we used to be giants

“That’s very honourable of you. I wouldn’t want my career stealing away from me on the sidewalk.” She laughs at the thought, her shoulder moving to nudge into his arm. 

Orla’s attention is laser-focused on the road as they walk, examining the art as they pass by it. It’s not that she wants to upstage anybody, but her fingers were itching to get that competitive streak out of her system. From the moment she’d seen the stand on the list of stalls, she’d know that was the one she wanted to visit.

Art was how she spoke. It was where she played with her thoughts, her feelings, her visions. Got them all out on paper, got them adorned upon the skin of others. 

( She’d argue that no feeling was quite like somebody picking you to litter their body with permanent inkings. Well, she’d quickly learned that one thing certainly beat that, but she’d get to that shortly. ) 

Her attention draws back to him as she feels his fingers crawling down her back, a smirk slipping onto her face as she felt his hand smack into the leather pants she’d put on for the day. This feeling was better than inking. “Hey, you.” She remarks, her hand reaching for her an extra stick of white chalk as bemusement takes over her face at Bowies swiftly growing collection of chalk. “You gonna’ use all those, or are we sharing?" 

It isn’t long until she’s stood beside him, watching as he draws, her head cocking to the side as she attempts to work out just what he’s drawing before deciding that's a fruitless attempt. Walking around the back of him, she allows her dangling fingers to comb over the back of his shoulders before making a not-so-dignified descent to the floor. 

( Leather pants, slowly becoming her least favourite item of clothing. ) 

She’s in her element as she draws, her attention only flicking to her ‘artistic’ other half every so often. The truth was, this was how she got her thoughts out. She outlines a vase in white, a couple of flags sticking out of the top, a bi-coloured flag taking centre stage.

Then she moves on to the rest, another four. Each colour filled in with various other flags depicting the pride community. Her gaze only shifting to glance sideways with each complete one before she moves to pick up the white again. The bi-flag is left untouched, but the other four are scrawled in with words. Carefully, but smudgeable, in case of outright rejection. 

"M-O-V-E." 

She glances up, shifting slightly as she moves onto the next one. 

"I-N.” - Next flag. 'W-I-T-H.’ Next flag. ’M-E.’

Artwork complete, she scuffles backwards slightly, moving to examine whatever Bowassio besides her had come up with. “How’s it going over here?” She questions somewhat hastily, taking appreciation in his efforts. Though there was a sort of nervous energy to her that she wasn’t completely used to. Already prepped with an 'it doesn’t have to be today, but I want you to know I want us to, someday.’.

The look of concentration on his face is like no other, the closest comparable inducer of it was when he was beating Javier’s high score at RPO. If he has any untapped artistic ability, he was going to tap into it there and then and possibly produce something that could make him consider switching careers. Blue chalk is swapped for yellow and then white. Green was debated, but he decided on realism over something abstract. 

He can see Orla in his peripheral, no doubt putting in as much focus as him on her chalk, but where they differed was she made it look effortless -- as she did most things. Yet he had seen first hand how hard working she was, in her business, in her personal life, in the relationships she fostered fiercely.

( Her unwavering nature could often be misconstrued as being hard work, but everything about being in love with Orla Rhodes was effortless to Bowie Shore. )

One well executed stretch of his leg and deliberate scuff of his converse on pavement and he’s pretty he could sabotage her piece to then claim victory by default. It’s a flaw that it crosses his mind but he didn’t, wouldn’t. In his teens and twenties he might have but he’s been the saboteur of so many things between them that even something as low scale as this isn’t something he allows for anymore. 

“Nailed it, honestly. Got a right flare for this shit. Nearly sun and dusted.”

Another drag of yellow on the ground and his is complete as she calls to him and it was as dazzling as he intended. He doesn’t know much about art, but he does know he had interrupted her midway through sketching a piece based on Van Gogh’s Night Sky, and he thinks his own work is a sister piece to that. He dusts his hands off against his shorts, reaching for her as he shifts from where he was kneeling at his patch to where he can get a better look at hers. 

His hand rests on her hip casually while his other palm is to pavement, supporting him as he leans slightly with a tilt of his head to really appreciate what she’s gone for. The flags catch his eye first, they make him smile and when he realises there’s words letters into them he takes another second to read them before he realises what they were saying. 

What she was asking. 

The realisation strikes a chord of fear in him at first as most potentially change inducing things did -- a side effect of morphing from a child who worried when things shifted to a man who felt anxious when they did -- but like every life altering moment that he experienced with her next to him, it dissipates as quickly as it appears. 

They had been through so much together and apart, more bad than good, but this was all good. Would be only good. There’s a grin on his face that is concealed from her momentarily as he blindly reaches to his side for any piece of stray rolling chalk, plucking the very green he didn’t get around to using, and now its finally being utilised as he chalks out a response just below hers so as to not mess up the piece. 

F-U-C-K and Y-E-A-H with a :) for good measure. 

( Double underlined, just in case his enthusiasm wasn’t being translated through words. ) 

He’s upright then, as tall as he can be while on his knees, the energy radiating him akin to the unrepentant excitement he was always struck with at Christmas except she wasn’t a one day high. 

She was year round, she wanted day in, day out with him and given that all his worst nights were the ones without her he can’t help but feel that they were in the rearview as all that was in his eye line at present was her. 

“I’m probably gonna get chalk on you, my bad but also I don’t care.”

Chalk residue is the only reason for his warning, because he’s long embraced that he doesn’t need excuses or circumstance to kiss her anymore. He just can, and there and then he does it like he wants to do it every damn day for the rest of his days. 

( He does. ) 

“No fucking shit I’ll move in with you,” He verbally reaffirms as they part, keeping her close, everything about him was drenched in a kind of happiness he’s only ever experienced with her. “I’ve only been trying to on the downlow for like, three months. I’m kind of mega in love with you, in case you somehow missed that.”

From sneaking into each others bedrooms as teens, surprise college dorm weekend staycations, hotel rooms, places that have been his, places that have been hers, he’s existed in an exhaustive list of places with her but none had ever been theirs. 

━━  🛹┊RACE YOU TO THE LIGHT – MASON JENNINGS.

@orla-rhodes

"Mishy isn't my father, but if she was, she is kinda more solid than my actual father most of the time. Maybe I’ll get her a card."

His reaction causes a smirk to slide upon her features, her head tipping backward into his shoulder so she can glimpse up at him again before quickly falling back to the bingo card. Had she not been so well-behaved at keeping herself collected the looming recall of their morning would inch her closer to him, her hands dragging him off to reenact that.

( Instead, she shifts slightly, moving her arm so she can tuck her fingers into his back pocket. )

“Look at us, it almost sounds like we have a plan,” she observes, attention steady on the card as she mentally ticks off differing boxes. Distain sat heavily as she skimmed over the temporary tattoos box (if not only at the fact it said who was sponsoring said stall), a photo booth, however? Documenting these days in that fashion seemed to be the ultimate go-to for them, and she was only too happy to continue that tradition. “And anyway—” she starts, concentration back upon him. “I’m just looking after those clothes.” She’s about to continue, to defend the untenable, yet his lips find hers, and if only for a second that dissolves any thought that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue.

( Now all she could think of was the taste of him. )

She shifts her concentration back to the card again, refocusing her attention back upon the plan they’d come up with minutes earlier. “It’s over there somewhere.” She remarks, card-holding arm stretching out somewhere down the direction they’d walked up to get to this point, briefly remembering seeing the table with boxes of chalk on, awaiting masterpieces to escape from their packaging. 

“You don’t want to draw anything?” She hums, almost amused as they walk. She may be the artist between them, but she thought he’d have itching fingers to show her his mastery, or lack thereof. 

“I don’t want to upstage you, you know? This is your wheelhouse, what if I discover I’m Bowie Van Gogh, chalk master.”

( Not quite. ) 

Want and can are two very different things. Does Bowie want to draw something? No doubt. Can he? Technically, yes, but not with any sort of skills and next to hers his would look like the artistic attempts of someone who had been sketching with their eyes closed. The woes of dating an artist. 

As far as art went, Bowie considered himself her biggest fan. Beyond appreciating her skills with his eyes, he chose to adorn his body in it, every single tattoo on his skin was a display of her talents -- bar one drunken college inking to commemorate a night he barely remembers -- and be it a permanent piece or a chalk drawing set to wash away, he would be impressed nonetheless. 

Destination reached, he’s careful not to step on a teenager who was writing two names in a heart beside a phallic shaped outline that he guesses wasn’t an artistic take on an eggplant. 

He lets her go as they approach the table, his hand slipping from around her shoulders so his palm can skirt down her back, lower and lower until it culminates in a deliberate slap to her ass which he was as much of a fan of as her art. 

Not to be bested before they had even begun, Bowie embraces the greedy bisexual stereotype for a matter of moments, plucking as many pieces of chalk with as many different colours as was available on the table. If you’re going to do it do it right, after all. 

He’s on his knees shortly after that, claiming an unblemished patch of sidewalk as theirs by presence alone, placing his chalk contraband in a loose pile beside him for Orla to access as easily as he could. His left palm holds him up when he leans over with a worn blue stick of chalk and begins to draw something indiscernible to begin with but seemingly with a whole lot of heart behind it, calling up to her without looking away from his work.  

“ believe me , when you’re from the south this whole celebration thing never gets old . i haven’t been heckled a single time . it’s nice to be somewhere where you can be unapologetically yourself and scream that shit from the rooftops , “ jaden was thankful his own parents were rather open-minded and got him out of the closed-off little town as soon as they could , settling in a place where , regardless of his sexuality or life choices , their only son was able to live comfortably and without fear . on days like these especially . 

at bowie’s words his brow cocked , rolling up the sleeves of his rainbow printed t-shirt to expose biceps that looked the same as they always did ( despite his apparent ‘ working out ‘ , which was either a white lie or a totally unsuccessful pursuit ) . “ why not ?? it’s just a bit of fun . i mean , you could be getting some real ink .. i had half a mind to ask them to just ink my name on your ass or something . pretend you’re my boyfriend . i’m sure they’ve been propositioned with way worse already and it’s not even sundown , “ 

“Is it really still like that down that way?” He asked with sincere curiosity. Most of Bowie’s life had been spent in Silver Lake, sans for college in Arizona and some brief detours elsewhere. He’s never been too far South, but he has met people from there who had landed in his hometown, just like Jaden. 

The idea of that sort of environment makes him feel dejected for the briefest interlude, before he’s reaching across to swat at Jaden’s now revealed bicep with his hand. 

"If there’s any name going on this ass, it’s not gonna be yours,” There’s a grin that accompanies that, amusement clear. Thankfully, of all his dumb decisions, a name tattoo had never been one. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t endorse it. 

when: that’s in a higher power’s hands <3 if he can lead u to it, he can lead u thru it! KJSGSH (aka i do not know, but pre-water fight for sure) 

for: @jimmyshore​, @holland-mitchell​, @orla-rhodes​

With his girl quite literally on his back, Bowie had his hands full as he navigates the two of them through and around clusters of attendees. The price of a Pride piggyback was that Orla had to man the bingo card that they were just two away from finishing, with Bowie securing their latest successful square, which is how he had come to find himself wearing a black crop top with a rainbow bordered LOVE logo’d on it that didn’t fit him well. 

There’s an easy joy about him, the day had gone from strength to strength and he had enjoyed himself every step of the way, which threatened to come to an immediate halt as he did with the pair of them as he spotted two very familiar shapes with a bonus edition. 

He’s stood still a moment. head tilting in confusion and his grip on Orla slackening so that she could climb down while he processed the sight he was seeing. It was still strange to him. 

( It was probably always going to be. ) 

“Sup,” Casual. “--Did you guys bring a newborn to Pride?” 

when: do not ask me ab the specifics of my timelines i will pass out 

for: @opheliainmay​ 

With the almost fully ticked off bingo card in hand, Bowie and Orla had decided to split up -- for the last three square items, not actually split up, or he would be elsewhere in anguish -- which left Bowie literally stood scratching his head. A clothes swap should have been the easiest one to see to, everyone was in good spirits and seemingly free spirited and yet he had still to manage it. 

Shoving the paper in his pocket, he decides to abandon strategy and try his hand at sheer luck, stopping the closest passing celebrant to him to make his objectively strange request. 

“Hey, yo, I know you,” He says once he sets eyes on Ophelia, derailed at first by recognition. He doesn’t know her well, more just to see, but that just gave hi a moment of isn’t life funny. Back to business.