have you seen her whip? It's terrifying, incredibly lethal, and more importantly it never leaves her side!"
"Pfft, relax Jules. No one is going to beat you with a whip. They'd have to go through me first."
The blue-eyed boy mumbled something inaudible earning him a quick smack from his parabatai. After minutes of jiggling with the lock, she heard it click and the door swung open to reveal a bona fide disaster.
So this is what a teenage girl's room looks like, thought Julian. It was a mess, to put it mildly. Clothes had been thrown every which way and the floor was barely visible, dotted instead with an array of weapons, the standard black Shadowhunter gear, and little pots and bottles of cosmetics. The mere sight of it made Julian want to run back to the safety of his own room but Emma just tugged him along.
"What are we looking for again?" he asked, nearly tripping over a seraph blade hidden from sight by a particularly small piece of clothing. Was that..? I don't want to know, he thought, his twelve year old mind already racing. He allowed Emma to tug him over to Isabelle's crowded vanity table.
She sat down on the chair in front of the mirror and he hung back, awkwardly looking around the room. She let her hands ghost over the collection of brushes, liners, mascaras, eye shadow palettes, and tubes of lipstick. Emma reddened just looking at the stuff.
"Nothing, Jules. Stand watch by the door will you?" He rolled his eyes before stomping angrily toward the entrance to Isabelle's bedroom staring daggers at his parabatai. He couldn't believe he'd let himself get dragged into something like this and he vowed that as soon as possible, he would try and keep Emma and these insane plans far, far apart. She didn't do secrets which was something that he'd always loved about her. Until, of course, the secrets she blew wide open didn't actually belong to her.
Down the hall, he heard footsteps and the telltale sound of Isabelle whistling an unfamiliar tune. There was a good chance that it was one of the horrendously lame songs that Simon's band had covered, and yet she managed to make it sound like Ave Maria.
He was so transfixed by her soft melody that for a split-second, he almost forgot to warn Emma that they were about to have some very serious company.
"Emma!" he hissed, motioning to the door wildly. "Izzy alert!"
With the strength and grace that only a Shadowhunter could possess, Emma managed to stand, tuck a small tube into the waistband of her pants, and sneak to the door beside her best friend. When the door swung open, Julian and Emma flattened themselves against the wall and did their best not to breathe.
Isabelle waltzed into the room, carefully tossing her leather jacket onto the massive four-poster bed. Emma's heart was racing and she half expected Isabelle to whirl around and ream them out for violating her space. Isabelle was like the older sister that Emma had never had and even after breaking into her privacy, the thought of pissing her off still made the younger girl's stomach tie itself up in knots.
Suddenly, something tickled at the back of her throat and—Oh no, she thought, not right now.
Her index finger found his arm immediately. I-A-M-G-O-I-N-G-T-O-S-N-E-E-Z-E-P-L-E-A-S-E-H-E-L-P
Unsure of what to do, Julian slapped a hand across her mouth in hopes of keeping her quiet. It seemed to work, at least in the meantime, and Izzy moved quickly and elegantly toward the adjoining bathroom on the other side of the room.
The two heard a satisfying click as the door shut behind her and bolted from the room as quickly as possible. It was only once they were back in the safety of Julian's room that either one dared say anything. They both dove onto the bed, lying side by side.
"That was close," he said, breathing deeply. "We just about got caught."
"But that's half the fun." Emma's rib cage was gently rising and falling, letting her parabatai know that she was more out of breath than she was letting on. He laughed and looked at her, really seeing her for the first time in a while. That crazy gleam in her eyes that always tore his careful boundaries and limitations to pieces was present as always and her lips were moulded into a mischievous grin. They looked especially big for some reason and he found his skin grow warm as a blush crept onto his cheeks.
Then he remembered. "Are you wearing lipstick?"
Emma reddened visibly, making Julian feel immediately less self-conscious of his own slightly pink cheeks. "No, shut up."
"It was just a question."
Emma rolled her eyes at him, hating that she couldn't even stay mad at him for a second. One look and he was forgiven.
"I can't believe you're wearing lipstick! This is so weird." He paused for a moment. "It looks…good, though."
And it did. The soft pink highlighted the plump quality that was already present in her tiny mouth. Before he realized what was happening, she was lifting up his right hand and planting a swift kiss on top of his Voyance rune.
"Ha! It worked. I wanted to see if it would actually leave a lipstick stain and it totally does!" She squealed with glee over this recent knowledge in a way that completely took Julian by surprise. Of course, the surprise could also be due in part to the fact that she had just kissed him (albeit on the hand, but a kiss was a kiss) but he wasn't quite sure.
"We still have a few hours until curfew. Did you want to try some hand-to-hand combat in the training room?"
He turned to look at her again and smiled. "Yeah sure, you head there now. I'll catch up with you in a few minutes. I've got to wipe this lovely smear off," he joked, laughing a little. A smile appeared on her face, genuine and playful.
As soon as she left, he stood up and walked toward his easel. He picked up a blank canvas that had been leaning up against his wall and placed it on the easel. Next, he mixed his colours until the pigmented dyes on his painter's palette were a perfect reconstruction of Isabelle's embezzled lipstick. The sketch came first, as always, and he drew the lines with a precision that only an expert could manage. Soon after the actual painting began and after only a half hour, it was complete. The edges were cut smoothly in most parts, but the sloppier edges that only a quick kiss could provide were visible in the painting as well.
He pulled his shirt over his head and swiftly discarded it. He was just walking toward the wardrobe for his training clothes when something pulled him from his evening reverie.
"Julian, are you coming?" Her voice was soft and she stood in the doorway, as if she were afraid she might interrupt him. She wore a thin grey cotton t-shirt and thick pants made from the same material as the traditional gear. Standing in the doorway, her long blond hair she had tucked neatly into a braid that ran just past her right shoulder. "Oh, I didn't know you were changing, sorry," she said, the embarrassment of seeing him topless sending all sorts of foreign signals to her brain.
"Yeah, I'll be right there. I just need to rinse these brushes, and finish changing. Meet you down there?"
"I can help, it's not a big deal," she offered, walking toward the easel. He blocked her path, though, and scooped up the brushes and palette quickly.
"I'll just meet you there."
Emma raised her hands in defeat. "Okay, you don't want me to see your super-secret painting. Fine." The hurt in her voice was palpable and Julian winced inwardly at even just the sound of it.
He pulled her in for a hug, breathing in the scent of her peppermint shampoo. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his midsection, and resting her head in the crook of his neck. His bare skin tingled where it met hers and he felt a jolt of electricity. It wasn't like this was uncharted territory for them; they'd been bathing together since they were in diapers, but there was something about seeing his bare chest that made her stomach do cartwheels. Their small bodies, while ghosts of pre-adolescent awkwardness remained, fit perfectly together. "It's nothing, really Em," he reassured her, tightening his grip for a moment. There was no place in the world where he felt more at home than with Emma.
"If you say so, but if you're not there in fifteen minutes, I'm coming in after you with Cortana," she said just before she disappeared from view.
"Deal. Be there soon," he called after her.
Once the brushes were clean and he had traded his now paint-covered jeans and t-shirt for fresh, light training clothes, he sprinted quickly down the halls of the Institute to meet his friend.
He knew he shouldn't be having these sorts of thoughts about her, but he couldn't help himself. He glanced down at the lipstick print on the back of his hand and smiled. Even after transferring it to canvas in the form of oil paints, he still preferred the hastily placed lipstick stain. In a way, it was a work of art, even if it was only temporary.
He hurried to catch up with her, not wanting to disappoint her with his tardiness.
"Ready to rock, Carstairs?" he asked, jogging into the room.
"Always, Blackthorn," she replied. "Always."
As always, thanks so much for reading and have yourself a lovely day!
Happy Writing,
EmilyHelene