#inkycanvas

may (dapperanti)

june (marvin)

july (inkycanvas) (shawn/jacques if you will)

august (dochero again)

september (dapperanti again)

october (dapperanti once more)

december (inkycanvas again)

— What do you draw so much there? Can I see? — He moved closer, but his husband pressed its notebook to its chest.

— It's no big deal.

— Ah, Shawn, let me see! Please!

— You're an artist, you'll find my drawings ugly — He closed the notebook and looked at Jacques again, who had huge, glittering eyes.

— Why are you so mean to yourself? You know I would never do that! — they hugged its head to their chest, faking a dramatic cry — I judge you by your food choices, but not by your drawings! I'm your biggest fan!

Shawn rolled his eyes, chuckling in embarrassment.

— Stop…

— Okay, jokes aside, if you don't want to show it, fine — she snuggled up next to it on the couch, laying her head on its shoulder — but you know I'll be curious until the end of time.

— Yeah, I know.

The toymaker smiled wider, stroking the back of the other's hand with his thumb. They stayed in that position for a few minutes, until he opened his notebook aga

— It was just clothes — it shrugged, the painter's brows arched.

— Do you like fashion?

— I like it, especially fall fashion — he ran his calloused fingers over the paper — I used to cut out the models from the fashion magazines I bought… I always wanted to make clothes for my dolls, but I only learned the basics of sewing, like patching holes in my clothes. The furthest I've ever gone is making plush dolls, but then again, that's what guaranteed my job in that shit factory...

— Why didn't you ever tell me? I… Oh, sorry.

— No, no, finish it. Now I'm curious.

— I can make clothes for your dolls! Want me to teach you how to sew?

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— Jacq? — Shawn poked his head into the room — my Jacq? Where are you?

— In the closet, darling!

The dollmaker headed into the closet, finding his husband in front of the lighted mirror and making up her face. Shawn stopped behind her, hugging her and smiling.

— This dress looks beautiful on you — he kissed her bare shoulder and Jacques smiled — by the way, have you seen my beret around?

— Shawn, we talked about the beret.

— I knoooow, I'll take it off when we take a picture… — he stopped when he noticed the painter frowning at him — Uuh, Jacq?

— Shawn, for God's sake! — she grabbed his face, pressing his cheeks with one hand — there's no way you can go like this!

— Like this what?

— With this dead face! Look at the size of your dark circles!

— Jacques, it's nothing…

— Yes, it is! Sit there on the chair and I'll pass something to hide it.

Shawn pulled out the chair and sat in front of the mirror, mumbling under his breath. Not that he hated makeup, it just bothered him a little; but it was better to put on a few hours of makeup than to face his husband's fury. After a few seconds of looking for something, Jacques turned to him with a tube in hand.

— Close your eyes because I'm going to apply it all over your face, but don't sleep!

— I don't promise anything — he shrugged, closing his eyes — your hands are so soft…

Shawn felt something pasty on his forehead, cheeks, nose and chin, then light taps. That part of spreading the foundation always tickled. Every now and then Jacques would pass again somewhere and pat around, probably covering up some missing part.

— Shawn? Are you awake Shawn?

— Yeah.

— Good — she gave him a peck — good boy. Open your eyes and look up — Shawn did, and the painter moved closer to apply the concealer. She smiled — have you ever been told that your eyes are very pretty?

— Yes, my husband tells me that every day — he chuckled, his cheeks turning pink without the help of the blush.

— You have a great husband then! Close your eyes, I'll run the concealer over your veins — Shawn closed them again — you're too white.

— And aren't you?

— At least I get some sun every morning, I'm not pale.

— Hey, I used to spend the day stuck in a factory without seeing the sunlight, one step at a time.

— Okay, okay. Let me pass the compact powder and we're finished.

Shawn then felt a powder on his face, still with the light taps. The bad thing about this part is that it always scratched his nose.

— Don't sneeze, I'm almost done — Jacques said, finishing the taps and brushing the brush, “sweeping” her husband's face — do you want eyeliner?

— No, it keeps itching in my eye.

— Ok, so just one more thing.

— But you said you were almost… — Shawn would go on, but he felt something in his head.

— Open your eyes, darling.

Shawn looked at himself in the mirror, his dark circles were gone and his hat was on his head. He smiled, looking at Jacques.

— It even looks like I'm younger — he smiled, feeling Jacques' arms go around his shoulder and her chin resting on his head — you make miracles, Jacq.

— No big deal — she shrugged, smiling — want to put on lipstick too?"

— Only if it's yours.

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yeah on day one they were going to a party. on day 14 they're also going to a party, an even fancier one if i dare to say. it's not my fault if jacques' an influencer on the painting world 🙄✋🏻 /j

also um sorry for being late lol

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— Robbie, it's official: I lost the fucking rings — Shawn exclaimed, biting his thumb harder.

After six whole months of planning, researching, referrals, and a few payments here and there, it was finally time for Shawn to ask Jacques in marriage.

He'd bought the store's prettiest rings, made of silver because Jacques preferred silver to gold, and with purple accents because they were the painter's favorite color; and he'd spent the day before getting ready and rehearsing for the perfect proposal.

But on the chosen day, December 29, something unexpected happened: the rings disappeared.

The toymaker spent the day rummaging through the house, looking for the damn rings, but so far he hadn't found anything, not one of them. The thought of having to put off the order made him nervous, embarrassed, distressed, and Robbie tried to help him as much as he could.

— Dude, your thumb will become raw — the zombie commented, putting down his Fluttershy doll — Just…ask him? I think he will understand.

— But Robbie, Robbie! — he spoke louder (Jacques would have heard if it weren't for the fireworks), digging his nails into his palm and wiggling his wrists close to his face — I! I've been rehearsing this proposal all week! This cannot go wrong!

— Dude…

— Hey Shawn, come here! — Shawn heard Jacques's voice over the noise, looking at Robbie in panic.

— Fluttershy and I will take care of the food, don't worry.

He headed out into the backyard, finding his boyfriend with a cup of tea in his hand, a shawl over his shoulders and watching the sky lit up.

— Looks like the neighbors started the fireworks earlier this year.

— Yeah… — He stopped beside him, looking up and then at Jacques.

The painter was beginning to show signs of middle age coming on: some of his red strands slowly turned gray, the expression marks on his forehead appeared because of all the times he frowned, his hands dried more often… and his black eyes had the same shine as a young person, his walk had the same lightness as a dancer's, and there were also expression marks in the corners of his mouth, as he always had a smile on his face.

Jacques was like wine; the older the better.

He was beautiful, breathtaking. That moment could be perfect.

He looked at the fireworks and the painter, calming himself with his smile. No, that moment was perfect…

…With or without a ring. 

— Jacq… Can I ask you something important?

— Of course, Shawn.

— I hope you understand — he giggled nervously, debating whether or not to recite the speech he'd written and repeated so often — ah Jacq, I'm going to need your affection, your love! More than ever!

— Darling, what are you talking about?

— Jacques! My Jacques! I know we weren't planning this so soon, but… — he knelt down in front of him, placing his hat on his chest and holding his hand — will you marry me?

— What? — he yelled, nearly dropping the cup — Shawn!...? I!… I… you… Oh my goodness — He looked away, chuckling. He looked at him again — you're crazy! Of course I will!

He grinned wide, standing up and pulling him into a hug, shaking them both.

— Shawn! My cup will fall out!

— Jacq! Jacq, Jacq, Jacq, Jacq! — He kissed his cheek — I love you! Love love love love!...

— Oh Jesus — he smiled, brushing hair from the Italian's forehead — you're really happy, hm? I love you, ma chérie.

— And I love you more — He cupped his face, giving him a kiss — Jacq, my Jacq.

— You know, I kind of liked this nickname — he giggled — you spent the week planning this, didn't you? Ask at the time of the fireworks…

— Oh, actually, I…

— SHAWN! SHAWN!

— Uh, Robbie's calling you — The painter pointed at the zombie, leaning against the window and waving one of his arms.

— YES?

— I FOUND! IT WAS INSIDE MY DOLL BOX!

— Inside your…ah! — He laughed — I forgot I asked him to keep it there so we wouldn't lose it!

— Keep what?

— The rings! The rings I bought to ask you to marry me! — He took his hand, pulling him into the house — let me show them! It's silver because you prefer silver to gold, and it has purple details…

"Oh my god, my fiance is a romantic and won't even admit it."

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i love them.... a lot <3

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— What is this? — Shawn looked at the box on the floor, frowning.

— Christmas decorations, don’t know them?

— Jacques I'm a poor man from the 1920s — he crossed his arms — do you think I had a tree to decorate?

— Okay, poor from the twenties — they pushed them both to the floor — help me sort out the big decorations from the small ones.

Christmas was approaching, and every day Jacques invented some new Christmas shenanigan. “It's the magic of Christmas,” they always justified, but honestly, Shawn didn't see anything magical. In fact, he only saw the extra numbers that would come on the electricity bill at the end of the month, given how much electric ornament the painter used (how did they have so many?)

The dollmaker picked up one of the decorations, a replica of those sweet canes; it was kind of cute, he had to admit. He picked up another one, a green ball with an elf head on top, kind of bizarre. By the 3rd decoration he was already bored.

— Why are we doing this? — he snorted.

— So it doesn't mix, otherwise there’ll be big garnishes at the end of the tree and small garnishes at the base — they explained, pausing their whistled version of "all I want for christmas." They went through the box — but I don't think the star is here.

— This is boring.

— Look on the bright side, Angus already set up the tree yesterday!

Shawn continued rummaging through the box, finding all sorts of different garnishes; some cute, some weird (not to say ugly), some funny. It inspired him to make a set of Christmas dolls and outfits, so it wasn't so horrible after all.

Until he arrived at one unlike any other. It was a gold glitter leaf, a little smaller than his hand. It was beautiful, and would make a great hair ornament on some big doll.

Or…

— Jacq, look here.

— Yeah? — The painter turned, and silently the Italian put the leaf in their ear. The gold contrasted well with the orange with gray spikes in their hair. They smiled — am I handsome?

— Beautiful — They smiled wider, shaking their hair. Shawn's cheeks heated, and he caught the smile.

Perhaps Shawn Flynn's Christmas magic was Jacques Kästner.

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this one is so much better in quality but it's because it was the first christmas fic i made for this year, and even before egoshipmas was a thing kgjfmdjfm