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meat--grindr · 5 years ago

Note

I can request a story of Yandere Brahms with his reader, where Brahms kidnaps the reader by taking her inside the walls of the Mansion to be loved and protected. How did you come to this situation, maybe you can have a little NFSW?

Ahh, Brahms. How I love him so. I just wanted to let you know before we get into anything too serious, that this might be a little different than you were expecting, and for that I’m going to apologize right off the bat. I’ll admit I’m a massive weeb, but I never really saw the appeal of yanderes. Cringe, I know. So, I’m going to do my best here and take yandere more as ‘possessive’ if that’s alright? Also, I took some liberties with ‘kidnapping’ as you’ll see, just because I don’t want to walk too far into non-consensual territory when there’s NSFW involved. I don’t want to write anything explicitly non-consensual here, so it was a fine line to walk, but I think I found an okay solution. If this isn’t at all what you’re looking for, maybe drop me a PM and we can try to work something out? Anyway have like 5000-ish words of Brahms smut :)

Possessive (Yandere [?] Brahms (Female Reader) – NSFW

· Standing at the foot of the stairs, you are struck, though certainly not for the first time, by the beauty of the house in which you find yourself. The golden hue of the wood which panels the walls reflect and amplify the soft glow emanating from beneath frosted glass lampshades. The diffused amber glow is cast about the room, throwing elongated shadows against the walls and into the far corners. From your place at the very bottom of the stairwell, the ceiling, now several floors above you, is lost to the early darkness of a winter evening.

· Through the window, you can see the first soft flakes of snow drifting through the air. But here, inside, with your back braced against the newel post, you are warm. Tipping your head back, you gaze up into the yawning void above and cast your mind into it, losing yourself in daydreams of the beautiful rooms it conceals; your bedroom with its fourposter bed, all draped in velvet and silk—the dark, lacquered wood of the study, which still smells of cigar smoke, though as far as you can tell one hasn’t been lit in there for years—and, of course, the library.

· Dark shelves line the walls, so tall they stretch from the wooden floor to the moulded ceiling. They stand, filled nearly past capacity with volumes of every shape and size, from encyclopedias so large you can lift only one at a time, to pocket novellas no bigger than your palm. Pages and spines alike, embossed with gold and silver shimmer from both the shelves and the tables set beside each of the overstuffed armchairs. The plush rug which lies beneath those tables and chairs makes even the floor a comfortable place to stretch out and lose oneself in a book. And the smell. Old leather and paper, printing ink and glue, dust and the very passage of time itself. It’s like every crooked old bookstore you’ve ever entered tucked away in a cozy corner of your own home. Whether or not you remember having dreamt of owning a private library, you were quite sure you could never go back to life without one and find yourself contented.

· Even now, you long to curl up in one of those plush chairs and sink into another world until bedtime. You knew a soft blanket and a half-finished novel waited for you there, begging you to come back and see to them. And why shouldn’t you? What else was there to do on a chilly night such as this? The day’s chores were completed—the rat traps were checked (empty as always), the laundry was done, wood for the fire was stacked in the shed, and the supper dishes had been washed and put away. There is very little else that requires your attention. So why not?

· Your socked feet sink into the plush, green carpeting as you mount the stairs. The banister is pleasantly cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. As you ascend, the light from below begins to dim, unable to reach any further into the darkness above. The difference made by the two flights of stairs between the lighted foyer and the dark second floor leaves you light-blinded and blinking in the shadows.

· When again you regain your sight enough to behold it, even in partial darkness, the hallway that stretches before you is beautiful—the wooden paneling on the lower half of the walls takes on a sleek shine, while the deep green wallpaper above it fades into a stately and sober black. The paintings and portraits that line the walls are somber; muted without the proper lighting to show their colours, but they are no less impressive or imposing. A ship, barely visible, save for the canvas sails, is tossed on a rapidly darkening sea, lighting flashing far in the distance—a bright brushstroke of pure white, clear even in deep shadow. An old woman, her name rendered illegible in the gloom, stares down her nose at you in deep disapproval. Her eyes, like the rest of her, are severe and grey, and they seem, through either a trick of the light or the mastery of the painter, to follow you down the hall.

· It is very dark. A thin, watery light filters through a small window at the end of the hall, but it does little to help guide you. You suppose you could turn on one of the many lamps that line the long and ponderous hall, but you know you can find your way just find without one. You’d spent several adventurous afternoons and many restless nights exploring the house and grounds. Though in the beginning you could barely follow the straight hall from the front door to the kitchen without getting lost, these days, you rarely, if ever, found yourself wandering the halls with no idea where you were.

· You reach out, brushing the wallpaper with the tips of your fingers as you walk, grounding yourself in the darkness. It’s almost rough to the touch, stiff with age, though it’s clearly been well taken care of. In the daylight, there is little sign of aging at all - no scuffs or faded sections. You knew the house itself was well over a hundred years old, but it showed its age in astonishingly few places. Sure, the phones were ancient and the lack of wi-fi was irritating but—

· Thump.

· You freeze in place. You’re sure the sound had come from within the wall, just to the left of where you stood. There is something in there. The blood roars in your ear as you press it up against the wallpaper, straining to hear even a hint of movement, be it the shifting of the wood as the house settles, or the pitter-patter of something living. The seconds stretch on into minutes, but no further sounds come. You scrunch up your nose, feeling rather silly. It’s probably just a mouse…or maybe a rat. It sounded big. Perhaps those traps were good for something after all.

· Your gaze lingers on the spot for a moment longer, but still, there is nothing but silence. Maybe it had been the house creaking in the wind. Old houses were prone to groaning after all. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to move some of the traps further up into the house for a little bit, just to be on the safe side.

· You turn and continue down the hall, mind once again turning to the blanket, the book, and the comfy glow of the library. You press your palm flat against the wall as you walk, the whisper of your skin sliding over the wallpaper barely audible, even in the quiet that envelops the house at night.

· Then your fingers catch against something—an indentation in the wallpaper. It’s subtle, but definitely there. You stop to inspect it closer, worried that perhaps your assessment about the house not showing its age may have come a little hastily. Your fingers explore the seam with care, and you decide it’s not a crack—it’s too regular, too straight. It feels intentional in its design. And it’s practically invisible in the darkness—likely just as difficult to spot in daylight considering how frequently you find yourself in this hall and your failure to take notice of it before now.

· You crouch down, following the seam with your fingers. It stretches all the way down to the floor. Why…it’s almost like…a little door…

· Almost at the same moment this thought trickles into your mind, the little section of wall gives way beneath your touch, swinging inward on silent hinges.

· From within the inky darkness beyond, a pair of long, thin arms surge forth, snaking around your waist. The grip in which they envelop you is bruising as you are pulled back into the darkness beyond the secret door.

· It slams behind you hard enough to rattle the picture frames in the hall. You scream, long and hard, struggling against the arms that cage you. You flail your limbs, lashing out blindly with fists and feet and nails, hoping desperately to strike your attacker, or at least wriggle enough to squirm from their crushing grasp. But the grip around your midsection only tightens, squeezing the very air from your lungs.

· You lurch into motion, the figure in the darkness half-carrying, half-dragging you along a narrow passageway. You try to scream again but find you can’t get enough air to do so. Instead, you lash out, legs kicking against the walls, knees and shins colliding painfully with rough, wooden support beams and sharp corners.

· While rounding a particularly tight corner, you manage to kick the opposite wall hard enough to throw your attacker off balance. A hissing shower of dust and plaster rains down on the pair of you. The figure stumbles, grip relaxing for only a moment, but it’s enough. You wriggle from their crushing grasp and dart back the way you came.

· The figure recovers quickly, and you can hear them bolting after you in the darkness. It doesn’t take long before they’re on you again, one large hand fisted deep in your hair, wrenching your head back. You cry out in pain, stumbling back against the intruder. The hand in your hair doesn’t relinquish it’s hold as their other arm wraps around your chest, locking in place like an iron bar. You struggle uselessly, hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you’re dragged back the way you’d come, seemingly with even less regard for your physical well-being.

· Not far beyond the corner where you’d made your escape, you’re shoved to the ground unceremoniously. As you make to crawl away, the figure circles around you, blocking your path of escape. Even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can’t see much more than an outline. Even so, you can tell they’re much bigger than you. You feel a large hand sliding beneath your knees, and another on the small of your back and suddenly, the floor beneath you drops away. Instinctively, your arms shoot out, fumbling in the darkness for something solid to grab hold of. Your grasping hands find a fist-full of the intruder’s shirt. It’s soft and well-worn in your hands, and you clutch so tightly to it that you can feel your fingers beginning to cramp almost immediately. A soft rumble rolls through the figure, and after a moment, you realize they’re laughing at you. You want to let go, but the fear of tumbling backward into the darkness stills your hands.

· With the way you’re being jostled about, you get the distinct impression that you’re ascending a flight of stairs. Secret tunnels and staircases in the walls? Under any other circumstance, you would be ecstatic, ready to drop everything and explore them. But caught as you were, in the arms of a stranger, there is nothing but panic within you. Taking advantage of your new position, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the intention to scream, though you’re sure there’s no one around to hear you.

· “Don’t.” So, it’s a man? His voice is soft, a half-whisper that thrums through your body where it’s pressed up against his chest. There is a distinctly British tilt to his voice, and it’s oddly muffled, as though something was covering his mouth. You’re reminded of those old cartoon bandits who wore bandanas across their mouths. He doesn’t want to be identified. The though sends a cold chill through you. This isn’t good. “Scream and I’ll drop you.”

· The scream dies in your throat. While you certainly don’t like being caught in a strange man’s grip, the thought of lying broken at the bottom of a secret staircase no one else seems to know about hammers a worse kind of fear into your gut. You could die…or not and that might be the worse option: injured and completely at a stranger’s mercy. No. As it stands, if you follow his instructions, you remain unharmed, and the longer you remain unharmed, the better your chances of finding a way out.

· At the top of the steps, you find yourself in front of a rough wooden door. Here he readjusts his grip on you, bracing your weight against his hips as he taps the door open with a gentle kick.

· Suddenly, you’re bathed in a soft, golden light cast by the dozens of candles that lay scattered about the room. After so much time spent in the dark, the burst of light dazzles your eyes. In spite of your fear, you curl up against the strange man’s chest, turning away from the light that blinds and burns your eyes. It’s too much too soon.

· The man laughs again, bouncing you gently in his arms, like one would a small child, “No hiding.”

· His tone is light, but it is still a command. Sensing scant room for disobedience, you turn your face up towards his, cracking one eye open, then the other. You had been told not to, but in the flickering light, as you blink up at the face of your kidnapper, you can do nothing to stop the scream that builds in your throat.

· His face is hidden, not behind a bandana, but a porcelain mask. The pale white surface is littered with a spider’s web of thin cracks and what looks to be dried blood. Your eyes sweep over the soft curve of the mouth, the delicate nose which turns up at the end, and the empty spaces behind which dark, human eyes burn into your own.

· The moment the scream leaves you, ringing loud in the enclosed space, the man snarls, striding into the room with purpose. As he weaves through the maze of dusty old furniture, you beat your fists against his chest, squirming in his grip, trying with renewed desperation to escape his clutches. “Let me go! Let me go!!”

· Ignoring your pleas, he stalks to the far corner of the room, where a low-slung cot waits, tucked close against a rough brick wall. He dumps you none too gently onto it, and you scrabble backward, knocking your head against the wall behind you. Your ears ring with the force of the blow, but your eyes remain trained on the masked man as he clambers onto the cot with you.

· You jam yourself back into the corner, as far from the menacing figure as possible. He comes toward you slowly, laughing, as though this were all some silly game the pair of you were enjoying. You kick at him, and he swats your leg away, his shoulders shaking with laughter. His eyes, however, aren’t laughing. Where they peak out from beneath the mask, they blaze with only one thing: hunger.

· You kick out at him again, catching him, this time, on the jaw, just beneath the edge of his mask. And just like that he’s not laughing anymore. He goes frighteningly still, and there’s a change in the air. You know he’s done playing.

· He lunges for you, and you shriek, cowering back against the wall, the rough bricks digging into the flesh of your arms. His hands close around your ankles and he pulls you down toward him.

· He slots himself between your legs, pinning your thighs down with boney knees. You squirm beneath him, but he’s too heavy for you to shake off. He looms above you in the candlelight, breathing hard, his eyes flashing behind the mask. With a jolt, you realize he’s going to hurt you. You’re so sure, you flinch, cringing away from him as much as is possible, bracing for the pain that’s sure to come.

· But, when his knuckles brush against your cheek, it’s not in anger. It’s a gentle caress that jolts through you like an electric current. You turn to look at him, as he brushes the damp hair back from your forehead. He stares at you for a long moment, drinking in your shock, before leaning down to press cool porcelain lips against yours.

· The kindness of his gestures surprises you almost more than any blow he could have delivered. When he promised to play rough, he usually meant it. With shaking hands, you reach up to touch his face. Your fingers slip beneath the mask, brushing the hair and skin beneath with feather-light touches. You want to see his face, want kisses from his real lips, want—

· But the man’s fingers curl around your wrists, wrenching your hands from his face. “No.” There is force behind the word equal to the force with which he pins your wrists against the sheets, indenting the mattress beneath them. His voice, in that same soft whisper from before, rasps in your ear, “Not even when we’re playing, Love.”

· You swallow hard, all the pretenses of your little experiment dropping away in an instant. You realize you came dangerously close to crossing a line. “Okay. Brahms. I-I’m sorry.”

· You expect that he’ll want to stop now, and you wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he surprises you by nuzzling against your neck, “Not ‘Brahms.’”

· So, he still wants to play. You smile up at him. “Oh, right! Sorry.”

· He bends over your neck again, pressing porcelain kisses against your neck. You crane your head back, eager to make up for your misstep with the mask. There’s something about these kisses that makes your heart flutter—perhaps it’s simply the rush of a new sensation against sensitive flesh, or maybe it’s the knowledge that his real lips lay just beneath that hard surface, so close and yet completely out of reach.

· When he lets go of your left wrist, you’re so caught up in these kisses, that you barely register it. That is until you feel the mask slide in an unnatural direction against your skin, and you feel Brahms’ real lips against your neck for the first time. Your whole body jerks forward, pressing against him with a soft sigh on your lips. His mouth is softer and warmer than you ever could have imagined. Even his beard feels good where it scratches against you.

· His teeth scrape over your pulse, drawing another sound from you. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down on top of you. His laugh rasps out against your throat, as he stamps warm kisses all across your collarbone.

· You roll your hips against his and he groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. He surges upward fixing his teeth into the meat of your neck as he grinds down against you, letting you feel just how badly he wants you. His name slips between your teeth as a hiss and you feel him smile against your neck. His tongue flickers over the mark he’s left, though it’s more to lay further claim than to soothe the ache his teeth pushed into your flesh.

· When he pulls back, he’s already pushing the mask back into place, though you catch a quick flash of the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth.

· He looks down at you, eyes sliding slow down your body, head cocked to the side like he’s thinking. He has that hungry look about him again and it lights a white-hot bolt of desire in your gut. You lift your hips, rolling them against his, relishing both the spark of pleasure that shoots through your stomach, and the shiver that rolls down his spine. A little whine escapes his lips, and you feel your heart leap. God, you’d do anything to hear that sound again. He meets the roll of your body with a stuttering jolt of his own.

· You can’t help but beam up at him. “What are you thinking about Brah—Mister?”

· He sighs deeply, running his hands down your chest, his fingers tracing along your ribs. “About all the things I could do to you…”

· A breathless puff of laughter escapes you, “Oh, yeah?” You guide his hands down to your hips, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Like what?”

· “Hm…let’s see. I could, hold you down,” His hands, still resting beneath yours tighten against your hips, pushing you down against the mattress. You try to buck up against him, but he holds you fast, “I don’t think so, Love.” He grips you hard, dipping his head to whisper into your ear, “I could just hold you here, and you’d have to take whatever I decide to give you.” His thumbs trace the seams of your hips. Even through your jeans it makes you shudder.

· “Or, I could give you very little at all,” He lets go of your hips in favour of ghosting a hand down your thigh. His other hand presses gently against your zipper. His fingers trail down the seam, until you feel the pressure against your clit and jerk against his hand. He pulls away, “Just enough to keep you interested, but not enough to satisfy you.”

· You whine, feeling a damp patch growing in your underwear. You know he’d get such a charge from dragging this out, teasing you until your arousal had soaked through the denim of your jeans. You could hear him now, ‘A few kisses and some dirty words…it’s that easy?' While you’d usually be willing to indulge him, you weren’t willing to give him that satisfaction today. He was already so uppity as it was. “Or you could just toss my legs over your shoulders and take what you want.” You toss an arm over your forehead in an attempt at playing toward his flair for the dramatic, “Look at me, baby. I’m defenseless.” You roll your hips against him again, nice and slow. You can tell by the hitch in his breathing that you’ve almost got him convinced. You can barely keep the smirk from your face as you arch your back, and whimper for him, “Please?”

· That one word is all it takes to break him. In a flash he’s slipped out of his cardigan and tossed it off into the darkness of the attic. His suspenders follow suit with a metallic clinking. It isn’t until he’s unbuttoning his trousers that you realize you have mere seconds to undo your own before Brahms falls upon you and tears them off himself. You’ve lost more than one good pair of jeans this way and you don’t intend to lose another if you can help it.

· Your shaking hands fumble with the button, managing to pop it only after a few tries. Taking them off from your position underneath Brahms is no small feat, especially considering his reluctance to move, now that his trousers rest about his knees and he’s rolling his hips against your still clothed thigh, his cock already leaking against the denim.

· “Want you now.” His voice is rough, breaking in time with the thrusting of his hips.

· “I know, baby. But you’ve gotta wait.”

· Brahms huffs in irritation. ‘Wait’ is not a word he likes to hear at the best of times, let alone when his dick is this hard.

· You tap his hip gently. “C’mon, up.”

· He drops his head against your shoulder with a petulant whimper, his hips stuttering against your thigh.

· “Brahms…” You sigh, half-frustrated, half-amused. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find it incredibly sexy when Brahms acted like a brat, but your pleasure was at stake here as well. “You can’t fuck me properly with my jeans on.”

· His hips slow for a moment, and he whines again.

· “C’mon, be a good boy for me.” You feel his cock pulse against your thigh, and he relents. He scoots back just enough for you to push your jeans and underwear down your thighs. Brahms takes care of the rest, tearing the offending fabric from your legs and tossing it from the bed to join his cardigan on the floor.

· His hands are on your shoulders in an instant, shoving you back against the mattress, all patience spent. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and barely have a time to take a breath before he’s pushing inside with a single, smooth stroke.

· “F-Fuuuck…”

· “Yeah, that’s the idea, baby.” Your hands are fisted tightly in the sheets, your voice tight as your body grows accustomed to the stretch once again. You’ve taken Brahms with little preparation before. You know you can handle it, but somehow the girth of him almost always comes as a surprise.

· To his credit, he does his best to keep still until you give him the ‘okay,’ though you can feel his hips shaking with the effort. He’s mouthy while he waits though, any trace of the gentleman within him his gone, replaced by a cursing, dirty-talking stranger, “Gonna pound you into this mattress, gonna fuck you like—fuck you’re so wet—like your my whore…mine, mine, ah fuck! Mine.”

· You roll your hips, testing the water, and he bites back a string of curses. His hips stutter forward unbidden, and you moan low in your throat.

· Behind the mask, you see his eyes roll back. He starts to beg then, changing his tune entirely, “Please, Love, let me fuck you, please, please, please. I promise I’ll be good. I will, just please!”

· You reach up, carding your fingers through his hair, “Show me what a good boy you are, make us feel good, baby.”

· Without missing a beat, Brahms’ hips take up a frantic rhythm, tearing a litany of pretty sounds from your throat. Your hands tangle themselves in his hair as he drops his head to press doll’s mouth kisses against your throat.

· Your hand slips between your bodies, spreading your lips to circle your clit. You buck against him, gasping his name as the pleasure courses through you two-fold.

· A strong hand grasps your wrist again pulling it away from your clit. “We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours.” You nearly whine in frustration, but your displeasure is quickly forgotten when you feel the soft pads of Brahms’ fingers against your sensitive flesh.

· “You,” he groans in pleasure, angling his hips to push deeper inside of you, “You belong to me.” He punctuates the sentiment with a sharp snap of his hips. “That means I am the only one who can make you feel good.” He presses his fingers hard against your clit, and your thighs begin to shake. “Tell me who you belong to.”

· It takes you a second to find your voice. “Y-You, Brahms.”

· “Yesss,” the rhythm of his thrusts is beginning to fall by the wayside as his hips buck and stutter. “Say it again.” His fingers circle your clit faster, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm.

· “Fuck, Brahms! I’m yours! A-All yours! You’re gonna make me cum.”

· “Mine.” You feel the mask slide to the side again and his lips are on your neck. You feel his teeth graze the bite mark he’d left. His teeth are in your throat, his fingers on your clit, his cock in your cunt, and you’re cumming. His name tumbles from your lips, the only coherent thought in your mind.

· He groans against your neck, trying to fuck you through it, but you’re too tight around him, forcing him into an agitated stillness. His fingers work your clit feverishly until you push his hand away, too oversensitive to stand another second of it.

· You’re still almost painfully tight around him when the rhythmic pulsing of your own orgasm begins to push him over the edge. He thrusts into you once, twice, thrice more, before pulling out and shaking apart, his cum painting your thighs and stomach. He whimpers and trembles, fisting his cock through the aftershocks of his orgasm, desperate to chase every last ounce of pleasure.

· Only when he’s well and truly spent, nearly sobbing from the agony of the overstimulation does he flop down on the cot beside you, panting heavily, cock still twitching against his thighs.

· He kicks off his trousers, and curls up by your side, throwing an arm around you. For the longest time, the only sound in the room is that of your breathing slowing in tandem as you each come down from your high.

· Brahms’ voice is small when he speaks up at last, “Did I do okay?”

· You turn to face him, laying on your side. You reach out a hand and readjust his mask, before pressing a soft kiss against the delicate bow of his lips. “You were perfect. Thank you, Brahms.”

· He nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. There’s tension in his shoulders, and he won’t look you in the eyes.

· “What’s wrong, honey?”

· He shakes his head, burrowing against your side. “Nothing…”

· “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. It’s okay to talk to me about things like this, you know.”

· He’s silent for a little while longer, and you wonder if he needs a little more prodding to use his words. But then, he speaks, “I wasn’t…too rough? In the passages?”

· “No, baby. No. It was exactly like we talked about.”

· “Okay.” There’s a little touch of a frown in his voice, like he’s trying to puzzle something through in his mind. “I didn’t expect you to fight me so hard. It felt…real.”

· “I wanted to make it seem real. Did I upset you?”

· There’s a long pause, but when he speaks, he sounds genuine. “I don’t think so. It was a little…thrilling.”

· You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, “It was, wasn’t it? Where did you get an idea like that? Pretending to kidnap me and all that?”

· He’s quiet for a moment, as he remembers a time not so long ago, when the idea was meant to be more reality than fantasy. He was supposed to have that girl. He should have done better, should have fought for her harder, should have killed her and buried her in the yard with the others. He should have done a lot of things. The scar on his stomach burns with the memory of all the things he should have done. But they don’t matter now. She doesn’t matter now. He has you.

· He presses another kiss against your neck and lies, “Recreation of a scene from 'Jane Eyre.' You know how I adore that novel. And you being such a pretty lady, simply had to fill the role of the damsel in distress.”

· “If you say so.” You snuggle closer against his chest. He really was a very strange man. A yawn blossoms in the base of your jaw, but you do your best to fight it off. You know you’ll be sore later, but for now you’re happy and sated and perfectly content to doze in the arms of the man you love.

· Then a thought hits you, “Hold on, Jane Eyre doesn’t get kidnapped, Brahms.”

· He chuckles softly against your shoulder, “So you have been reading my books after all.”

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016 #slasher x reader #im so sorry this is so late #i couldnt figure out how to wrote brahms in a way that i liked :/#enjoy i hope #im off to bed #also ive never written het smut before so...i hope its alright #ripper fics

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yuthoe · 4 years ago

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Day 10: Paint Me (PENTAGON: Kino)

OH MY LORD THIS TURNED OUT LONGER THAN I PLANNED AND IT'S 12:30AM HERE, BUT IM JUST GONNA POST IT AND ADD THE REST OF THE TAGS LATER

anyway, today's prompt from this list is

Day 10: Meet Cute

and the scenario of reaching out for the same thing at the same time just would not leave my head lmao. so have this haha, it took me a surprisingly short time to finish, but the only reason im posting this on the 11th is that i was procrastinating

PAIRING: Kino/Kang Hyunggu x reader. GENRE: fic, fluff. WARNINGS: none. WORD COUNT: 1,389.

---

Art Bar is four hours away from your apartment, and therefore a luxury you only indulge in every few months, when you have a free day or two. It’s also an excuse for you to splurge and get new art supplies—your favorite brush broke last week and you’ve run out of green paint for the landscape piece you’ve been working on.

But also there’s this really high quality sketchbook they started selling recently and you desperately want one. You’d been eyeing it for the past month, sighing wistfully every time an ad for it crossed your feed on social media.

The faint smell of coffee slips past your nose as you push past the glass doors, and you take a look at the overhead menu of the cafe corner by the entrance, making a mental note to get a latte after you do your shopping. You hook a metal shopping basket on your elbow and head in.

The first stop is the brushes, and you quickly look through the choices for the exact ones that broke, and another finer brush as replacement for the one that’s currently losing a lot of hair. You eye one of the more expensive options, biting your lip and considering getting one, but you’re probably not going to end up using it for fear of wearing out the bristles.

You quickly look away and head for the oil paints, running through the really good selection, and pluck out a green, white, and black tube, along with a pink for the flowers. The pile of canvases off to the side catch your eye and lure you over, immediately taking a 24cm round canvas, just about the size of a small platter and perfect for an experimental circular piece.

The voice inside your head is screaming at you to mind your spending, but your sense of reason and all self-control get left at the door whenever you step into the store. The copic markers are teasing you, sitting docilely in their neatly organized shelves, and the section of the store dedicated solely for Faber Castell tools further entices you to grab a whole colored pencils set and just run away with it.

But you sigh deeply, stroke the row of pencils longingly and whisper, “Soon, my lovelies…”

You look around for that sketchbook that’s been haunting your waking moments, finally spotting it by the cash registers and beelining for it.

There’s one sample left open and you run your fingertips over the page, testing the smoothness of the paper, the thickness of every page, and inspect the ones filled out with watercolor, charcoal, and regular graphite. The more you look at it, the more you desperately want it.

Alas, it’s expensive, and you can’t afford a really big one right now, especially with the other tools in your basket that need to be purchased, so you go for the next smaller size instead.

A hand meets yours as you reach for the pad, and you jerk back. The owner of the hand recoils as well and says, “Oh, I’m sorry—were you about to get that?”

Oh, he’s cute, you think, dumbly nodding at his question. “Ah, yeah… But it’s okay, you can take it.”

He tilts his head, brows furrowing slightly and chestnut hair falling over his pretty eyes. He’s carrying his own shopping basket, loaded with a few small rectangular canvases, a bunch of copic markers, brushes, and a watercolor tin. “Are you sure? I think you were reaching for it first, though. And it’s the last one on display.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine, it’s fine. I’m pretty sure they have more at the back anyway, ‘cuz this brand has gotten pretty good reviews lately.”

“Ah yeah, that’s true,” he replies, wagging a finger at you. “I’ve seen a lot of reviews of it on YouTube, and I’ve been wanting one so bad.” He giggles, looking at the sketchbook fondly.

“I totally get it, I’ve been saving up for one for a while, too.” You smile at him. “That’s why I’m saying you should just take it, they probably have more in stock.”

He hums, thinking it over, but the allure of the sketchbook is too strong and he says, “Well, if you insist, I’ll gladly take it.” He picks up the last packaged sketchbook and slides it next to the canvases in his basket. “Thanks for this,” he says as you both move to the register.

It takes a while for him to pay for his items and you look around the frames displayed behind the counter as you wait. After around five minutes, the man steps aside with a hug bag, cradling it like a child. You see him move to admire the Faber Castell section nearby as you step forward with your basket.

“Excuse me,” you ask the cashier as you set the basket on the countertop. “Is there any more of the A4 size of that new sketchbook?”

“I’ll check our inventory for you,” she cheerily says, typing in a code in the computer and looking at it briefly before turning back to you. “Oh, I’m sorry, it seems like the last A4 one was just purchased. The next restock won’t be for another week or two. If you want, we can get your number and notify you when our stock is replenished.”

You can’t help but feel a bit down at the cashier’s answer—you have been waiting for weeks to get one, and who knows now when you’ll be able to stop by here again?

“No, it’s okay,” you say and gesture to the basket. “Just these then, please.”

The transaction is smooth and soon enough you’re clutching a paper bag of your own and heading for the cafe corner to get that latte—and a cupcake because you want to feel slightly better about the situation.

Sketchbook Guy is there too, his lavender patterned cardigan contrasting with the green diamonds wallpaper in the most complementary way. He turns to go to the claiming area and sees you, waves with a tight smile on his face.

You reply with a smile and order at the counter quickly, and step aside to wait for your coffee and pastry beside Sketchbook Guy.

There’s an awkward silence between you, until he finally blurts out, “Okay, I couldn’t help but overhear the cashier lady earlier.” He rummages in his paper bag and takes out the coveted sketchbook, holding it out to you. “Please have this. You said you were saving up for it for a while.”

“No, I can’t,” you say, waving your hand to decline him. “You already paid for it, and I told you to take it, anyway.”

Sketchbook Guy smiles, nudging the book closer to you. “Please. I insist. And if it’s the payment you’re concerned about, you can pay me back. With coffee, or something.”

You scoff. “This costs way more than one cup of coffee.”

He’s nodding before you’re even finished speaking. “Yeah, I know.” There’s a mischievous purse to his lips and your brows knit for a moment before you register his words and feel a heat rise to your cheeks.

“Ah… uh… I mean, sure? Okay?” you stammer, taking the sketchbook with both hands and looking at it before meeting his eyes again. “I live quite far from here, though, so—I don’t know—maybe we can, like, schedule something?”

He smiles even wider. “Yeah, of course. Here, I’ll give you my number.” He holds a hand out and you pass your phone to him. Long fingers tap on the screen and you hear a soft piano a moment later.

“Here you go,” he says, handing your phone back. You peek at the screen, at the new contact simply named Hyunggu, and the string of numbers underneath it. “Now you know my name and number, and we can talk about when you can buy me that coffee.”

This dude has got to be the smoothest and most charming guy you’ve ever met, and it’s leaving you flustered and amused at the same time. You’re basically left with no choice but to go along with him, but you don’t even mind it.

“Okay,” you say, nodding and pocketing your phone as your drink and to-go bag arrive. “My name’s Y/N. I’ll message you later about that coffee.”

#kdiarynet #theme: may trope mayhem 2021 #pentagon #pentagon kino #kino #kang kino #kang hyunggu #fic: mine #fic: kino #fic: not spicy

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the-dimitrescu-seamstress · 4 years ago

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Twelve Yards of Floral Damask - One Shot

(Mun here. I was quiet for the most part of last night, but after Nicole Tompkins stream, a fire was lit under me and I finished a drabble I had been working on ever since I saw that one portrait of Lady Dimitrescu.

Below is a one-shot I wrote, one of many I have planned. Magdalena Petran is my OC, while Lady Alcina Dimitrescu belongs to Capcom. I hope you enjoy it.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The castle was immense and, if Magda had to admit it, a bit intimidating. It was rather easy to get yourself turned around in the hallways, or initially forget which door led to where off of the interior courtyard. The servants that were around, and willing to speak to her, advised the seamstress that, in order to make life in the castle easier for her, she had better learn the layout as best she could and as quickly as she could.

That was a task easier said than done. She felt safe in her part of the castle, even if safe was only a relative term. If she took a wrong turn or opened the wrong door, she could easily end up in a place where she would not return from. She was well aware of the screams that would echo throughout the castle. Sometimes they came from the direction of the family’s private chambers, but more often they would crawl up from the castle depths. Either way, Magda never wanted her voice to join them.

But, if she was so afraid, why was she quietly walking the halls this late at night? The simple answer was that the servants were right. She needed to learn how to navigate this world; both the physical and the social aspects. That meant she needed to learn all she could about the castle and its inhabitants. Repairing garments they were used to could only get you so far. Anyone could mend a seam or stitch a button, but Magda needed to make sure she was invaluable. The Countess seemed pleased with her work so far, but she had yet to entrust her with creating anything new. She needed to change that.

The other reason Magda was using the late hour to do her self-guided tour was that there were less people around. Most of the servants were already in bed, and she had picked a night that the girls were out on a hunt. The last thing Magda needed was for them to stalk her through the castle for fun. Their laughter in the dark was unsettling.

The lack of individuals also allowed her to take her time on examining the various portraits, busts, and ceramics that were thoroughly scattered throughout the place. She tried to piece together how old Lady Dimitrescu was by the decor, but there were items from across many time periods, keeping Magda from placing an exact age on the woman. The daughters could have been from the mid-1800’s, if the portrait in the Entrance Hall was any indication, but all she knew of the Countess was that she either had lived for many centuries or she was a collector of fine antiques and enjoyed living in great opulence.

The seamstress stood at the top of the stairs in the Main Hall, mentally mapping out the areas through the doorways around her. “That way to the Hall of the Four… Left and to the left again for the Entrance Hall, Carriage Gate, and the decrepit elevator of death. Though all this is a circle as well. Door to the right in the Hall of the Four leads to…” Magda didn’t complete that sentence, but through that door was the receiving room where she… where she became an employee of the castle. That would be a place to avoid for a while. Taking a breath and ignoring the brief ache of her left wrist, she continued.

“Dining Room below, and through to the left is the kitchen, while straight ahead is the courtyard. Once in the courtyard, to the right is the private chambers of Lady Dimitrescu. To the left is the Opera House, and my workspace.” To think that this castle had its own opera house. Yes, it was small, but still incredible to be in. With the bottom floor mostly mapped in her head, Magda began to walk the second floor. Here were the doors to the dressing and sitting rooms, as well as the Wine Room. Knowing that, she turned away from the dressing rooms and quietly went through the doors opposite.

The statue in front of her was large, unexpected, and the subject matter was really almost clichéd. Magda thought vampires were only supposed to have decadent art pieces of the sacrificial sort in works of fiction, and yet here was one being displayed before her. Perhaps it was a family heirloom or a macabre wedding gift. Either way, she decidedly turn her attention from it and continued on her exploration.

Light bled into the hallway from the room to the left, its door partially closed, and there were slight sounds of movement coming from within. Curiosity overcame self-preservation as Magda slowly crept forward, barely breathing in order to be as quiet as possible. Naturally, her careful steps found the one floorboard that squeaked under her weight, causing her to freeze in place and wait.

“To whomever is lingering in the hall, your eavesdropping presence has been noticed and it is not appreciated. Announce yourself before I lose my patience.” Magda closed her eyes and mouthed a silent curse as the voice of Alcina Dimitrescu sounded from within the room.

“It’s… It’s Magdalena Petran, ma’am. Your seamstress?” she replied nervously, before realizing how stupid she sounded. As if there was another Magdalena working here. There was a tense silence before it was broken by a simple command.

“Enter.”

Knowing better than to make her wait, Magda obeyed and quickly entered the room.

She had expected it to be a private study, but instead she found the room to be a simple art studio. No, simple wasn’t the right word. While it lacked the gilded decor of the rest of the castle, the ceiling was high and vaulted, complete with a skylight to let plenty of natural sunlight in during the day. Its simplistic appearance was only due to how older looking, more worn, and used everything was. The darker woodwork and wallpaper contributed to the effect as well. The floor lacked polish and uniformity in board shape and coloring. The few pieces of furniture and large quantities of books were all pushed against the walls, leaving plenty of room for a canvas and easel to sit in the center of the room. This was a place of work. Lady Dimitrescu, clad in an artist’s smock and with brush and palette in hand, gazed down at Magda in her usual authoritative fashion.

“What is your reason for wandering the halls of my castle at such a late hour, Miss Petran? I doubt that you are looking for clothing to repair.”

“I was looking...” she stopped and quickly corrected herself. “I was learning to find my way around the castle. It’s a large estate and I’d rather not get lost or open the wrong door.” Or get eaten, she thought.

“Could you not do this during the day?”

“I didn’t want to get in anyone’s way, mistress. I thought if I did it at night, most of the servants would be asleep, your daughters would be out hunting or otherwise occupied, and you would be…” Magda’s voice died in her throat as she looked down, not quite sure of what to say next.

“You thought I would be secreted away in my private chambers, busying myself with whatever womanly duties a lady of the house tended to do late at night. Is that it? Look at me when I am talking to you.” Magda’s head immediately snapped upward, fear likely showing in her eyes since an amused little smile, one with an edge to it, crept across Lady Dimitrescu’s deep red lips.

“Ma’am, I would never do something like that or presume anything about your nightly activities. I was not prowling or sneaking around. I was just exploring and figuring things out and I saw the light, so I came to look and then… I’m sorry, Mistress. I honestly didn’t mean to intrude.” The taller woman watched Magda for a long while, yellow eyes boring into her unwaveringly, before turning her attention back on the unfinished painting.

“Which is it?” she asked in a clipped manner, adding a few minute details to the wings of the angel depicted on her canvas.

“I beg your pardon?” Magda replied, confused.

“Throughout this entire conversation, you have used both ‘ma’am’ and ‘mistress’ when addressing me. Are you unable to make up your mind, child? Pick one or the other.” A few more brush strokes. “Now, which is it?” Magda was a bit lost. She didn’t know if this was a test or if she was simply making a mistake that needed to be corrected. Not knowing which was the better option, she went for a third choice.

“…Countess?” At that, the other woman paused and slowly turned to look at Magda once more, yellow eyes once again locked onto her, but this time her gaze was one of appraisal rather than judgement. This time her smile was one of satisfaction, as if saying ‘well, the mortal can be taught’. She then returned to her painting, the tension in the room having dissipated. However, Magda did note that she had not dismissed her. Whether this was another test, or the woman just enjoyed toying with her, she couldn’t say.

Rather than run the risk of spoiling the mood or the Countess’ artist moment, Magda took the time to quietly look around the room, taking in details she had previously missed; the large stuffed snapping turtles, the bell tower gears seen through the windows, and the immense portrait hanging in a ornate wood frame on the far wall.

You would think missing something like that upon entering would have been impossible, but then again, the subject in the painting was initially blocked by a living being of the exact same size. Now Magda could see it clearly, and it was gorgeous. It was the Countess, but perhaps a little younger. She still had a pink flush to her skin, still had life in her. No, that was wrong. Lady Dimitrescu ate, drank, and breathed like everyone else, but there was a difference that Magda couldn’t quite place.

The dress she wore was exquisite, and Magda took an unintended step forward before stopping herself. The Countess didn’t seem to have noticed, but she still decided to play it safe.

“Countess? That portrait… it’s you, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she replied with an amused half chuckle. “Unless you are aware of another woman of my stature.” She was clearly enjoying this. Good. Better an amused Countess than a wrathful one.

“May I take a closer look?” A gentle, almost absentminded, shooing motion with one hand was all the response that was given, but Magda took it as a yes, quickly walking over.

Up close, it was even more impressive that she originally thought. She had always been impressed by how artists managed to convey fabric and textures with simple strokes from a paintbrush. There were even minute wrinkles in the skirt. It was beautiful, absolutely stunning. Magda’s gaze hungrily devoured every detail she saw of this garment. At first she thought the fabric was a brocade, and from her initial distance, the mistake could be understood. The print was the proper size and detail for the material, but brocade would have been too heavy or stiff to have the folds of the skirt lay as they did.

“Floral damask?” she asked eagerly, not even thinking that she had just blurted out something in an otherwise quiet room.

“What?” came the terse response.

“The fabric, it’s a floral damask, isn’t it? Sterling gray and white.” Not even waiting for a confirmation, she went back to her examination. Too low a neckline for Victorian, also wrong hairstyle for the time. Late Victorian perhaps? Edwardian? That would make sense. At least she had a decade to work with, but Edwardian fashion changed every year of that decade. Either way, her mind was already clicking, and the desire to make or even see this garment had nestled itself thoroughly into her psyche, digging its damned little claws into her. Magda was like this when she saw a piece of clothing that intrigued her, flaming an odd passion inside of her. There was no way she would let this go so easily.

“Does the gown still exist?” she asked, turning around and looking unexpectedly at the Countess, who was now standing directly behind her. For a woman her size, it was unnerving how quietly she could move if she wished to.

“It intrigues you, doesn’t it?”

“I… If I can… I would love to make this. It’s twelve yards, at least, if that was when… if you were…” The Countess’ eyebrow quirked a little, and Magda immediately changed her wording, knowing it was a very bad idea to mention sizes, especially to her. “Historically, at least twelve yards of fabric would be needed for a Late Victorian or Edwardian dress like that. If… Countess, I know you think I’m babbling, but I believe I can recreate this gown for you. Please. I know I can.”

“Whether you can or cannot is not the issue, Miss Petran. The hour is late and I would rather not hear you prattle on about fabric or garments that have not been worn in quite some time. I believe I have indulged you for long enough. I suggest you retire back to your quarters for the night before you find yourself anywhere else in this castle.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but there was an edge to it, and the seamstress knew better than to test that edge.

“Yes, Countess,” she replied, giving her a bow before heading for the door, her mind still processing the gown.

“And Magdalena?” Magda froze upon hearing her first name spoken, a chill running down her spine. Why the sudden name change? Had she done something wrong? She was at the door, she could have simply continued on, feigning ignorance. But instead, she turned around, ready to face whatever faux pas she had unwittingly done. Alcina was still at the portrait, back to her.

“Yes, Countess?”

“Three days from now, I would like a tailoring session. Mid-afternoon. That is all.” It was good that she could not see Magda’s face, as her jaw went slack and she stared. Three days. She had three days to ready and prove herself. The workshop wasn’t a mess, per se, but she knew she could make it better for her visit.

“Yes, Countess. Absolutely.” Another bow, and she was gone. Magda may have just made herself useful.

#drabble #one shot #alcina dimitrescu

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jae-canikeepyou · 5 years ago

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| new years | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: first oneshot of 2020! happy new year! 🎉this scenario is inspired by high school musical because i’m a sucker for the trilogy like jaehyun is~😉 haha i do hope you enjoy reading! ~j ✨

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“it’s the new year’s eve y/n! you didn’t come here to be a bookworm!” siyeon pushed you that your body was inclined towards her. it was an annual tradition where your squad would go to the young adult party at the ski resort. since siyeon was a member, bringing in two more people would have a discount during the stay.

walking up the hill, your steps made the snow crunching rich with your calf-high boots. siyeon and heejin shared a look at you, and wondered that even with your goggles, nothing would ever stop you from reading. they guided you by pulling on your jacket sleeve, directing and redirecting the way to avoid obstruction.

it was a good thing they didn’t consider you a person of kill joy, because once you were off the wordful thick texts, you were actually the mood maker of the trio. “let me just finish this before the year ends. it’ll be my twentieth novel.” you said, eyes glued on the faint-burnt paper.

they sat you in between them on the cable car, pulling the lever down and fastening your seat belts tight. “ah.. i love how the cold wind hits into my face. reminds me how winter will always be my favourite season, and skiing? my sport.” heejin placed her goggles on her forehead, breathing in the entirety of the wind.

“i’ll be going with snowboarding.” siyeon flung her hands in the air and the car shook. you, having the fear of heights ultimately stopped you from continuing the story plot. “what about you y/n?”

“siyeon you’re moving too much!” you pinched her cheeks with your little damped gloves.

she side-eyed you for an answer, and you puckered your lips in defeat as put your book inside your jacket. “snowboarding as well.”

“sweet.” she fistbumped you and you did the same. the cable car was approaching to the end and as you got off, a group of boys caught everyone’s attention with their voices, yelling in so much hyperactiveness at the golden hour.

they all huddled in a circle, chanting some words before separating into their respective teams. were they a sports team of some kind?

you and your girls queued to get the equipment and began to suit up. the foot rest on the board was quite loose for your size, but you didn’t bother since it was going to be fastened with the belt strap. for some reason, you had a hard time bending forward to tighten the footing. a flush of regret flowed your body when the book somehow prevented you from going forward.

a sigh escaped your mouth and a figure knelt in front of you. “do you need help?” his deep yet honey voice warmed you from the cold you felt.

“y-yeah.” you replied, avoiding his gaze behind those goggles attached to upper part of his face. one thing that attracted you to guys was their smile. but this dude just inches apart from you already sent hearts flying everywhere.

oh what the.. he has cute dimples..

he has the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. the pearly whites of his was equivalent to the snow beneath him and his small/airy chuckle got your heart beating fast. seeing this ethereal human being made you think that this was how love at first sight must feel like.

everything behind him blurred as if a camera was to adjust its focus to the subject, and a video recorder slowing the pace just so that you could observe him closely.

he waved at you, cutting you off of the short-term trance. “are you okay? is it too tight?” he tilted his head that he aligned his eye-level to yours.

“it’s fine. thank you.” you smiled and took his hand, offering to help you up.

“dude! we’re all waiting!” a voice called him from afar, and he looked back at you again with those cute dimples.

“i’ll catch you later? you’ll be in the resort club right?” he asked, pointing at the building opposite from where you were standing.

trying to balance yourself on the board, your lips utter shy words soft enough only for him to hear. “if i could return the favour by getting you a dessert?”

he pushed to slide himself downhill and waved at you. “as long as it’s green tea or vanilla ice cream! i’ll see you at 2300!”

your chest tightened at the fact he smoothly asked you out—kind of, or maybe that was what you want to take it as. heejin nudged you from behind, whistling and humming away like one would tease the other.

siyeon soon joined the call and they both circled-hop around you. they giggled at the sight of you, all flustered and blushy.

“so is he the one finally matched with some ideal fictional guy?” heejin hugged your torso with her lips all puckered, to show and prove that you were in love.

“i haven’t seen most of his face!” you butt back. “so i don’t know if he fits the ‘ideal’.”

“really y/n?” siyeon chuckled in good disbelief, shoving her phone out from her pockets. “troy bolton is everyone’s childhood crush, but your smile towards dimple guy isn’t a simple ‘i don’t know’. there’s something more to it~”

you nodded in agreement as your fingers pointed and shook repetitively. you were more in good disbelief than she was and heejin will for sure add on stronger words to your vulnerable, giddy, happy heart.

“last one at the finish line will get the shared bed!” you went downhill with a long cheer, but enough for the two to follow immediately.

the snow ground slowly marked with straight and curvy lines from the equipments in contact. your legs danced along the already indented path, creating a new design to write out the joy in your boarding. you twisted your body slightly to mimic a 180 degree pan, with intentions to show the beautifying canvas nature’s offered to give before the year ends.

although you weren’t that of a professional to glide down hill faster, the competition between the three of you was high. to compare the total of wins,

you never won any.

and that was out of thirty.

you thought it was time to have that plot twist of the year— to at least get a win so heejin and siyeon wouldn’t have to embarrass you everytime they bring it up.

the board beneath you sent vibration signals to your legs and you knew you had to slow down. yet the adrenaline in you was in rockets and refused to stop when needed. you suddenly heard a familiar voice right at the bottom of the slope. you guessed right, it was the dimple guy.

“yah mark you can do better than that!” he yelled, and another figure brushed passed you.

remember that phrase ‘to be smitten by somebody’? well that was accurate to you now that you didn’t realise you glided on an area with a split level.. you felt your legs in mid-air before crashing and rolling down.

“y/n! you’re sharing a bed with heeji- oh my gosh!” siyeon cupped her hands around her mouth but charged forward to get you.

heejin heard the echoes of ooh’s and hisses from the same group from earlier. she helped you up once she arrived the finishing line. “y/n that must’ve hurt!”

you pulled the strap and removed your foot from the bracings, kicking it aside to massage the sore ankles. “damn it i hope i didn’t twist them.”

“let’s get you inside to have them checked.”

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the lounge area had music booming the system as if it would shatter the delicate, shaking glass windows. you sat at a corner with arms crossed and your friends heard you muttering words of complaint. their eyes trailed your casted ankle and crutches placed on your side.

regret was in you, and you swore you could’ve worn jeans instead of a skirt.

some people were drinking the night away and others were singing their hearts out; whether it was for a good year or another unrequited love. all in all the room was loud and it made you glad because for a whole hour you could hear the throbbing pain beating against your flesh.

“way to end the year..” you gulped onto your drink, empty the glass clean and asked for seconds.

“well at least you’re not in the hospital.” siyeon tilted her head, earning a watch-your-mouth look from heejin.

you went back to reading the last few pages of your book and ignored the persistent invites from the rest of your friends and strangers. didn’t they see your rest leg onto the couch? no matter how much you wanted to join them on the dance floor, you couldn’t. your beloved book was your only companion until the clock strike twelve.

“i’ll see you at 2300!”

his voice rang in your head and you hoped to recognize him at least.

heejin and siyeon enjoyed themselves with other random guys they hoped they’d end up with. they swayed their bodies from the effect of the drinks. you secretly recorded their pink cheeks and slurry smiles, later airdropping to their phones. as payback for the unending tease, you set those meme faces as their wallpaper.

the weight onto the seat on your left dove deep as you giggled at your plan. a hand attempted to snake around your waist, but your radar was attentive enough to warn you. he could be taking advantage of your condition right now. you grabbed your crutches and went straight to the bar section, asked for a glass of water before continuing the imagine wonders of the story.

the host of the party stood on the stage calling out for volunteers to give a good performance. the audience were awaiting, yet none wanted to try to sing. jaehyun entered the lounge after a warm quick shower from the last basketball practice of the year. his friends mark and johnny headed to some empty seats and he soon followed them. he knew and read the atmosphere, the typical mood of anticipation.

he stood at a column where he was hidden and at a blind spot. “gosh this scene is too familiar.” he whispered under his breath.

mark’s ears perked up at his friend. “yeah it’s like one of those rom-com movies.”

“high school musical? nah, this is way better.” johnny held a tray of tarts and cupcakes.

“if no one is coming up here we will choose.” the host spoke into the mic.

jaehyun felt the relief of searching spotlights. his entire being avoiding the light’s rays. yet there was something he didn’t expect.

a drone flew towards him and blinked lights. the crowd cheered and pushed him to the center stage. he sighed at his one-second relief since it was replaced by heart-hammering attention.

the music died down completely and it didn’t make you notice since your eyes were so immersed into each word. not until a spotlight pointed at you, its brightness blinding your eyes temporarily. you looked up to see a drone, then two pairs of hands pulled you to the center where a guy stood waiting for you.

“wait- i have to finish my book.” you whined and looked at the people in front. seeing heejin and siyeon smirking told you that they were probably the people behind the devilish plan.

“you’ll have it back after you do a cover!” the host shook the book and signalled for the track in queue. “introduce yourselves then you’d get into the mood. you’re both still awkward.”

“hey, i-i’m jaehyun.”

“hi, i’m y/n..”

you held the mic stand placed in front and found the crutches uncomfortable.

jaehyun noticed your discomfort and excused the rest to give you a chair to sit on. “here.” he said, taking your hand to lead you up and removed his coat to drape it to cover your legs.

the first piano notes started to play, and all cheers had you wondering whether they planned to re-enact the scene. heejin gave a thumbs up as she recorded the moment.

the heavy amount of exhales you both did when the track wasn’t what you think it was.

[ him ]

you don’t know babe when you hold met kiss me slowly it’s the sweetest thing

[ you ]

and it don’t change if i had in my way you would know that you are

[ both ]

you’re the coffee that i need in the morning you’re the sunshine in the rain when it’s pouring won’t you give yourself to me give it all

i just wanna see i just wanna see how beautiful you are you know that i see it i know you’re a star

where you go i follow no matter how far if life is a movie then you’re the best part

it was great singing a duet with the handsome boy. his voice was baritone and you loved how his voice resonates with you, harmonising even when it wasn’t necessary. yet it was something that you were fond of.

jaehyun knew you were the one he helped at the top of the hill. he knew you were the pissed one whilst wearing the equipment and knew that you crashed down. he circled around you in enjoyment of the song.

[ both ]

oh whoa you’re the best part oh whoa oh.. best part

when he flashed that smile as he sung, your eyes widened at the revelation of the boy. you recognised the pearly whites and dimples. now that you saw the entirety of his face,

he was more ethereal.

although the cover ended quicker than you thought— even if the whole thing was less than four minutes long, celebrating the year-end wasn’t that gloomy since meeting jaehyun. the crowd decided to give you both a gift and opening the box, there was an instax camera and couple’s santa accessory. he wore the hat whilst you took the 2020 headband and began to exchange polaroid pictures.

sharing a selfie was needed to be put up on the board for the ‘best cover’ of the night.

his hands stayed up waiting for yours. “are you sure you don’t need help?”

“i’m fine.” you giggled at his gentleman gestures. “thanks for the jacket.. and back at the snowboarding hill.”

he guided you to the balcony where the rest of your friends were. “no problem.” at their chattering conversations and endless giggles, you knew they’ve instantly gotten close.

“it’s just like kindergarten.” you suddenly say, wrapping the huge scarf around you.

you felt a warm weight around your shoulders. “give it back to me the next time i see you.” jaehyun pat your head.

“sure.” you agreed on his statement.

the countdown began in twenty seconds and everyone held their horns or sparklers in the air. the rest of your friends decided to be close to you, given of your condition. phones were at selfie mode and recorded the celebration.

“ten! nine! eight! seven!

six! five! four!

three! two!

one!”

fireworks canvased the navy blue sky and the impact the yells did to your eardrums had nothing compared to the beating of your heart. jaehyun cheered as well, his dimples evident on his cheeks. this by which made you look into the solo portrait you both exchanged.

however as you dug it out from your pockets, it fell to the ground and the universe already had something new and planned for you this coming year.

you smiled at the digits written behind it and jaehyun saw the most giddiest expression he has ever seen in your eyes.

he leaned down to whisper into your ears. “i hope the next time i see you will be soon.”

#nct 127 #jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #nct jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun au #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun #yuno

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dreaminpeaches · 5 years ago

Text

Daydream Diary- Homecoming Part 1

I finally finish typing up my first daydream post, I'm a little rusty, I haven't wrote a daydream in a min, so my wiriting style/voice is kind of weird in the beginning, but I'll be slowly getting back into more consistent style the more I write so...yeah

Also my dyslexia be wild so typos are prolly lurking below

Word Count: 4,817

TW: Loneliness, and Depression

_________________________________________

“And there” Vanessa said as she set down the last mini chair in the scenic outdoor cafe, set in a large old fish tank, she sat crossed legged on her greenhouse ( which was made from an old stranded ufo) floor surround by mini plant people, whose bodies were made of all types of colorful flora, and some fungi, tiny oohs and ahhs shared among them as they gazed at her creation. “Alright, everyone I declare the Sweet Alyssum Cafe to now be OPEN!” She announced. cutting mini red ribbon with regular size scissors. The succulent subjects quickly swarmed their new digs, enjoying every small detail Vanessa had put into the place, most of the stuff was made out of household objects, everything from the candle lit stove to the little chairs made out of paperclips bottle caps. She even decorated the area with some of her mini animal wood sculptures. It wasn’t long before the plant people started sitting down, taking orders, enjoying sweets and chatting amongst each other. One of the flora being who took the role of chef, invited Vanessa to join in the “grand opening” festivities by offering her a large honey (which was large to them but about the same size as half of a twinkie)

“Oh, man I would love to join you guys, but I still got some things to take care of” she took the sweet offering from the chef’s tiny hands “but I’ll be sure to hang out later, promise” she added a wink before taking a bite of the sweet cake.

This gesture brought a smile to the tiny chef’s face, and he firmly nodded before eagerly running back into the cafe to continue his job.

Vanessea took another bite of the miniature cake before standing up and dusting off her patchy paint splatter sparkly, bunny, and flower embroidered overalls, layered on top of her pastel nasa star studded tee. She exited the greenhouse and crossed the bridge that connected to her room.

She kicked off her garden boots and headed to her room. Vanessa’s room was adorned with plants hanging from the ceiling, the floor splatter with paint the amount of splatters grew closer to the creative nook the area under her loft bed a that Vanesssa use for her painting or potion making, complete with a cluderen pot, a bookcase filled with various spell books, magic ingredients, other magical nit naks, art books, paint brushes, and an easel with some canvas leaning against the wall. One side of the room had a top roll drawer desk, where her PC sat and drawers filled journaling/scrapbooking supplies. The desk was decorated with plants in jars, pots, old soda cans reused as pencil cups and pots, cute mini figures of animals and other cute creatures ( like moogels and pokemon).

Next to her desk was a small compact kitchen where she liked to make tea and other cute snacks when she was too lazy to go downstairs to the actual kitchen. There was a rack with various different types of tea packs mixed in with hot chocolate mix. There also sat her tea pot that was white and had cute little bunny ears on top. The other side of the room was a door that led to the bathroom and her large closet was in front of the room.

Vanessa climbed the ladder to her loft bed, where her furry companions were still asleep, usually Vanessa won’t mind sleeping in with her beloved buddies. But today she had to wake up early to finally finish the cafe for the plant people, so they would all have a nice place to have breakfast together.

Vanessa watched for a moment as her small long eared bunny friend, she named Flaps, slept bundled up in his scarf on top of the much larger yellow, fluffy yet shaggy haired, long ear dog/bear like creature, she named Buddy. While it was cute to watch the two sleep, she knew if she didn’t wake them up for breakfast they both would be pretty upset about it , especially Flaps despite his small size the little guy can put away a ton!

“Come on, guys it's time to wake up, you dont wanna miss breakfast, do you?” Vanessa said nudging her furry friends. Buddy slowly opened his eyes and took a big long yawn and stretched, this motion awoke Flap, who rubbed his eyes with ears and let it a smaller yawn. Buddy looked up and wagged his tail in delight to wake up to a friendly face, Flaps flutter up by his wings and sleepily nodded his head. Vanessa giggled and softly patted Flaps on the head before placing him in her overalls pocket to let him rest a bit longer, Buddy hopped on the homemade dumb waiter as she climbed down the ladder and pulled on pulley of the dumbwaiter to let buddy down and placed him on the floor. She walked downstairs to the sun lit, flower wallpapered, cozy kitchen, Buddy hopped up on a chair with some books stacked on top , patiently yet excitedly waiting for breakfast to be done.

Vanessa quickly whipped up some fluffy, yet super gooey chocolate chip pancakes, decorated extra chocolate chips, strawberries that were freshly picked from her garden, and all topped with mountains of whipped cream,with chocolate syrup.

“Breakfast’s ready” Vanessa said with a smile, holding the plates of pancakes in

Buddy chowed down on the pancakes as soon as Vanessa set the plate down, and the amora from the pancakes served as a pretty good wake up call for Flaps, who sprung right up, and started to devour the flapjack stack. Vanessa smiled and turned around to get to her own plate and she also made herself some tea, she took out a newspaper to read to see if she could find someone in need, or some big event to take part in to kickstart her new adventure, but today's news seem pretty slow today just stuff about an ongoing election in a far off land and someone found their lost cat..aww..how sweet.

"Hmm...nothing in the news today, I guess I could just chill today, maybe I could just work on some terraforming" Vanessa said looking outside at the flower flooded terrain, she had made a forest in the backyard with a lake,a cave that led to an underground lake in the center of a flower field, and a few rivers. It was a beautiful area, but more could be added, a beach, or one of those little gazebo things, or a designated area for picnics, but the backyard lake is already good for those.

While thinking about cool terraforming ideas, Vanessa heard a knock at the door. Vanessa went to investigate.

"Morning, Ms. Vanessa, you've got mail!" said her post-man, a half jackalope half elf fellow as he bowed , Jack as he pushed up his circular specs and handed her a handful letters.

"Thanks, Jack" She said as she took the mail from his hands. "You wanna come in and chat for a while, I got some tea and strawberry chocolate chip pancakes."

"Thats sounds wonderful!" Jack said as his ears perked up, the freckles on his face seemed to lit up and he got a starry excited look in his eyes, he took in deep breath, the aroma of the pancakes were strong enough he could smell them from outside, and he was almost so captaivitaed by the smell he almost fell over, but then quickly shook his head as to get rid of the idea. "B-but the last time I stuck around my boss gave me an earful..."

"Okay, but if you ever wanna hangout, my door's always opened"Vanessa said as she gave a sympathetic shrug

" That's very sweet of you, but I'll be off , uh tell Buddy and Flaps, I said 'Hello'!" Jack said as he waved goodbye to continue his route.

Letters, Vanessa always got a ton them , but never from the same people every time, since most of them were busy people, but it was a nice way to keep in touch with all people she met on her travels,since some of them didn't have phone, or sometimes didn't even know what a phone was, and she found letter to be away more personal. She flipped through the batch of letters as she walked back to the kitchen, this batch came from a friendly, cute photographer, a fashionable bewitching lady, some letters from a group of masked vigilantes, and a letter from an old friend.

“Whoa, look guys it's a letter from Del!” Vanessa said gleefully, showing the letter to Flaps and Buddy. Flaps squeaked in delight and Buddy wagged his tail with joy. Vanessa quickly opened the letter and started reading….

Hey, Vanessa

Sorry, I haven’t gotten around to talking or writing to you as much as I feel like I should.There’s just so much going on, I’ve took your advice from the last letter you sent me, and I’ve started to sell my seashell necklaces on the beach to make extra money, I’ve kind of opened a shop, well the owner of the surf shack let me set up my shop in the area where he used to sell his homemade kombucha (which no one brought well except for me, but I just did that because I felt so sorry for the guy, but I do feel relief that I don’t have to chug that stuff just to keep myself from vomiting anymore ). Christi has start her own atelier teaching people how to make clothes and dresses while making her own clothing line, she also wants the atelier to become a hip place for all the cool people in town to hang, so she’s going to start selling some of her sweets there as well, While Nikki has started her own yoga studio, where she teaches yoga (well, duh) and aerobics, with some help from Christi she also sells some athletic clothing as well (but she makes sure to tell Christi not to make the outfits too fancy and frilly) and she has been training for the town’s sports day games this year.

Naomi got a job at the Zoo taking care of the animals, her animal-talking abilities come in pretty hand, she climbed the ranks from elephant cleaner to head zookeeper pretty quickly, she loves being the camp counselor for when zoo camp starts in the summer, if we wouldn’t listen to her nerding out about animal facts, those little kids sure well, and look to her as some type of animal goddess, it so cute. While we’re still working on our dream jobs, and figuring out what we want to do with our lives, we still make time for our mayor squad tasks, things have gotten so much easier for me ever since I let the other girls help with my mayoral tasks, and thanks for pushing to make that decision by the way. At first we let citizens visit our home if they were in need of help for a task or to make a suggestion, but that got annoying real quick, you won’t believe the amount of people who would show in the middle of the night asking for help to look for their cat, so we made a separate build far way from our house, its about the size of a clubhouse but it does the job. Its there where we take people’s suggestions and at select hours of the day 5 to 8 pm because that fits in with most of our job schedules on Mon-Fri, but 10 to 6 on weekends, so we can still sleep in and have some girl time and movie night afterwards.

Its been fun sharing the town task, it always becomes a mini adventure like the type we used to have when you were around, our next big task is celebrating the town’s 13 anniversary. Naomi said that we shouldn’t because its bad luck, but I want to do it because I really like the movie 13 year, and I want to do something big to prove to myself that I can make a big event without screwing it up..so yeah...hehe. That’s gonna be a thing, I’m kind of nervous, it's times like this I wish you were here, but I KNOW I can do it! I just gotta believe, right? Sorry, if this letter is really long, its just that SOOO much stuff has happened, and I’m busy and then I feel like you’re busy. I don’t wanna slow you down or annoy you, maybe I just miss talking to you..I guess or whatever. I think that’s all I have to update you on...OH wait I forgot to mention...uh.. I maybe...kind of.. like... have a..boyfriend now. Yeah, I met him while we were delivering apples to the annual gala, I kind of bumped into him there, then I started to bump into him EVERYWHERE! I kept running from him because of how embarrassed I felt, and I thought that would make him give up on me, but then he just came to the house and asked me out, and I couldn’t say no so I said yes, of course. He’s real sweet and has the cutest little sister and-- Whoa this letter’s long enough, I guess I'll fill you in later, whenever I get time to sit down and write again. Hope I didn’t waste your time.

From, Del

(P.S I enclosed this letter with a necklace I made just for you, I added a mini jar to this which something I just start doing with my necklaces, I hope I actually remember to put it in the letter, and it actually looks good)

Vanessa shook the letter for more of the contents, the sea shell necklace fell out of the letter with a small clang as it hit the table. She picked up gingerly and looked at it, running her fingers over the textures of each and every seashell,mini starfish, appreciated every little detail in the small jar of beach sand. “Oh, Del” Vanessa said fondly. She quickly went to the hallway mirror, and it looked even lovelier in the mirror and surprisingly it matched with her outfit. Vanessa couldn’t stop grinning, she felt like she could stand and look at it for hours, but it also gave her a nostalgic feeling, she thought about all the adventures she had with Bree and the other girls, how much fun it was to set up parties, parades, and grand opening, she got that similar feeling from holding the mini grand opening for the plant people’s nature cafe. It was nice to see people enjoy what you made, this thought got Vanessa really thinking,

“Hey, since I don’t have anything big to do today, why don’t I pay a visit to Well Sun Valley?” Vanessa said, thinking out loud while looking at her furry friends, who nodded in agreement. “Yeah, wait let’s not just make it a visit I could just like you know, stay” she nodded as she headed back to the kitchen and placed the breakfast plates and cups in the sink “Yeah, I mean still have my wrap stones from all the other places I’ve visited before, so if I need to go back to those place I’m pretty set” she began quickly wash and rinsing the plates, while passively passing them to Flaps, who held up a plate, so Buddy could dry them with his tail. “Shame that I didnt make a wrap stone to Well Sun before I left, but I didn’t even how to make those back then, so its alright, I can just take the train….”

she looked at the clock “Oof, I gotta start packing” Vanessa quickly rushed out the kitchen, but then backtracked and gathered the other letters, and raced up stairs. Vanessa entered her walk-in closet and dragged out her pink and purple holographic suitcase and started to grab a few outfits, while changing her current outfit to a strawberry tee, with a plaid skirt.

She also packed her travel journal to share her adventures, some books and her laptop to keep herself entertained on the train. Once she was done pack she then went to her desk to read and sent responses to the other letters she got, she was debating if she should send a letter to Del or not, she settled on not because she was coming anyways and wanted it to be a surprise! She looked up the time for when the nearest train depart to Well Sun Valley, the nearest one was about to leave itin 45 minutes. Vanessa held out her hand and thought, and two tickets quickly manifested in her hands “Aw, man my manifest powers still need work, I thought too hard” she said, she inspected the tickets closely and she got the important train details right..

“Let’s go” Vanessa said as she placed Flaps on her shoulder and bounced out the chair, grabbed her suitcase, and headed outside with Buddy following behind, she made a stop at the mailbox to put her letters in, she bounced on the wrap portal. She was teleported into a bush and stumbled out “Oof, got to work on those teleportation skills” Vanessa shook her head to regain her equalium. She looked around to see that she landed near a train station that was a small station in a valley across from a lake, not far from a small town. She ran to get in line, but was stopped in her tracks when she saw the no animals sign. “Oof, time to hide, guys” Flaps hid in Vanessa loose curly hair, and Buddy made himself invisible. “Great”

She loaded in with the another passengers and was show by one of the workers to her room in the sleeper car, her room had two beds one on each side.

"Guess, I lucked out" Vanessa shrugged to herself. She placed her luggage under one of the seats, but not before taking out her laptop. It would take 2 days to reach Well Sun Valley, so might as well enjoy the ride. Vanessa headed to the dining car, watch some videos while she soak up the atmosphere,and to see if the cafe has any cute treats.

Vanessa found herself a nice seat near the back so she could get a good scoop of everything. She wanted to get lost in the murmurs of background conversations, the light clanking of plates, cups and utseils, the humming from the coffee machine and warm auroma that was wafing from it that mixed pleasently with savory smell coming from the kitchen

she peered up to check to see if her island was following her and it was, set up her laptop, despite the train having a rustic old times aesthetic the wifi was pretty good, and order herself a cute strawberry parfait.

Vanessa patted Buddy on the head as he snuggled up right next to her, other than the morning rush everything went pretty smoothly. Might as well just sit and enjoy the atmosphere, but just as she was about to, the back door bursted opened, Vanessa turned to see a guy coming out of the back door, he was hunched over--his knees were almost down to floor. At first his face was covered by a mount of messy almost shaggy blond hair. He shook his head vigorously revealing his bright blue eyes that contracted loudly against his ghostly pale skin his face sprinkled with freckles, he had orange headphones that hung around his neck, The blue eyes were surrounded by dark circles,he wore a black turtleneck tunic, and he looked like he was being almost swallowed whole by his baggy orange jacket that draped his shoulders. His blue orbs widened looking like they couldn't believe the scene they were witnessing.

"Oh, oh, God! P-people!? There are actual people!!Thank God!"He said falling to knees taken aback "I-I'm out,I'm out, I'm ACTUAL OUT. T-that means I can find him, I FINALLY--" He tried to run, but ended up tripping over his own feet. "Whoa, gotta sit down a sec" said to himself as he slugged into an empty booth nearby.

Vanessa was pretty confused by what she just saw, a random dude just came out of the baggage car. He didn't seem like a stowaway, he didn't seem sneaky at all, and the fact that didn't even know he was on the train til now. The other passengers were too into their own businesses to worry about what's going on at the back of the car. Vanessa was going to investigate herself, but her stream of thoughts was interruptes by a voice.

"Excuse ma'am, may I see your ticket" said the conductor with his hand out ticket ready

"Oh sure, here" Vanessa as she handed over her ticket.

The conductor punched her ticket and promptly handed it back to her "Thank you, ma'am, hope you enjoy your trip"he gave her a consumer friendly smile, and walked to back

"Hmm..I wonder if I could add his to my travel scrapbook" Vanessa said as looked at her punched ticket.

"Wait no, please let me stay on the train" said a panicked voice from the back.

"I'm sorry, sir but I cannot let you ride the ride without a ticket, I must ask to leave or I will be forced to remove you from the train myself!"

"No, please you don't understand I NEED to be on the train!" The boy said practically begging

"I will not stand for this nonsense on my train" the conductor said as he stomped his foot " You have left me with no choice"

The conductor grabbed the boy by his baggy jacket as he held onto the table for dear life! " NO PLEASE YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!! I HAVE NOWHERE GO!!!

"Well then, you have no business being on this train then"

"WAIT!" Vanessa shouted, making the two stop dead in their tracks. "He's with me!" She held up her extra ticket like it was some holy item. "Sorry, I completely forgot to give you your ticket uh…" she slowly gestured toward the boy.

"Oh, uh Nick!" The boy said as he perked up "Yeah, I'm definitely with her" he pointed toward Vanessa. The conductor let go of Nick and took a closer look at the extra ticket, he looked back at Nick, who gave a sheepish smile, then punched the ticket "Sorry for the misunderstanding, sir." The scary harsh persona the conductor was replaced with a consumer friendly smile. "Enjoy your trip" The conductor returned the ticket and walked away

"Oh God, Thank you!" Nick said as he heaved a sigh "you're a lifesaver" The boy stood up straight all that slouching really did hid his almost towering height compared to Vanessa.

"My goodness, you look awful!" Vanessa said with consider in her voice as she gazed at the disshloved boy in front of her "Where did you come from?"

"It's a long story.." Nick mumbled rubbing the back of his head, just then a growling noise came from his stomach

"I wouldn't mind take some time from my two day trip, hear your origin story over some burgers and fries" Vanessa suggested gesturing towards her table

__________________________

"Hmm I never would have an old times train car to have such hardy burgers on their menu" Vanessa said looking at the posh, script-written menu and then looking at the hamburger meat that was wrapped bacon, topped with cheese that dripped slow as it melted from the heat of the hamburger, topped with cold tomatoes and lettuce all hugged up in two soft buns, served with some nuggets and fries.

Vanessa only had a small bit of the meaty mount, she was already content with her parfait from earlier, while Nick was wolfing his burger like he hadn’t seen food in forever, she never seen some eat food so fast, Nick became quite sheepish when he realized Vanessa was looking at him. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to act like a slob, I just can’t remember the last time I saw food--actually I can’t remember the last time I saw anything.” He wiped his face with a napkin thoughtfully, then timidly gazed at Vanessa’s plate.

“No, no its fine, I just never guess someone as lanky and skinny as you could put away so much” Vanessa explained then she gently pushed her plate towards Nick, “Here, you can have my plate, I had a parfait earlier so I’m pretty full”

“Oh, thank you” Nick said, accepting her offer, and took no time going ham on the beef.

“No problem, you said earlier that you were walking in the middle of nowhere?”

“Yeah, It felt like I was just walking forever, like years but I was getting nowhere, everything was so white it was almost blinding.”

“Do you remember how you got there in the first place, what was your life like before?”

“My life was pretty normal, I lived in a pretty small town, I had friends, I went to school, I used to go rollerskating alot, even I had a job kind of.” Nick said put down the sandwich, and looked out the window thoughtfully “The last thing I remember was that I finally got to talk to this cool guy, I was so happy because he really clicked. I would always see him around and we would chat here and there , but we never really got to have a real conversation, his friend was super protective of him--his friend didn’t get along with my friend, they were always at each others throats, so I rarely got to talk to the guy in a peaceful setting for long. Until one day when my best friend literally pushed me to talk to him, we just started talking and it was just so awesome, it was the last best day I remember having. I felt like I was finally getting somewhere with him and then next thing I know I woke up on the cold hard white floor all alone, with nothing for miles.” Nick started to passively rub the streaks of ketchup on his plate with a lone french fry. “I didn’t sleep or eat, I couldn’t feel anything but emptiness, not only did I lose track of time, I started to lose myself..if was terrifying”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry...” Vanessa said, she couldn’t imagine being alone like that for so long.

“Yeah, but I’m out of it now LITERALLY, I can finally find him now, I was planning to share something important with him before I woke up in the void. I don’t know where he is but I think this train might lead me to him. Where’s this train going again?”

“Just a sweet town called Well Sun Valley,” Vanessa said proudly “I used to live there a long time ago but now I’m coming back to stay.”

“You think I might find my friend there?” Nick said his eyes gleamed with hope.

“Well, Sun Valley is known for having the magical ability to bring the most interesting people together, I would say there’s a good chance”Vanessa said with a firm nod

“Oh, that’s a relief” Nick yawned his head now resting on his arms, his head slowly tiling to the left, his eyes blinking fighting back sleepiness. “I’m sorry, I think all that walking is finally catching up to me” Nick let his heavy eyes droop closed as he gave into the urge to sleep, all the nervous energy that harvested in body seem to vanish and was replaced by peaceful slow pace breathing, his face sporting rosy cheeks that seemed to have gotten redder than when he was awake.

“Aw..”Vanessa said looking at the sleeping boy, the poor guy deserve some rest after what he’s been through, but then so realized “Oh, wait I’m going to have to carry him back to the sleeping car” Vanessa was unsure if her magic would work in the area the train was currently in, plus the dining car was pretty much packed at this hour even for late lunch, and she wasn’t so sure if any of these passengers had see magic before nor how they would react to the site of a boy floating in mid air. “I guess I’m just going to have to do this the hard way” Buddy climbed up to the table to eat what was left of the sandwich Nick was eating, and Flaps emerged out of Vanessa's hair to munch on the leftover fries.

“Would you two mind helping me with this” Vanessa said nodding towards the exhausted Nick, Buddy and Flap both sighed and shrugged…

END OF PART 1

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#paraportal #id #immersive daydreaming #original wiritng #daydreaming #Homecoming #MADD #actuallymadd #daydream wiriting #Nick #Vanessa

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years ago

Text

1. so. what’s your name? Stephanie.

2. how old are you? 30.

3. where are you from? California.

4. do you have a best friend? My mom.

5. name, please? I don’t want to give that out.

6. how long have you known them? Since I was in the womb, ha.

7. relationship status? I’m single.

8. how long have you been in this status? Several years. A few years ago I was talking to someone and I really thought it could lead to something, but it didn’t. I haven’t had anyone else that I was talking to in that way or even interested in since then.

9. are you in love with llamas? No.

10. do you run with vampires? I’ve never encountered one.

11. who do you want for president?

12. what’s your favorite movie? I have several.

13. what about book? I have a shitload of favorite books.

14. do you have a favorite band? Linkin Park will always be one of them.

15. do you like hats? Yes.

16. what’s the second text in your inbox say? The 2nd person in my text message list or whatever you want to call it (I have an iPhone, so you know how they sort texts) is my pharmacy letting me know my prescription is ready.

17. what about the seventeenth? It’s a group text with my mom and brother.

18. have you ever had surgery? I’ve had several.

19. do you have an enemy? “Don’t let me get me, I’m my own worst enemy.”

20. do you know anyone named max? Nope.

21. do you want to save the trees? I cut my paper trail by having my bill statements emailed to me. I love the organizations that plant a tree when you buy something or donate to them.

22. hugs or drugs? Hugs.

23. have you ever killed anyone? Uh, no.

24. do you have any siblings? I have two brothers.

25. how many? ^^^

26. who are they? They’re my brothers. ha.

27. what color do you like to wear the most? Black.

28. have you ever danced around with a broom? Yeah, lol.

29. what size shoe do you wear? 6 in women’s (US).

30. do you believe in magic? “…in a young girl’s heart, where the music can free her…” <<< lol I started singing that, too. Anyway, no, I don’t.

31. have you ever kissed anyone named josh? Nope.

32. do you cook? Just ramen.

33. what kind of phone do you have? iPhone XR.

34. flakjdf? Yep.

35. do you know someone named tiffany? Yes.

36. do you like taking pictures? I like taking pictures of my doggo.

37. what’s your favorite holiday? Christmas.

38. pink flamingos? What about them?

39. what’s in your purse? I’ve been using a mini backpack, which right now just has my wallet.

40. what are you wearing? Leggings and a graphic tee, of course.

41. do you have a pet? Yeppp, my doggo, Princess Leia. <3

42. do you like spiders? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

43. what’s the main ringtone on your cell phone? One of the default ones.

44. *headdesk*? Is that like *facepalm*? I’ve never used or seen anyone else use *headdesk*

45. do you like to write? I used to. I haven’t done any writing since graduating 5 years ago.

46. holly, would you turn me on? No.

47. do you own an mp3 player? I still have my iPod Touch stored away that I haven’t used since like 2012. I just use Spotify on my phone.

48. what kind? ^^^

49. why are you hitting yourself? I’m not.

50. do you label people? That’s more like high school stuff.

51. what’s your most embarrassing moment? Blahhhh.

52. what are you going to do for your sixteenth birthday party? I’m almost double that age D: Anyway, for my 16th I had an outdoor party at a venue with family and friends.

53. what’s your mom’s name? Her name is mom to me, ha.

54. what about your dad? To me he’s dad.

55. what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done? Uhhh.

56. have you ever won anything? Yes.

57. is revenge sweet? I’m not a revengeful person.

58. have you ever had someone lie for you so you wouldn’t get in trouble? I was a good kid, so if I did it was probably for stupid little stuff.

59. do you like to sing? Yeah. Too bad I’m awful, ha.

60. do you eat pickles? Yes.

61. who lives in a pineapple under the sea? Spongebob.

62. how many xangas do you have? I don’t have one anymore, Xanga died years ago.

63. do you like night or day better? Night.

64. what’s the last party you went to? It’s been such a long time since I’ve been to a party.

65. do you like finding nemo? Sure.

66. what kind of computer do you have? MacBook Air.

67. what color shoes are you wearing? I’m not wearing shoes.

68. plaid or polka dots? Plaid.

69. do you like cats? Sure. I’m a dog person all the way, though.

70. have you ever done yoga? Nope.

71. how’d you like it?

72. what’s the closest red object to you? The red on my red and black plaid throw pillow.

73. do you play any instruments? No.

74. if so, what? I used to play some piano, but it’s been over 10 years now and I’d be suuuuuper rusty. My brother randomly decided that he wants to start practicing and is going to dig out my old keyboard in the garage. I should see if I still know anything.

75. are you allergic to anything? Just tangerines that I know of.

76. what do you want to be when you grow up? I’m almost 31 years old and still have no idea.

77. can you think of anything that rhymes with pain and misery? Rain and blistery?

78. what posters do you have on your wall? I don’t have any posters. I have some canvas paintings and framed ones.

79. who is the person from history that you admire most? A lot of people that have paved the way and made positive impacts and change.

80. what’s your middle name? I’m not sharing that.

81. what kind of car do you drive? I don’t drive.

82. how’s your life? Blah.

83. what do you think about carrots? I prefer them raw instead of cooked. <<< Saaaame. Cooked carrots are disgusting.

84. can you dance? Nope.

85. are you in a band? I can’t sing or play any instruments, what good would I be?

86. do you wear skirts or dresses a lot? Nope. It’s been years since I’ve worn a dress.

87. what’s your favorite tv show? I have a lot of those.

88. is something wrong with you? There’s a lot wrong with me.

89. are there lots of pictures in your bedroom? No.

90. do you like being outside? Only if I’m at the beach.

91. what’s your favorite color? Pastels, rose gold, yellow, coral, and mint green.

92. have you gotten anything in the mail lately? No. I’m waiting on something, though.

93. do you like school? I’m done with school now, but I’d say yes and no.

94. what’s your wallpaper on your computer? Alexander Skarsgard.

95. how many school dances have you been to? I went to a few middle school dances, winter formal, and prom.

96. can you swim? Nope. 97. do you like dancing in the rain? I love the rain, but I enjoy it much more while inside.

98. what is your favorite hobby? Reading and doing surveys.

99. don’t you just want to mass murder all barbie dolls? No? I loved Barbies.

100. did you like the survey? Sure.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #100 q's

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em-dashes · 6 years ago

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11.17.2019

Bonjour! Today was surprising productive (by my standards anyway lmao). I guess organizing my file yesterday made me come across lines that I forgot about and made me go “wait, I want to write that Right Now”.

And now the first draft of Chapter 7 is done! Woot woot! It’s 3798 words long, and about 1977 of it was written today. It’s one of Rian’s chapters, and this is when we finally get to see his telepathy in action (and more detail). It was really fun to explore and write, though of course it needs about a thousand rounds of revisions. There’s a lot of “oh shit!” moments in this chapter, and I really want that to come across to the readers. If it’s one thing I don’t like, it’s plot twists / surprises that don’t work because the premise wasn’t properly set up ><

WIP word count so far: 36k. I still haven’t counted how much of that was written during Nano 2019.

Things I googled, in no particular order:

> electrode caps

> geocentric orbit

> “define context”

> orbital decay

Before we get to today’s excerpt, here’s a quick primer:

Rian Scott: one of the three main characters; a 13-year-old boy with telekinesis and telepathy, who has been kept hidden from the public and planned to be used as a weapon in the impending war.

Holly: Rian’s primary caretaker. She is the only person Rian feels comfortable with and is like an older sister to Rian, though their relationship is a little strained after Rian tried to run away.

And now, it’s excerpt time, babey.

Chapter 7: Rian

“Well, how do you feel about breakfast?” Holly nodded toward the main room. “Come on. I’ve got your favourites.”

She said it like it was some kind of secret between them. Rian tapped off the bathroom light and let Holly guide him to the square table set beside his bed. After the tests, Holly had led him to this room--his room, not the hospital-like room he had woken up in. This room was...warm. Cozy, he thought was the right word. They had brought in as much of his old room as possible, trying to make it feel familiar, like home. It had the same patterned wallpaper, dark blue with stars and planets. The same round striped rug. The same desk and shelves and bed. His old drawings were stuck on a bulletin board on the desk, and the shelves were tucked with his books and games and toys.

He glanced at the tray on the table as he sat down. It had a plate of pancakes, a mug of fruit-flavoured milk, and a dollop of bright green jelly. The pancakes had already been cut into perfect bite-sized chunks because they knew Rian couldn’t hold a knife well enough to do the cutting himself. He scowled at that--or would’ve, if he didn’t feel so numb and detached. In the past he would have found this act considerate. Now it felt like they were mocking him. The world’s most powerful weapon, most coveted if anyone else knew he existed, and he couldn’t even hold his own damn utensils.

“Are you feeling sick?” Holly sat beside him, with one leg drawn onto the bed and her chin resting on her knee. They didn’t allow shoes in this room. Even his thin and harmless canvas slippers stayed outside the door. “I’m sorry, Ri. I know you don’t like any of this.” She sighed through her nose and brushed the hair out of Rian’s eyes. “Eat as much as you can, alright? I can help you eat the rest.” She tugged at the end of one of his curly locks, frowning slightly. “And then we can do something about your hair--”

“I don’t want to cut it.” The words came out stuck together like jam. He felt awful--he’d never talked back to Holly, or anyone, for that matter. Even before he ran away, when he’d been so, so angry with them, he hadn’t said any of his harsh words out loud. He’d simply let things happen, never disagreeing, never acting out, never resisting. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew that way, they wouldn’t suspect what he was planning.

And that’s it, because it’s so much spoiler territory from here on out. Why doesn’t Rian want to cut his hair? The answer can be found in this previous post.

Et c’est tout pour le moment mes amis!

-Emily

Taglist: @ditzysworld :^)

#em dashes #writerblr #writers on tumblr #nanowrimo #nano 2019 #aphelion #excerpts #writing update #seems like all my chapter are around 4k long #google list

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h0ldthiscat · 7 years ago

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still life

here to ruin your day don’t @ me (just kidding pls do)

She is a focused painter. Her lips are a thin line and the radio drones in the background. Neither of them like silence anymore. When she paints she wears her hair in a ponytail, like she hasn’t in years. Not Nadezhda and not quite Elizabeth either. She’s someone in between. And she paints, wearing one of his old shirts, one of the two he brought. She swims in it, looking impossibly small and infinitely powerful.

The canvases are modest in size; paint is expensive and unnecessary. But the Centre has made the two of them comfortable, well-looked after. The apartment is bright and clean and close to a supermarket that always has fresh apples. The bed is large, and at night they cling to each other like magnets, afraid of what will happen if they let go.

He stands behind her chair with a cup of tea. Outside the sky is rosy with dusk, and she’s recreated the color perfectly, her brush moving in confident strokes. He kisses the back of her neck where new hairs curl towards her nape.

“Hey,” she says quietly, eyes fixed on the canvas.

“You should get changed. He’ll be here soon.”

“I know. This light is good. I don’t want to lose it.”

He settles into the armchair in the corner, watching her. Beneath his shirt her legs are bare, except for a pair of gray woolen boot socks. He is overcome with the need to tell her he loves her, but he knows she knows. So he sits and reads until she finishes her painting, swishing the brush around in a jar of cloudy water, the signal that she is done.

He comes up behind her again, his arm settling across her chest, and studies her work. A lump settles in his throat when he sees it: the pitch of the roof, the windowsill, the glow from the lamp in the corner. And outside, below, in the driveway, a white car. A hockey goal. Two shadowy figures in the twilight.

“It’s springtime now,” she says. She drops her head and kisses his forearm.

There’s a knock at the door. He squeezes her shoulder and murmurs, “That’s Gabriel.”

When Philip answers the door, Gabriel says, “You didn’t have to come all this way to return the favor of hosting.”

Philip smiles. “But we did.”

Gabriel laughs and pulls him into a hug; the handle of the ceramic dish he brought presses against Philip’s back. They open a bottle of wine, Philip checks the chicken in the oven. Gabriel compliments the wallpaper in the kitchen.

Philip is at the sink when Elizabeth comes in, and hears only Gabriel’s chair pushing back against the floor and a sharp intake of air from his wife, not a sob but something close. He turns to see them hugging, and they stay that way for a long time. When they pull back they both have tears in their eyes.

“It’s good to see you,” Gabriel says finally. “Both of you.”

The painting in the other room catches his eye and she follows him in, talking in low but uplifted tones. Philip hears the sliding of canvas on canvas and knows she’s showing him the others. His own favorite is the view from the bridge, that first night. All the lights alive in the darkness, saying welcome home, saying you are a stranger here.

At first she’d drawn, sketched really. He’d find her on the couch with a pencil, drawing on the back of a bookmark, or a piece of mail. He bought her a sketchbook because he knew she’d never buy one for herself, and that she’d never ask. The paints and canvases had been harder to come by. Most of them are small, but he’s been able to find a few larger ones, even if they are costly. “What else are we going to spend it on?” he asked when Elizabeth protested.

She and Gabriel wander back into the kitchen, talking about how the three years since he’s seen them feel like ten.

“I wanted to come sooner,” Gabriel admits, and Philip thinks he might actually be chastened. “To see you, to say hello. But the Centre advised me to wait.”

They sit at the small wooden table and eat chicken with lemon, some marinated carrots. For a few moments it feels like the old days, those first few meetings when Gabriel had returned to the states. Elizabeth is more relaxed than he’s seen in weeks; she and Gabriel always had a special bond. She tells him about their plans for Odessa in the summer and she lights up, a peaceful smile across her lips, all tension gone from around her eyes. Philip can almost forgive Gabriel everything if it means she’s truly happy, even if it’s only for a few hours.

“You two are heroes,” Gabriel says after the dishes have been cleared and a game of Scrabble sits before them on the table. Elizabeth doesn’t usually play but she joins tonight, her features soft. Her jaw shifts at Gabriel’s words, only slightly.

“We were doing our jobs,” she answers evenly. On the board, she lays down estuary.

“The Centre appreciates your efforts,” Gabriel insists. “And all that you’ve sacrificed.” He meets Philip’s eyes when he says this. A thousand retorts rise to Philip’s lips but he bites his tongue. He meets the old man’s gaze with an unwavering stare, and then Gabriel pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket.

“This was the best they could do for right now, but we’ll keep trying.” He places the envelope on the Scrabble board and Elizabeth freezes. The package is thin, and from the size and shape can only contain photographs.

“We didn’t… who authorized this?” Philip asks. Elizabeth’s eyes haven’t moved from the envelope.

“I did,” Gabriel answers.

Elizabeth reaches for the envelope but she pauses and finds Philip’s gaze. Her hair is still pulled back in a ponytail and for an instant they are twenty-two again, her expression filled with the same fear and longing as the moment they met. She gives him a small nod and he takes the envelope in his hands; it’s lighter than he expects.

“I can’t guarantee any kind of regularity, but… I thought you’d want to see.”

Just as he suspected: photographs. Five or six. Black and white. Taken from a distance. Philip’s heart thuds in his throat as he studies the images of his son: walking down the street with a passel of friends, backpack slung over his shoulder; sitting bent over a book at a desk in the library; driving a car Philip’s never seen before beside a vaguely familiar girl with an afro; Henry on the ice; on the ice; on the ice--

“Where’s…” Philip flips through them again, thinking he missed one, thinking they can’t all be of Henry. There have to be some of Paige. He can think her name but he can’t say it aloud, can’t bear to see Elizabeth’s face crumple. She’s grabbed the stack of pictures from him and grips them tightly, her knuckles white, bending the shiny surface, slack-jawed in wonderment at the image of her boy, her baby boy.

“She’s been a little harder to track down,” Gabriel says, and reaches into his breast pocket again. A single photo this time, more grainy but in color. He and Elizabeth both lean in and squint at the figure with a ballcap pulled down low on her head, hair the color of her mother’s hanging down her back. It’s blurry, but it’s her.

“Where?” Elizabeth asks, barely a whisper.

“Two weeks ago, at a rest stop on the Blue Ridge Parkway.”

“Two weeks…” Elizabeth says, unable to conceal the awe in her voice. It was how she’d sounded when she looked up at Philip in the hospital and said in disbelief, she’s so tiny.

Philip’s throat constricts and he holds Elizabeth’s hand, Scrabble tiles jolting off their squares. Grief pulls at the corners of her mouth, making her chin quiver.

“She’s not running but she’s not sitting still either,” Gabriel explains.

“That was never her strong suit,” Philip says, his voice thick.

Elizabeth makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and they sit like that for a full minute. Gabriel doesn’t stay much longer, and hugs them both before he goes, with a weariness that Philip doesn’t remember about him. A heavy shuffle in his step, his head low and his shoulders stooped beneath the mantle of his thick, gray coat.

_________________

Philip towel dries his hair and puts on a t-shirt and flannel pants, but she’s not in bed when he exits the bathroom. He finds her in the other room, curled up on top of the covers of the bed that was supposed to be for--

“You used all the hot water,” he says, lying down beside her.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and pulls him closer.

Her painting from this afternoon sits drying in the corner, the pink sunset the only thing he can see in the inky blackness. She is warm against his chest. She works a knee in between his and they shift. Lately it seems like she’s trying to fuse with him, like maybe if they lie close enough nothing bad will ever happen again. They can just float here forever in the bardo, close to something final but safe on stygian shores.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks.

“Anything,” she says.

“Gabriel told me--a long time ago, he told me that you… that the first person the Centre picked for you--”

“I didn’t like him,” Elizabeth says.

Philip smiles into the darkness. His eyes have adjusted and he can make out the moonlight on her cheekbone, her smudged eyeliner, a freckle. “Uh, why not?”

“He was arrogant. Too sure. He wouldn’t have lasted under deep cover. He wasn’t... right. For the job or for me.” She squeezes his knee between her own. “Why?”

“I just wondered if you ever… after all this, I just wonder if you ever wish you’d chosen differently.”

Her hand is on the back of his neck, fingertips pressing, insistent. Her forehead touches his. “How can you ask that?” she whispers.

He can’t meet her eyes. “If we hadn’t been so… different at first, nothing would have turned out this way.”

“You don’t know that. A thousand things could have happened.”

“Yeah…” He doesn’t believe her, but she sounds so sure that for a moment, he thinks she might be right. She kisses him softly with her eyes closed, and he lets the weight of her body atop his convince him some more.

#my writing #the americans #the americans fic

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consultinggreys · 3 years ago

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Captain america wallpaper

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#Captain america wallpaper

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renee-writer · 7 years ago

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Secrets and Lies House Hunting Chapter 60

"So, house, apartment, loft, condo?" He was up before her. She found him in the kitchen scanning the classifieds with a mug of coffee beside him. When she enters, he jumps up to pour her some.

"Huh?" She takes the coffee and a seat.

"What type of place do you want Kate?" He waits patiently as she sips her coffee and her brain wakes up.

"We want to buy a place so apartments are out, right?"

"Yes, unless you want to buy a whole apartment building. So that leaves a house or condo."

"I really want a house and a yard even if we have to hire someone else to keep it up right now."

"Good. So do I. So there are four here that meet are qualifications." They had discussed what they were looking for in number of rooms, location, size yard, and even school districts, between love making the previous night. "If they don't work we can get a realtor but I would like to try to do this on our own if we can."

"Okay. Let's go see if we can find our house."

They walk into the first one and Sean knows immediately it will not work. The carpet and wallpaper, wall paper! is horrid. That can be changed but he knows if the floors and walls haven't been modernized then must likely the electric nor plumbing haven't either. He is right. The breaker box is full of plugs. He shakes his head at the lady giving the open house and he and Kate walk out.

The secound is better. The wood floors are charming and white walls a blank canvas ready for any colors they chose. It has three bedrooms, two full baths. But when they walk out to the back yard, Kate knows it will never work. The yard is not only tiny but has hardly any grass. The hard packed earth makes her sure that growing it would be a chore. He looks at her face and nods. They leave with apologies.

"We made need that realtor after all." Sean says over a quick lunch of fast food.

"We have two more to see. Don't give hope yet." His wife reminds him.

Number three starts with a huge living area with an open floor plan. The soft brown wooden floor flows into a slightly darker tiled floor in the kitchen.

"Oh Sean! Look." She points out the island in the center with a vase of wildflowers in the center. Throughly modern appliances in an old fashioned kitchen. The table is big wooden farm one with a checkered table cloth. The kitchen leads to a huge grass filled backyard with a birdbath to the side and a hand pump spicket.

"Does it work?" A thoughly charmed Kate asks the man doing the open house.

"Oh yes ma'am." She has to see for herself and she and Sean walk out. She pumps it a few times and then sqeals as the cold fresh water flows out.

"Oh Sean. I love this place!"

"Let's go up and check out the bedrooms and bath." In truth, he loves it to. He can see two or three children sitting around the huge table, running through the backyard, getting drinks from the hand pump. But, practicality required that the rest of the house be checked out.

They find the wooden floors are also upstairs. The bedrooms are big but not to big. The master bedroom hes a full bath attached and as soon as Sean stepped in it, he knew they had found their house.

"Kate? Come see." She follows him in. She first sees the his and hers sinks. Impressive. But then rounds the small corner and stops dead. A claw footed bathtub! An actual clawfooted bath big enough to hold them both at the same time.

"I know," he says with a smile at her open mouth and huge eyes. I assume you wish to make an offer?"

"You are darn right. Right now!"

"Yes ma'am."

There was no need to check the fourth house. A week later they get the word. They get the house. They have found their home.

#my writing #my ocs #secrets and lies #house #hunter

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storiesbyjes2g · 7 years ago

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Note: Hey guys! Before we get started, I think I should give you a heads up. Most of you know this story is quickly approaching the end! I don’t want anyone to be taken by surprise when the last chapter comes, so I thought I’d give you time to prepare yourselves. 🙂 There are currently five more chapters including this one! I know!! Now that I’ve thoroughly shocked your system, try to enjoy the chapter. Read it slowly. 😀

Time in Willow Creek: 2 years, 8 months, 2 weeks

For the past two and a half or so years, Juliana’s bedroom had been her safe place. Her fortress. The only place she could be her unadulterated self. In that room, she shed many tears, made many promises to herself and contemplated life’s greatest mysteries. The room incubated her, providing an environment to grew from a scared little girl into a more confident woman. As she transformed, the room transformed with her, going from what used to be a little boy’s room to a space that was unequivocally hers. Every corner, nook, and cranny that expressed her personality was now void. She had a new fortress. Another blank canvas to pour herself onto and express herself in new ways.

Kevin’s footsteps echoed in the stairwell. She got anxious. As much as she looked forward to moving into her own apartment, the part of her that enjoyed comfort and resisted change wanted to stay one more night. But, one more night would turn into two more nights. She had to let go.

“Hey,” he said with a bright smile. “Are you ready?”

What a loaded question. Is anyone ever ready for major life changes? Her eyes traced the outline of the room once more. He stood next to her also eyeing the room. “Hard to leave the only place you’ve ever known, huh?”

It was. This made twice in her life now, but this time she went willingly and looked forward to it.

“We’re not in a hurry. You can stay a little while longer if–“

“No.” She brushed past him and headed for the stairs before her heart got the best of her. She had spent the last few days coming to grips with her new reality and needed to rip off the bandage.

Kevin picked up her bag and followed her downstairs. Harold, Hillary, and Abigail waited for her in the living room. Saying goodbye to them would be the hardest part of all. Of course, it wasn’t a full-on goodbye. She would be there every Sunday for the foreseeable future. What she had to say goodbye to was the place they held in her life. The days of needing a tour guide were long gone, and a guardian was not necessary. She had to learn to take care of herself.

“Ju-nah-nah!”

That high pitched voice always brought a smile to her face. Juliana had been an integral part of the child’s life from the very beginning. Not seeing her every day would be hard and so would withdrawing from the family.

Abigail stretched her arms to Juliana, so she scooped her up. “Hello, bonita.”

“I’m gonna put this in the car,” Kevin said.

Juliana squeezed the precious baby and rocked with her. It wasn’t time to cry yet, but resisting was so hard with such sweetness in her arms. Hillary stood next to her looking like she tried to find some semblance of comfort her in her eyes. “You’ll be back on Sunday, right?”

“Of course.”

Hillary looked like she might lose it. “Gosh, Juliana! It’s gonna be weird without you! Don’t forget about us.”

“I could never.”

Hillary grabbed her, sobbing a bit. “I’m gonna miss you so much! I know things haven’t always been right between us, but you’ve always been a great friend.”

Juliana’s own tears threatened to drop, but she wouldn’t let them. Not yet. “We’ll always be friends.”

She let her go and dried her eyes. “I know. Hoo, boy! Get out of here quick before we flood this place!”

They laughed, and Hillary took Abigail. Juliana turned her attention to Harold and flashed a quick smile. “Thank you for everything.” A rogue tear or two escaped.

He cupped her hand and patted it. “You come on back anytime. Keep your key.”

She couldn’t hold the tears much longer and needed to leave immediately. “Thank you. I will. I love you both.” She wanted to say so much more, but once the tears came, she wouldn’t be able to stop them. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Say, ‘bye, Juliana,’ sweet pea!”

Abigail attempted to repeat the words in her own way and waved.

“Bye bye, bonita.”

“Call me tomorrow, ok?”

“I will.”

Juliana waved at Harold. He nodded, and she left.

Kevin attempted to comfort her, but she kept walking toward the car. “Just go, please.”

She cried almost the whole way there, and thankfully Kevin didn’t attempt to give her comforting words or ask questions. She didn’t need comfort. This was something that needed to get out. When he finally found a place to park, they sat in the car until she felt ready to continue. Once composed, she nodded to him. He got her things out of the car, and they headed toward her new residence. The apartment was located in the art district a couple of blocks away from the arts center. Juliana couldn’t have been more excited about the neighborhood.

Moving wasn’t on her immediate radar. After she agreed to let him pay the rent a few months ago, he began looking. About a month later, he told her he found a place and wanted her to see it. Her “soon” and his “soon” were clearly not aligned. Things were happening way too fast, and she hadn’t prepared herself mentally. As she began to decline, something about that knee-jerk reaction made her feel like she had regressed to her scared little girl state. Being afraid was natural, but it wasn’t a reason to run away. She could be ready and scared simultaneously; that’s how her life in Willow Creek had been. She approached every obstacle with a timid boldness because she needed to overcome them, and this situation was no different. This plan had been in the works for so long, and she had no compelling reasons to stall, so she agreed.

The apartment was much too big and fancy just like Hillary said it would be. The hidden part of her that enjoyed nice things wanted to take it, but the practical part knew it was insane. Living there would put her in the position she did not want to be in. She wanted a place she could afford without Kevin’s money. Though she had come to terms with his generosity, she didn’t want to depend on him. Taking that apartment would be a fiscal suicide. She’d never have money to play with. And, forget about saving. Kevin would proudly swoop to save the day, but she did not want that to happen.

They saw three apartments in the same month, but they didn’t feel like home. It took Kevin a while to find the one, and when he did, she knew immediately. He thought it was small, but it was perfect. The apartment had a roommate floorplan with a third room across the hall from the master bedroom. It looked the same size as the upstairs bathroom at Umbrage Manor, so it couldn’t have been a third bedroom. It could only be a nursery or an office, but Juliana saw the perfect studio. The kitchen was so spacious, she could do some serious entertaining if she wanted to. A half-wall separated the dining area and tiny living room. Though small, it was perfect for a single person.

The place needed a little TLC. Kevin didn’t like it because he couldn’t see past the worn wallpaper and Berber carpet. Juliana saw its potential. And, she kinda liked the carpet. The landlord gave them permission to fix it up, and Kevin jumped at the chance despite it not being his decision to make. She had plans to make it her own anyway and didn’t mind the intrusion.

Between renovating the apartment, and getting ready for the grand opening, the last two months had been hectic. In the midst of the busyness and chaos, Juliana had so much fun. Kevin took her to what felt like every store in Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, and Newcrest to find the perfect furnishings for her first apartment. His silence surprised her as she was so used to him inserting himself into her decisions. After all, it was her apartment. She picked everything out, and he paid for it. One time, however, he did persuade her to make a different decision. She needed a table and chairs for the dining area. It didn’t make sense to crowd that space, and she wanted a small set. Why would she need more than that for just herself? But, in Kevin-like fashion, he convinced her to get a large set.

“Come on, Juliana! What if you want to have all your friends over? Or, what if Hillary decides to have Sunday dinner at your place one week? I know you don’t think you’ll be entertaining much, but you’re Little Miss Popularity now!”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Kevin.”

She got the table though. The carpet got replaced with hardwood, and the wallpaper was ripped away and replaced with paint and crown molding. Though Kevin wouldn’t be living there, shopping and planning with him felt good, and she had more fun than she expected. In the future, when they would go through this process again for a house they would purchase together, would it still be fun? Would he be more opinionated? He let an interior designer decorate his current house, so he’d probably give her the same autonomy. As intriguing as that thought was, thinking about doing it all again in future stressed her out. Being married to Kevin and living together in a gorgeous home with their family was a beautiful thought, but it could wait. She had adventures in the city to conquer.

“Well…here we are,” he said, waiting for her to unlock the door.

She had been in the apartment many times and saw the furniture when she directed the movers on where to put it. But, standing in the doorway looking at her place all put together felt like seeing it for the first time. Everything came together beautifully, but the bare walls made it look so plain. Still, decorating was the least of her worries. She had plenty of time to paint marvelous works and put her mark on the apartment.

“I can’t believe I’m here.”

Kevin grinned. “Are you happy?”

It didn’t feel real, but she felt so warm inside. “I don’t know what I am.”

“That good, huh?” He chuckled. “Do you want to unpack, or do you want to celebrate?”

“Unpack, then celebrate.”

“Want some help?”

She shook her head. “Relax.” She gestured toward the living room and took her bag to the master bedroom with the biggest smile on her face. Living on her own still felt weird, but commanding her first guest to enjoy himself felt amazing. She in no way owned the apartment but still felt the pride of ownership. Before her birthday, she pondered what this new decade of life would bring and anticipated amazing experiences in the future. Moving was one of them. Over and over she attempted to imagine what it would feel like, but nothing came close to the overwhelming feelings of pride, joy, and even shock she had at that moment.

Juliana - Chapter 135 Moving Forward - The time has finally come. Juliana is moving out! Saying goodbye will be hard, but she is looking forward to adventures in the city. Note: Hey guys! Before we get started, I think I should give you a heads up. Most of you know this story is quickly approaching the end!

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houseofvans · 8 years ago

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ART SCHOOL | HYDEON (Brooklyn, NY)

Visual artist and designer Ian Fergurson aka HYDEON is known for his simple monochromatic black and white works, often featuring old gothic buildings, Colonial style witches, and eye catching installations and murals. Not only one thing, Ferguson was most recently employed as a silk screen printer an wallpaper company, until his works were purchased by a private collector in the summer of 2017, launching his art career. We’re really excited to chat with Ian about his art journey, his works and processes, as well as a mural he completed on the 69th floor of 4 World Trade Building.

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Can you tell folks a little about yourself? We’re always curious about artist handles, sometimes there is a good story behind it, just curious what’s the significance of @hydeon? My name is Ian Ferguson. I’m a visual artist and designer living and working in Brooklyn, NY. I work out of my home studio. I’ve been publishing my work under the name Hydeon for about 15 years now. The name Hydeon is partially derived from the avant-garde animated series Æon Flux which aired on MTV in the 90’s. Eon Flux became a nickname I had in Middle School. My friends at the time would call me Flox or Eon or both. Years later when I was in college studying graphic design In the early-mid 2000’s I wanted to have an alias to sign my work under as a way to create my own unique identity and branding. I used the Eon part from my nickname in middle school and added the Hyd part in front of it. It can be pronounced two different ways, It can be like “Hid-Ian”, or “Hide-Ian”. The idea is that my own name is hidden within the alias.

When did you first get into drawing, and what were you drawn too? How did your early interest evolve into something more? I grew up in a family of artists in San Diego, CA. I was born in 1985. My mom had me drawing very early before I could hold a pencil on my own. She would hold my hand with the pencil or brush and help me make drawings and paintings. I must have been 2 years old maybe when she started teaching me, I’m not entirely sure. My earliest memory of creative inspiration that really spoke to me was seeing the work of M.C. Escher. I was absolutely obsessed with his work as a child. One of my first ever art exhibits I ever saw was an M.C. Escher exhibit at the San Diego Museum of Art. All throughout my youth I was always making art. I was obsessed with drawing and how it would make me feel. It always seemed to calm me down and I was eventually able to discover a form of meditation through it. I grew up skateboarding as well, wearing Vans, hiking and going to the beach, classic Southern California activities. Through skateboarding my influences in art and music evolved. The drawings and paintings I grew up making would eventually evolve into designing posters for shows. I think thats where I got the initial start into my career. Everything seemed to stem from making the posters. My first ever art show was a group show on skateboard decks in 2003 at King Cassius Gallery in San Diego.

Having attended Art Institute of California, San Diego, what was your experience with art school, and what was your experience after art school as an artist? Did you find the transition difficult, challenging, easy, and/or just totally off the rails? My experience at AI-SD overall was positive. I met some amazing friends there and that was the best part of it. I studied graphic design so almost everything I did in college involved a computer. Once I figured out the Adobe programs I just wanted to get through school and do my own thing.

My career transition after college was very textured and difficult. I had moved to Seattle in 2006 right after school to explore the mountains, forests, music, and art scene there. I was hoping to land a design job up there with my new degree, but It never really panned out and the school couldn’t really help much with jobs because I was out of state. I ended up working mostly at a thrift store and would just do art and music on the side. After several years in Seattle I had a crazy mental breakdown at the thrift store I was working at and shortly after that I got some help and was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. I fled back to San Diego for a few months to get some sun and just chill out at home. During that period I worked at an art store in downtown San Diego for about 6 months.

After that I felt a strong magnetic pull to move to Chicago and explore the architecture, art, and music scene there. I figured I would have more opportunity in a bigger city and I knew I wanted to live outside of California. I saved up money at the art store and moved to Chicago. I tried to get a design job there, but It wasn’t working out so I quickly ended up working as a full time cashier at a grocery store. I did that for a while until I completely burned out on the register and they fired me. I was able to get unemployment, so I took advantage of it and hustled my art as hard as a could with the time I had. After that I worked a weird retail shoe stocking job, worked at a fast food chain, and did bike messaging in the loop. I basically took whatever job I could get to support myself on a basic level and then just hustled my art and design stuff as much as possible on the side. I started doing allot of shows and after a while I had built up a little success in Chicago but It wasn’t until I moved to NYC in 2014 that everything really changed and I started having significant success with my work.

Often times artists are not only ONE thing, each juggles art and or is making a real effort to hustle at it? How do you balance art and life? What is your other hustle and how does that factor into what you do? Good question. As I mentioned in the previous question I had many different types of jobs I would do to support myself so I could do my art. When I moved to NYC in 2014 I landed a job working as a silk screen printer for Flavor Paper, an amazing wallpaper company in collaboration with the Warhol foundation. This was the first real art job I’ve ever got and the best job I have ever had. I worked there for about two and a half years full time making hand silk screen wallpaper and then hustling my art on the side.

It wasn’t until just this past summer of 2017 that I had a career breakthrough with my work. I sold a giant painting to a private collector in Washington D.C. that had discovered me on Instagram. This was the sale that changed everything for me. I was able to quit my job at Flavor Paper and work entirely for myself. I work every single day for myself now. It’s the most gratifying feeling. It feels more than a full time job, it’s a full time commitment and a lifestyle. I’m always working. Aside from doing drawings and paintings for gallery shows I do commission work involving anything from murals to branding design and illustration work. I’ve also been collaborating with Brazilian fashion brand 1994. and an NYC based fashion brand The Very Warm. Flavor Paper has also released my first wallpaper pattern “Brownstoner” which has been a great success.

How would you describe the black-and-white works you create? Amongst the various things you illustrate, buildings and old style victorian structures play a role. How did this come about? I became fascinated with old world gothic architecture and the victorian era around 2009 when I first left the west coast and visited Chicago and New York for the first time. Seeing the brownstones and old gothic buildings in both cities really impacted me in a significant way. I fell in love with these types of buildings. They have a romantic historical quality to them that makes me feel transported back in time to another world. I feel a deep connection of energy in them and it makes me feel good, its a beautiful feeling. I had never really seen buildings like this before I came out to these cities. I have always done black and white work, but started working exclusively in black and white about a year ago. I felt like I needed a break from color for a while to just focus on the simplicity of monochromatic work. I love the quality of black and white and the versatility of it. You can put a black and white piece in almost any home or environment and it will look good. Black and white doesn’t fight any other colors, its its own thing. I’ve recently been doing color work again and loving it, but will always keep the black and white pieces going.

Do you keep a sketchbook for ideas or do you find yourself just sitting down, hitting the paper off to the races, so to speak? Sometimes and it’s a little bit of both! I keep a few different sketchbooks of various sizes. I like to go to cafes and parks and chill and sketch out ideas when I have them. I ride my bike everywhere and find allot of inspiration while riding the bike or running. I get allot of inspiration from my environment and life experience so I like to wait for the inspiration to hit me and then act on it with the sketchbook. Often times I use basic computer printer paper to sketch out final ideas before they go to nice paper, canvas, or wood panel.

Who were some of your artistic influences? Some of my absolute favorite artists and influencers are: Marcel Dzama, Thomas Campbell, Tim Kinsella, Cleon Peterson, M.C. Escher, Mamma Anderson, Henry Darger, Ed Templeton, Toulouse Lautrec, Andrea Joyce Heimer, Pitseolak, Egon Schiele, Danny Fox, and More..

What are your top 5 art materials to work with? Faber-Castell PITT artist pens Ticonderoga HB #2 pencils Bic Black Ballpoint Pen Montana Paint markers OR Molotow Paint markers (both are great!) Golden Acrylics

You recently installed your work at 4 World Trade Center as well as created a mural in the East Village? How did this project come about? What was the best part of the overall experience? The World Trade Center mural happened through my good friend Joohee Park AKA Stickymonger. We both show at this gallery in the financial district of Manhattan called World Trade Gallery, which is a gallery affiliated with the WTC.

The gallery had access to the 69th floor of 4 World Trade and asked a number of artists to do murals on the floor. Stickymonger was really the catalyst for me getting into the tower. She’s an amazing artist and a very good friend of mine. The experience working in the tower was absolutely amazing and beautiful. There were several nights where I got to work up there entirely alone on the 69th floor. It was just me and my music and jamming away on my mural. The experience was ethereal seeing the whole city glowing from above with 360 degree views. I felt like I was on top of the world and the mural came out fantastic. I did a black and white architectural motif of New York City with the Hudson River as the floor and the Palisades on the other wall.

My mural covered an entire corridor of the Woman’s bathroom. It was one of the only spaces left for a mural and no one wanted it, so I jumped on it! I loved the whole experience and everyone took good care of me throughout the process. I met some amazing people through that project, one of which was curator Joshua B. Geyer who eventually asked me to do the mural in the East Village which was apart of the Centre-Fuge Public Art Project.

What would your dream collaboration be like? Oh wow! I have allot of ideas for this one, but I would love to do a collaborative drawing with Marcel Dzama sometime.

What are your favorite Vans? The Sk8-Hi all the way!

What advice would you give someone thinking about art as a career? Really dive deep within yourself and make sure you love doing it first. Then decide if you’re willing to make the full commitment. Consider it a lifetime investment and learn to trust and believe in yourself against all odds. Be ready and willing to take big risks at any given moment. Always be prepared to take criticism of all sorts, good or bad. Know that a career in art takes allot of time, allot of hard work, and a 100% commitment and belief in yourself. Be willing to network and expose yourself to the art world. Explore as many galleries/museums as possible. Always do your absolute best work, put everything you have into it, experiment, take chances, and never give up. Celebrate every success no matter how big or small and eventually if you work hard enough and you believe in yourself, you will be able to achieve your goals. Anything is possible.

What are you looking forward to the rest of this year and beginning of next? For the remainder of 2017 I’ll be working on large scale works in color on paper and canvas. I’m going camping soon with my family in Joshua Tree where I hope to discover some fresh insight and inspiration. I’ll be showing new work at Spoke Art NYC in March 2018 for a really amazing group show. I have a few other things lined up but thats about it for now.

Who is an artist you’d like to see on Art School one day? Lala Abaddon !

Follow Hydeon: Instagram | Vimeo | Website

#Art #Vans Art #Vans #Ian Ferguson #HYDEON #painting #ink #mural #nyc #brooklyn artist #art school #interview

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