Marcnath One-Shots

Colors

To anyone else, it probably seemed like Nathaniel's life was filled with color. His style in appearance was less than subtle, his best friend was known for her lively personality, and it was fairly common knowledge that comic books were a big part of his life, and comic books were nothing short of colorful. If that wasn't enough, if common knowledge wasn't common enough, everyone knew Nath was an artist, so one would obviously associate colors to that. From an external perspective, Nathaniel's life should be vivid enough.

But those same people couldn't really talk. After all, the only person who could be said to really know Nathaniel was Alix, and even they had only been friends for less than three years. His world might look colorful, but it felt colorless. Bland, repetitive, monochrome, flat-out depressing . Comic books were almost his escape from the dry gloom that had become his everyday. The colors were bright, the drawings expressive, so much more excitement and action than his own life offered. How much more exciting it must have been to be a superhero fighting menacing baddies every other day, than a plain average Joe who could only dream of such thrills to contrast the ordinary. And then when the comic books started to thin out, rereading them growing dry in itself, he figured he'd keep that same energy alive by drawing his own. Well, sort of. He could draw, certainly, he'd drawn his favorite characters in original situations more times than he could keep track of. He'd even made his own characters and situations based on the comics, but after a while, even those started to fade. He had the characters and the places, he just didn't know how to bring them to life.

It didn't help much when Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared in Paris, either. Comic books became a reality, that was exciting, no doubt, but his inspiration only really manifested itself in more characters and more additions to his concepts, expansions in his universe, but no ideas. One time he challenged himself to exceed his own limits and try a comic, finally inspired to the point of a real storyline by the girl who'd gained his respect and admiration...he even dared to recognize it as affection , but the comic felt almost cringy, albeit self-indulgent to a good degree. And then, of course, Chloe picked his sketchbook off the floor, opened her mouth, and now he was back at square one. Restricted by his own limits, hindered by his own lack of inspiration, and interest and excitement in life fading day by day.

Bright hues faded into pastels, muted further to blacks and whites and shades of grey, even those were bound to muddle up into meaningless puddles of gloomy colorlessness if his life didn't spice up sometime soon. Sometimes he would have a burst of inspiration, of color, of life, and he felt like he could do anything in the world. But that was happening less and less often as time went by, and he found himself resigning more to a locked bedroom door, tearing and crumpling page after page of failed attempts, turning the volume of his speakers up as high as they would go so he was enveloped in the emo cacophony that was the only thing that seemed to connect to him so well.

He was going in circles, almost downward, now it seemed, straight into an endless pit of hopelessness and failure. The world was turning grey and he was running out of color. Clouds gathering up top, collecting into a thicker and heavier mass of gloom, threatening to spill just to add to his walk towards obliteration.

Nathaniel didn't even blink as a violent strike of lightning flashed right before the window, followed almost immediately by a deafening clap of thunder that was clear even through the insulated walls. Marc jumped from his spot on the bed behind him, covering his mouth with a frightened "eep!" He took a few moments to regain his composure, then looked up at Nath who'd been watching him since he jumped.

"Th-that was really unexpected," the writer commented awkwardly, re-adjusting himself not to look too shaken.

Nathaniel barely seemed to have registered the strike, or maybe he did but was just immune to it? Marc peered at him curiously as he went back to working on the lineart for something while Marc fleshed out the script for the next issue. He didn't feel like writing for a little bit, now, though, that lightning had sort of shocked him out of his wits and he'd need some time to properly gather himself and continue. Did Nathaniel even register anything anymore? It felt like he'd been wilting since they'd started working together. His art was improving with each issue, of course, but his attitude was growing duller and more monotonous than the cheerful, creative boy who'd introduced him to the art room. Marc almost feared to even consider- was it him? Was Nathaniel fading because of him? Was Marc limiting his creative liberty now that they were collaborating?