Matches - Tumblr Posts
"fiammiferi" one of the new drawings for the solo show at Blu Gallery via don Minzoni 9 . Bologna . from January 23th to April 7th . 2015 .
ArtBook available on line here
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Lately I've been thinking about burning,
Last Dance
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I'm so stupid lmao
Someone should take away my ability to be creative
Albina Sergeeva art, oil painting on paper
I was reading some comics and got to one where they had Matches Malone and I come to find out that Matches Malone was a real person who dies when a bullet he shot at Batman ricocheted and killed him. Then Batman just takes his identity and pretends to be him like nothing happened. Matches poor family. How do not know he’s dead?? Because I don’t know how Batman fooling anyone if they all know the guy died.
matches / scars / let me see (you drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding)
TW: mention/suggestion/implication of rape, physical assault
He found her on the flight deck of the Bebop, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the ship and repetitively sparking matches and letting them burn down to her fingertips before tossing the remnants into the dark night waters of the Martian bay. There was an unlit cigarette hanging loosely from her downturned lips and her outfit looked suspiciously like one of his button-up shirts paired with her comfortable booty shorts.
"Wanna lit me with one of those before you waste them all?"
She gazed at the small flame of the currently lit match her held, green eyes going crossed with how close it was to her face, and then obediently moved to offer it to him. The flame flickered at the motion but stayed alight and Spike settled down onto the cold metal of the deck with a suppressed groan before fishing out a crumpled cigarette from the pack in his jacket pocket and leaning painfully over to the flame to light his smoke. Inhaling with relish, he shifted back into what he hoped would be a more comfortable position. Given how banged up his body was at present, there wasn't much chance of that no matter how he stood or sat or laid.
Faye finally moved to ignite her own cigarette before the match went out and was subsequently tossed into the waters with the rest.
"Ed is gonna yell at you for being a litter bug," he remarked casually.
Faye stared out over the water without making a reply.
He eyed her inconspicuously as possible, wondering at what was going through her head. They'd just saved an entire city if not the entire world. Ed was inside with Jet, celebrating with a feast of the candy treats she'd collected when she managed to drag the ex-cop out onto the streets earlier. Spike himself had been considering slipping off to bed for some peace and quiet when he'd realized, despite the noise from Jet and Ed and Ein watching horror movies in the living room, there was a voice missing from the cacophony. Curiosity outweighed the agony of his body and he'd snuck out of the ship following some inner urging that had directed him to discover her out here under the stars.
They burnt through another two cigarettes apiece before Faye ran out of matches. Spike of course had a lighter on him, and likely Faye did as well, but neither of them reached for the easy way of continuing their vice. Deciding the silence had stretched as long as he was content with allowing, he reached over to tug at a loose string dangling from the cuff of his shirt. Her left arm, the one he was sitting closest to, was almost drowning in the fabric with just the tips of her fingers visible from the material. It was one of his clean shirts, but it was also one that needed Jet to fix a few spots. There were more frayed threads here and there, and a button missing from near the collar. She must have knicked it out of the pile of clothes in the laundry room that were waiting for Jet to mend them. But why take this instead of one of her own tank tops? It's not like the evening air was chilly enough to necessitate long sleeves.
"Nice getup," he teased.
Her gaze flitted down to the top she wore, over to his mischievous grin, and then settled back over the sea. After a moment, she withdrew a lighter from her shorts pocket and pushed up the sleeves of the shirt to hold both hands over her lap. Expressionless, she lit the lighter and then put her left hand directly over the flame.
He tolerated her masochistic form of entertainment for about sixty seconds before snatching the lighter from her. Faye's lips quirked into a perturbed expression as she held both her hands, palms up, in front of herself. The pale skin was pinkish where the flame had licked at her delicate skin. He could see that her fingertips were slightly singed as well.
"Self-harm, Faye? You never struck me as the type."
"...I got caught today." She admitted in a soft voice. Her gaze dipped down again to her body, then back out to the water. "I should be dead right now. I... could have been violated." A shiver coursed through her. "He cut my clothes off... put the knife right there..." her right hand fluttered below her sternum, where her vinyl top was typically held together by a triangular button.
"Let me see." Spike surprised himself by speaking. Faye's eyes widened briefly and she looked over at him in disbelief or dismay. "Did he cut your skin? You've gotta take care of that or it'll leave a scar," he was babbling but couldn't seem to stop his mouth. "I should know, I've got plenty of scars and maybe if I'd done something sooner I wouldn't have as many marks, as many reminders."
"Shh," Faye was suddenly kneeling next to him, her hands fisted on top of her thighs but flexing as if she wanted to do something else with them. Touch him perhaps? He didn't know what she was up to. Didn't know where her mind was at. She'd clearly undergone something traumatic earlier and he'd somehow not noticed until now. How did he miss that? When did it happen? What exactly had happened?
Then one of her hands was pressing against his mouth. He could taste the salt on the palm of her right hand - the unburnt one. Had he continued talking?
"Nothing happened. I wasn't cut. I was... scared, but that's all. It's whatever - just another day, just another dollar right?" She laughed self-deprecatingly. "Would've been nice to get some money from this one but, eh, I'll settle for surviving I guess." She sighed sadly. "Just another scare, just another scar that no one can see but me. I don't have any scars on my skin... they're all in my head or in my heart."
The palm of her left hand was burnt from the lighter, the thumb and pointer finger of her right hand burnt from the matches, the fire in her eyes as she stared at him was scorching him on a level he hadn't thought reachable any longer. Her right hand was still over his mouth but her left hand made itself busy undoing one and then another and then another of the buttons on his shirt. She was holding her breath, he could tell. His body began to react of its own accord by shrugging off his jacket - hard to do as injured as he was, but he kissed her palm to distract himself from that momentary distress. She inhaled sharply and licked her own lips.
"Can I see yours?" She asked in a whisper. "Your scars."
Afraid to break physical contact with her, he nodded slowly and brought his own hands up to pull open the shirt she'd undone. Faye took her hand from his mouth and the other from where it had lingered in the air after the unbuttoning was done and put both, trembling, onto his shoulders to push him gently down to recline on the discarded fabric of his clothes. Even if she'd laid him out on the cool metal of the deck himself, he felt like he would still be about to combust. Most of his body was covered by gauze and bandages from his encounters with Vincent. Some of those would undoubtedly scar. Hell, the bruising on his chest and around his face hadn't even begun to come in yet... it would only get worse over the coming days. The pain would also ratchet up now that the adrenaline was spent and his body could start to realize what it had undergone. He'd nearly died today too - something they shared... technically something they shared with the rest of Alba City, but it felt more intimate between the two of them. Vincent could have been their end.
Oddly, it was his memories of Faye that had helped him cling to life when it had felt so hit-or-miss earlier. Fierce and fiery and fun Faye. Clever and cunning and capable. Bold and brazen and beautiful. She radiated vitality and something in him responded so positively to that force. She put her all into things and that made him want to invest himself as well. She had a future and he wanted to be a part of it - something he'd denied at first but had almost fully committed to now.
She took something out of her pocket, licked her lips again and used the object to apply a smear of lipstick to those sinfully inviting lips. Then, she brought the lipstick down to his body and used him like a canvas. Guided by the starlight twinkling above them and the light of the bridge that washed out over the flight deck, she traced stars around his scars.
She was making him a work of art, but it felt like he was bleeding out. All the emotion he'd worked so hard to bottle up, to push down, to ignore or deny... it was leaking out of his damaged heart and pooling all around his body. And when she was done with her makeshift paintbrush, she went back over the places she had been and put kisses on each spot. Fleeting touches of her lips to his overheated skin, offering a breath of relief to the hypersensitive scar tissue. Her kisses cauterized his wounds and then she was bowed down over his face and tentatively pressing her lips to his. It was revitalizing. No longer was he bleeding out messily all over. She wrapped herself around him like a bandage and kissed him like she was giving him the breath of life.
And he realized that he must be doing the same thing to her. Proving to her that she'd survived the ordeal she'd been through. Bringing her through the fire so she could rise anew from the ashes.
