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animeniacss · 5 years ago

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A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyng x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 12 - Friday Night Approaches

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 4.6k words

Chapter 12 - Friday Night Approaches

“Hyung?”

“And he just asks her out, practically in front of the whole class! That was so inappropriate, don’t you think, Jungkook?”

“Uh-huh…” The poor boy had been sitting on Taehyung’s couch for about an hour. He arrived as soon as Taehyung got off of work that day, excited for his first meeting with his new mentor. He wasn’t sure what he was going to expect, but he did not expect it to be this. Jungkook held a manila folder in his grasp, lips pursed together as he watched the black-haired teacher storm back and forth before him.

“I knew it. God, maybe I should call his boss about how inappropriate he was, maybe that’ll teach them.”

“Didn’t she say not to get involved in her business? You think that will solve it?”

“How will she know it was me who called? I won’t give them my name.” Taehyung seemed a little too proud of his logic, putting his hands on his hips. Jungkook blinked, staring up at his Hyung, confusion etched all over his features. “…What?”

“Hyung…you’re the only one who seems bothered about this. Why would Mr. Kim call his boss on himself, and why wouldn’t she do it if she’s upset that it happened? Why would she have even said yes if she didn’t want to go? Her friend, Hoseok-Hyung doesn’t seem to be this passionate about it.” Taehyung crossed his arms, brows furrowed together in annoyance.

“Yes, he is. I saw it in his eyes, he’s just too nice to say anything.”

“Uh…uh-huh.” Jungkook leaned back on the couch. “Wasn’t she mean to you just a few weeks ago? Why do you suddenly care?”

“Well yeah, but…well, we’re not fighting anymore. At least I don’t think…” Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, and Jungkook felt his shoulders slump when Taehyung continued his frantic pacing back and forth in front of the couch. “Besides, whether she hated me or not, Namjoon is creepy. I’m just trying to protect her.”

“…Mr. Kim is my boss.” Jungkook hummed. Taehyung groaned.

“So, you’re biased.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Jungkook said. “Mr. Kim is really nice and probably too awkward for his good. He has a good son and is a good father. He has a good job and is well respected. I think you should just let her go on the dates and figure it out for herself.” Jungkook watched Taehyung cross his arms and hum. “…Unless you-.”

“What? Unless I what, Jungkook?” Taehyung asked, eyes darting in the younger boy’s direction. When he saw the boy jump just slightly, he blinked. “…Sorry.” A playful smirk formed across the younger boy’s face, and that made Taehyung feel a world of uneasy. Why was he smirking?

“Nothing. Now-.” Taehyung saw Jungkook push a manila envelope in his direction. “Will you finally look at my work?” Taehyung sighed, nodding as he took the folder from him. Taehyung plopped on the couch beside him, and Jungkook shimmed over just slightly to offer him some room.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, you’re right. I appreciate you letting me vent about your boss for an hour.” He hummed, and Jungkook only chuckled a bit. “Let’s see what we got here…” When Taehyung flipped open the manila envelope, he was expecting some decent, yet still pretty amateur works. He was expecting colors to be mixed adequately, maybe some smudging or poor color choices. Something he could work on. Just ….

…something…

When Taehyung opened the folder and looked at the first picture inside, it felt as if Taehyung had been transported to a beautiful serene lake in the middle of spring, somewhere secluded, like the countryside or a foreign land. The colors were muted, but still noticeable. The peaks of the mountains in the distance were beautifully pointy, not a drop of paint was out of place. The lake was so crystal clear, Taehyung had to double-take that he didn’t see his reflection. This painting was…stunning.

Taehyung lifted his head, expression still of shock and confusion, as he stared at the kid before him. Jungkook blinked, seemingly nervous – why the fuck was he nervous – about what Taehyung had to say. Taehyung sighed, flipping to the second picture in his portfolio. This one looked as if it has been drawn with only colored pens, but it was once again a vision. A shadowy man stared back at him, only a few features heavily decorated with color to bring out his eyes, nose contour, or the scar the dragged red pen eerily down his left eye. Taehyung had to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

“What do you think?” he heard Jungkook asked. Taehyung looked in his direction.

“What do I think? I think you’re fucking with me.” Taehyung handed Jungkook back the folder. Almost immediately, he took it, the younger-looking confused, more so than he had all evening. “You think I’m a joke or something?”

“What? N-no, of course not!” He gasped.

“Your art is leagues better than mine and you want me to mentor you? I don’t buy it.” Jungkook flipped open the folder once again, and Taehyung heard a frantic whimper emit from the boy’s mouth. Finally, he held up the mountain painting again.

“Like I said at the art festival, Hyung. I just paint it. You paint.”

“I still have no fucking idea what that means.” Taehyung huffed.

“Everything I’ve ever seen you do, from your big canvases to your tiny sketches, you do with passion. I don’t…I don’t have that. I just paint, I just put things together. It looks nice, I guess, but if someone looked at this, what would they think? ‘It’s pretty?’, ‘He’s talented?’ I got into your artwork because it tells a story, that’s what inspired me to do my paintings. But when I did….” Taehyung watched Jungkook plopped the picture down onto the folder again. “I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel pride or passion, and that’ll convey in my work. You say so yourself all over social media that your emotions tell a story.”

“…I do, don’t I?” Taehyung leaned back in his seat and groaned. “So, you…want me to teach you how to be passionate?”

“Mhm.” Jungkook nodded, as eager as ever. Taehyung had to admit, Jungkook was too hard to resist with that little doe-eyed stare. He couldn’t believe this was happening, he had no idea how to teach someone how to find their passion, he just had no idea!

“Okay, I guess I don’t have much else to lose.” He huffed. He could see Jungkook beam a little smile in excitement. “I have no idea when I’m going to be free, though. Maybe weekends?”

“Sure. I usually know far in advance when Mr. Kim needs me to babysit Kai, so I can work around that.” Taehyung nodded. “I look forward to working with you.” He said happily. Taehyung couldn’t help but smile a bit at his little friend.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Jungkook watched Taehyung get off the couch and make his way towards the kitchen. “Let me grab us something to drink.” He hummed, before disappearing behind the entranceway. Jungkook scanned the room, the sound of distant water running on the sink the only real noise he could hear. Jungkook stood up, walking towards the walls that were decorated with all of Taehyung’s finished canvases. They added so much clutter to the room, yet so much color and personality. Jungkook couldn’t help but admire each one that his eyes fell upon.

“He is something, isn’t he?” Jungkook mumbled to himself. As his eyes continued to scan, they landed on his desk, as dirty as ever. Multiple paintbrushes poked out from a white mug, which held down a stack of scattered papers. “Wow…” Jungkook walked over, sticking his hands in his pockets as he leaned in to get a closer look. When he did, he noticed a smaller piece of paper resting on the top of his most current stack of progress. When he got a closer look, he noticed a familiar face doodled on one of the pictures. He noticed two space buns, wrapped in uncolored ribbon. He noticed a smile spreading ear to ear and eyes dotted with excitement and wonder.

He noticed you, and quite frankly, he didn’t expect to.

“Aw…” He pursed his lips. Just as he lifted his hand to pick up the paper, he heard a voice.

“Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?” When Jungkook looked up, he saw Taehyung walking in his direction, two cups of water in his hands. Jungkook could see he wasn’t pleased with how he caught Jungkook.

“Sorry, I just got distracted looking around,” Jungkook muttered sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. Taehyung sighed, simply passing Jungkook the cup, which he took quickly. “…I saw your drawing of-.”

“Why are you snooping?” Taehyung asked again.

Jungkook avoided the question with a smile. “It looks nice. Just like her too. Is it a present for her?”

“What? No way.” An annoyed Taehyung lifted the cup of water to his mouth, sipping the contents down eagerly. Jungkook pursed his lips. “It’s just something I made.”

“I think she would like it.”

“No, she wouldn’t. She would probably think I was weird.”

“Why would she?” Jungkook paused after his initial question. Then, a grin formed on his face, one Taehyung was starting to realize he wasn’t too big of a fan of the more he saw it.

“You’re making that face again.” Taehyung hissed, eyes narrowing.

“I knew it. You like her, don’t you?” He asked. Taehyung, at that moment, wanted to die. He wanted to curl up in a ball and hide away from the rest of the world. He never wanted to come back out into the world. Just as Jungkook said that another deep voice hit the back of his mind like a vicious drum.

Do you have a crush on her or something?

“Like her? Jungkook, come on? I know I didn’t know you a few months ago, but she wasn’t the nicest to me for the longest time.”

“And you return the favor of constant verbal abuse through drawing a stunning picture that identifies all of her best features?” Jungkook snorted. “You don’t hold a grudge long, do you?”

As Jungkook finally took a sip of his drink, Taehyung felt his eyebrow twitch. “You damn brat.”

“I’m just saying. If you like her, it’s very obvious.”

“I don’t like her. Not in the way you think, anyway. Stop minding other people’s business, and that’s the last time I’m going to tell you.” Jungkook’s devilish smile diminished into a pout, and he nodded.

“Right…sorry, Hyung.” He said. Taehyung sighed, trying to hide his blush behind the glass cup he pressed between his lips. It didn’t work.

“It’s fine, just forget it.” He huffed. “So, do you plan to stay for dinner? Because I’m ordering pizza.”

“Oh no. My mom wants me home tonight. I’m behind on my homework and she doesn’t want me out of the house until it’s done.”

Taehyung blinked, raising an eyebrow. “So…how did you end up here?” Once again, that devilish grin formed on the younger boy’s face.

“I snuck out.” He said. Taehyung stood up, slapping the boy on the shoulder as he began to laugh. “I know, I know. I don’t do it often, but I wanted to come and see you as soon as I could to make sure you’d take me on.”

“I’m not taking you on anything until you catch up on your studies, you little punk!” Taehyung snapped, nudging Jungkook once again as he grinned. “Get home and catch up on your studies, they’re important, you know.”

“I know, I know. Okay, I’m going.” Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh as he was shoved towards the door by Taehyung. “Bye, Hyung.” He grinned.

“Yeah, get home safe,” Taehyung said, waving the boy off as he headed down the hallway. Taehyung closed the door, locking it before walking towards his kitchen and tossing himself into one of the chairs. Slowly, he lowered his head onto the table and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m turning into my mother…” he mumbled silently to himself, dread washing over him at the thought. As that thought came and went into his mind, yet another was sure to follow right behind it.

Jungkook was probably right, and that thought was beginning to piss him off.

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“What are you going to wear?” Hoseok asked, poking his head up from the yellow table in the room that he was currently scrubbing violently with soap and water. You glanced over at him, tugging your hair back so it did not cover your eyes.

“Wear? I have no idea.” You said simply.

“Well, where is he taking you?”

“He said to dinner. He made reservations at a nice place.”

“Oooh? Where?” You could hear that Hoseok sounded like he was forcing the conversation just slightly. It annoyed you whenever he would do this.

“He said it’s a surprise.” He had told you over the phone last night, but with Hoseok being this pushy, you had no intention of sharing that information with him. A childish whine emanated from his lips, but he knew you stood your ground, and thus, stopped pestering. “Why do you care anyway? You have your own life, Hobi.”

“I know, I just like being in the know about things, I guess.”

“I know. You always have.” You huffed, earning a giggle from your friend. “If you are so curious, then I’ll tell you Monday morning.”

“What?! Not even Friday night? I have to wait for the entire weekend?” The disbelief in his voice made you have to cover your mouth for a laugh, especially when he whined your name. “Oh come on, now, I don’t have to deal with children in this room for another 20 minutes, so don’t go all actor Hoseok on me.” Hoseok huffed, putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay, fine, you win.” He said. You watched as he walked towards the cabinet in the far-left corner of the room, storing away the cleaning supplies for later.

“Can you do me a favor? Maybe it’ll speed time up for you.” You hummed. Hoseok turned to you as you collected a stack of hastily put together works, handing it to him. “Can you hang up these crafts? Taehyung made them earlier this week and the kids wanted them up on the bulletin board outside. I thought we could surprise them with it.”

“Sure. But only for a price.” Hoseok said. Your eyebrow cocked in confusion as to what he meant by price. “I get to take you on a date too~.” He grinned.

“A date? Hmmm…how about we do dinner, wine, and movies on Friday night soon? Like old times?” You asked. Hoseok’s lips tugged together in a tight line as he thought about it, before finally nodding.

“Deal.” You passed him the crafts, and Hoseok spun on his heel, heading out the door towards the bulletin board outside of the room. He quickly got to work making room to hang up their glued together rainbows and cotton-ball clouds, which they made in anticipation of the middle of the week thunderstorms. Hoseok began stapling projects up, humming a little tune as he worked.

He was so in his world, that he began thinking about Friday. He did have a plan, he normally did if they were not with you, but that wasn’t the point. You never knew how much your date nights killed him on the inside, how much more alone he felt, knowing you were with another guy, laughing and smiling arm and arm. It killed him just to think about, which is why he busied his schedules those nights as much as he could. Your nights with him were fun, and meant the world to him, but were few and far between due to your heavy workloads. Anytime you spent together outside of the building was usually to plan lessons, create manipulatives and handouts, or plan exciting events. Anytime with you with good for him, though, he had no room to complain when you were by his side.

Hoseok was so in his world, that he didn’t hear the sound of a deep voice approaching until the word “HYUNG?!” right in his ear made him jump six feet in the air. When he looked over his shoulder, Taehyung was standing there, a concerned look on his face. “You okay? You were spacing out.”

“Oh yeah, just in my world.” Hoseok chuckled a bit. “Did you need something?”

“What are you doing Friday night?” Taehyung asked curiously. Hoseok blinked.

Is this kid reading my mind?

“Oh uh, well I have dinner plans with my older sister,” Hoseok said. He saw Taehyung’s shoulders slump. “Sorry, why? Something up?”

“No. I just wanted to make plans with someone.”

“Aww, I’m sorry. Next time, okay?” Hoseok grinned, turning to pat Taehyung on the shoulder. Taehyung nodded. “Good, I’ll clear my schedule.” Hoseok immediately turned back to the bulletin board. “They look cute hung up, don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah.” Taehyung scanned the entire bulletin board as it began to get filled up with colorful rainbows and puffy clouds. “It looks really cute. I’m glad she agreed to hang them up over here.” Hoseok nodded in agreement. Then, he watched Taehyung squeeze by him, making his way into your classroom.

You were busy cleaning up the final parts of the room when Taehyung walked in. You smiled, tucking hair behind your ear. “Morning.” You said happily.

“Hey.” Taehyung hummed, smiling a bit. “I uh…just wanted to apologize about getting in your business yesterday. Not sure what’s come over me, heh…” You chuckled.

“It’s whatever. I appreciate the apology though, and I’m sure your intentions are only good.” Taehyung nodded, and you chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Just…mind your business, okay?” You teased, and Taehyung had to chuckle. There was a moment of silence that fell over you two until you clapped your hands against your dress. “Okay! Well, I need to finish setting up, so-.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I’ll go.” Taehyung nodded, waving his hand before leaving you alone in the room. When he stepped out, he waved to Hoseok before heading into his room and closing the door behind him. When he was alone in his room, he let out a soft sigh.

He wasn’t sorry about getting into her business, but he would be damned if he let their relationship sour once again because of his idiocy.

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Taehyung sat lazily on his couch, his limbs sprawled out as far as they would allow, one draped over the back of the couch while the other rested down the side and onto the floor. His feet were propped up on the other end, swaying back and forth as if they had a mind of their own. Taehyung knew tonight was the night Namjoon had finally succeeded in landed a date with you, and ever since he knew about it, he was dreading the day. The day finally arrived, and all he felt was an immense sense of jealousy and annoyance. He didn’t care about Namjoon, no matter what Jimin said about him or how kind and well-raised his son seemed to be. He was pushy and clingy and it wasn’t cute, at least not to him. But you didn’t seem to want to hear it, brushing off Taehyung’s concerns as nothing but a fit of ridiculous jealousy. That’s what all his friends said it was, but it still hurt! The lonely single held a beer tightly in his hand that rested on the floor, only raising it to bring the opening of the can to his lips and take a sip. Everyone was busy tonight, everyone except for Taehyung. He didn’t even have the inspiration to throw himself into his work, his works in progress remaining in progress, and most likely will for the rest of the night.

I should probably do something to get my mind off of it. He thought to himself. Groaning, Taehyung ripped himself off of the couch, running his hand through his hair as he walked to his desk. He plopped himself down on the chair and scanned the piles of various doodles. His hand landed on top of them gently, spreading them out so that he could get a better view. As he scanned his work, the multiple doodles he had done of you over the past few weeks had felt as if he was staring back. They were nothing amazing, nothing groundbreaking, but every time he saw them, he felt a bit happier. As he rested back in his seat, he heard a faint vibrating noise coming from his coffee table. Spinning around, he saw his phone, glowing and shaking as it desperately called for Taehyung to come to pick it up. He was quick to oblige, leaning forward and grabbing ahold of his phone. As he did, a familiar face showed up on the caller ID. Hoseok-Hyung, squished between two sun emojis, flashed on top of a picture of Hoseok and Taehyung that Jimin had taken at the art show. Hoseok and Taehyung had found some paper mâché masks at one of the vendor spots and had put them on with childlike excitement. Taehyung quickly answered the call.

“Hello?” He hummed.

“Want to go get dinner?” Hoseok’s voice hummed on the other end.

“Dinner? I thought you had plans tonight with your sister.”

“I did. She had to reschedule last minute. She was called into work to fix something with her fashion line.” Hoseok explained. “She already made the reservation for two at a restaurant near me, so she said I could still use it. So, I thought I would invite you. I don’t want to eat alone, hehe.”

“Uhm….” Taehyung looked over at the clock on the wall. It was already close to 9 p.m. It was just now that Taehyung realized he was starving. Alcohol didn’t seem to count as dinner for him, did it? “Can you give me fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah! I’ll send the address and wait outside for you. See you soon~.”

“Bye, Hyung,” Taehyung said before he heard his friend hang up. Taehyung spun back around to his sea of pictures and pencil stacks just staring at him in the face. He wasn’t sure how long he had done that, but he felt his stomach grumble again, and he finally got up and went into his room to make himself look somewhat presentable.

Hopefully, this would be enough to take his mind off of everything else.

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“Taehyung! Over here!” Hoseok shouted, his high-pitched voice piercing through the crowd of people lingering in and around the restaurant’s entrance. Taehyung fixed his jacket just slightly as he approached his friend.

“Hope I’m not late.” He said. “The train was a few minutes behind schedule.” Hoseok shrugged.

“Not a problem. Hope you’re hungry.” With a friendly, yet firm pat on the shoulder, Taehyung was led into the restaurant with his Hyung. The restaurant was stunning, brightly lit by tons of massive chandeliers that covered the entirety of the tall ceilings. Archways led guests into different areas of the establishment, each one even more than the last. As Taehyung looked around, he saw beautiful women adorning stunning dresses and jewels, while the men wore freshly pressed suits and shoes. Taehyung felt as if he was back at Mr. Oh’s art show, just by looking at the people there. This was most likely where people like that got together, and honestly, it was extremely intimidating. He watched as Hoseok followed the hostess, both of them chatting. Taehyung kept his hands in his pockets as he followed silently, his teeth chewing on the inside of his bottom lip a bit.

“Here you are.” The hostess said, motioning to their elegant booth. Taehyung and Hoseok thanked the man before they slid into the booth. Taehyung continued to look around, and Hoseok smiled.

“You look overwhelmed.” He said.

“I didn’t think we’d be going somewhere this elaborate. How can you afford this on your teacher’s salary?”

“My sister made the reservation, I said. She’s made a pretty big name for herself on Instagram with her fashion line.”

“Oh wow,” Taehyung said. “I never knew that.”

“She doesn’t like me talking about it too much,” Hoseok admitted.

“I feel like you’re trying to ask me out with this.” Taehyung joked, and Hoseok laughed.

“Noooooo.” Hoseok hummed. “I didn’t offer to pay for your half after all.” When he saw Taehyung’s eyes go extremely wide, he began to laugh. “I’m kidding.”

“Thank God. I doubt I could’ve ever afforded anything. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much money in my life.” Hoseok chuckled as the waiter approached once again, filling both of their glasses with some sparkling water before offering them menus. He greeted himself, shared off the specials, and then left them alone to make their decisions for a few moments. Taehyung skimmed the page of options with wide eyes, unsure what he should pick. There weren’t many options, but everyone left his mouth-watering from the description below. By the time he finally made a decision and set his menu down, Hoseok had already leaned back in his seat, fiddling with his glass of water.

“Know what you want?” He asked curiously. Taehyung nodded. “Awesome.” He grinned. The waiter approached their table a few moments later, a smile on his face as Hoseok and Taehyung prepared to share their orders. As Hoseok was sharing him, Taehyung looked around, still wanting to take in the breathtaking scenery before him. It felt as if he had stepped into a painting, and he couldn’t stop staring. He wasn’t staring at anything specific, just staring. However, as his eyes scanned the massive archway leading into their section of the restaurant, he caught a familiar sight. Behind the same hostess that had seated them, the six-foot-tall Kim Namjoon was strolling in. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing yet another pressed suit, much like all of the other men in the room, however, he was all black. The undershirt, the tuxedo jacket, even the tie. It was all black. Taehyung had to admit, even if it was only to himself, he looked pretty dashing. Kim Taehyung felt his ears boil a stinging red at the sight of the smug bastard, wanting to peel his eyes away the moment he laid his eyes on him.

However, as soon as he saw the lady on Kim Namjoon’s arm, his eyes refused to pull away even for a mere second to blink.

You were strolling beside Kim Namjoon, wearing a stunning white party dress. It fell to your knees, where it flared out into beautifully laid creases and folds. The top of the dress exposed the lovely necklace adorning your neck, as the dress’s sleeves were off the shoulder, wrapping around your arms. Your hair was out of its usual school bun or ponytail. It was the first time he had to seem your full head of hair, how lovely it flowed down your back, and framed your face. He could see traces of light makeup on your face, which was pretty good since he was looking from a distance. As he took one final look over you, he saw your feet adorning white heels. That final look was enough to catch his entire breath in his throat.

You were an absolute vision, and he would be lying if he knew he wanted so badly to be the man on your arm.

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breeeliss · 8 years ago

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[Miraculous Ladybug]: The Perks of Being a Rich Kid

short commission i did for @leoqueen082 :)

fun fact: people really forget that these two kids are filthy rich and probably run in the same circles all the time. which makes for some interesting convos :P

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

Title: The Perks of Being a Rich Kid Pairings/Characters: Gen fic, Chloe & Alix Summary: Chloe and Alix bond after getting sent to the principal’s office

The Perks of Being a Rich Kid

Useful bit of information that Chloé learned today: there was a limit to how much trouble her last name was capable of getting her out of.

Which, seriously, how ridiculous was that? What was the sense of being the daughter of the most powerful man in Paris if she wasn’t going to be totally immune to punishment? She tried to explain that to her teacher but he didn’t seem to appreciate it very much because here Chloé was, getting sent to the principal’s office with a bag full of extra credit homework that was going to take her hours to do.

Sabrina really picked a horrible day to be home sick with the flu. Chloé had been doing her nails during history class this entire quarter and now she had to write a whole paper by Thursday.

To be fair, Chloé kinda toed the line a little close today. Not that she’d ever admit that to anyone other than her father who was going to love an explanation for the mess she’d gotten herself into. That was going to be a fun conversation. She wasn’t sure if her justifiable hatred for Marinette Dupain-Cheng was going to be enough to let her off the hook, and that was the real travesty of the day. Because seriously, this was all Marinette’s fault.

But whatever. At least Chloé got her revenge. Definitely worth potentially losing her credit card privileges over.

M. Damocles was busy scolding a student in his office while another three sat right outside the door awaiting their own lectures. Chloé snorted when she realized that one of them was Alix who was crouched over her handheld and growling at the video game she was playing while she waited. Well, that explained why she wasn’t in class last period.

It was funny that people complained so much about Chloé (almost) never getting in trouble because of who her father was. Alix got sent to the principal’s office at least four times a week and only ever left with a slap on the wrist because of who her father was.

Figures. M. Kubdel gave a monster of a donation to the school last year.

Chloé laid her jacket down on the floor and sat down next to Alix. “You know he’s going to confiscate that when he comes back out here, right?”

“Eh, I’m already up shit creek as it is, can’t possibly get any worse.” She waited until she was finished passing the level she was on before she looked up. “The more interesting story is the fall from grace you must have suffered to be sitting out here with us.”

Chloé rolled her eyes. “Don’t rub it in.”

“I can’t believe that the one time Chloé Bourgeois gets sent to the principal’s office, I miss it. Talk about shit luck. What’d you do? Curse out Mme. Mendeleiev because the lab goggles messed up your foundation?”

“Would you let that go?” Chloé glared. “And no, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yikes,” Alix laughed. “Who’d you kill?”

“No one. It was a brief altercation.”

“Brief my ass. You wouldn’t be here if it was brief. Spill.”

Chloé shifted. “I...may...have gotten into a fight with Marinette.”

“Yeah, dude, that happens like every five seconds.”

“No like an actual fight. Like I might have lunged over the desk and yanked at her pigtails.”

Alix’s head snapped back as she cackled loud enough for it to echo all the way down the hallway. “No you did not!! You catty maniac!!”

“She called me a soulless hag!” Chloé defended. “How was I not going to put my hands on her?”

“You need a therapist,” Alix suggested. “Like I’m talking thousands of euros in anger therapy. You’re a liability.”

“Screw you. What are you here for?”

Alix shrugged. “Rollerblading in the courtyard. Kim dared me. Couldn’t say no.”

“You mean you did it because you knew you wouldn’t get in trouble for it.”

Alix pointed in Chloé’s face. “Hey, Damocles is afraid of my father because he needs to keep the donations coming. You make him afraid of yours. Don’t lump me together with you.”

“Please, just admit it,” Chloé smirked. “You’re a rich kid with perks.”

“Of course I’m a rich kid with perks. You, on the other hand, are a rich, annoying, prissy, spoiled kid with perks. And guess who everyone hates?”

Chloé gasped. “No one hates me!”

Alix stared at her for a long moment. “Dude….do not start with me right now.”

“They don’t!” Chloé insisted. “They just….they’re jealous. Because I’m famous and Daddy gets me whatever I want.”

“God, I’m gonna vomit. Here, open your bag so that I don’t get it on the floor.”

“Gross!! Stop it!! You’re such a freak!!”

“You sat down and started talking to this freak so joke’s on you, my dude.”

Chloé pursed her lips. “Force of habit. Don’t read into it. Besides, what’s your excuse?”

Alix squinted her eyes and tilted her head. “It’s weird because you’re like ridiculously annoying and I kinda wanna run over your face about ninety percent of the time, but the other ten percent of the time you’re oddly entertaining. Like if I needed a good laugh, all I’d have to do is insult your contour.”

“My contour is immaculate!”

“See?”

“Shut up.”

Alix stuck out her tongue. “I will say: the level of shade you dish out during all those benefit parties we hate going to sustains me.”

Chloé smirked. Their fathers had been friends for years — long before M. Bourgeois got into politics and M. Kubdel became an art curator. That meant that every art exhibition, campaign fundraiser, charity gala, and Christmas party that either man decided to hold, you could bet that Chloé and Alix were both going to be there suffering through the entire thing with no one but each other for company. Alix told her that the momentary truce was worth listening to Chloé roast all the pathetically dull boys that always asked Chloé to dance, and Chloé had to admit that watching Alix threaten to scoop out old men’s eyeballs with a melon baller was quite satisfying.

“Daddy forces me to go to those parties because he wants me to be nice to the sons of all the politicians he tries to cozy up to,” Chloé shrugged. “Not that I don’t want to see him reelected, but I only have so much patience.”

Alix shrugged. “I think my mom just wants to see me in a dress for once. Everytime I shop in the boy’s section she has an aneurism. It’s great.”

Chloé nudged her. “Remember that time you panicked and invited me over to your house because you had to get ready for our New Years’ party and you had no idea how to do your makeup?”

“Um,” Alix glared, “the whole point of that momentary lapse of judgement was that we were never supposed to talk about it. Like ever. To no one.”

“Who doesn’t know how to put on mascara? I learned that when I was ten.”

“Not everyone sleeps with a Lanc ô me palette under their pillow, Chloé . But anyway. I had a point I was arriving at before you distracted me.”

“The anticipation is killing me.”

Alix ignored her sarcasm and waved her in closer so that the other students in the hallway wouldn’t hear them. “I have to ask because sometimes I think your stupidity is genuine and not you pretending to avoid conversations that bother you. You... do know that no one in class likes you, right?”

Chloé straightened her shoulders. “That’s not true. Adrien and Sabrina like me.”

“Sabrina doesn’t count, she’ll shine your shoes if it meant getting on your good side. And Adrien likes you because that kid’s got too much faith in the world and thinks you’re gonna do a huge turn around any day now. Everyone else low key wants to smash your face through a window everytime you so much as open your mouth.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

Alix lifted her hands. “Listen, I’m being honest with you. And I’m only telling you this because I happen to know that you’re not a total brat.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when we go to those parties? You’re like...not awful. You’re kinda tolerable to be around. I think it’s because there you’re not trying to impress anybody and here you’re forcing everyone to kiss the ground you walk on because you value your school reputation over all else. You try too hard and you come off as a total pain in the ass. It’s starting to seriously piss everyone off.”

Chloé blinked. That was a disturbingly thoughtful answer, especially coming from Alix. “Since when are people pissed off at me?”

Alix’s face fell. “Are you seriously that clueless?”

“If people were so mad about my behavior, they’d tell me,” Chloé reasoned. “Marinette’s the only one who hates me as far as I can tell.”

“That’s because Marinette’s a badass who isn’t afraid to say what everyone else is thinking,” Alix pointed out. “They just don’t want to say it themselves.”

“Why wouldn’t they want to say it?”

Alix rubbed her hands down her face and groaned, slapping her cheeks a little at the end. “Ahhh, okay, okay, you’re blonde so I guess I have to dumb this down for you.”

“Oh screw you!”

She snapped her fingers. “Okay. You know that Italian art collector that my dad invites to art exhibitions all the time? M. Fellini.”

Chloe pouted. “Not ringing a bell.”

“He’s the one that always sounds like he has a sinus infection.”

Chloe face lit up. “Oh my god, yes!”

The joke was fresh in their minds because they both pinched their noses, lifted their chins, and said “Ah, buonasera mademoiselles, don’t you just look lovely this evening!” before collapsing into laughter when they heard how ridiculous they sounded. Honestly, that never got old. Chloé was half tempted to tell her father to send him some cold medicine for Christmas.

Alix rubbed away the tears from her eyes. “Anyway. We can agree he’s a total asshole, right?”

“He’s an old, skeezy, misogynistic snob. Asshole is too tame an insult.”

“Everyone and their mother is on the same page as you,” Alix explained. “But no one ever says that to him. People either ignore him or keep being nice to him no matter how much they wanna punch his face in.”

“I’m assuming there’s a point in you bringing him up.”

“People don’t confront him about being a jerk because he’s one of the richest and most successful art curators in Italy. Insult him and you can say goodbye to doing any kind of meaningful work with him in. Which, in the art world, is social suicide. It’s the same with you.”

Chloé scowled. “You’re comparing me to that wrinkled old sack of broken dreams?”

“It’s a perfect comparison. You got Alya suspended for taking a picture and you tried to get Marinette arrested for supposedly stealing your bracelet. Like, come on dude. People are terrified of you.”

Chloé crossed her arms. “They both deserved that! Alya was invading my privacy and there’s still no proof that Marinette wasn’t involved in that whole bracelet nonsense.”

“And I’m assuming Marinette also deserved you attacking her in class today and that you sitting here is an injustice to humanity. Pretty sure Damocles and your dad are gonna totally side with you when they hear you put your hands on someone because she said something a little mean.”

Chloé looked down at her nails. “You’re being sarcastic…”

“Yeah no shit, queen bee,” Alix scolded. “Here’s a wild concept: if you want to make friends, you have to actually be nice to people. Crazy, I know! Life hack of the year!”

“I try to be nice to people!” Chloé said. “But you’ve got people like Marinette who — ”

“Nope,” Alix interrupted. “Stopping you right there. Marinette has never done anything to you. Marinette’s a freaking angel. She’s nice to everyone who’s nice to her back. The only reason you hate her is because she’s more popular than you are, so you overcompensate by trying to make yourself seem like you’re better than everyone else. Except that doesn’t make anyone want to be friends with you. That makes people wanna stay away from you.”

It was only because Alix lecturing Chloé was such a bizarre occurrence that Chloé stayed quiet and let her words sink in. She wanted to brush it off and assume that Alix was just over exaggerating the situation, but then Chloé remembered a conversation she had with Adrien during his first week of school. She warned him about how hard it was to make friends when you were as perfect, beautiful, and rich as they were because everyone was automatically jealous of your success. That was why it was so important for Chloé and Adrien to stick together because she thought he’d suffer the same fate she did. But Adrien was as quiet, polite, and soft hearted as he’d always been as a kid, and that seemed to have waltzed him straight into the hearts of everyone else in the class in a matter of days. Chloé hadn’t quite figured out how he did that or how she was supposed to follow in his footsteps.

Chloé had always been more abrasive than Adrien — louder, more sarcastic, and harder to get along with. Maybe that was the problem. Although, Alix seemed to do just fine on her end.

She flipped the questions around. “Well, how did you make friends?”

Alix shrugged. “It’s not like I tried. I don’t act different depending on the situation. I just am and people just come. Kim was my first friend because we loved competing with each other. Then Kim’s friends became my friends and it just kept going.”

“That’s what Adrien said…”

“That’s pretty much how everyone makes friends,” Alix said. “Putting people down to lift yourself up doesn’t make people starstruck by you. It just makes you seem like a bitch.”

Chloé sighed. “Daddy says that in politics, in order to win, you have to show how bad the other candidates are in order to make yourself seem better. That’s why people vote for you.”

“This isn’t politics. Making friends isn’t about crushing the competition. You just….act normal and find people that vibe with your flow. Like I said. You’re chill when you aren’t trying too hard.”

“Seriously?”

Alix grinned. “You’re surprisingly hilarious. You’re also an enabler and a bad influence, but that’s a check in my book. Gotta appreciate people who talk you into stealing a thousand euros worth of silverware just to see if you can get away with it.”

“Can’t believe you actually did that,” Chloé laughed.

“Hey, like I said. I can’t turn down a challenge.” She paused for a moment and nudged her foot against Chloé’s knee when she saw her growing quiet. “Hey. I’m not telling you this stuff to make you feel bad or anything. I’m just telling it to you straight. But I also think you can do a turn around and start being nicer to people and make more friends if you cared enough to. You’re stubborn enough to pull it off.”

Alix wasn’t the type of person to put in this much emotional labor into another person, and Chloé knew that the polite thing to do was to at least thank her. But the words felt awkward on her tongue and betrayed her inexperience, so she decided it was best to just not say anything for now. Instead, she followed up with a question that was bugging her. “Why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Dude,” Alix snickered. “You got sent to the principal's office . That’s like the turning point of the century. Might as well take advantage of the momentum and use it towards something productive.”

The door to M. Damocles’s office flung open before Chloé could say anything else, and the student he’d been speaking to slunk through the hall with his head down and a slip of paper crumpled up in his hands. Probably a letter for his parents to sign. “Mlle. Kubdel!” M. Damocles’s voice rang. “It’s your turn. Please come in.”

Alix winced as she collected her bag and stood on her feet. “Womp. Time to face the music. Wish me luck.”

“You know damn well you’re not going to get in any trouble.”

“Wow, fine, I’ll wish myself luck.” She held out her fist. “Hang in there, you frilly little nightmare. If you apologize and cry a lot he’ll probably go easy on you.”

Chloé gently tapped her fist against Alix’s and have her a crooked smile. “Alright.”

Alix gave her a short salute before throwing her arms wide and skipping into M. Damocles’s office as if she were greeting an old friend. Chloé shook her head fondly and tried to think of what excuse she was going to open up with before it was her turn to go inside and explain herself. If spontaneously bursting into tears was all it would take to walk away with nothing more than a stern warning, Chloé was fully prepared to polish off all those acting lessons she took when she was little.

She hummed to herself as she pulled out her phone and started typing out her script. “Turning point, huh?” she muttered. Chloé was pretty sure Alix didn’t mean for that to be a challenge, but for some reason Chloé wanted to treat it like one. Alix’s specialty was planting seeds in people’s heads and sitting back while she watched them try to pull off the impossible. Chloé could always resent the fact that Alix was trying to get in her head, but it would be much more satisfying to exceed the girl’s expectations just so she could shove it in her face.

If Chloe could convince Alix to sit still long enough to put eyeliner on her for a party, she could handle being nice for one day, right?

#miraculous ladybug #ml #chloe bourgeois #alix kubdel #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #my writing #the perks of being a rich kid

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liquorisce · 8 years ago

Text

Photograph (aka Put a name on it Part 3)

Pairing : Shishio Satsuki x Samejima Rating : T (Surprise, Surprise) Summary : This story is set before Shishio and Samejima start screwing, um, sorry, seeing each other. Part 1 | Part 2 | short extra For my darling Anon who requested protective Shishio. Forgive me if this isn’t what you had in mind.

When Shishio is restless, he taps his feet. Or smokes. Or does both. He isn’t agitated enough for a smoke, a little perplexed maybe, but his feet are starting to hurt with all the tapping. It’s ten minutes past seven, he’s finished his french toast, it’s not a problem for him per se - the school is only fifteen minutes away, and he’d make it with plenty of time to spare - but she should’ve been at his door at least twenty minutes ago, being impatient and helping him with his tie - of course it wasn’t couple like at all - and made it on to the train by now. Her workplace was a bit of a distance away and she preferred the lighter rush of the earlier trains. Today, the extra toast he had made - not for her of course, but just in case, because she never has the time to make breakfast - sat on the stove, untouched.

It’s not like it was a thing, but she hadn’t shown up last night for the 9 PM showing of F.R.I.E.N.D.S either. He didn’t expect her to come over, it’s not like they’d ever even talked about it or anything, but… It had slowly developed into a sort of natural routine that he hadn’t ever questioned, and now at the first break of that routine, he found himself worried and anxious. Had he said something that put her off? Had he offended her sensibilities somehow? It occurs to him that he’s bordering paranoid and maybe a little stalker-ish but upon checking Facebook, it tells him she was only active 15 hours ago. He could check on her of course, she literally lived right next door. But what if she was busy? What if she was avoiding him specifically? The last thing he wanted to do was be a bother and jeopardize a relationship with the first woman he genuinely cared about in six years. He heads out to the balcony for that smoke, because maybe he does need it now after all. Ruffling his hair in frustration, he wonders when exactly the equation had shifted, when it had grown from simply being neighbourly to something he now considered as a relationship. With a woman. That he cared about. It is somewhere amidst this confused introspection that he glances in the direction of her balcony. He squints a little, adjusts his glasses because he’s sure he can’t believe what he’s seeing. The sliding door to her balcony was slightly ajar, and a pale hand stretched out onto the floor. Before he could stop to think about a plausible explanation, or even some gruesome rationale, he had already discarded all neighbourly boundaries and swung into her balcony. And it was a good thing he did. She lay on the floor, paler than the white flooring, almost ghostly white against the dark, damp hair that stuck to her forehead. “… Samejima!” There was no use shaking her. Her body was like pallid marble set on fire. For a moment he felt somewhat guilty looking at her like this, where she was unconscious, vulnerable, her nightshirt having ridden up to expose the contours of her ribs. He tries, as delicately as possible, to hoist her into his arms without waking her. But his worries were baseless, her face showed no indication of any awareness at all. He is caught with more deliberation, as he hesitates outside her room, whispering, “Forgive me, Samejima,” for entering her room without permission. When he enters he is a little shocked, because her room is far from what he had imagined it to be. Not that he had imagined it of course, being in her room, with her, or anything else of that sort, but the chaotic mess in front of him was a sharp contrast to the image of her that his mind had construed. It is at this point that he starts to feel slightly unwelcome, because maybe there’s a reason she’s never invited him over, maybe there was something she didn’t want others to see. Hastily, he pushes the assortment of papers and clothes and god knows what else, on to the floor, and lays her down as gently as he can. She stirs slightly, when he covers her with the blanket, her body stretching to accommodate the warmth. There’s a kind of staccato about her, a melancholy that bathes her face, something so stark he wonders how he never noticed it behind her straightforwardness. Her room is almost bare save for the mindless clutter of belongings he had just tossed to the floor, and her bathroom was no better. It didn’t make sense to him. She’d told him she’d been in Tokyo for the last one year. He’d seen her move in three months ago. Yet this place showed no more signs of being inhabited than a deserted apartment, her suitcase strewn open, clothes folded haphazardly on top, toothbrush sticking out of the side pockets. The whole picture screamed of a restless detachment, one he had never sensed in her till now, one that had never surfaced from behind her placid smile, and her impeccable formal attire. He manages to fish out a towel, a small blush heating his cheeks as he maneuvers through her more ‘private’ category of clothing, and as he runs it in cold water, he wonders if there’s someone he could call, someone who could take care of her. He remembers mentioning Yukichi, Suzume even, she’s met Tsubomi, he’s even talked about his grandma. But she hadn’t told him anything. He didn’t know - for sure, at least - if she was single, if she had friends… She had never even mentioned her parents! The wet towel manages to soak up some heat, and he can already see some blood back in her cheeks. Her mouth hangs open, and it occurs to him that through all their late night conversations and mindless squabbles on the way to work, it’s only been him talking, and somehow she’s managed to perfect the art of talking without really saying anything. There’s a stinging sensation in him, somewhere, deep inside, and as he brushes the damp hair away from her forehead, he realises it’s an ache, a longing, to know more. Slumping beside her sleeping figure on the floor, his eyes rest on the colossal mess of paper and tiny trinkets on the floor. There’s a drawing of Yona, the protagonist of a popular shoujo manga (that Shishio no doubt follows). It’s just a rough sketch, with some pencil shading, and a upon closer inspection there’s a tiny illegible signature at the bottom. For a moment he forgets the place he’s in, the situation and everything, and his eyes light up in excitement, when he spots the hand-written message on top saying “For Satsuki”. She’d probably tease him right now, squeeze her eyes shut and joke about his smile blinding his eyes, but it falls short of just that, when his eyes fall on a tattered photograph that was just about hidden by the drawing. It took a minute for Shishio to realise what he was looking at. It took a minute more for him to register the strange, clawing sensation in his heart. It’s almost as if the picture was taken in another world, a parallel dimension, where the Samejima he knows was replaced by a younger one, slightly more girlish, long, dark hair cascading down her shoulders, a smile nearly thrice the size of her hesitant half-grin-half-smirk, that she sported these days. There was something about the picture that rendered Shishio unable to believe that it was the same woman who lay behind him out cold, something that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. It was almost an innocent charm, a vivacity… Or maybe it was just love. Because there she stood, white dress, flowers, and a beautiful smile hidden behind a veil, looking with adoration into a man’s eyes. It felt so personal, the look they shared, the way she held his arm, the ring on her finger… Shishio felt guilty for even looking. The clock on his cellphone showed 7.45. He’d make it to class on time if he hurried. She was sleeping peacefully enough, maybe he could come back during lunch and check on her. More than anything, he was overcome by an indefatigable urge to run from this room, from her… It felt like he had overstayed his welcome anyway. He got up, his heart beating faster than normal, wondering if maybe he was the one with a fever, careful to sidestep the photograph on the floor, trying even harder to not look at it again. It was stupid really, but he just didn’t like it, didn’t like the fact that he had to be here, unwelcome, and chance upon it himself, hated even more that that she never told him. He wants nothing more than to run out of the door and pretend he hasn’t seen anything at all… Till a pale, sweaty hand reaches for his last finger feebly, stopping him in his tracks. “… Satsuki… stay.” She motions for him to come sit next to her again, gesturing with her hands weakly. He’s not sure she’s aware of what she’s doing when he feels her hands, hot and a little sweaty, reach for his, bringing him closer to her. “Like this,” she breathes, placing his hand on her head, and patting it softly. “… My mother… does this… when I’m sick…” “… Ohh,” is all he can manage, because his mind is processing too many things all of a sudden - like the feel of her damp hair under his fingers, the fact that she’d brought up her mother, the wistfulness he’s sure he glimpsed under the fever induced haze of her eyes… and the almost - painful constriction of his heart. … Thud. Muffled shouting. Thud Thud Thud. The noises rang loud and strange down the stairway of his apartment. He didn’t know what the commotion was. A little kid locked outside the house maybe? Thud thud. The banging on the door grew louder as he climbed the stairs. It didn’t sound like the doing of a child anymore. “… I know you’re there. Open up.” It was a man’s voice. And it sounded like it was coming from his floor. An unsettling feeling of foreboding washes over him. “… Open the door, Samejima.” Shishio’s heart almost stops. She’s older than him - by just three months - and he’s never doubted how capable she is of taking care of herself, but there’s something in the man’s tone of voice that sends shivers down his spine. His feet move faster, his heart thudding in his ears. Shishio reaches his floor just in time to see him lean against her door and whisper, menacingly, “… I know you’re listening, sweetheart. Let me in. Or I will break your door if I have to.” He’s dressed simply, yet powerfully, grey shirt, black trousers and a tie that screams money. Shishio’s green sweater and jeans wouldn’t hold a candle to it, but he doesn’t stop really stop to think. “… Can I help you?” he asks, his voice a stranger to himself. “… I don’t think it’s any of your business,” the man replies with a polite, perfunct smile that didn’t help to hide the fury in his threatening gaze. “… You’re standing in front of my door,” Shishio retorts, levelling his gaze, “I believe it’s entirely my business.” It wasn’t his door of course, but he didn’t need to know that. There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes, like he didn’t believe Shishio, like there was no way, he could be wrong. “… I would like to speak with her.” His tone is measured, clipped, but the tick in his jaw gives away his anger. “I’m afraid I have no clue who you’re talking about.” Doing his best to keep calm, Shishio moves to stand in between him and the door, inwardly afraid that if he lets him close, he might actually do good on his promise to break it down. When he looks him in the eye, pale blue under a mop of startling blond hair, it strikes him that there’s something familiar about this man, something that he can’t quite place his finger on, like he’s seen him before. “… Seeing as I can’t help you, I’d like you to leave.” His eyes narrow, and before he can say anything else, I add, “… Before I call the police.” A faint smile plays out on his lips. Maybe the psychiatric facility would be a more suitable option for this guy. “I know you can hear me,” he snarls, his voice low, but his gaze straight ahead, as if he could see straight through Shishio, “… you can’t hide forever, sweetheart.” There’s something in the way he speaks, something so proprietary, that had Shishio clenching his fists involuntarily, like he knew she was in there, knew he would find her, knew everything that there was to know about her. Most of all, he spoke like Samejima belonged to him. And it made Shishio sick. … Watching from the corridor above as the blonde man exited the apartment building, this whole experience has left such a bad aftertaste that Shishio considers calling the cops anyway and providing a complete description of Samejima’s stalker, maybe even demand that he be arrested for harassment. But first he needed to confront her. There was something that had left him disturbed after last week’s incident, when she had fallen sick so suddenly, collapsing in her house only for a panicked Shishio to break into her house and find her sprawled on the ground hours later. Her behaviour towards him hadn’t changed much, she still smiled at him the same, still criticised his French toast. But he couldn’t look at her the same way anymore. Not after knowing that there was so much behind that smile that she wore on the outside, so much she didn’t tell him. He had found himself looking at her just a little bit more closely, trying hard to see the cracks that she hid so well. The only thing that had changed was that one night after dinner and laughing too hard over Chandler’s jokes, she just casually hung her spare keys on his key stand and told him, “I’d like you to keep these for me.” When he had looked at her astonished, she had simply smiled and said, “Surely the front door has to be easier than the balcony.” He rings the bell well after he’s made sure her stalker is nowhere to be seen, because he knows she’s in there, she was supposed to have dinner with him ten minutes ago. She doesn’t open the door, even after four bells, but it’s kind of expected really, there was a sinister, obsessed stalker at her door barely five minutes ago. He hesitates, because he’s not entirely sure if he should, but there’s a gut-wrenching feeling that tells him he needs to see her and it cannot wait till tomorrow so he fetches his set of keys and enters the house. It’s so dark inside, he begins to wonder if she really is home after all. Turning on the flashlight on his phone, he can tell the house is just as barren as when he was in here a week ago, but now with no light, a crazy man showing up at the door, and a house that looked completely uninhabited, it was kind of eerie, to say the least. “… Samejima?” he whispers, when his gaze finally falls on the faint outline of a crumpled figure in the darkness. It scares him to see her like this, like someone he can’t even recognize, frozen in terror, cheeks wet with silent tears, lips gnawed and bitten till it had drawn blood. What happened to you, he wants to ask, and who the fuck, was that man pounding at your door? But she’s crouched in the corner, curled into herself, shivering with all her tears drained out of her, and Shishio knows that the answers can wait. “… Hey,” he whispers softly, turning off the light and taking her in his arms. ‘… I’m here.“ She’s stiff, non-responsive, but Shishio does his best to be patient, afraid that the woman who’d started to creep into his life, his every day, his thoughts, might literally fall apart in his embrace. “He found me…,” she croaks, so soft, Shishio wonders if he’s imagining it. “… He found me… Again.” She chokes on a sob, and he hears the panic in her voice, the fear. “… I can’t do this anymore, I have to leave,” – - “… Shh!” He says cupping her face, forcing her to look at him, forcing her to acknowledge him, for once, trying to get through to her that she can rely on him, that she doesn’t have to face this – whatever this was - alone anymore, because he can’t bear the thought of her leaving, “… It doesn’t matter if he found you.” And he doesn’t think about what he’s doing, just lets his lips brush against hers, damp with blood and tears, and whispers, tenderly against her cheeks, “… I’ll protect you.”

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A/N: I literally deleted this story by accident because i fucking around on mobile, and i deeply apologize. As always, I really appreciate anyone who has the patience to stick around to the end and stick with stories. xo

#shishio x samejima #shimejima #shishio satsuki #samejima #hirunaka no ryuusei #ramblingpug fanfiction #anon requests

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doodlewash · 6 years ago

Text

Hello, my name is Brenda Jiral and I am originally from Rochester, Michigan. I currently live in Hamilton, Michigan with my husband and two of my three children. I have been drawn to art for as long as I can remember. I see beauty in things that most people would simply pass over or dismiss.

Sunlight Breaking Through

Sunny Day

Like the way bright sunshine creates the most beautiful shadows; full of color and life. Or the multitude of color shifts that are in the human eye or a flower. I am frequently mesmerized by the dazzling light that bounces off a lake in the morning sun, and the range of colors in every rock and weed under the water’s surface.

Enchanted

I have been “making art” since I was a child, so, it was a natural progression for me to become an artist. I believe it’s what I was created to do. I studied fine art at college, but after three years, I decided to put higher education “on hold” in order to pursue my other dream: motherhood. I got married, had three beautiful children, and devoted my life to my family. The only creative outlet during those years were the many craft projects I would do with my children.

Dogwood Leaves

Once they were all in school, I was finally in a position to dust off my dreams of creating art and see what I could do with it. After taking the few watercolor painting classes that were available at our local art center, I was left to my own devices. So, from then on, I became self-taught. I poured over every book and video I could get my hands on at the local library, and watched every You-tube tutorial I could find. And I experimented: A LOT!

Sunlit Shore

My father was also an artist, and one of the things he said all of the time is that “art is 10% talent and 90% work” -Alfred M. Ponte. That doesn’t dismiss natural, God-given talent, but rather, it puts the emphasis on what you DO with that talent. You can either sit on it and do nothing with it, or you can work your tail off to develop it and share it with the world. I’ve chosen the latter, I worked hard, and now I enjoy teaching others what I’ve learned. “Your talent is God’s gift to you; what you do with it is your gift back to God.” -Leo Buscaglia.

Pomegranate

For the past two and a half decades, I have lived with chronic pain and illness. To say that it’s been hard would be a gross understatement. I don’t share this often, because most people really don’t know what to do with that information. And honestly, I’ve been judged harshly all too often.

And I don’t share it to get attention or because I feel sorry for myself. I share it in hopes that if there is someone else out there, struggling with health issues, my story would give them hope. That maybe there’s a purpose for this struggle and something good can come out of it.

Resilience Sketch

Resilience

I don’t have one of those inspiring, miracle stories. I will most likely be in pain and ill for the rest of my life. And I have come to terms with that. This story is more about how art has helped me through some of the darkest days of my life. Art has been a blessing in so many ways. I am so very grateful for the gift it is in my life! There have been days that, because of the pain or the endlessness of it all, I felt really down.

And rather than dwelling on that and allowing it to get out of control, I would go downstairs to my studio in an effort to take my mind off of the pain. At first, it can be like pushing a rope. I may not “feel” inspired or excited about what I’m doing, but I choose to do it because I know I need it. I may be just doing a little sketching in my journal or pushing some paint around on a scrap of watercolor paper, or whatever.

Trees & Hills

But at some point, I realize I no longer feel down. Don’t get me wrong, the pain is still there, but my heart feels a little lighter and I am excited about what I’m doing. And that’s when the paint has begun to work its magic on me. I feel joy and peace and alive again! And that’s when I remember: I’m going to be ok.

In spite of the health issues, I still try to teach a few classes or workshops per year. It’s not nearly as much as I would like to be doing, because I love to teach, but for now it will be enough. Maybe someday, I will enjoy better health and be able to do all of the things I want to do with my art, but for now, my life is full.

My Process And How I Got Here

When I was in high school, my art teacher expected a sketchbook full of drawings every term. How I dreaded that deadline! I really didn’t like to draw. I know that sounds crazy, since I am so passionate about All-things-ART. But I really didn’t like to “waste time” in my sketchbook. (That’s the way I felt about it then).

I wanted to do the serious art, not sketch! How silly I was back then; I cringe when I think about how much energy I spent avoiding my sketchbook. I’d wait until the day or two before the deadline and just throw it all together, giving only the bare minimum in order to get the grade.

Kohlrabi

Fast-forward to my early days learning to paint in watercolor. I would get so frustrated with my attempts to draw something in order to then paint it. All I wanted to do was paint, but my efforts showed my lack of drawing ability. I was reminded of my art teacher’s insistence on mastering the basics, and realized that I had failed to build a foundation before I started to “build the house”.

So, I went back. I began the discipline of forcing myself to draw at every opportunity. After all, I had a lot of time to make up! I put a sketchbook in my kitchen, so I could draw during breakfast and lunch and one downstairs, in my studio. I also put one in my car to draw while waiting for my kids to finish sports practice or orthodontist appointments. Eventually, I began to love to draw. I began to see the wisdom of building a foundation of this basic skill. Now, I don’t go anywhere without my sketchbook or watercolor journal. I travel with it and record memories and I draw, draw, draw.

Driftwood

Pink Geraniums

My creative process varies on the project I am working on at the time. If I am looking for a new painting idea, I will often go to my sketchbooks and “mine” them for inspiration. I will also pour over the thousands of photos I have taken over the years for just the right image that speaks to me. I also keep a running list of painting ideas, and sometimes I fear that there won’t be enough time to do them all.

Like I said earlier, a lot of my paintings begin in my sketchbook or watercolor journal. Some of my favorite ways of drawing is contour drawing, blind contour drawing or continuous line drawing. I am drawn to this technique because there is a decisiveness and character to the line that otherwise wouldn’t be there. Rather than a sketchy line, which is hesitant and unsure, the contour line that I employ feels confidant and sure. And rather than going for a photographically realistic look, or an architecturally accurate line, this line expresses more of the freedom I’m after and attracted to in nature. It feels more organic and personal to me.

Single Tree

Continuous Line Drawing

Over the years, I have tried many different brands of paint and watercolor paper and I have no plans on settling on any one kind. I’m all about experimenting and exploring. In fact, I don’t consider myself a traditional watercolor “purist”, but rather, an experimental, mixed media artist, because I will never stop experimenting with new mediums and techniques. That’s what excites me the most about art: that I will be learning until the day I die!

Mossy Tree

Mossy Stump

When it comes to watercolors, I mainly use Daniel Smith and Winsor & Newton paints. And for paper, I love Arches cold press and Winsor & Newton brand. In addition to those, one of my favorite discoveries a few years ago is mineral paper. I am so in love with this surface! It’s smooth and so receptive to watercolor and ink line drawing. I have found two brands so far: Yasutomo Mineral paper, which comes in only two sizes, and Terraskin Stone paper. (This one is a little more difficult to find, but what a gem!)

I also love to use Caran D’Ache Neocolor II water-soluble wax pastels, Derwent Inktense Blocks and watercolor pencils and a variety of water-soluble ink pens. And I can’t leave out my trusty fountain pen that I use for a lot of my drawings in my watercolor journals!

Yellowstone

In closing, I would like to thank Charlie at Doodlewash for allowing me to share my story and my love of art with others. And thank you, fellow-art explorer, for taking the time to read my story.

Benda Jiral Website Facebook Doodlewash

GUEST ARTIST: "How Art Helps Me Through the Difficult Days" by Brenda Jiral - #doodlewash #WorldWatercolorGroup #watercolor #watercolour #art Hello, my name is Brenda Jiral and I am originally from Rochester, Michigan. I currently live in Hamilton, Michigan with my husband and two of my three children.

#WorldWatercolorGroup #art #art therapy #artist #doodlewash #drawing #featured #painting #sketchbook #Sketchbooks #sketching #watercolor #watercolor sketching #watercolour

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luatphongthuy-blog · 7 years ago

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What Are Aged And Cracked Craquelure Oil works Of Art?

Painting Knife: You may also gift a painting knife to an artist. A painting knife includes flexible steel blade, can be often by simply artists. Painters use it to apply colors for a canvas. A painting knife can be the different shapes and forms, including the triangular, rectangular and diamond structures. Get the importance size. Pull out your tape measure or ruler and stack up the place where you want to put the artwork or portrait. Believe me, this can be some of one's best performance! There's nothing worse rather than a picture which will not fit.then order one for that size. Most galleries is actually going to happy to create a custom size. For the lot of of you who already been to the house, website visitor stays what I tranh cao cap tam khi indicate. When Sam became interested in High class paintings, one of the bedrooms was quietly converted to his art studio. Though paint for hrs upon finish. Typically only eating if I brought him foods. So that you know, his artwork was unbelievable. But he certainly not showed it also. I know some person were provided paintings by him as presents. He realized you liked them, so they had been yours. Treasure individuals paintings now. Yep. Off I end up. I've done a great deal of of interviews and I have got a regarding things marked on your calender and I'll sit down and have meetings making use of politicians. But I'm definitely not good at the humanitarian information. Politics is not my challenge. I believe 1 thing and that is exactly avoiding nation-wide politics. Ideally every other furnishings should complement your new painting. If you learn something looks out of place then you could consider moving it an additional room. It works well assuming you have some different textures in your room, for example area rugs and ornaments. Look for ornaments that are constructed of unusual materials to really set off your new art. Modern still oil paintings tend to contain many other things - metal pieces, a pile of trash, a couple of bottles, other individuals. which have not even attempt to do with food or flowers. That is, modern ones become diversified. Also, this could be the reason why the effectiveness of still life oil paintings in home-decoration grows more obvious. Artists capture the majority of an up to date life and therefore essence with the city and render quite sense of spirituality in their art contour. Modern artists usually be more creative in art movement, which make still life paintings more attractive. The fridge soon became the stuff that nightmares are manufactured. It looks great but the panels show every splash, every fingerprint and every scuff. I'm constantly cleaning it. Help make matters matters worse, it requires a specialized cleaner and have you know, allow me to explain wipe with all the grain of the steel any very clean soft cloth, it scrapes? Yes, it did not take crave my fridge to look used! Well, I'm glad they are in the storage room with discussions . of our belongings in Long Island. My latest thrill was that I conducted a portrait of my son. An oil-painting considerably old masters do of my son. I gold leafed it and tin foiled this kind of. It turned out dedicated.

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reviewstories · 8 years ago

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link

It wasn't that K. was uncomfortable with other men's nudity. He had taken several figure drawing classes in college and, earlier in his teens, obviously, had discovered porn. He'd seen plenty of penises in his life. He just wasn't completely on board with the idea that he was sure that he would definitely see at least three, in the flesh, at this performance art thing that Jill had dragged him to, a series of pieces "on masculinity."

It didn't help that Jill's ex was presenting a piece. Jill and Adam, who looked less like a performance artist than James Bond undercover as a "performance artist," had dated for six years, and only broke up when Jill's father died last year. She had been forced to move back home from Seattle to take care of her mom, and Adam felt that he couldn't leave his community at this crucial point in his work. They were still in regular contact, which didn't bug K., but it didn't totally thrill him that they'd canceled the dinner reservation he'd made to make room for this event in their whirlwind Pacific Northwest road trip, either. It was the only night they had put aside for themselves before they were to drive down to Portland the next day - Jill wanted to take him to a cool brunch spot and go to Multnomah Falls and he was just trying to be cool with being along for the ride.

When they entered the gallery area of the grungy warehouse where the show was being held, Jill was immediately swept off by her old Seattle crowd. K. decided not to go much further into the space than the makeshift bar ten feet away until she got back. He grabbed a beer from a cooler and surveyed the scene.

On a stage, a man was filming a video of himself applying contour makeup to his stomach to enhance his already impressive six-pack, in the style of a makeup tutorial a teenager might watch to learn how to apply lipstick like a Kardashian. Along the room's left-hand wall, a series of mannequins were dressed in what looked like tuxedos sewn from a patchwork of men's briefs and socks. Opposite them were a series of eight similarly composed photographs of the same penis, in various states of arousal, which looked like they were taken using the reverse camera function of an iPhone and enlarged to life-size - a series of dick pics. A ninth frame held a similar picture, with a hole cut in it, and with the subject of the previous eight photos inserted, appearing uncannily disembodied against a backdrop photo of its usual surroundings.

K. looked around the room and was unable to find Jill. He finished his first beer, procured and opened another, and decided that it would reflect poorly on him if it seemed like he was sulking at the bar all night, so he decided to get a little closer to the art. He wandered around the room self-consciously; making a show of furrowing his brow at some pieces, examining others so closely his nose was within inches. He watched for at least 90 seconds as the man on stage ran a fluffy brush across his stomach chanting "blend, blend, blend!" He fingered the messy stitching on the tuxedos, after seeing others do so. And he even stood, eye to metaphorical eye, in front of the living dick pic for a few uncomfortable seconds, willing himself to look comfortable as it twitched and pulsed just feet from his face. He was relieved when he felt able to walk away from it, moving onto a Speedo-style swimsuit composed of what looked like some type of body hair, matted together.

Jill emerged from some back room after about ten minutes and asked K. what he thought of the show. "It's cool," he said, "all of these artists have really interesting perspectives on masculinity - " He attempted to take a sip of his beer to avoid having to continue the sentence, but the bottle was was empty.

Jill, thankfully, didn't notice, and rattled off a few critiques of the artists' work while K. nodded along - he was regretting not reading the program, because he was lost as to which artist was which - and then she said, "did you see Adam's piece? What did you think?" she asked, and then replied to her own question with, "it's not his best, I think, but I do like what he was saying with it. I think it has potential."

K. wasn't sure which piece was Adam's. "Oh, it's the self-portrait series," Jill said. "We talked about it a few times while he was making it and I helped him curate the images, I think it successfully shows this idea he had about doing a piece about the vulnerability of being a single man, but I also feel like it's a little more repetitive in its visual motifs than his usual work and I don't think that helps it."

As Jill spoke, K. looked around for self portraits of Adam, assuming he had missed them. After coming up short, he glanced at her, hoping that she'd be looking at the work while she critiqued it. She was looking directly over his shoulder at the dick pics, around which a small crowd had formed.

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fulgor-astrorum-blog · 8 years ago

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fenglichina-blog · 8 years ago

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Expendable Mold Casting

In metalworking, casting means a process, in which liquid metal is poured into a mold, that contains a hollow cavity of the desired shape, and then allowed to cool and solidify. The solidified part is also known as a casting, which is ejected or broken out of the mold to complete the process. Casting is most often used for making complex shapes that would be difficult or uneconomical to make by other methods.

Casting processes have been known for thousands of years, and widely used for sculpture, especially in bronze, jewellery in precious metals, and weapons and tools. Traditional techniques include lost-wax casting, plaster mold casting and sand casting.

The modern casting process is subdivided into two main categories: expendable and non-expendable casting. It is further broken down by the mold material, such as sand or metal, and pouring method, such as gravity, vacuum, or low pressure.

Expendable mold casting

Expendable mold casting is a generic classification that includes sand, plastic, shell, plaster, and investment (lost-wax technique) moldings. This method of mold casting involves the use of temporary, non-reusable molds.

Sand casting

Sand casting is one of the most popular and simplest types of casting, and has been used for centuries. Sand casting allows for smaller batches than permanent mold casting and at a very reasonable cost. Not only does this method allow manufacturers to create products at a low cost, but there are other benefits to sand casting, such as very small-size operations. From castings that fit in the palm of your hand to train beds (one casting can create the entire bed for one rail car), it can all be done with sand casting. Sand casting also allows most metals to be cast depending on the type of sand used for the molds.

Sand casting requires a lead time of days, or even weeks sometimes, for production at high output rates (1–20 pieces/hr-mold) and is unsurpassed for large-part production. Green (moist) sand has almost no part weight limit, whereas dry sand has a practical part mass limit of 2,300–2,700 kg (5,100–6,000 lb). Minimum part weight ranges from 0.075–0.1 kg (0.17–0.22 lb). The sand is bonded together using clays, chemical binders, or polymerized oils (such as motor oil). Sand can be recycled many times in most operations and requires little maintenance.

Plaster mold casting

Plaster casting is similar to sand casting except that plaster of paris is substituted for sand as a mold material. Generally, the form takes less than a week to prepare, after which a production rate of 1–10 units/hr·mold is achieved, with items as massive as 45 kg (99 lb) and as small as 30 g (1 oz) with very good surface finish and close tolerances. Plaster casting is an inexpensive alternative to other molding processes for complex parts due to the low cost of the plaster and its ability to produce near net shape castings. The biggest disadvantage is that it can only be used with low melting point non-ferrous materials, such as aluminium, copper, magnesium, and zinc.

Shell molding

Shell molding is similar to sand casting, but the molding cavity is formed by a hardened "shell" of sand instead of a flask filled with sand. The sand used is finer than sand casting sand and is mixed with a resin so that it can be heated by the pattern and hardened into a shell around the pattern. Because of the resin and finer sand, it gives a much finer surface finish. The process is easily automated and more precise than sand casting. Common metals that are cast include cast iron, aluminium, magnesium, and copper alloys. This process is ideal for complex items that are small to medium-sized.

Investment casting

Investment casting (known as lost-wax casting in art) is a process that has been practiced for thousands of years, with the lost-wax process being one of the oldest known metal forming techniques. From 5000 years ago, when beeswax formed the pattern, to today’s high technology waxes, refractory materials and specialist alloys, the castings ensure high-quality components are produced with the key benefits of accuracy, repeatability, versatility and integrity.

Investment casting derives its name from the fact that the pattern is invested, or surrounded, with a refractory material. The wax patterns require extreme care for they are not strong enough to withstand forces encountered during the mold making. One advantage of investment casting is that the wax can be reused.

The process is suitable for repeatable production of net shape components from a variety of different metals and high performance alloys. Although generally used for small castings, this process has been used to produce complete aircraft door frames, with steel castings of up to 300 kg and aluminium castings of up to 30 kg. Compared to other casting processes such as die casting or sand casting, it can be an expensive process. However, the components that can be produced using investment casting can incorporate intricate contours, and in most cases the components are cast near net shape, so require little or no rework once cast.

Waste molding of plaster

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A durable plaster intermediate is often used as a stage toward the production of a bronze sculpture or as a pointing guide for the creation of a carved stone. With the completion of a plaster, the work is more durable (if stored indoors) than a clay original which must be kept moist to avoid cracking. With the low cost plaster at hand, the expensive work of bronze casting or stone carving may be deferred until a patron is found, and as such work is considered to be a technical, rather than artistic process, it may even be deferred beyond the lifetime of the artist.

In waste molding a simple and thin plaster mold, reinforced by sisal or burlap, is cast over the original clay mixture. When cured, it is then removed from the damp clay, incidentally destroying the fine details in undercuts present in the clay, but which are now captured in the mold. The mold may then at any later time (but only once) be used to cast a plaster positive image, identical to the original clay. The surface of this plaster may be further refined and may be painted and waxed to resemble a finished bronze casting.

Evaporative-pattern casting

This is a class of casting processes that use pattern materials that evaporate during the pour, which means there is no need to remove the pattern material from the mold before casting. The two main processes are lost-foam casting and full-mold casting.

Lost-foam casting

Lost-foam casting is a type of evaporative-pattern casting process that is similar to investment casting except foam is used for the pattern instead of wax. This process takes advantage of the low boiling point of foam to simplify the investment casting process by removing the need to melt the wax out of the mold.

Full-mold casting

Full-mold casting is an evaporative-pattern casting process which is a combination of sand casting and lost-foam casting. It uses an expanded polystyrene foam pattern which is then surrounded by sand, much like sand casting. The metal is then poured directly into the mold, which vaporizes the foam upon contact.

http://www.fenglicasting.com

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