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🖋 + art

Fenna’s parents always did appreciate art, don’t get me wrong. They wanted their children to visit museums and know about the biggest artists and understand the different styles --- partly because they really did value art, but mostly because they enjoyed to flaunt their knowledge and prestige. ( Look at how cultured we are! Hur dur dur --- Fenna’s parents, probably. )

They also liked to flaunt their wealth. Furniture from Rietveld, a Mondrian on their wall, a Karel Appel piece in the kitchen,  you name it --- Fenna’s father, especially, loved showing all their art pieces off to guests. 

So, really, art was mostly there to appreciate and to use as a tool. It was no career option. That much was clear.

Fenna loved those museums she went to deeply, unlike her siblings, who preferred the gift shops and the dinners afterwards. Picture this: a small blonde, standing in front of a Vermeer for twenty minutes, undisturbed my the tourists. Mouth and eyes wide open. Another image: a young Fenna reaching the top floor of the Van Gogh museum, which is dedicated to his death, and bursting into tears among strangers.

Later, when she knows she is an artist herself, she understands. She reads his letters and cries, again, but less freely than she had once done.

She has always drawn. Since she was able to pick up a pencil, she has drawn. As Fenna grew older, she fell more and more in love with the way she could put anything onto paper ----- it gave her a sense of freedom. She started painting at some point, too, asked for pastels and oil paints for her tenth birthday and saw frustration on her mother’s face when her clothes started to get oil pain stains that were a struggle to get out. ( She didn’t care about such messiness, if she were honest. ) 

And she’s good. She knows she’s good --- even if she struggles to say that and show it. She has good technique, has developed her own style over the years, knows how to play with light and angles and perspective. As Fenna became better and older, she also grew more interested in and inspired by other artists --- smaller ones, younger ones, not just the classic artists her parents liked. Ones that would make her parents shake with a bit of shock. 

Art is her way out. Her saviour. Her escape plan. The world is ugly, so she paints a prettier one. The world is ugly, so she paints it with all its flaws. Her insecurities look better on canvas than they do in her head. Her fears are more easily accepted when she puts them down in her sketchbook. She draws and paints and knows that without it, she wouldn’t be able to breathe.

And so it’s what she wants to do, later. She wants to go to art school. She wants to study art and be taught art and learn and grow and do this forever and ever and do nothing else at all. Her parents don’t like it ( but they don’t like a lot about her, it seems, and while she can’t make peace with that, she does know that it’s not her fault by now ), but it’s the only thing that makes sense. The world is terrifying and confusing, but when charcoal hits her sketchbook, it makes a bit more sense. 

(  NB: Fenna doesn’t only paint and draw. She writes, too, but that’s more private, something for secret notebooks. Endless poems about her mind and her fears and the rattlesnakes in her stomach, scribbled down quickly. She plays piano, too --- another part of her cultural upbringing, but feels less creative freedom there. This she doesn’t mind; she likes following the notes on sheet music and recreating a sound someone else invented quite a lot.  )

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fenna. roxanne. kimiko. luna. ailyn. casworan.

Send 🖋 and a word and I’ll tell you some headcanons relating to it!

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jasper‌:

at her guess, he gave her a tentative smile.

“i shouldn’t have asked,” he said, “i’m no expert either– but i probably do know better than you.”

had someone else said it, there might have been a bite there, a hint or sarcasm, but he stated it so plainly and matter-of-fact that hardly anything could be done but to ignore it. if anyone had been listening, certainly, they might have wondered what he had meant by a statement like that– but, with one look at his finely-coiffed hair, the noblesse of his profile, the inherent kindness of face, could he not be forgiven? 

after all, they might ask themselves, was he not entitled to his ignorance? wouldn’t it be a shame to crease that bold brow, to worry an otherwise untroubled mind? look, he was good, generous even. despite his tablemate’s background, he found her quite pleasant. all in all, he thought of her as an agreeable fellow hufflepuff who didn’t ask too much of him. he even felt quite guilty for not knowing what he had just agreed to. 

“sorry, fenna,” he said sheepishly, “i have to admit that i wasn’t paying attention at all there. mind repeating the question?”

“Most likely, yeah. I don’t know, I never really got hooked on magical music --- probably because it’s not on Spotify.” A chuckle left her lips, Fenna appearing playfully embarrassed, laughing her ignorance away. She was slightly embarrassed, in all truth; but she hid that from Jasper. Well, she at least hoped that she did; she’d practice lying and pretending in the mirror sometimes, and failed to convince even herself. She was an open book, written in a language she didn’t understand, her confusing emotions worn on her sleeve and face at all times. She may not know exactly why she felt embarrassed, but the fact that she did was more than obvious.

“I don’t mind you asking, though.” A half-truth slipped past her lips and she took a bite from her marmalade-less toast, mind still worrying about music --- part of her wondered who cares if you don’t know every Celestina Warbeck song?, because she knew plenty about muggle musicians, and plenty of wixes knew nothing about them in return. A different part of her simply felt stupid.

( And she was mostly angry at herself for getting so worked up about this. )

Fenna was about to take another bite before Jasper’s question made her return her focus to him. “Oh, right. I asked you to pass the marmalade.” Toast hovering in the air, she gestured at the jar with her free hand. And then, a bit of a guilty smile. “No need to apologise, by the way --- I get distracted all the time, too.” 

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jasper‌:

when: lunchtime  where: the great hall open to students

once, when he was very young, jasper talkalot had lost his family in diagon alley. he was certain they were right behind him (as they had all been looking into the window at quality quidditch supplies a moment ago), but, by the time he actually decided to check, there was no one there.  he had panicked for a moment, started walking off into the street, before he remembered an errant tidbit that he had learned a few weeks prior: most people lost in the woods often made things worse for themselves by journeying deeper into the unknown. this was not the woods, he knew, but he figured that it was still best to stay put, sitting down on the sidewalk and waiting for his mother to notice he was missing. 

thankfully, it hadn’t taken long. 

that day, as a panicked lucinda talkalot saw her eldest child sitting in the middle of a busy street staring off into the clouds, she couldn’t help but ask, “where is your head, jasper? what in the world is going on in your mind?”

he had started to say something about the woods, something about survival tips, but one of his siblings had interjected with a huff, “it’s just jasper, mom. you know how he is. he always has his head in the clouds.”

in the years since, he had thought of that moment often. and while he hadn’t appreciated the tone of voice being used, he had thought the descriptor rather apt. jasper was a simple man. he was hardly ever thinking about anything other than a few nebulous and flighty topics. his current preoccupations were quidditch (in which his head was literally in the clouds), on occasion, the object of his affections (which, in his view, was about as close to heaven and, thus, the clouds, as he was about to get) and his family (he admitted this one didn’t really quite fit the cloud metaphor.

nevertheless, it was, thus, unsurprising that, during their lunch break in the great hall, jasper had his head in the clouds again. when he finally grounded himself long enough to be aware of the world around him, his companion was looking at him like they expected him to say something. after trying to recall what they wanted from him and failing miserably, he took a bite from his sandwich, nonplussed.

“yes,” he said firmly, though he was not quite sure about what exactly he was agreeing to. 

“tell me this, though–” he changed the topic, “is it a cauldron full of hot strong love that goes like this,“ he hummed a few bars, “or is it magic magic man?“

Fenna didn’t understand how brains worked. How hers seemed to be wired wrongly, on some days, how others seemed to be capable of such dangerous, real hatred, how sometimes minds seemed to wander away, away, away. As she looked at Jasper, waiting for him to answer her request --- it had been simple, just a “could you pass thte marmalade?” --- she wondered what was going on in his head, for a slight moment.

He didn’t pass the marmalade. Fenna considered asking again, but then the subject was changed. She looked at her toast, butter melting into it, and shrugged as she picked it up. Another time. At Jasper’s question, she was just confused, eyebrows knitted together, a bit puzzled at the randomness ( though not in a bad way, per se ). “I’m not familiar with either,” she admitted, before taking a bite from her toast. “Not well enough, at least, to figure out which one it is. I’m just ... not all too well versed in the world of magical music, I’m afraid.” And that was all she’d say on that, unless Jasper asked for more. “But I’ll do a wild guess ... is it Magic Magic Man?”

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leander:

“ people can do that? “  leander had had every intention of answering fenna’s questions before posing one of his own. but then she decided to tack strange information onto her question and he really couldn’t help his curiosity from running rampant.  “ open bottles with their bellybutton, I mean. that sounds like it’d be painful, “  he paused and considered the logistics of such a feat.  “ but overall kind of a fun party trick, I guess. “  he raised his own bottle to his mouth and that jogged his memory; he turned a mega-watt smile on fenna and began patting at his pockets with one hand.  “ oh! but I do, actually, have an actual bottle opener. since we’re in our common room I figured it’d be nice to be a good host and have, you know, materials. I have a lighter too, so you can use whichever I find first. do you have a preference? “

“People can do a lot of weird things. Especially on the internet,” said Fenna, chuckling softly. “I know a few ways to open them without bottle openers --- like with a lighter or a spoon or, sometimes, with just the edge of a table, but that’s nothing compared to what some people have in their party-trick repertoire. Just look it up on YouTube.” She didn’t add that Leander should do so once summer holidays rolled around, not wanting to even think about the new rules at Hogwarts ( and how they just seemed the beginning ). This was a party, after all. “I don’t have a preference --- just whatever you find first, really,” she said, smile on her nodding face. “Congratulations, by the way. You guys were really good out there.”

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ever:

The glass of the window as cool against her back. A clear contrast to the warmth of the room but a welcomed one. Ever had perched herself up on the windowsill much happier sitting on the sidelines of the party than being in the middle. She didn’t care much for large crowds of drunk people ( idiots, obviously ) or quidditch ( also, with an exception or two, idiots ) and somehow she had been dragged here and then, thankfully, promptly ditched for said quidditch. So took delicate sips of her drink as she scanned her peers until they finally landed on a familiar figure. A small smile found it’s way onto her lips as she watched Fenna struggle with the bottle. Cute. She rolled her eyes as someone approached in attempt to help her out. There wasn’t even second of hesitation before Ever hopped down from her seat and made her way over, pushing in front of the person who seemed to be contemplating biting the lid off with a glare. “It’s not that hard.” She took the bottle from the table, covered the lid with the edge of her dress to protect her hand before twisting the top off, and held it out for Fenna. “Not exactly freak or from the internet but– I’m guessing you really don’t care. –But I’m curious as to how you were going to open it with a lighter..”

Suddenly there was Ever and Fenna stood, for a moment, near frozen, and then smiled. “Hey,” she said, voice soft and eyes fluttering over the other’s face for a moment as she took the beer back from her. “Thank you.” She took a sip, and then another and another --- liquid courage, she thought, I need it. “You’ve got skills, Ever. And well --- once I find a lighter, I’ll show you, okay? I don’t think I’d be good at explaining it.” Her eyes looked around the room for a moment, hoping that a lighter would appear in front of her right then and there. “We could try and find one? If you’re really that curious...” In all honesty, she just wanted to have more reason to spend time with Ever. Fenna longed for her in her tipsy state, her insecurities hidden by an alcoholic fog. “It could be an adventure.” That sounded romantic and exciting enough, she decided, taking another sip from her drink and cocking her head to the side. “What d’you say?”

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audrey:

      Audrey had never been one for parties — at least, that was what she felt. Ask anyone else and they would agree that Audrey Selwyn was a staple at any good party. She didn’t drink, she didn’t fuck, but she knew how to smile, how to have ‘ fun ’. How to laugh and dance and sneak a smoke in the corner and maybe even lead a pretty little boy to think he’d gotten lucky. She was at the party — but it wasn’t her. Catching a glimpse of the petite blonde pleading with a drunken Hufflepuff to open her beer, Audrey put on her signature smile and pushed through to where they stood at the table.  ❛ Hey — let me help. I’ve got a lighter — ❜  She pulled it out from the elastic of her skirt.  ❛ — here. That should help, right? ❜

“Yes! Thank you, Audrey,” said Fenna, lips curled in a soft smile. She worked with the lighter and bottle for a moment, and when the cap popped off, she held it up in a celebratory demonstration. “Cheers. As in, thank you and ... santé, you know.” Fenna took a sip from her fresh beer, a sigh ( whether it was a sigh of tiredness or satisfaction, she didn’t know ) spilling past her lips. “Are you having a good time?”

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alura:

People watching was the only good thing about these parties, she was convinced. Alura had retreated to the second most comfortable armchair in the dorm early on - the one in the corner, half hidden in the shadows - with a bottle she’d nicked from the cooler. Currently, her attention was on the small hufflepuff girl. Usually she’d simply watch as she struggled, but she was feeling generous tonight - whether it was the win or the alcohol she couldn’t tell - and so she pushed herself up and made her way lazily toward her. “I don’t.” She said with a sigh, but held her hand out anyway. “But I don’t need one.” Alura grinned wickedly, and in one fluid motion hooked her family ring under the edge of the cap and wrenched it free. “Don’t say I never help anyone.” She finished sarcastically as she handed it back.

Fenna took back the beer and took a sip from it before saying, “Thank you. Quite handy, a ring like that.” A smile curled her lips, and she shuffled on her feet for a moment, not sure what to say next --- eyes looked around the room before falling on Alura’s face again. “Congratulations, by the way! I’m no Quidditch expert, but from what I could gather, you and your team did really well. I mean --- clearly you did, you won! But still. Good game.”

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theo:

as one of the suppliers of that evening’s poison, theodore kept a close eye on his products. or at least, he claimed so, but mostly just drank as much of it as he could. that left him with the rather undignified role of drunken bartender, which was a usual one and that he didn’t mind at all - sometimes he considered doing that for a bit once hogwarts was over, but then he dropped and broke yet another bottle and remembered just why it was just a terrible idea. theo was in the middle of pouring some slytherin girl what he swore up and down was albus dumbledore’s favourite cocktail, a rather well documented fact, he said; when fenna’s plight caught his attention. “ fret no longer, your hero is here. “ his numb hands reached for the bottle, “ teeth ? i’ve never tried tha- “ before even finishing his sentence, he’d brought it to his mouth, teeth battling with the cap until he nearly let the bottle fall. “ FUCK, alright, maybe not. “ his other hand pressed at the small cut he’d made on his upper lip. “ y’know, y’know, maybe we just use magic. yeah, just magic. “ theodore’s wand was nearly touching the bottle as he gave fenna a final look. “ wizard thinking, fenna. who needs beer openers when you have a goddamned swiss army knife with endless habilities in your pocket ? fucking magic. “ in a whisper, cutting through his loud drunken words, the cap dropped to the floor, beer spilling all over his hand. 

Eyes roll playfully when Theo calls himself her hero --- the irony isn’t lost on Fenna, who even in that moment is dreadfully aware of the differences between the two of them. ( And yet there’s similarities, and it’s those she clings to in stead. ) In what world was Theodore Burke her hero? It was more likely that she’d have to save herself from someone like him, sometime. But she has no energy to mull about the reality of war and the danger of her surname, her blood status, her existence, and smiles in stead at Theo’s presence. Denial came even easier to Fenna when she was inebriated. “No, don’t ---” she begins, as he brings the bottle to his teeth, but she’s too late and laughing at his defeat. “You could break your teeth doing that, Theo. I really want that beer, but not that badly.” She observes him, arms crossed, not trying to seek more behind his words, trying to just laugh at his confident clumsiness. Beer flows over his hands and she cocks her head to the side. “You just answered your own question,” she notes. “If you’d used a regular opener, that would not have happened. Or -- well, maybe it still would have, considering your current state.” Fenna reaches out her hand for the bottle. “Thank you, though. My hero.” 

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magnolia, azalea, tulip

MAGNOLIA: Favorite kind of candy?

“Chocolate. Preferably milk, with caramel. Hm.”

AZALEA: What’s a movie you cried while watching?

“It’d be easier if you asked me what movie I haven’t cried at, in all honesty,” says Fenna, laughing slightly. “I mean, whenever there’s a dying ... anything, or some swelling violins or someone professing their undying love, I just tear up. One of my go-to cry movies is Love Rosie, though.”

TULIP:For your birthday, what kind of cake do you ask for?

“Chocolate. I’m just a sucker for chocolate, and I know it’s unoriginal, but I’m a simple pal. Preferably very sticky chocolate cake, that leaves your fingers all gooey and everything, you know?”

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Rose, Locust, Foxglove

ROSE: Are you currently in love with someone?

“I don’t know,” admitted Fenna. Her thoughts lingered on Ever, and then lingered some more — her stomach a mess of warmth and a bit of what was either guilt or shame ( and confusion, endless confusion, as to why this was so difficult when so many books and movies made it seem so easy ). “How do you know you’re in love, anyway? It’d be great if there was, you know, a sign or something. Like a heart-shaped light bulb that started glowing above your head. Or a tiny little round angel that told you, like cupido, something like that.” 

LOCUST: What was your favorite book as a child?

“Well, as a small kid, I adored Minoes — it’s about this cat that becomes a real human lady. Prime Dutch culture, that book. I had a period where I favoured my children’s Bible, but mostly for the illustrations; just don’t tell my mum that. She’d be so disappointed.”

FOXGLOVE: name three facts about your family?

“Again?” Fenna let out a small sigh. “They’re rich, pretty bigoted, and would mingle real well with some of these uppity purebloods if – you know – those, well, uppity purebloods weren’t so uppity about muggles. That’s really all you need to know.” 

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foxglove & daffodil <3

FOXGLOVE: name three facts about your family?

Fenna shifts a little in her seat, all the fun facts about her family clouded by a bitterness. “Er — well, my mum makes the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted. With apple and raisins and cinnamon; it’s really good. My grandparents are all still alive, miraculously so. My dad only cries when is favourite football team loses. Which is Ajax, by the way.”

DAFFODIL:  what’s the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received?

“Uh, probably the owl my parents bought me before I started Hogwarts? They both gave me a lifeline and a first friend in a new world, you know — Mina’s still one of my favourite people in the castle to this day.”

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fenna. roxanne. kimiko. luna. ailyn.

Flower Ask

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Fenna already felt the buzz of alcohol in her body --- she felt like she was slightly humming, and she embraced it fully. It was better than the tension she seemed to feel at all times those days, and with a hangover potion already waiting on her bedside table, she had no plans of holding back tonight. That was as long as her hands would cooperate. Fenna stood with a beer bottle in her hand, trying to get rid off the cap by pushing it against the edge of a table. She seemed to lack the strength, though, or the technique, and frustration washed over her face. The bottle ended up on the table, still closed, and she looked around for a moment before --- “Hey, you! Do you have a beer opener? Or a  lighter? Or, like, the strange skill to open beer bottles with your teeth or bellybutton, like those freaks on the internet?”

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