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therenlover · 3 years

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The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

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The University of Novi Grad

Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx , @be-cautious-around-bri , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car , @frothonthedaydreams

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #fanfiction

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blossomkoushi · 3 years

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it’s what you feel, when you love someone.

summary: tsukishima kei spends his life discovering love. and the heartache that comes with it.

warnings: reader is a bit of an ass, but so is tsukishima one time, childhood friends AU, unrequited love, heartache, heartbreak, general angst things like that. gender neutral reader, referred to as “stinky” in texts. truly all hurt and no comfort in this one.

word count: 2.1k

A/N: i haven’t written angst in forever, so please let me know if this was okay or what i could improve on! i absolutely love angst and i want to get better at writing it, so any and all feedback is appreciated. fic is based off this prompt, thank you for requesting!

The sun shines through Tsukishima’s window. 7:30am. Rolling over in his bed and sighing, he reaches for his phone. The text messages you’d sent after he’d gone to bed sit at the top of the screen. A small smile grows on his face.

[from: stinky, sent at 1:43am] >> kei-kei, did you know that fish cough? Isn’t that so weird? >> like how does that even work >> wait I found a youtube video, look! >> *stinky sent a link* >> …doesn’t really look like coughing, does it? It’s more like a yawn >> kei-kei are you sleeping? >> laaaame >> sleeping is dumb

The nickname makes his heart flutter, just for a moment. It’d always had that effect on him, the blush creeping up on his face until he trained himself to keep it down.

[to: stinky, 7:34am] >> why were you sending me texts about fish at 1:40 in the morning >> stupid

Tsukishima pauses for a moment, hesitating before sending another text.

[to: stinky, 7:36am] >> are you still coming by practice later?

Getting out of bed, he starts getting ready for his morning class and practice. A part of him is grateful that you decided to go to the same university as him, being able to see you nearly every day made his life brighter. Not that he’d ever tell you that.

He’s out the door and walking to class when you text him back.

[from: stinky, 8:27am] >> obviously, I need to go see how ‘Taro is doing >> could you steal his shirt so I can see his abs during practice? >> *image attached*

Some kind of horny meme that Tsukishima never bothered to pay attention to, the kinds you always send when talking about his teammate, Kyoutani.

[from: stinky, 8:29am] >> oh, and you’ll be there too, ig

There it is.

He knows it’s a joke. He knows that he’s your best friend and you’re only joking. But the sinking in his chest and the knot tightening in his stomach is refusing to listen to his reasoning.

Swallowing down any anxious and sad feelings, he shakes his head and starts typing away at his phone.

[to: stinky, 8:30am] >> great. I’ll see you after class

Another message of seemingly random emojis pop up on his screen and he pockets his phone, taking a seat in the classroom and bringing out his notebook. He can feel himself zoning out before the professor even starts speaking.

Love is a strange word to Tsukishima Kei. It’s something his mom, and occasionally brother, say to him. Something on instinct, as if a promise would be broken if the words weren’t uttered.

Tsukishima had been 5 years old when he asked his mom about it. At the time he only repeated it back to her, an echo of her declaration, unaware of what he was promising her.

“it’s a feeling, Kei. Love is what you feel when you care for someone deeply. And so, you tell them.”

“do you have to say it?”

His mom stops for a moment, pondering before brushing his hair back and shaking her head. “no, you don’t have to say it. But you should at least show it to the people you love.”

Tsukishima continued telling his mom that he loves her up until elementary school. He still loves her after that, but his priorities shifted.

Tsukishima had been 8 years old when he realizes that he loves you.

The feeling grew stronger every day, your smile brightening his day and your laughter making his heart flutter in a strange way.

“Kei-Kei! Look, I found a snail! There’s more over there, come on!” your excited voice made his heart swell in his chest. Your small hand gripped his, tugging him through the mud and puddles on the yard, giggling happily despite the rain pouring down.

He starts drawing you pictures of snails. Small doodles placed on your desk before recess. He points them out after it’s rained, pulling you along to bend down and watch them slowly drag along the road on the way home from school.

You get interested in frogs, cats, worms, bees, even ants for a while. Tsukishima joined your obsessions, indulging you with drawings, books and pictures. One time he collected worms in a bucket on his walk home, handing them to you when he arrived at your house, knowing that you were ill and hoping the wigglies, as you called them, would make you happier. The smile you gave him burned into his mind, and he wanted to see it again and again until the end of time.

He loves you, even his young mind can grasp that. He hopes that you can tell.

Tsukishima is 12 years old when he realizes that he’s in love with you.

Valentine’s day was never something he’d pay attention to. It seemed silly to him, a whole day just to talk about love? Stupid. Love is something you feel, so you say it or show it and that’s that, why spend a whole day talking about it?

That is, until you run up to him the day before, excitement flashing in your eyes.

“Kei-Kei, do you know what day it is tomorrow?” your hands gripped his arms, nearly shaking him. The familiar blush grows on his face and he shakes his head, hoping you don’t notice how his skin is turning pinker by the second. “it’s valentine’s day! I heard some of the older boys talking in the hallway about what they’re doing for their girlfriends and it seems so cute! Like, oh, one is going to take his girlfriend out roller skating, isn’t that so romantic? And this other boy was saying that-“

Tsukishima tunes your voice out, focusing his attention to your lips moving. Your hands are still gripping his arms and a part of him wishes that you’d never let go, feeling his skin burning under his clothes. You’re standing so close; he could lean his head forward just a bit and his lips could be on yours. If he just-

“-Oh! And I heard some girls talking before gym that the boys in our class were going to confess to their crushes tomorrow! Do you think anyone will confess to me? I hope so” your words snap him back to reality. His eyes go slightly wide, looking into yours. Confess? You wanted one of the stupid boys in your class to confess?

A twinge of discomfort stabs in his stomach, his body filling with sudden annoyance. “no way” he scoffs.

He’s never regretted anything more in his life.

The excitement drains from your eyes and your hands fall from his arms. Before he can think, your chin quivers and you nod silently, turning around and running away.

The discomfort in his stomach only grows, changing and chafing along with an ache in his chest, all annoyance drained from his body in an instance.

He draws a picture of a snail and dinosaur, writing your names over them. Underneath he scribbles an apology. A quick “I’m sorry”, and he places it in your mailbox on his way home.

The next day, he sees you on the yard of the school, standing excitedly in front of a boy and throwing your arms around him.

Tsukishima is 13 years old when he realizes that you don’t love him back. Not in the way he wants.

Though, to be honest, he knew from the moment he saw you with the boy from your class walk home together from school, hand in hand.

You’re both in junior high and all you seem to want to talk about is your stupid boyfriend. It’s a different boy, not the same one he saw you with that previous February. This one is taller, not as tall as Tsukishima, but you say that height isn’t something you look for in a boyfriend. He can’t help but to feel the jealousy and sadness seep in at that.

“he’s older, you know. He’s turning 15 in a few weeks and he says that I can meet his family at his birthday party.” You’re seated on Tsukishima’s bed while he’s at the desk, trying to tune you out and do his homework. He hopes you’ll stop talking about him and do the same. You don’t. “oh, and I know you’ve never had a girlfriend, so you won’t know this, but he’s such a good kisser. Like, you can definitely tell that he’s got some experience compared to my ex. Isn’t that so weird? Me? Having an ex?”

Tsukishima doesn’t like this. You’re changing, trying to be older than you actually are to impress this older boy that he’s never even met. Not that he wants to. He’s gotten used to the dull ache of his heart breaking over and over again, the steady and constant reminder that you won’t ever see him the way that he sees you. He’s mastered the art of seeming okay, masking his feelings and pushing them deep down where no living soul will ever see them. But if he had to see you with this… boyfriend… he’s not sure that he’d recover.

So instead, he shuts up. He stays quiet and lets you babble on about all the little things that this boy does for you, letting the ache in his chest grow and grow. It’s better than the alternative, telling you how he feels. No, that’s not an option. He can’t risk losing you.

Tsukishima Kei is an idiot. He knows this for a fact after having to watch you pine after endless boys and men all the way up until university. Boyfriends that come and go, the make out sessions that he gets graphic descriptions of and a constant damp shoulder from holding you after your heart gets broken.

He pretends to laugh along when you joke about him being single for so long, his heart squeezing painfully at the reminder that his long-time crush has eyes for every man except him.

He only comes back from his heart-break haze when he steps into the gym after class. Only he wishes that he hadn’t.

Calling out a greeting, he sees you standing alone with Kyoutani. Except he’s not sure if it counts as standing, it’s more of a pinning to the wall. Kyoutani’s body caging you in, your back pressed to the wall with your hands around his neck. Even from a distance, he can see your usual excited smile, happy to have gotten attention from the boy you’d been pining after.

“sorry.” Tsukishima can only mutter, quickly turning around and walking out the gym again. He can hear your muffled voice, probably reassuring Kyoutani that it’s okay. He wishes that he’d walked faster, so he would’ve missed the unmistakable sounds of kissing and your soft sighs.

Tsukishima hasn’t let himself cry over you in years. He forces himself to go numb, push away any and all bad feelings until his breathing gets steady and he can look you in the eye again.

But this time, he can’t stop it. He’s fallen to the floor as soon as the bathroom door locks behind him. It’s disgusting, sitting on the floor with his hands pressed to his eyes, trying to force the tears back inside. His classes clink onto the floor, skidding away from him as his body shakes.

Tears stream down his face and drips down his shirt, turning the fabric into a blotchy mess, matching his flushed face and the snot running from his nose. His sobs echo off the walls, arms hugging his knees while the image of your body pressed against his teammate flashes behind his eyes every time he blinks.

He hasn’t cried over you in years. So, when it all hits him, it hits hard.

He misses practice completely, spending his time laying on the filthy floor in the bathroom and clutching his chest, trying to bring the broken pieces back together. He finally stands after what feels like an eternity. Picking up his glasses from the floor, he puts them on and watches himself in the mirror. Face flushed pink, eyes bloodshot and snot running from his nose, he thinks about what his mother said when he was a kid.

“love is what you feel when you care for someone deeply.”

A bitter laugh fills the room, his own hard eyes meeting him in the mirror.

His mother was wrong. Love isn’t what you feel when you care for someone deeply. All you feel is pain. The dull twisting of a knife in your chest as you watch the one you love fall for someone else, over and over again until you accept that their soft and loving eyes will never meet yours. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you’re standing in the bathroom of the gym where you saw said person fall in love with someone new. That you’ve accepted it.

#wilted.flowers #wilted.tsukishima #sprout.tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima angst #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst

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zkfanworkweek · 4 years

Text

ZFAW Fan Content Creator Interviews: HayleyNFoster

Hey everyone! We hope you’re all excited for ZFAW, and to honor (ha!) ZFAW’s commitment to supporting and celebrating fan content creators in the Zutara fandom, we’re going to be rolling out a series of interviews with well-known and widely-beloved content creators over the next few weeks. We’ve got artists and fanfiction authors, some names you recognize as well as a few phenomenal up-and-coming talents, and we can’t wait for you to meet them all!

For the second interview in this cycle, we have our best propaganda creator and this fandom’s hottest new artist/undisputed queen of the animatic, @hayleynfoster!

1. Tell us about how you came to ship Zutara. What does this ship mean to you?

When I was around 14 or 15 and caught Avatar: The Last Airbender on television, I was drawn in by the art style, the humor, and the wonderful characters. I caught the episodes out of order, and the first one I saw and wasn’t prepared to be sucked in by was The Waterbending Scroll. It intrigued me at that age, and the line “I’ll save you from the pirates” combined with the tension between Katara and Zuko in that whole scene was electrifying. I remember my teenage self thinking these two have so much chemistry! And when I saw a commercial on Nickelodeon that featured fanart submitted by fellow Avatar fans, I realized that I could do that to! So I set about making Zutara fanart for myself. I stumbled onto Youtube, practically in its infancy, and discovered that people set clips of Zuko and Katara set to music (And this was still in season 1 days… so people who made these amvs were the real mvps because they were able to make compelling narratives in their amvs with like practically nothing to work with!). The AMVs really spurred my interest in this couple, I remember distinctly one Zutara AMV using the Dido song White Flag utterly capturing my imagination. I found fandom shortly after, getting into deviantart and forums. But the ship really began to mean something to me when, as I was working on my drawings in the computer lab at school, a buoyant presence hovered over my shoulder noticing my Zutara art on the computer screen. The girl was someone I had never really talked to and had only seen from afar but she immediately started excitedly saying she shipped Zuko and Katara too! In this simple shared obsession, I made one of the best friends I’ve ever had and we’re still friends to this day. We would theorize and fangirl over Avatar like it was nobody’s business; we poured over bootleg San Diego Comic Con footage that showed spoilers for season 2 before it aired; we lost our freaking minds when we finally saw The Crossroads of Destiny. We had watch parties every week as Season 3 of A:TLA aired, and comforted each other when the show ended as it did (much ranting was shared). Those are some of my happiest memories from high school… all because this one pairing from this wonderful show. Even though Zutara didn’t happen, we still chat every now and then about it. Zutara will probably be a lifelong obsession, always bubbling under the surface. And without it, I would have never realized that animation was a viable career path. It really did inspire everything including the work I’m doing to this day in the animation industry. I owe a lot to this ship and to Avatar: the Last Airbender.

2. What inspires you to create zutara fanworks?

The resurgence of Avatar: The Last Airbender this year really helped sort of spark that dormant love I had for Zutara. The show’s ending still disappointed me on the rewatch, but Zuko and Katara’s relationship arc was as captivating as ever, so I turned to some fanfiction and looking at people’s pretty Zutara art and AMVs to just revel in fanon instead of getting to hung up on the actual ending of the show. But then I realized, with quarantine and my work load being pretty light, I had time to actually make all new Zutara art for myself, art I was never fully capable of making as a kid, but now could do with my 7 years of industry experience and just… life experience. And I was inspired to do some corrective animatics to satisfy my own desire for a different ending. I just really like exploring these two characters, doing different and interesting things with them, and frankly I’m inspired to make cute, fluffy, romantic art simply by virtue of living in a really sad and depressing world. Things are so crazy right now, creating art about two characters I love being in love, is comforting. And it helps to have inspiring music and amazing Zutara amvs to just sort of stir up my emotions and imagery in my head to make into animatics and art.

3. Be selfish - if you could request one fanwork based on your own art/fanfic, what would it be? What would you absolutely love to see someone create?

Ohhhh… Well, It’s always nice to have people write fanfiction that puts words to my animatics. I am not that great at coming up with dialog myself, so I’ve just chosen to indulge in visuals and emotions for my boards. But when I read things like RideBoldlyRide’s take on my Reunion Animatic, it makes me pretty giddy. (They finally have voices!) :) And this is the MOST selfish thing I could request, but I’m not shy about saying how much I love well done amvs, so I will literally kill for someone to make Zutara AMVs to songs I like… Like, most of AURORA’s songs but especially Exist for Love, Sunseeker by The Naked and Famous, Promises or Take Me by Aly & AJ, Adore You by Harry Styles, Human Enough by ONR, Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine, and/or Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier just… I can see the AMVs so clearly to any of these songs in my head, but I don’t have the tools or skill set at my disposal to make a compelling fan video. When I was in high school, I originally thought I wanted to go into video editing simply because I loved making very crappy AMVs (they were so bad you guys), but I figured out being a storyboard artist was more in my wheelhouse. haha

4. Any words for people who are new to the fandom and/or nervous about sharing their work for the first time?

If you’re new to the Zutara fandom, just have a good time! Don’t waste too much time arguing with people over your shipping preferences. I wasted so much of my teen years having pointless shipping wars with people on DeviantArt, and I’m just so much happier nowadays because I’m just making Zutara art in my little corner of the internet, and honestly, in the politest of ways, I don’t give a shit if people don’t like my art or Zutara. haha I think that’s sort of a key thing for people thinking of posting creative works here in the fandom, just make art for yourself, satisfy your own desires for the pairing, get your creative sparks flying, and create just for the joy of creating. It’s always nice to get comments and such, but simply making the art should be what spurs you on, not the external validation. And have a good time, don’t worry too much - I say as someone who worries about EVERYTHING. But honestly, making art for A:TLA is some of the most relaxed I’ve been because I make it just for me. I’m lucky others seem to like it too!

5. What’s an idea for a fanwork that you have but haven't gotten around to making?

I have an idea for a second generation storyline with my Zutara kids that involves Kya (the eldest firebending daughter) falling in love with an airbender boy (tentatively named Gora in my headcanon who’s a bit of a rabble rouser and one of Aang’s kids he had with a Kyoshi Warrior), and then they start a socialist revolution in the Fire Nation in order to dismantle all of the hierarchical societies across the Avatar world… Together Kya and Gora Fan the Flames of revolution… ehhhhh... Get it?? Oh! Oh, and then Katara, who had put in legit liberal reforms in her time as Fire Lady listens to her daughter after resisting in the first part of the story, but then realizes she can actually play a part in the dissolution of the royalty and is also active in the revolution realizing that moderate liberal reforms are no substitute for a society free of serving royalty (which she had always been uncomfortable with but had rationalized with herself that she was doing good in her capacity as Fire Lady.) I just feel like there’s a lot of cool potential for discussing these ideas and also having some aspirational change in the Avatar world. lol For aesthetics and just happy fluffy times, I can indulge in Fire Lady and Fire Lord Zuko stuff, but really at the end of the day, I take issue with the structures in a society that have to exist for monarchies to exist. Soooo, I kind of want to do my own corrective story for that… if I ever have the time or guts. On a less ambitious note, I would love to do a Zutara sparring animatic to practice doing action, but I need a good story; I am not good at doing fights just for fighting’s sake. Those are just some things I have rattling around in my head.

6. Are you participating in ZFAW? If so want to give us a hint as to your plans?

Yes! The most I can say is I have one animatic almost finished and one that’s still being thumbnailed. The rest are probably going to be comics or emotive single pieces based on the fanfics I really like right now. :)

#interviews #zutara fanworks appreciation week #zfaw #hayleynfoster #zutara

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bup1957 · 3 years

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jonnie! I know youve written kent for QUITE a while now (hello again xoxo) so, a question for you, hun. I want you to recall those passions for kent and tell me what about him is so special to you. what do you resonate with? what do you feel when you look at your muse? what's kept you with them all this time? don't be afraid to pour your heart out, that's the goal. *holds mic to u*

HIII HELLO HELLO MONI <3 I always find myself like a deer in headlights when I get asked this question (but in a good way, if that's at all possible). It can be difficult for me to articulate at length exactly what it is that makes Kent appeal to me with such intensity. He is by far my favorite character ever, beating out the likes of characters with far more development, history, and backstory that I'm also very fond of. My love of Kent Mansley is very much instinctual, I think. I do recount quite often the genesis of my petite obsession, and now is one such occasion. The players: me, 15 and freshly on the other side of a tween weaboo phase; one rented copy (from Netflix, back when people still used the DVD service en masse) of the Iron Giant. The scene: a rewatch of a film I was too scared to complete as a child because of the villain I now come to call my poor little meow meow above all other poor little meow meows. It was like Cupid struck me with an arrow, honestly. I decided on a rewatch because of the Giant... And came out the other side with a fierce passion for a man most everyone rightfully hates. It's a rush of several feelings that hit me whenever I muse upon The Muse. I get giddy, most of all. I love his stupid little face and his aggravating posturing and his completely unearned ego. I'd put up my dukes if faced with him in real life but draw him [CENSORED] all the time. He's a rat bastard but he's my rat bastard. I think in the end that's what kept me coming back. In all my (Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ) eight years of writing him, off and on and off and on, only one other person's made a blog for him... And (sadly) they vanished quickly soon after I returned myself. But at the same time, because he is so often overlooked or outright rejected, he very much feels like he is my own character. To the point that I honestly prefer receiving fan art of him than my own characters. He runs almost entirely on headcanons at this point (not for my lack of trying, of course, but the Iron Giant is a film that does not need an effusive backstory for its characters) and yet I've been told time and time again he smacks distinctly of his movie counterpart. There's something at the core of him I get, apparently, and I think it's that same aspect that has managed to keep me in his orbit, even if it perhaps has decayed a bit since I was first ensnared. All of this to say, in the end, that I don't have an easy answer to this question even all these years later. I look at Kent and I feel like a Tex Avery wolf in ways that go beyond (but don't necessarily exclude wink wonk) horny. It's something bordering on a little primal; like a moth drawn to a flame, like a Florentine artist drawn to their muse.

#[ooc]#[i got very flowery with this one but kent's worth it <3]

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gerrymike · 3 years

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OK. commentary on my satg playlist. For reasons

lol it wont let me hyperlink but. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0w9pMZtOvP0plqdxT665q7?si=wEFnvdh3Rjaa0p2UX251mQ&dl_branch=1 Plug

1. PIEDMONT (DESTROY BOYS)

Looks like I'm late for the party Everyone knows the attire but me Glass walls separate us Catch a glimpse into different books On different shelves

i.e. teen crisis where u want desperately to live the same life as ppl on the street but also can’t imagine anything worse

2. SWEET ADELINE (ELLIOTT SMITH)

It's a picture-perfect evening and I'm staring down the sun Fully loaded, deaf and dumb and done Waiting for sedation to disconnect my head Or any situation where I'm better off than dead

i.e. she’s alive! is that worse or better. also jfc, you fucking hate hospitals

3. ALAMEDA (ELLIOTT SMITH)

You walk down Alameda Shuffling your deck of trick cards over everyone Like some precious only son Face down, bow to the champion

also

Walk down Alameda Brushing off the nightmares you wish Could plague me when I'm awake And now you see your first mistake Was thinking that you could relate For one or two minutes she liked you But the fix is in

i.e. oops it’s two elliotts in a row, sorry. just. about the connection you can form with someone given just a short period of time, and how sometimes it gets ruined by, like, a werewolf. pretty similar to sweet adeline. mx weisglass gets two songs. plus “precious only son” 😬 “shuffling your deck of trick cards” 😬

4. CAN I PLAY WITH MADNESS (IRON MAIDEN)

Give me the sense to wonder To wonder if I'm free Give me a sense of wonder To know I can be me Give me the strength to hold my head up Spit back in their face

i.e. for Me mostly because i think the whiplash from elliott to maiden is kinda funny. also the gerry VS twisty animosity, in over-the-top wizardy terms. sometimes you are full of hate and that’s OK 😬

5. ICU (PHOEBE BRIDGERS)

If you're a work of art I'm standing too close I can see the brush strokes I hate your mom I hate it when she opens her mouth It's amazing to me How much you can say When you don't know What you're talking about

and

I'll climb through the window again But right now it feels good not to stand Then I'll leave it wide open Let the dystopian morning light pour in

i.e. we’re back in london…and, well, yeah. also, song title! we’re still in sacramento, actually, spiritually, at this point in the story

6. CRY FOR JUDAS (THE MOUNTAIN GOATS)

Feel the storm every night Hope it passes by Hallucinate a shady grove where Judas went to die Unfurl the black velvet altar cloth Draw a white chalk Baphomet Mistreat your altar boys long enough and this is what you get

i.e. crew. i think about him

7. IRIS (THE GOO GOO DOLLS)

And all I can taste is this moment And all I can breathe is your life And sooner or later, it's over I just don't wanna miss you tonight

plus

And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am

i.e. OK. OK. OK. yeah, OK. damn right all you can taste is this moment…yeah OK. SONGS5

8. KILL ALL YOUR FRIENDS (MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE)

It's been 8 bitter years since I've been seeing your face And you're walking away And I will die in this place

It's been 10 fucking years since I've been seeing your face round here And you're walking away And I will drown in the fear

i.e. ah…the lyrical differences in the chorus…yes…also i love how raucous this song is despite what it’s about. it’s got satg energy!!! “seeing your face”, of course, is not literal 😬

9. ENCHANTING GHOST (SUFJAN STEVENS)

Don't carry on carrying efforts, oh no, oh oh oh oh Somewhere there's a room for each of us to grow And if it pleases you to leave me, just go, oh oh oh oh Stopping you would stifle your enchanting ghost

and

Did you cut your hands on me? Are my edges sharp? Am I a pest to feed?

i.e. 😬😬😬

10. PAUL (BIG THIEF)

In the blossom of the months I was sure that I'd get driven off with thought So I swallowed all of it As I realized there was no one Who could kiss away my shit

and PARTICULARLY

Well Paul, I know you said That you'd take me any way I came or went But I'll push you from my brain See, you're gentle baby I couldn't stay, I'd only bring you pain

i.e. HARROWING TERRITORY!!!

11. PITSELEH (ELLIOTT SMITH)

I'll tell you why I Don't wanna know where you are I gotta joke I've been dying to tell you

i.e. sorry. a lot of elliott smith on this playlist. thems the breaks

12. OPHELIA (THE LUMINEERS)

Oh, Ophelia You've been on my mind girl like a drug Oh, Ophelia Heaven help a fool who falls in love

i.e. callbacks to SONGS5…! and more pain

13. CLOUDS (BORNS)

I forget all my dreams I forget everyones name I meet I forget about time and space But I can't stop thinking 'bout your face

i.e. tfw your memory’s shit and also you just threw yourself into the sky and you’re still not over it. yowch!

14. ARCADE (DUNCAN LAWRENCE)

Oh, oh-oh-oh oh Oh, oh-oh-oh, oh All I know, all I know Loving you is a losing game

i.e. sorry i heard this song first in a c#tradora edit and i have never recovered.

15. WARS (OF MONSTERS AND MEN)

Yeah, I love you on the weekends But I'm careless and I'm wicked Yeah, I love you on the weekends It's a cruel war I still have pieces of you stuck on me Pieces of you stuck on me Yeah, I love you on the weekends It's a cruel war

i.e. PIECES OF YOU STUCK ON ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is the only song of the new omam i’ve heard. i never got around to listening to it. but this one slaps

16. MONTERO (LIL NAS X)

Lookin' at the table, all I see is weed and white Baby, you livin' the life, but baby, you ain't livin' right Cocaine and drinkin' with your friends You live in the dark, boy, I cannot pretend

AND

A sign of the times every time that I speak A dime and a nine, it was mine every week What a time, an incline, God was shinin' on me Now I can't leave And now I'm actin' hella elite

AND ESPECIALLY

I want that jet lag from fuckin' and flyin'

i.e. God i love this song. re: avatarhood. YOU CAN’T LEAVE!!! not saying it’s like being a celebrity, but it’s like being a celebrity. dual perspectives here with G + his morality regarding the person he loves being, uh, evil? (you live in the dark / i cannot pretend) and M + debt he owes to his god, erosion of his own morals. also, SHEER F*CKING VIBES

17. GEYSER (MITSKI)

You're my number one You're the one I want And you've turned down Every hand that has beckoned me to come

i.e. love songs that serve double as to your god and to your lover

18. THAT’S WHAT I LIKE (BRUNO MARS)

Jump in the Cadillac (Girl, let's put some miles on it) Anything you want (Just to put a smile on it) You deserve it baby, you deserve it all

i.e. this song is here because i say so. a real “sorry it’s been seven years let me make it up to you” vibe

19. RUN AWAY WITH ME (SUFJAN STEVENS)

And I say, love Come run away with me Sweet, falling remedy Come run away with me

i.e. more grand ridiculous propositions. more to come. but they’re born out of a real frustration with the situation at hand! it sucks! also, “falling remedy”,

20. LET’S GET MARRIED (BLEACHERS)

I'm gonna get right for you, honey I'll take all of my medicine, spend you all my money, yeah I know it's hard enough to love me But I woke up in a safe house singing, "Honey, let's get married"

i.e. bro.

21. I WILL (MITSKI)

And while you sleep I'll be scared So by the time you wake I'll be brave

i.e. a lot of these here are self explanatory..

22. ME & MY DOG (BOYGENIUS)

I had a fever Until I met you Now you make me cool

also

I never said I'd be all right Just thought I could hold myself together But I couldn't breathe, I went outside Don't know why I thought it'd be any better I'm fine now, it doesn't matter

i.e. title is significant. and yeah. just. recovery’s tricky

23. I FOUND (AMBER RUN)

And I've moved further than I thought I could But I missed you more than I thought I would

i.e. this is like a staple song for like. basically. any pairing. but i’m pathetic and it gets me every time. there’s something about it. not sure if i’m going to leave it on this playlist but. hm. yeah

OK that’s a wrap. highly likely i’ll put more songs on this as i go

#talk #i wrote this post instead of working. yay me

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banshee1013 · 4 years

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Suptober Day 22 - But I Know That I Love You So

Well, this is it - the last one I managed to finish both art and fic for during the month of October, and it’s at a pretty good stopping point. There are 2 others where the fic is done but not the art, and two additional ones in the planning stages, all which will be released when they’re done. The Masterpost will be published tomorrow, and then updated with AO3 tags as they’re posted there.

Please forgive this last one - I’m still learning to draw people and not that great at it. That’s why there were so many inanimate objects, still life, and hands HAHA. Something to get better at for next year!

So, I hope you enjoy this last installment! Thanks again to @winchester-reload for hosting this challenge again, and I look forward to having the time now to check out everyone else’s amazing work! You’re ALL ROCK STARS.

Overall Title: The Road Less Traveled

Overall Rating: Mature (may change to Explicit, we’ll see how it goes)

Tags: Castiel/Dean, mention of Sam/Eileen, Post-Season 15, ExAngel!Cas, MostlyRetiredHunter!Dean, Road Trip

(Note: all ficlets are unbeta’d. At the end of the month, I’ll wrap up whatever I manage to get written, clean it up, get it beta’d, and post to AO3. So please pardon any mistakes!)

========================================================

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - BUT I KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU SO

Words: 1797

“Baby, we need to talk,”

Dean’s eyes bore into his, earnest, wide with concern and not a small amount of fear.

A small thread of worry wormed its way around his heart from that statement, the look in his eyes. But the increasing amount of shivering he feels through their clasped hands is far more of a problem at the moment.

“Yes, of course… but Dean, you’re shivering.” He gently disengages a hand from Dean’s, using the other to pull him towards the bathroom and the shower there.

“Cas, I… “ Dean starts but cuts himself off as Cas pulls the shower door back to turn on the water. “W-what’s g-g-going on?”

Cas pivots back to Dean, quickly stripping him of his wet clothes, Dean’s shivering increasing. The clothes are tossed in the corner, and he turns again to check the temperature of the water, which is starting to steam up the mirror over the sink. Turning it down a little so as to not scald him, he urges Dean into the shower.

“You need to warm up or you’ll catch a cold,” Castiel says, gently pushing him under the spray, and begins to close the shower door when Dean’s hand grasps his wrist.

“Cas, g-get in h-here with me, you’re w-w-wet too.”

Dean does have a point, Castiel notices, looking down at his own dripping clothes beginning to form a pool of water beneath him, his own shivers amplifying. He eyes the tiny tub, the showerhead just barely reaching the back of Dean’s neck and a mere few feet of room left. “The shower is too small for both of us.” He does begin to remove his sodden clothing, however, tossing it in the corner of the bathroom to join Dean’s. He’ll have to hang them up after their showers in hopes they’ll be dry enough to pack in the morning. “The steam from the shower will warm me.” He closes the bathroom door to trap even more of the warmth.

But Dean is nothing if not persistent. “Cas, c’mon, we’ll make it work.” The shower is having its desired effect, at least, as his voice is no longer shaking. The insistent tone gives way to one more pleading. “Please, Cas? I need to talk to you.”

Castiel cannot deny him anything, especially when said in that tone of voice. He acquiesces, climbing into the shower, and is immediately pulled under the spray and into Dean’s arms.

“There, much better, am I right?”

It’s very hard to deny, the warmth of the water and Dean’s proximity chasing away his own shivering. He ducks to allow the water to run over his head, warming him fully before spinning Dean carefully around, urging his head under the water as well.

Dean sputters, pulling his head out from under the water. “Okay, okay, I’m good now.” He brushes the excess water from his face, then places a palm on Castiel’s shoulder, the other cupping his jaw, lifting his face to meet Dean’s eyes. The hint of concern is back, and the thread of worry around his heart pulls taut.

“Cas, we need to…” he pauses, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath before continuing. “I need to talk to you about what I asked you the other day.”

The thread of worry snaps and Castiel’s heart plummets into the pit forming in his stomach.

This is where his worst fears come true - where Dean confirms it was a mistake, that he didn’t mean to say those words, to ask that question. He pulls his gaze away from Dean’s, staring at the wall over his shoulder.

At least any dampness that may appear on his cheeks can be explained away by the condensation from the shower.

“I.. I understand, Dean. It’s quite alright,” he hears himself say, as from a great distance.

“No... no Cas, you don’t.” Dean’s voice all but vibrates with apprehension - of course; Dean does care for him, and he’s a kind person, not one to willingly inflict harm - “I meant every word.”

Castiel blinks rapidly, not trusting his hearing. “Excuse me?” His eyes fall back on Dean’s, searching.

Dean’s eyes are open and honest, but he sighs morosely. “I meant every word… but God, how I wish it hadn’t come out like that.” He gives him a wan smile, his eyes falling away. “That was such a lame way to ask you.”

Castiel’s head tilts in confusion. “I’m.. not sure what you mean?”

Dean’s head is still lowered, but Castiel can still see the flush spreading across his cheeks, the embarrassment in his voice. “It should have been so much better… on my knees, presenting a ring… something other than just... “ He pauses with a sigh, his shoulders shrugging.

Castiel’s heart sprouts wings and soars, out of the pit of his stomach directly into his throat, where he has to choke out the words around it, fingers tilting Dean’s chin up to look into those beautiful green eyes he loves so much. “Dean, no. it was honest and perfect.”

Those green eyes, dark with dread, begin to lighten. “But… you haven’t said anything since then…”

It was Castiel’s turn to look down, ashamed. “I was afraid to mention it… for fear it was an accident.” He swallows, hard. “I wanted to keep on believing it was true for as long as possible.”

Dean’s bright laughter startles him, and he jerks his head up in alarm. Dean’s eyes are dancing, lips spread in a grin full of delight. “Boy, we are just a couple of dumbasses, aren’t we?” Before Castiel can agree, Dean is on him, pressing him into the wall of the shower with a crushing, urgent kiss.

A sound bubbles up in Castiel’s chest and escapes around Dean’s lips on his own - a small sob of relief and gratitude. His hands scrabble at Dean’s shoulders, attempting to gain further purchase there, to bring him even closer.

Dean breaks the kiss and his head falls to Castiel’s shoulder, where soon he feels dampness there, warmer than the cooling shower water pouring on them. He gently pulls Dean’s head up to look into his face.

Dean’s eyes glow in the fluorescent light, bright with unshed tears. His hands capture the sides of Castiel’s face, thumbs sweeping gently over his cheeks.

“God, I love you so much, Cas,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. Then he shivers as the rest of the hot water runs out, the temperature dropping rapidly. “C’mon, we’re gonna freeze again.” His hand drops from Castiel’s face to his hand, spinning around to turn off the shower water and open the shower door to retrieve towels from the rack above the toilet, handing one to Castiel.

It becomes quickly apparent that the shower is far too small for both of them to be able to dry off there, so with an exaggerated shiver, Dean hops out of the shower and begins to rapidly dry off, Castiel following suit within the shower tub. When they’re both dry, Dean offers his hand to Castiel, drawing him out of the shower and into the room proper. He makes his way to the duffle bag by the door and fetches out two pairs of sweats, stepping into one pair before helping Castiel into the other. He then snatches the Impala keys from the nightstand and turns for the door.

“I’ll be right back. I have an idea.” He opens the door and darts out into the rain.

Castiel sighs and heads to fetch another towel from the bathroom.

The door bursts back open, an only slightly damp Dean re-entering with something clutched in his clenched fist. He closes the door behind him and approaches Castiel with firm footsteps.

His hand opens and Castiel sees a ring there, hanging on a chain. “Is that… is that the ring you used to wear?” Castiel squints at the ring, beat up and scratched from all the beer bottle caps scraped against it.

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I stopped wearing it a long time ago… it was the apocalypse and all, and I didn’t want to lose it, so I wore it around my neck for a bit, but it kept popping up and smacking me in the teeth whenever I bent over, so I put it in the glove box.” Dean’s eyes take on a far-away look, a sad smile on his face. “It was originally Mom’s - Dad gave it to her as a sorta promise ring when they first started dating, and of course she stopped wearing it when he got her a proper engagement ring.” He pries open the clasp of the necklace laced through it, his hands shaking, and pulls the ring free from it.

Castiel’s breath catches as Dean falls to his knees in front of him for the second time this day, the ring presented to him, pinched between Dean’s thumb and forefinger.

“Cas,” the words coming so softly Castiel has trouble hearing them over the pounding of the rain on the roof of the motel. “Castiel,” Dean repeats, his voice strengthening with conviction, his eyes cast upwards, hope and love shining in them.

“Will you make me the happiest guy alive and marry me?”

Castiel’s shaking knees give out and he falls to his knees in front of Dean, leaning forward to kiss him, wild and breathless.

“Yes,” he says, kissing his forehead.

“Yes,” he says again, kissing his eyelid, and “yes” again when kissing the other.

Dean is laughing now, the sound filling the room with joy as Castiel continues to kiss him many more times, punctuating each with a heartfelt “Yes.”

Dean finally stops him, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Okay, I get it, I get it!” He grabs Castiel’s hand. “Can I put this damned thing on you now before I just drop it and ravish you?”

Castiel nods, his voice flown away with his heart, and Dean slips the ring on his finger.

Dean holds Castiel’s hand for a second longer, tilting it back and forth as the ring catches the light and bounces reflections around the room.

“Thank you, Cas,” he whispers, then raises Castiel’s hand to his lips, kissing the ring there.

Castiel’s other hand raises to Dean’s face, tilting his head up.

“I felt the coldness of my winter, I never thought it would ever go. I cursed the gloom that set upon us, but I know that I love you so.”

Dean’s eyes squint. “Did you just quote ‘The Rain Song’ to me?”

Castiel smiles, remembering the first time he heard the song on the cassette Dean had made for him.

“You quoted it to me first.”

They fall silent, content, and listen as the rain continues to fall, pattering on the roof.

#suptober20 #day22 #Destiel #art #fic

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magicsmutshop · 5 years

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When You See My Base Line - Pt 1

part 1 of 4

Pairing: Jung Hoseok/Reader Genre: Multi-chapter smut Rating: Explicit Word count: ~2500 Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, drooling over Hoseok’s perfect face and body Summary: You need a hobby, so you take a figure drawing class. Hoseok is the nude model. Note: this is my first fic so please take good care of me! Navigation: part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Who is that man talking to Namjoon by the desk? You’ve never seen him before, but as you look him up and down, you definitely like what you see. Dark, wavy hair with blond streaks flops over his finely-drawn eyebrows. The man’s eyes appealingly crinkle as he beamed at your art teacher, showing off a wide, heart-shaped grin. He looks a bit short standing next to Namjoon--but who doesn’t, next to that tree of a man? More importantly, his loose hoodie and baggy yellow shorts reveal swathes of honey skin and lean muscle. He has the look of a dancer, slender but powerful. Your eyes catch on his exposed thighs (those shorts were really rather short, weren’t they?). Damn, those are truly something to behold. You’d never considered yourself a leg woman before, but those yellow shorts are changing your outlook.

As you drag your appreciative gaze back up his body and face (was that a freckle on his top lip?), you realize Yellow Shorts is looking right back at you. You get lost in his dark brown eyes for a moment until it dawns on you that you’ve just been busted checking this gorgeous man out. His smile grows impossibly wider as your cheeks grow hot. Damn your easy blushes.

You quickly break eye contact, busying yourself with digging through your leather satchel, pretending to look for your pencils. Your hands are actually trembling a bit, and you can feel your heart pounding. How can a 5-second eye lock have such an effect on you? Yellow Shorts is still talking to Namjoon, but every time you accidentally look in their direction (who are you kidding? Your stare is drawn to him like you're magnetized), you can feel the weight of his gaze on you.

Suddenly, Namjoon breaks the tension by clapping his hands together, drawing the attention of everyone sitting at their easels. You turn your attention towards your teacher, but out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Yellow Shorts slipping away towards the screen in the corner of the studio. Is he the model for tonight? You could only be so lucky.

“Hey guys, welcome to week three! Glad you could all make it out on this rainy evening.” Namjoon addresses the class, a dimple appearing in his right cheek as he smiles. “By now, you’re all pretty familiar with the drill, right? We’ll start off with 5 minutes of quick warm-up sketches, and then move into some 10-minute poses. 15 minute coffee break at the hour mark, and then we’ll do a 45-minute pose. Sound good?” He nudges his black-rimmed glasses up his nose as your classmates murmur their agreement.

As you pull your sketchbook out of your bag, you think back to how you’d ended up in this studio in the first place.

---

You’d just ended an 18-month long relationship a few months prior. It was a reasonably amicable breakup--no cheating or dramatics. You had just… fallen out of love. In fact, you weren’t sure if you were ever actually in love. Your relationship had quickly fizzled out of the honeymoon stage, so towards the end, you were in a rut of watching bad tv together on the couch nightly, your ex playing Overwatch on his laptop while you browsed Twitter on your phone. Your sex life wasn’t any more interesting--you hadn’t even “Overwatch and chilled” in quite a while. One night, you looked over at him and realized you had no desire to do this for the next 40 years, and told him it was over. He shrugged, barely looking up from his game.

However, no matter how boring it had been towards the end, it had been comfortable companionship, so your apartment now seemed empty at night. Even the stereotypical post-breakup gym routine couldn’t fill the hours, although you had never looked better. You thought about getting back into the dating game, but the selection of men on the apps was, to put it lightly, terrible.

One night, you were out at a bar with your best friend getting wine-drunk and complaining about your boredom. Ashley took a long sip of her drink before looking at you over her glass. “You know what you need? You need a hobby. And no, Twitter and Tinder don’t count.”

“Twitter is a perfectly valid hobby. I’m keeping up on the latest political news and memes! Plus did you see the latest posts from Mark Ruffalo? That guy is a genius.” You drained the last of your glass and looked around for the server. You needed another drink.

Ashley scoffed. “You’re not even keeping up with politics. You’re getting into flamewars with people over the latest episode of the Bachelorette.” Damn. Your best friend knew you too well. She turned her head and effortlessly flagged the server over while checking her watch. Twenty minutes left for happy hour specials. “Hi, can we get two more glasses of the rosé please?”

You resisted the urge to check your Twitter account and incur more of Ashley’s scorn. “What do you suggest, then?”

“My coworker, you know the one that had the breakdown after she walked in on her husband fucking the babysitter?” Ashley paused as the server dropped off the fresh drinks. You nodded--that was a juicy story you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. “Anyway, she started taking art classes at the rec center. She does everything from pottery to watercolors. Apparently, her psychologist recommended it, but she loves it. She never stops talking about how healing it’s been.”

You wrinkled your nose. “The rec center? I thought those classes were for kids and senior citizens.”

“She did mention there are a lot of old people in her classes. But get this--the drawing teacher was this really hot Korean guy. With dimples.” Ashley gave you a meaningful look. She really did know you too well.

“Ehh… art class? I don’t know if that’s really my thing. I haven’t touched a sketchbook in years.” You had actually been a decent artist in high school, but had dropped it in college as you got wrapped up in your classes and parties. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you’d done anything artistic, outside of mandatory bridesmaid crafting duties for bridal showers and bachelorette parties.

“Hot. Korean. Guy. With. Dimples.” Wine splashed out of Ashley’s glass as she jabbed your finger at you for emphasis. “Plus, getting some culture could be healing for you. It worked for Jessica. You really need to get out of the apartment more.”

You gently grabbed Ashley’s glass, rescuing the wine from her flailing and promptly. pouring it down your throat. “I’ll think about it.” You weren’t going to think about it. There was no way you were going to take an art class with a bunch of senior citizens, even with the lure of a hot instructor.

Two drinks later for each of you, Ashley was squinting at your credit card, trying to type the numbers into the rec center’s shitty website on her phone. “Boom, you’re signed up. Class starts Monday so you’d better get your supplies this weekend.”

In your rosé-induced haze, what you hadn’t realized is that Ashley had signed you up for a figure drawing class. You were in for a double shock when you walked into the rec center 10 minutes late that first Monday night. The first shock, that the teacher, Namjoon, really was that hot (with fantastic dimples)--and the second shock, that there was a nude middle-aged man posing on a couch on a small stage.

Much to your surprise (and Ashley’s smugness), the figure drawing class really was enjoyable. Namjoon was a great teacher--patient and encouraging--and you’d forgotten how good it felt to create something rather than just passively consuming media. You’d even gotten used to the nudity as you focused on capturing the model in efficient pencil strokes in your sketchbook. Your first few figure sketches were horribly amateur, but you soon got caught up in the art, and the first two classes had flown by. The second week’s model had been a young college-aged woman with the most amazing tiger tattoo covering her back, which had been a lot of fun to draw. You had been looking forward to what week three would bring, but you had no idea what was really in store for you.

---

As you finish setting out your pencils and erasers, you notice motion from the corner of the room again. The hot guy from earlier emerges from behind the screen… and he's no longer wearing the shorts, but is wrapped in a knee-length gray robe. Oh holy shit, he really is the model for the night. One of your pencils goes flying out of your suddenly-clammy grip and clatters across the floor, rolling to a stop in front of Yellow Shorts. Your face bursts into flames again.

His face scrunches up into a warm smile. “Oops! You might need this.” He bends over (don’t look at his ass, don’t look at his ass), scoops the pencil up, and saunters over to your desk. The pencil appears in your line of vision where you're staring fixedly down at your sketchbook. Slowly, you look up and meet his twinkling eyes. His smile doesn’t dim as you stare blankly up at him and the little dimples in his cheeks, but he waves the pencil in front of you again. Your attention caught by his hands, you suddenly notice how long and elegant his fingers are. He wears a silver ring on his middle finger, and a delicate chain on his wrist.

As if in a dream, you finally take the pencil from him. Your hand brushes his. His fingers are warm and dry, but you feel your breath catch at the light touch. He drags a fingertip across your palm as he lets go of the pencil. Your eyes snap up to his, which look decidedly darker. But his light tone of voice doesn’t match his eyes as he simply says, “Here you go! Please use it to draw me well!” He turns away to join Namjoon in front of the stage.

Namjoon chuckles quietly. “Everyone, this is Hoseok, our model for tonight. Some of you might know him already. He’s the dance teacher here at the rec center, but moonlights as an art model in his free time.” A dancer, of course. That explains the muscle. Your blush still hasn’t gone down and your palm is still tingling as you try not to stare at his toned legs. Namjoon turns to Hoseok and claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll start with the 5-minute warmup first, so just change your pose every time you hear the timer beep.”

Yellow Shorts--Hoseok--nods cheerfully. “Aye aye, boss!” He steps up on the stage and unceremoniously shrugs out of his robe, laying it to one side and sitting down on the chaise lounge. All of the blood that had previously been in your cheeks is now rushing down to lower parts as you’re treated to an uninterrupted view of his sinuous body. He’s perfect. His collarbones catch the light as he turns his face to the side, revealing a sharp profile. His biceps flex lightly as he lowers himself down on one elbow, accentuating the line from his elegant shoulders to his narrow waist. A very defined v-line draws your eyes from his lean abs to his relaxed cock resting on one of his gorgeous thighs. You subtly squeeze your legs together under your desk at the sight. Shit, even his dick is perfect. You genuinely think your heart might stop--but what a way to go.

Suddenly, your lustful reverie is broken by the sound of the timer going off, indicating that a minute in the quick sketch period had gone by and it’s time for Hoseok to switch poses. You haven’t drawn a single line in your sketchbook yet. You’re fucked.

read part 2

#bts smut #jhope smut #hoseok smut #hoseok/reader #j-hope smut #hobi smut #hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader

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jolecho · 4 years

Text

The Damn Painting (Short Story)

Hey guys! This is my first short story that I wrote in one day, so sorry if it’s a bit messy/bad. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. And also, the story is a bit disturbing. You have been warned!!!

Many in Italy and around the world admire the Italian painter. He was an old man, yet a creative and artistic man. He painted many masterpieces that many call his art revolutionary. People praised the painter by his accuracy and detail that the painter drew from sceneries. Making the painting like a picture, but has a deep emotion tied into it.

However, a man came across a painting that seemed to catch him by surprise. The art showed a farmhouse. It was not just any farmhouse, but a farmhouse that the man used to live until his two parents mysteriously vanished without a word or sign while he was a young teenager.

The man was disturbed. Seeing the details of his old house that he spent his childhood with his late parents made the detective so sad but yet so confused that he had no idea how to react. The man stared at the damn painting for hours. Motionless. He looked at every detail in the picture; the house, the bench in front of the yard, the tools, and the tree. It was all the same, just as he remembered. He stared and pondered deep in thought on where his parents would have gone and tried to answer to himself why the painter decided to draw this particular house.

That night the detective couldn't sleep nor eat. He was lost in his thoughts. He couldn't find a way to answer the reason why his parents left a 15-year-old all alone in the old farmhouse. He felt upset yet confused, and that led to frustration since that same pattern took place every time the man even thought about it. After many years no one was able to explain the reason why his parents disappeared one night. So he was always alone for the rest of his adolescence. Cursed with the confusion of where his parents that he loved so much went to.

The man became mad from the thoughts that he had kept going through his head for many moons. He barely ate, and his eye socket became dark and baggy. Making him seem pitiful and deprived of a restful night. He visited the painting that the painter drew again. He stood there once more for hours in the day. Frozen while the only thing moving were his eyes. He looked depressed. He seemed eager to find the answer but also looked hopeless, just like a corpse with empty eyes.

On the third day of August, the man visited his house for the first time in years. The man remembered that this day was the same day that his parents disappeared. He took the train to the nearest station and walked out with empty eyes, emotionless while his body was fragile. He walked up the mountain. Memories of his younger self started to wash into his head, stabbing the man's heart with pain from all the once happy times to a frustrating end in a matter of few hours on the same damn day.

He walked for a bit more and finally stopped in front of the big old house that seemed to be swallowed by mother nature. The house was covered in vines and new bushes and grass. The man walked up to the door and knocked, his heart filled with hope, hoping to have his parents open the door.

The door remained closed; no one was inside. The man's frustrations grew. His anger and his sadness grew and grew to the point that he broke down at the front of the house. Shedding tears and chocking and screaming to the top of his lungs that he never knew he could with such pain.

It became dawn. The man still kneeled at the same place. His voice was gone, and his eyes were puffed up from tears that he shed. The man rose slowly. He hasn't eaten properly in days, and his body seemed tired from all the energy that he has emitted. He walked away, with his eyes glued to the ground. This was goodbye.

He walked towards the tree that was near his house. The memories flooded once more, but this time the man didn't have the strength even to react nor ignore. He stared at the roots; then, he trailed his eyes upwards to the trunk, then the branch, then the leaves.

His eyes widened, and his jaws dropped. What the man saw was something that would have only been shown in a nightmare. Higher up on the tree, there was a bit of room that the branches did not cover. Up in the clearing, he saw two old skeletons hung up. The man's knee buckled. He screamed in terror, but all that he was able to let out was air since his voice was out from earlier. Tears poured once again, blurring his vision, but he was able to make out the skeletons' outfit. One was a man, and the other was a woman. Their clothes were tattered and covered in blood. The skeletons were covered in dust and strangely stayed intact.

The moon rose, and the sky turned dark. It was a quiet night. Nothing made a sound. The man remained wide-eyed, he was dehydrated and looked even more horrendous after what happened. Then, there was a distant noise coming from nearby. Footsteps. The sound became louder and louder. The man seemed confused, asking himself, "who is wandering in this place during this time of day?"

Then the man was able to make out what he was seeing. He saw the famous old painter, the same one that painted the damn picture. The man was even more confused. Questions were starting to crowd his head, but that quickly became to an end when the man witnessed what he had seen.

The painter stood in front of the tree, his head up towards the skeletons, and his trousers down to his ankles. He was pleasuring himself, grunting and moaning. He went on and on. The painter then muttered, "oh, how beautiful you two have become, being a masterpiece that I have done."

The man was mortified, he froze and remained motionless. The man was witnessing a killer and a mad man that no one in the right mind finds normal. The painter groaned and released. He was pleased and was satisfied. He then lifted his trousers back up and hummed away from the tree.

The man started to panic. He found out who killed his beloved parents. He wanted to run and disappear and relocate himself anywhere but where the painter stayed. He took a step back but made a grave mistake. His foot stepped on a twig, making a loud crack in the quiet night. The man's heart dropped and quickly looked up towards the painter. The painter and the man made eye contact.

The painter grinned. He turned and ran with an unusual posture towards the man while his hands were up in the air. The man panicked and ran away as fast as he could. The man was able to hear the painter shrieking and laughing with joy while yelling, "come back!" and "where are you going?" very unfittingly. The man sprinted in the direction he came from, but unfortunately, it was downhill. The man lost his balance, his feet tripped and let to the man tumbling down the hill with extreme force. The man stopped tumbling when he reached downhill. The painter eventually caught up with him and found that the man remained unconscious.

The man woke up. He felt groggy and felt pain at his anus. He looked around the place. It seemed like he was in a wooden shack. The place was filled with odd smells that the man couldn't make out specifically. He then noticed paints and brushes all around the shack, along with some weird plants and colorful powders and rocks. He tried to sit up, but he was unable to move. Startled, he looked down. He was naked and strapped to a bed that seemed to be moist with strange fluids.

Then, the painter walked into his view. The painter looked down and smiled at the man, saying that he was looking at a true masterpiece. The man, confused and in panic, tried to talk but was quickly reminded that he lost his voice. The painter sighed and shook his head. Disappointed that the man has lost his voice. The painter touched his chest and made his way to his cheek. "Do not be afraid, my masterpiece." He whispered, "For you will be one of my many creations and be praised by many."

The painter made his way towards a rusty IV pole with empty blood bags strung up at the tip. The man pulled out a needle and connected it with a tube that leads to the bag. The old painter giggled and said to the man that this will indeed be painful, but will soon end with a glorious release while fulfilling his destiny.

The painter dug the needle into the arm of the man, where the blood was located. The painter explained to the man that he needs new paint for the new painting that he has in mind and telling him that his healthy blood will be the main recipe to make that happen.

The man panicked and tried to scream for help. The efforts were, however, useless. He resisted will all his might but was all in vain. As the hours passed, his body began to grow weak. His lips became dry, and his body became thinner and thinner. His eyes slowly lost the sign of life. Until finally, he lipped his last words and breathed his last.

The painter made his paints and made his way out of the wooden shed during the time at dawn. The painter then painted once more, expertly drawing with fine detail using exquisite mixtures of color that he has made himself. The painting was once again, a masterpiece that many praised, and became a new collection of his damn paintings.

#murder #tragedy #thriller #short story #painter #art #scary #forest #foreshadowing #chill #chilling #creepy #unsettling #writing #writer #hobby #bored #mood #trend #photo #live #no sleep #idk

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flowercoasts · 5 years

Text

since seventeen, the kids i’ll never be - a beau gen fic

The Mighty Nein pass through Kamordah and Beau wants to close old wounds.

Read on AO3, or

NOTES: implied/referenced child abuse, justice and catharsis for beau

words: 5634

~~~

“We’ll pass through Kamordah then.”

Beau freezes, the ball bearing she was playing with instead of paying attention nearly slipping through her fingers as she tenses, her mind racing a mile a minute.

Jester, standing next to her, lays a hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

Everyone turns to look at her. Why does everyone love being nosy? Beau wishes the ground would open up or a dragon would come flying by. She swallows. Her throat is much too dry. “Yeah.” That was raspy as fuck. Beau clears her throat, plasters on her usual half-smirk. “Yeah, just was surprised, is all. This fucker -“ Beau gestures to the ball bearing in her palm. “Nearly dislocated my… knuckle.” It’s a lie. A shitty lie at that. From the looks on everyone’s faces, no one believes her either.

“Will you be okay,” Fjord starts calmly, a look of concern painted into the downturn of his lips, “with us going into your hometown?”

Jester and Nott suck in a breath at the same time and let out little “Oh”s that make Beau feel like hitting something. Not them. Well, maybe Nott, but not Jester. She just really hates being fucking pitied and looked at the way they’re looking at her now, though.

She grits her teeth. “Look. It’s not a big fucking deal. I couldn’t give two shits.” Short and sharp. Caduceus frowns at her tone and Fjord holds his hands up placatingly. Beau sighs, runs a hand through her hair, trying her damndest to ignore Jester’s puppy eyes and Nott’s more-than-slightly disapproving glare. “... Sorry.”

Caleb approaches slowly and smiles at her with so much apprehension that just seeing his awkwardness hurts her. “Beauregard, we do not have to go.”

“There are many paths that lead to the same destination, Ms. Beau.” Cadences sips calmly from his tea, his voice a distant afterthought. “This one happens to be the fastest, but sometimes the fastest things are not the best.”

“Ye-ahhh… what Caduceus said,” Fjord mutters with a side-eye and a raised eyebrow.

Jester touches Beau’s elbow fleetingly, drawing her attention away from concerned gazes to wide purple eyes. “We won’t judge you. Not for anything. You know that - right, Beau?” Beau dryly swallows, her eyelids fluttering briefly at the memory of rougher grips on her arms, the disapproving frowns, the ugly sneers of a disappointed father.

She clears her throat. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“Are your parents.. awful people?” Nott questions. Her ears are more alert than Beau’s seen in a while.

It’s slightly weird that it’s Nott who knows the most about Beau and not Caleb or Jester or Fjord, but Beau’s not one to knock another for being nosey and inquisitive. From being a nosey person herself, Beau thinks it’s respectable, if nothing else.

She bites her lip and thinks back to an unhappy childhood - remembering everything from the number of places she left her name etched into old wood to the unrelenting yells of her father. He was never happy with her, no matter how hard she tried. So she stopped trying. Their relationship got worse from there, while all Beau’s mother did was watch uncaringly. She was a bad child. Beau knew that. So yeah, she might’ve given them a hard time and yeah they might’ve caused her emotional trauma to last a lifetime but seriously, it could’ve been worse. Right?

“No,” Beau says finally. Her voice wavers. “I was just a… difficult child.”

Something lightens in Nott’s eyes, like a weight lifted off of her shoulders just by that one sentence. Beau doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or sick. There’s no clear reason to feel sick, though, and it seems stupid to feel that way, so Beau forces herself to feel relieved instead. God, it’s like she’s fucking five. Kamordah sucks. This whole mission sucks.

“Why do we have to go through Kamordah?” Beau finally saunters up to the table in the middle of the war room, finding herself a spot in between Fjord and Caleb while Caduceus pours more tea for everyone on a spot on the table not taken up by the map of the Empire. She glances to the weather-worn yellow paper and finds the image of Kamordah circled in a horribly bright pink ink. It makes her shiver in disgust.

Before she can comment her dislike of the implementation of pink ink on the map, Caleb answers her question. “Well, we need to find Lonardo. He lives just near Kamordah.” He guides her gaze to a point on the map with his finger. “Here. Brightburn Hollow.”

“Oh, Bright Slag? I know that place.”

“You do?” Fjord leans forward in interest.

“Oh yeah.” Beau grins cockily. “I had so many good times there. Used to be a frequent criminal hangout but after the city tightened its leash on patrols it was mostly used for secretive meetings and the occasional fight.”

“And I’m guessing you were a part of them?”

“Of fucking course.”

“Ye-up.”

“So, Beauregard, to answer your question,” Caleb cuts in as Beau’s smirk in Fjord’s direction turns a little too mischievous for his liking, “This Lonardo lives only a 30 minute walk from your former hometown. If it is alright with you, we will be making a short pit stop in Kamordah.”

Beau remembers clenched teeth and stinging slaps and thrown away art projects. She remembers the cutting of hair, the never quite fitting in, the darkness of her room. Beau remembers it all and feels a dull ache in the center of her stomach. By Ioun, she just wants to lay down.

“What the fuck are we waiting around here for then, let’s get a move on!”

~~~

“Ugh,” Beau groans, flipping over onto her stomach and for the fifth time in the past hour: “Are we there yet?”

“Asking every ten seconds doesn’t change my answer,” Fjord calls back from the front the same time that Caleb answers, “30 minutes.”

Beau lets out a long-suffering groan and bangs her head down extra hard on the bumpy wooden floor of their magic cart. Jester nudges the monk’s limp arm with the point of her tail.

“Ow,” Beau mumbles against the wood, not seriously.

Jester nudges her again, this time harder. “Beauuu,” She sing-songs. Beau groans. Another jab, this time at Beau’s side.

“Ugh. Yes, Jester?”

“Why don’t we do something to pass the time?”

“... I don’t trust that wiggle in your eyebrows.”

“Aw, come on! It’ll be suuuper fun!”

“The last time you said that, the guards almost sent us to jail.”

“But there aren’t any guard around right now! And besides, I don’t want to do anything illegal, just something like reading a book like Tusk Love… or something.” The last ‘or something’ comes rushing out of Jesters mouth at the look of disgust that passes Beau’s face.

“Fine.” Beau turns over so she’s laying on her side facing Jester. “What do you wanna do?”

“What about dodge-the-arrow?” Nott pipes up, holding her crossbow aimed at Beau and grinning a little too manically for her liking.

“Uh, pass.” The crossbow lowers, much to Beau’s relief.

Caduceus peers down at Beau from his somehow-still-steaming tea and smiles pleasantly. She tries to mimic it, but her face feels too tight to be correct, so she drops the smile altogether. “When I was younger, my siblings and I would play this game whenever we had time to spare.”

At that mention, Jester shifts closer to Caduceus. “Ooooh! What game? I bet it was something really fun.” Beau questions that assumption but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Well,” Cad starts, eyes alight with reminiscence, “We would count the trees.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Beau half expects Caduceus to keep on talking. He doesn’t. A confused and crestfallen look slowly takes over Jester’s features, but she plasters on a supportive toothy grin to cover up most of the confusion. “That sounds fun, but maybe we could play something else? Just for now?”

That sets Nott and Jester off on a tangent about the best travel games, which then evolves into a conversation about the best shanties and songs and after that Beau stops paying attention. Cad gets lost too, somewhere between the dick jokes and the 88th bottle on the wall.

Instead, Beau looks out at the scenery to pass the time. The trees seem familiar. They’re not quite green during this time of the year, but their bark is still the same. Purple-brown. If they went deeper into the wood, Beau could probably find the tree that she fell out of after carving her name in one of the larger branches.

“15 minutes now,” Fjord calls back.

15 minutes. Just a handful of minutes until Beau is back in the town she spent her whole life resenting - still resents. Maybe even ten minutes after that and they’ll see Beau’s parents. Well. They don’t have to right? They’re just going to the inn, buying rooms, stocking up, and then booking it to their target.

Beau sighs, runs a hand through her hair, and stares out even harder into the passing trees. The cart bobs up and down with the bumps in the road; Beau remembers one time that giants tried invading Kamordah and tore the road up in the process. It took the city years to rebuild, and it seems that they did a poor job at it. One particularly large bump nearly sends Beau up in the air if not for Jester’s tail winding itself around her arm like a safety rope.

“Thanks,” Beau blinks at Jester.

“No problem!” Jester sticks her tongue out at Beau.

She can do this. She has her friends with her.

Her parents can’t do anything against the might of The Mighty Nein.

~~~

Tall stone towers loom above their heads as they pass through the gates of Kamordah. Beau stares at the two lion statues hanging halfway up the towers, their soulless gaze sending chills up her spine.

The guards gaze at carefully Fjord’s arm around Caleb’s shoulders as Fjord and Caleb smoothly explain their previously agreed-upon cover story. When Jester first suggested the ‘honeymoon plan’ with Caleb and Fjord acting as the happy couple, Beau was a little skeptical, but seeing the two now… well, they seem more comfortable than Beau could’ve ever guessed. She cuts a side glance to Jester, wondering if that was her plan all along. If Jester’s ecstatic grin is anything to go by, it definitely was.

One of the smaller guards comes closer to the back of the cart. The four hidden under the cart’s invisibility spell collectively hold their breath, eyes widening in fear. As the guard starts to examine the back more closely, the head guard nods to Fjord and Caleb.

“Let them pass!”

While the others quietly sigh in relief, a heavy knot forms in the pit of Beau’s stomach. The twin lion statues mounted on the wall stare mercilessly at her as they drive past. It makes her just as scared as it did when she was seven and running away from home. Those lions always made her turn back. All five times.

“- do we go?” Fjord’s voice slowly comes into focus, like a beacon slicing through the fog.

“Huh?” Beau wrenches her attention from the uncaring statues watchful eyes to Fjord’s warm golden gaze. He’s looking at her with such a concerned look it makes her stomach churn even more violently.

“Fjord was just asking where we should go, Miss Beau.”

The half-orc in question nods at Caduceus’ explanation and turns around so he’s facing forward again. “Yeah, I just figure that you’re more familiar with -“ He makes a gesture with his hand to indicate the general area.

Beau grunts noncommittal in reply and ignores Jester’s not-so-subtle nudge to her shoulder.

Caleb considers her for a moment. “Should we ask someone, then?”

Scrubbing a hand over her face, Beau sighs. “Nah, I can lead you around. I just -“ She looks out into the street, recognizing some familiar faces walking along the side of the road. Quickly averting her gaze, she clears her throat. “Take a left up ahead and we should come across Greasy Ace Tavern.”

Fjord nods and starts the horses moving again, and the cart slowly ambles down the street with soft clacks that break the morning quiet that’s settled over the thoroughfare. The atmosphere of town creeps upon Beau like a too-heavy blanket. It’s warm, sure, and it’s comforting to know they’re some of the only people up, sure, but Beau’s never known Kamordah to be quiet. It leaves a lead weight in her stomach.

Nott voices her unease before Beau can even think to. “It’s very quiet for a trading and tourist town.”

“Our guy may have something to do with that,” Beau speculates. The others nod.

“Let’s go find out then,” Fjord stops the horses, and all of them step off the cart and into the dimly lit Greasy Ace.

Beau can’t seem to shake the growing unease she feels with each second spent in Kamordah.

~~~

“We don’t have to do this.” A blue hand wraps around Beau’s wrist - a solid presence grounding her against the raging tempest she feels caught up in. Beau’s fist pauses, one breath away from knocking on the heavy wooden oak door that haunts her dreams. The brass lion knocker stares at her unflinchingly.

Another hand, this time landing on her shoulder. Beau looks back and finds warm yellow eyes. Fjord nods at her, the hand on her shoulder squeezing comfortingly. Curling around her other shoulder, Frumpkin butts his head against the underside of her chin and Beau blinks at him, seeing her reflection in his eyes. Flanked by steady walls of support, Beau steels herself, breathes in deep, and raps her knuckles against the door.

It takes only a minute or so for someone to answer, but time could not move any slower for Beau. With each passing moment, the urge to run or hide becomes more and more predominant. Beau feels a restless energy thrumming under her skin, like lightning crackling through her blood. She wants to move. She wants to run. She’s wants to -

“Welcome to the Lionett estate. What business may you have here?”

Beau jumps at the sudden appearance of a well-dressed maid in the open doorway. Dressed in fine yellow and purple fabrics, the maid stares at the group with as much disdain as Beau would expect from a worker dressed in the Lionett’s colors.

“Yah, hallo.” Caleb steps forward, posture unusually perfect and smile a little too sharp. “We’re here to do business with Mr. Lionett.”

If she’s intimidated by Caleb’s towering figure leaning towards her, she doesn’t say anything. The petite woman only narrows her eyes before nodding, once, and opening the door wider for them as she steps back. “You can wait in the sitting room. I will fetch Mr. Lionett.”

They are led through the foyer and down into a room that takes up the left side of the front of the house. Looking around, Beau is surprised to find everything just as she’d left it. Perfect, untouchable, and so very cold. The room is bathed in yellow and purple, a garish reminder of the Lionett’s very coveted social status. A lone lion bust sits alone atop the fireplace, frozen in time with a malicious roar that makes Beau avert her gaze.

While they wait, the Mighty Nein make themselves comfortable. Fjord and Caleb sit primly on the center couch, their postures picture perfect and their faces more determined than Beau’s ever seen them. Jester and Nott peruse the walls, touching everything they can get their hands on. If Beau sees Nott swipe a gold decor piece from the shelf, well. What her family doesn’t know won’t hurt them. On the other hand, Caduceus busies himself with his staff as he sits in the uncomfortable leather armchair that Beau’s always hated.

Jester’s halfway around the room in her tour when she pauses upon reaching the bookshelf. “Hey, Beau?”

“Yeah?”

“Is… is this your brother?” All the air in the room vanishes, leaving Beau cold and tense as Jester holds up a framed picture of a little boy with dark skin, blue eyes, and a wide, innocent smile. Beau can only stare at the picture, unseeing. From their seated positions, Fjord and Caleb share worried glances, eyes darting back and forth between Beau and the picture of the happy boy.

Beau wonders very briefly if the Lionett’s treat him like their only living child - if this kid is given everything that Beau was never allowed to have. “Uh. Not sure. Never met the kid.” Her voice comes out scratchy and distorted. Beau can barely remember the last time she spoke in this house.

“Where are your pictures?” Nott scampers up next to Jester, clinging to the edge of the shelf in order to see the frames on top.

Without even looking at the shelf, Beau frowns. “They probably burned them by now.”

“They wouldn’t… Would they?” Nott’s voice is small and sad. Beau doesn’t want to look at her and see the pity there, so she doesn’t. She scuffs the bottom of her boot against the hardwood floor and laughs joylessly.

“Have you met my parents? They hate me as much as I hate them, if not more. Doubt they kept anything of mine after kidnapping -“

“Beauregard.”

One word sends Beau’s mouth snapping shut. She doesn’t have to look up to know her dad’s in the room - she can tell by the feeling of dread all crashing down at once, like the ceiling’s caving in. One word and her posture is perfect, her arms no longer crossed but straight down her sides. Beau feels like she’s seven again and being reprimanded for snooping around in her father’s office. She hates it. She hates it more than anything. Hates that he still has this power over her just by saying -

“Beauregard.” It’s so quiet. Why is it so damn quiet? God, Beau wishes she would stop being such a pushover and just say something. But. Looking up at him. First step. Yes.

Beau looks up.

Mr. Lionett was never the most striking man, but what he lacked in good looks he made up for in extremely obvious symbols of wealth that he had on his person. A plethora of golden rings glitter on his fingers. Beau instinctively raises a hand to touch her cheek. He always wore a pressed purple suit, which he accented with golden detail. Now is no exception to that expectation. It’s so fucking gaudy. Everyone in Kamordah already knows the Lionetts, there’s no reason to flaunt your status like Mr. Lionett did. It makes Beau want to look him in the eye out of spite.

She gets up to seeing his yellow tie. For some reason, her eyes don’t let her move an inch further, instead fixated on his ugly yellow patterned tie that Beau remembers trying to ruin so many times. That tie got her in trouble. She hates that tie.

“I didn’t realize you would be back so soon.” He doesn’t even try to hide his sarcasm and disdain, that prick. “I shall have the help fetch Mrs. Lionett.” The maid from earlier, standing at attention in the corner, simply turns and leaves the room.

The silence is choking. Beau can’t look anyone in the eye - not her father and especially not her friends. She feels too weak, too vulnerable to face any of them. They’ve killed demons and devils, and her father is the thing that has her scared? Beau can just hear the taunts now. Weak. Pathetic. Embarrassing.

Not good enough, Beauregard. Never good enough.

Soon enough, or maybe not soon enough, the maid returns with a taller woman in tow. Beau averts her gaze from the yellow tie long enough to spot Mrs. Lionett in all her ugly-dress glory, frozen in the doorway of the sitting room, expression the picture of comical surprise. If Beau weren’t so damn freaked out she’d definitely be laughing.

“Beauregard! What a pleasant surprise.” Mrs. Lionett glides into the sitting room and comes to a stop next to Mr. Lionett. Beau hates her casual tone, but that was Mrs. Lionett for you. Always the one to keep up appearances, even more so than Mr. Lionett. Beau resented her for it almost as much as she resented being born into this awful family.

From somewhere near the trophy case, Nott whistles quietly. It’s more like an ‘oh wow’ whistle than anything else, and it almost makes Beau snicker. Almost. If Mr. and Mrs. Lionett notice it, they don’t comment.

Beau’s fists clench as she stares at the two of them, standing side by side like the two brick walls they always were to Beau. It feels like an open wound, with them standing emotionless and picture perfect. She’s taut like a wire, waiting for them to say something - expecting them to snap at her, maybe. The least they can do is say something. Does Beau even want them to say anything? Her eyes flicker back to Mr. Lionett’s yellow tie, gaze going no further. There’s a wrinkle in his tie. Beau doesn’t remember if he has wrinkles around his eyes, too.

“Did you need something?” Mr. Lionett’s voice is clear, mechanical. It’s his business-transaction voice, but it’s also the voice that he uses whenever he has better things to do than talk to his daughter. Maybe they’re the same voice.

Gods dammit Beau, get it together. The Mighty Nein need this to work. They need information, don’t let him get into your head. Get it together. Look him in the eye. Do it.

She stares at the yellow tie.

The silence stretches on uncomfortably as the Mighty Nein shift in their positions around the room, their gazes carefully flicking between an extremely tense Beau and the unmoving Lionetts.

Mr. Lionett sighs loudly from his mouth, sort of nasally and low. “I don’t have time for this.”

He takes one step backwards, turning halfway to face the foyer and leave.

“Wait.” Fjord’s careful accent curls around the single syllable like he’s afraid to break the silence, but knows they need something from the Lionetts so he continues on anyways.

Mr. Lionett turns around to face them with one raised eyebrow. His upper lip is curled in disdain. Still standing in front of Beau with a passive look on her face, Mrs. Lionett purses her lips at the intrusion. It seems neither of them expected Fjord to speak.

“Yes?”

Fjord gulps audibly, and Beau cringes. The Lionetts were never fond of non-human races, and it seems that fact is still true. When she was younger, Beau had a tabaxi classmate who she’d hang out with around the river. It didn’t take long for the Lionetts to take control over that situation - Beau never saw her friend again. Dammit, she should’ve told the Nein about this. She’s fucking it up before they’ve even started talking; she should’ve known this would happen. Beau feels the phantom grip of a hand on her wrist, squeezing too tight. Her arms are lead weights. Her blood is solid.

You’re a disappointment, Beauregard. Not good enough. Why do you let us down every time?

Fjord and the Lionett’s conversation is white noise, all droning on in the background. Beau’s nails dig into the meat of her palm as her breaths grow shorter and more harsh. White noise pounds in her eardrums, her vision centering all on one point - the yellow of Mr. Lionett’s tie has never looked so garish and loud before. It’s so bright. It’s mocking. Beau feels unsteady, floating. She’s 7 now, and standing in front of her father while he works. Shoulder’s straight, head lowered. No eye contact. These hands aren’t hers anymore.

Her father, her father. He would say nothing. He would do work. Then he would leave. The office would go dark. Beau would stand there, alone.

Her mother sometimes passed by the office, peering in. She would say nothing. She would close the door. Sometimes, she laughed. Mostly, she didn’t pass the office at all. Her heels would echo down the hall anyways.

A hollow feeling - starting deep in the center of her chest, expanding outwards. Beau knew it well back then, and it fueled her fear, her anger, her drive to leave her home as soon as possible. That feeling faded over time, but never went away. The Mighty Nein were great at that sort of thing; they made Beau feel less empty, and even made her forget what it felt like at times. That hollow feeling creeps back, slowly.

An open wound.

An empty room.

A hand, lightly brushing against her wrist. A light touch, nothing more than a whisper of skin but to Beau it’s the anchor she needed to back away from the storm of emotions she feels. She turns to look, and Jester is standing beside her, having made her own way around the room to offer support. Nott peeks out from behind Jester, her eyes endlessly wide and unbelieving as her ears twitch to every derogatory intonation in Mr. Lionett’s voice.

Turning from Nott’s concerned gaze lands her staring directly into Jester’s purple eyes, hardened with worry and a little bit of anger. The pure fury in the tiefling’s eyes is hard to look at, even if Beau is proud at her to displaying her anger so openly.

Beau strains to pay attention to her surroundings as she faintly registers the murmurs dying down to silence, charged with a certain quality that Beau is unable to parse out because she wasn’t paying attention. She’s not sure she wants to turn and find out, but she needs them to know. She needs to know for herself too.

Turning around, Beau finds the rest of the Mighty Nein staring daggers at her Mr. Lionett. It doesn’t take much for her to realize that Mr. Lionett probably said something extremely biting and discriminatory - Beau’s intimately familiar with that type of language from him. Fjord has his eyes narrowed dangerously and his face is tense, a big difference from his usual calm demeanor. Next to him, Caleb has his teeth bared in a predatory grin. Caduceus, who stood up sometime during Fjord’s negotiations, has his hand placed placatingly on Caleb’s shoulder in an attempt to control the situation, but upon further inspection, Beau notices that his own eyes are hardened and cold.

Seeing all of her friends, ready to strike, sets something at ease in Beau. These people have her back; whether its facing a Hydra, defeating demonic entities, or going against her family; these people, they’re with her. That’s all she needs to steel her resolve and return her attention to her father, standing with his chin raised as he looks down at them all. His hands are carefully clenched, the fingers flexing and straining as he grits his teeth in annoyance. Normally seeing all of this would set off the alarms in Beau’s head, and cause the dread to swallow her whole.

Now, she glances back briefly at Jester, sees her icy purple glare soften momentarily as their eyes meet. Nott gives her a small nod, her green hands twitching subtly towards her back, where she hid her crossbow. Beau looks forward and sees Fjord and Caleb, expressions murderous. Caduceus catches her gaze and smiles.

A moment of clarity: If these people have her back, she can take on anything.

“Fuck you,” Beau says, voice rough and cracking like she hasn’t spoken in ages. Although, she hasn’t spoken so long in this house that maybe that’s the reason why it feels like the breaking open of an empty crypt.

Mr. and Mrs. Lionett’s turn so comically and abruptly to face Beau that the monk actually smiles. She can count on one hand the amount of times she’s surprised them, and she’s glad that this will be the last.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Lionett’s hand goes to her throat as if she was personally attacked by the foul language.

Mr. Lionett grabs his wife’s hand. “Now, Beauregard -“

She still flinches, but it’s not enough to deter her. It’s improvement. “You heard me.”

Mr. Lionett takes a menacing step forward, hand outstretched far enough that Beau’s half sure the rings on his fingers will slide right off. At least then, they wouldn’t imprint on her face. He stops, a couple of feet in front of her.

“Don’t speak your mother and I like that.” His voice is low, threatening. It used to scare Beau on the rare occasion he would be more angry than annoyed. Now it’s funny, seeing him so riled up and knowing it’s meaningless.

“Why not?” His hand twitches. “Look,” Beau says, voice steadier now. She casts a glance around the room and finds the assured gazes of her friends. “We’re only here to find information about a guy. If you don’t have that, then fine. We’ll leave.”

Mrs. Lionett comes forward to lay a placating hand on Mr. Lionett’s shoulder. “Who is this man you seek?”

Beau wants to say, ‘classic mom, always the mediator’, but she bites her cheek and replies, “Guy named Lonardo. Know him?”

“He’s a business associate. Why?” Mr. Lionett stares at her with distrust, body still tense like a coiled wire. Good, Beau thinks, he should be careful of me.

“Because he’s a bad dude who’s done shitty things.” And, just because she can: “But you’re familiar with that, aren’t you, Thoreau.”

Maybe it was hearing his first name come out of his daughters mouth so brazenly, or maybe it was the blatant disrespect and insult. Either way, Mr. Lionett snaps and steps right up to Beau’s face, his hand coming from his side to his shoulder in an instant, stopping only just barely an inch from her face.

In response, the whole room steps forward, and the Mighty Nein ready their previously sheathed weapons. Beau can only just barely hear the scrape of metal against leather as blood rushes in her ears from her father lunging at her. She feels frozen as her heart bumps erratically in her chest, despite her willing it to calm down. All her bravado gone, the crashing waves threaten to drag her under. She goes to take a step back, but a light touch on her arm drags her to the present.

Turning to look, Jester mouths the words, ‘we got you’, to Beau, while Nott’s hand squeezes Beau’s arm reassuringly. Beau smiles at the two of them before turning back towards her father, still waiting like a snake.

“This is my family now.” For once, her voice doesn’t waver around the word, and Beau’s surprised at how right it feels, saying family after all the years of resenting it. “I love them.”

“We have her back.” Fjord meets her eyes, his own filled full of unspoken hardships of his own but also with certain depth of warmth that Beau knows she feels too.

Caleb lays a steady hand on her shoulder. “We are her family, too.”

Her heart fills, and Mr. Lionett scoffs derisively. “You expect me to -“

Beau just shakes her head nonchalantly as she cuts him off. “If you do not provide us the information, I have nothing to say to you.”

Then, to the surprise of everyone in the room, Beau turns, and begins to walk out of the room. Behind her, the Mighty Nein begin reaming into Mr. and Mrs. Lionett, and she grins at the pure rage and indignation she hears.

She crosses into the foyer, and the lion statues at the base of the stairs don’t seem to stare at her, for once. The paintings on the walls don’t taunt her either. Everything in the house looks different, even though Beau knows that everything’s the same.

Beau only pauses when she spots something. Up the stairs, a small boy sits on the top stoop, carefully watching her. She takes a short, brief pause, to think about everything she hated about her childhood. In that moment, watching her brother stare at her with young, innocent eyes, she vows to never have her brother experience the same.

“I’ll be back.” Beau promises. She contemplates going up the stairs to introduce herself - it’s her brother for crying out loud. But…

She nods at the brother she has never met, and opens the door to step outside.

~~~

The road home is quiet, but not in the way that hurts Beau the way she’s used to. In this quiet, Jester interlaces her fingers with Beau’s. Caleb settles a hand over her shoulder as Frumpkin purrs genially in her lap. Fjord hums a soft shanty while he drives the cart. Caduceus makes tea in the back. Nott is fiddling with Beau’s hair as she tries to braid flowers in the monk’s hair. Beau’s sure that if Yasha were here, she’d be helping Nott braid her hair too.

Beau’s thankful, in that moment, for the kind of silence she knows that only her family could achieve. It brings out a calm and clarity within Beau that she never associated with the quiet before, after a whole childhood of her own quiet moments filled with dread and anxiety.

She thinks of how successful the meeting with her father was. She thinks of how the Mighty Nein defended her to the bone. Most importantly, she thinks of a little boy with blue eyes and brown skin that just learned he has a sister.

That promise she made to her brother was genuine. Although her hands still shake in the Lionett house, and although just hearing her father's name fills her with inescapable dread, Beau feels lighter than ever. It feels like hope. As Caduceus would say, it’s progress.

#my writing #mine #elena talks #I FINISHED IT YALL YEEHAW #beau #beauregard lionett #fanfiction #critical role #this was in my drafts for SO LONG

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houseofvans · 5 years

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ART SCHOOL | INTERVIEW WITH STEINER

LA based muralist and artist Steiner explores the relationships between humans and the environment through his vibrant and bold colored murals of wild psychedelic multi-eyed beasts and skulls emanating from toxic sludge. We’re excited to chat with Steiner about his art, his process and what he has coming up for the rest of the year. Take the Leap!

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself? Steiner here, I grew up in Arizona eating burritos and drinking beers. I have lived in SF, NYC and now LA.

How did you first become interested in drawing and art? Who were some of your early artistic influences? I was always drawing and painting from a young age, but I became more seriously interested in art at around 15. My family spent part of year living in Rome Italy, and it really blew my mind. There was graffiti everywhere and of course, a shit ton of mind blowing classical art. Growing up in Arizona, which has a beautiful natural environment and a less than inspiring bland stucco sprawl city environment, Italy was quite the experience. Other than that, I always loved comic books and watching freight trains roll by with all the graffiti on them.

When did you finally go from drawing and muraling to it becoming your profession and what you do? When i was younger, I held down all kinds of jobs from cooking to bartending, then slowly but surely all the years spent plugging away at drawing and painting murals started becoming more serious. A friend of mine and I started doing design and screen printing company together in New York, which was so rad. We worked for all sorts of companies big and small. Now I still make art for a living, but I also have a graphic design job, sort of like Jekyll and Hyde because my design work is quite different than my murals and art.

How would you describe your artwork someone unfamiliar with it? Wild psychedelic beasts, with friendly colorful souls. I would also say that my work is about humans impact on the environment. I like to illustrate that with mutated multiple eyed animals painted in vibrant colors. Humans are represented by demons or skulls to denote the negative impact we have, and I often use smoke clouds in my backgrounds to represent pollution.

What is it about muraling and creating art outside in the city that you are so drawn too? I love seeing mundane spaces brought to life in big colorful ways. I love to work on large scales. Sometimes, painting on a small canvas is just a bit boring, but if you make your canvas the side a building, then it becomes way more fun. Also there are always weird challenges with murals – like the texture of the walls or roll down gates, the architecture of the building and the interaction with the street.

When you’re working on a mural, what’s the process like? In an ideal situation, you have plenty of time to prepare. In this case, I would take pictures, get the dimensions, then make a bunch of thumbnail sketches that fit the space. Sometimes I have a sketch or something that will already fit perfectly, but other times, depending on where or who the mural is for, you work with a theme that can help dictate the end result.

When you’re not working outside on a mural, what’s a typical day in the studio like? Sketching as much as I can. Sometimes ideas come pouring out, and some days it’s a struggle.

What are your essential materials and tools for inside and outside the studio? Moleskin sketchbooks are my favorite–mechanical pencils, all sizes of Sharpies and Micron pens, nicotine gum.

For murals: spray paint, rollers, gloves, fat and skinny caps ect..Always need a boom box , some cold ones and more nicotine gum.

What’s your best Art School tip that you want to share with folks? Man that’s a tough one, I always think about how a professor of mine made us mix 300 shades of green oil paint, without using black or white, then we painted an all green still life. It was frustrating at the time, but it really makes you think about color differently, and it really made a lasting impact on me. Other than that I try as many mediums as possible. You never know what might stick.

What’s been your biggest challenge you’ve faced as an artist? And what did you do to overcome that obstacle? The biggest challenge is the constant one of never giving up and always trying to improve upon what you are doing.

Whose an up and coming artist you are excited about? Jason Pulgarin, Keya tama, David Leitner, Revost. All of which are a bit more than up and coming, but I like what they are doing.

What are your favorite style of VANS? Summertime has always been about the Authentic for me, but I do love old Skools and SK8-His as well. Vans Vault has been a staple of mine for years.

When you’re not making art, how do you like to chill out and unplug? Riding bicycles has always been a hobbie of mine–from fixed gear to road bikes or big old beach cruisers. Also there is a great little par 3 golf course I love to play by my house. It’s a good place to zone out. What’s coming up for you the rest of the year? I just want to paint as many walls as possible, hopefully a truck or two also haha. Hopefully I’ll do some more collaboration walls; I really love to do those! It’s so fun to blend styles.

FOLLOW STEINER | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE

#Art #Vans #Vans Art #Art School #Steiner #graffiti #murals #interviews

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the13thsnatcher · 4 years

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01. NICKNAME: eh, too many that I’m not attached to rn. 02. REAL NAME: Jack-Lorraine 03. ZODIAC: Aries 04. HEIGHT: 5′6″ 05. WHAT TIME IS IT: 8:08pm CST 06. FAVOURITE MUSICIANS / GROUPS: Nightwish is still my favorite, has been since high school. 07. FAVOURITE SPORTS TEAM: Local roller derby team, Minnesota All-Stars. 08. OTHER BLOGS: @gaminturnedassassin but it’s been aaaaages since I played with Montparnasse, the fandom sorta died though I miss him a lot. Previously ask-scabior , this is deactivated. My personal is @amphibautistic if people wanna follow. 09. DO I GET ASKS? Only when I reblog ask memes tbh? And not often. 10. HOW MANY BLOGS DO I FOLLOW? 66 right now on this blog, and about half of them are deactivated I’m sure. I used to be a lot better about unfollowing inactive blogs. 11. ANY TUMBLR CRUSHES: Not telling :P 12. LUCKY NUMBER: 8. 13. WHAT AM I WEARING RIGHT NOW: Manatee onesie. 14. DREAM VACATION: Hiking trip in Scandinavia. 15. DREAM CAR: I love my bright yellow 2007 Ford Focus. 16. FAVOURITE FOOD: How dare you ask me this? Such a decision cannot be narrowed down to ONE. 17. DRINK OF CHOICE: Tea. 18. LANGUAGES: Fluent in English. J’étudié français pour deux années en lyçee, and I really need to practice it again because I miss it and have a French-aligned name now sooo... also very very small fragments of ASL from that one semester I took in college. 19. INSTRUMENTS: Trumpet, though it’s been years. Piano but not well. I was more a choir kid. 20. CELEBRITY CRUSHES: I’m still figuring out how I experience attraction tbh? 21. RANDOM FACT: I draw amphibian-based monsters and it gives me life. I was working on a newt fursona but then seasonal depression made art impossible~

TAGGED BY: @worth12malfoys TAGGING: @lazarusholmes, @govthookercoulson, @avisisms, @marauderwolfof771x1, @wandofwillow and anyone else who wants to

#ooc

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ikesenlemonadestandstories · 5 years

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Birthday Give A Way winners?

Hi everyone! Thanks for coming to play 4 truths and a lie! Below are the answers for all 5 rounds we played along with the winner of each round. As of right now you have until Wednesday August 14th at 10:00am EST to hit me up/dm me and we can talk logistics!

A few rounds had no winners so I did a random drawing of all the blogs that participated! Those winners are also posted below and you’re held to the same time stipulations :)

Thanks for all the love honeybees!

Round 1: @kthomas325

1. I have poured myself tea, only to realize my mug was upsideown. - it was a bad morning I am not proud that this happened to me... 2. I’ve been shocked my an electrical outlet! - I was a dumb 9 year old, what can I say? 3. I only cook once a week. - I quite enjoy cooking and try to make myself enough for lunch and dinner at least 4 times a week :P food is good! 4. I have internet explorer set as a default on one of my computers. - unfortunately my place of business only operates in Internet Explorer so I have it set as my default on my desktop at work and home to run programs. 5. It takes me over 30 minutes to do my make up. - its an art form, maybe I’ll show you guys some day?

Round 2: @arianne-blackfyre

1. I’ve been to a Disney park by myself. - my family took a disney trip and I was the only one who wanted to go to EPCOT so I took my grown self there for half the day before meeting my family in Animal Kingdom. (they eventually were persuaded to park hop with me tho!) 2. I abhor the smell of fresh cut grass. - super allergic to grass, makes me sneeze and my eyes water. I will audibly groan if I smell someone cutting the grass. 3. The only reason I play drinking games is for the free booze. - free booze is free booze fam! 4. I broke my own finger in an intense ASL debate. - it’s embarrassing and my deaf friends made fun of me for almost a month (they still sort of do) 5. I think beards are sexy. - I’m a microbiologist, beards are their own special brand of gross incubator. Lots of nope for T.

Round 3: @kthomas325

1. I’ve broken my foot twice playing volleyball. - I’m clumsy and want to say I cant help it but maybe I need to be a little less agressive...? 2. I sleep naked. - nope, I live with my brother. That’s a recipe for disaster... 3. I’ve seen a live Sumo match - I saw a few when i was in Japan. It’s crazy. Even got my photo taken with the #2 ranked wrestler in Japan :) 4. I always sing in the shower. - My brother will sometimes harmonize with me. I’m loud. it’s not a problem tho. 5. It took me 3 tries to pass a class in university. - Organic Chemistry, it happens fam. Don’t be discouraged! Eventually you’ll get it!

Round 4: NA

1. I refuse to own or operate and SUV. - All I’ve ever owned are SUV’s. In all honesty I’m a little uncomfy driving sedans. How do people drive that low to the ground? 2. I’ve never seen The Matrix - I haven’t seen a lot of movies actually. I’m sheltered and have no free time. 3. I’m allergic to all raw fruits and veggies. - I’m so allergic to pollen that I have a cross allergy. My body gets super mad when I eat raw fruits and veggies and I have a different reaction depending on what I eat. 4. I’m legally blind. - My vision is no longer able to be corrected to 20/20 with glasses (which is what my state considers legally blind) but it’s close enough that I’m still allowed to do things like drive (as long as I wear contacts). 5. I’ve trained with four different Olympic swimmers. - so hard fam, so hard. I swam for YEARS and did about a billion clinics. Never made my trial cuts, but i got close so it was worth it ;)

Round 5: NA

1. I didn’t discover wine until I was 23. - Like I said before. Sheltered. I’m okay now tho, my brother has ushered me into the wonderful world of wine. 2. I’ll only swim in the ocean drunk. - I sawm for years (15 to be exact), I teach swim lessons and I lifeguard on the side but you WILL NEVER CATCH ME IN THE OCEAN OR ANY BODY OF WATER I CANT SEE THE BOTTOM OF! Oh my gosh am I scared of the ocean fam! 3. I was one certificate away from being an EMT. - Took lots of classes before I decided what I wanted to do with my life. I don’t quite have to nerves or stomach to be an EMT. 4. I’m a twin - I am not, unfortunately. It’d be cool though I think. 5. I avoid escalators like the plague. - Was at the mall once when the power went out and we were being instructed to “just walk up the escalators” The power came back on, i was on the wrong one, totally fell all the way to the bottom of the escalator. It hurt. Again, super clumsy. I’ll just take the stairs.

Drawing Winners:

@jennacat84 and @navonneedsahug

Thanks for playing everyone!

#follower give away #ikesen birthday give away #come get yall juice

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sashatrr · 5 years

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Breathe with me. Chapter 16a

Chapter 15 here

Liam's jet landed in private section of airport. Holding hands, they left jet and got into waiting car.

-So where are we? - Lina asked. She asked Liam about where they were going a few times during a flight but he said that she will find out upon arrival.

-Where do you think we are? - Liam asked with teasing smile.

Lina shrugged.

-How should I know? All airports are looking the same.

-We are in Brussels. - Liam said pulling her close.

-Belgium? - Lina asked disappointed. She thought that he will take her to Paris or Italy. Both countries fitted for romantic trip, but Belgium? She didn't know much about that country and couldn't recall anything romantic about it.

Liam nodded with a smile, her reaction didn't surprise him.

-Yes, but we are not staying in Brussels. We will drive to Antwerp from here. It's not far.

-I know nothing about Belgium so I trust you with it.

Rest of not long drive passed in comfortable conversation. Liam was telling Lina about his childhood and his brother, Leo.

He was getting relaxed more and more around Lina now. For once he felt like a normal man doing normal things with the woman he loved, even if he wasn't ready to admit it to her. He was really excited to spend as much time as he could with her and to forget, at least for some time, about everything that would come after the end of his so called honeymoon.

Upon arriving to the hotel, they ordered a room service, both exhausted after a long flight. Lina was nervous during all flight, expecting plane to crash any moment and Liam was doing his best to calm her down and distract from those thoughts. After dinner both quickly fell asleep in each others arms.

Next morning they woke up early and after breakfast left the hotel. Liam was wearing sunglasses everywhere to make sure that nobody would recognize him.

First they visited an old looking train station. It didn't really interest Lina. It was nice looking, gold and marble but Lina was never into architecture. Noticing her indifference, Liam laughed.

-Just had to start here. No trip to Antwerp is complete without seeing this building.

Holding hands, they left the building and headed to a stone gates. Next seven hours they spent investigating the oldest zoo in Europe. It made Lina sick to see all those animals trapped, even tho their voliers were comfortable and they seemed to be well taken care of.

-Nope, not doing this.-Lina shook her head trying to break out of Liam's hold. - I am already exhausted, I need coffee and to sit down.

Liam was trying to get in the long line of people wanting to watch seals show.

They headed to the exit and to the street filled with jewellery shops and sat at the table of closest cafe.

-Just one more destination today, baby.

Liam saw it in her behavior, he failed to impress her so far so he was counting on new promising idea that appeared in his mind.

After finishing their coffees, Liam lead Lina to the golden entrance of jewellery store.

-Did you know that Antwerp is a diamond capital of the world? - Liam asked walking through doors into the store. - We can visit diamond museum tomorrow if you want.

-I don't think that I ever heard about Antwerp at all, Liam. - Lina chuckled.-To be honest, I pictured other destinations when you offered trip to Europe.

-Paris and Venice? - He asked stopping by one of showcases.

Lina nodded and looked at showcase that was filled with necklaces and matching earrings.

A man hurried over to them.

-Goedemiddag. Kan ik u helpen?-a man asked subtly observing Liam to see if he was a potential client or just a tourist who happened to walk into the store.

-Goedemiddag. - Liam replied. - Can we speak English please? A lady here with me doesn't speak vlaams.

Man's smile grew even wider.

-Off course. Let me know if you are looking for anything special. Not everything is on a display. We keep the most precious masterpieces in the office.-salesman said after noticing Liam's Patek Philippe.

Despite Liam's attempt to look like a normal tourist, some things were still giving away his true status.

-Danku, meneer. We will let you know if we need you.-Liam dismissed him and turned his attention back to Lina who seemed to be captivated by the beauty of platinum diamond necklace and earrings and didn't hear a word from this conversation.

-Do you like this one? - Liam asked leaning closer to check the stones.

Not averting her gaze from necklace, Lina slid her hand down the glass.

-It's beautiful-she replied admiring the purity and simple elegance of it.

-Then we are getting it, but I would also like to check their office for more exclusive things.

-Are you going to buy it? - Lina gasped in surprise.

-Off course, why else would we come here? I would walk to the end of the world and back right now to make you happy.-he said and placed a gentle kiss on Lina's lips.

Lina returned a kiss wrapping hands around his neck.

-Well, then you need to find another way to make me happy. I can't wear any jewellery.

Liam pulled back confused.

-What do you mean? Off course you can.

Lina laughed.

-No, I can't. I did it back in New York because I didn't want to ruin our night, but I have an ekzema. My skin was dealing with the consequences of it for next weeks.

-Eczema? What's that? - confused Liam asked.

-I am not sure how to explain it. It's kind of allergy, I get it every time when my skin gets in contact with any metal for longer than twenty minutes. That includes gold, silver and platinum.

-You can't be real, Lin. Is there no cure for it? I mean how am I supposed to spoil you if you are allergic to eighty eight percent of the best gifts I can come up with? - Liam made disappointed face.

-You'll have to be creative then. - Lina laughed teasingly.

-You are just making it up, admit it. - His face became grumpy.

-No, I am not. I promise you.

-We still can get it and you can look at it sometimes? - Liam came up with new idea.

-Really? What's the use of having it if I will never put it on? Sounds like a torture.-Lina took his hand, nodded to salesman and dragged him to the street.

She didn't lie to Liam about eczema and right now she was grateful for having it. Despite growing closer with each other over past few days, Liam's lifestyle was intimidating to her. Traveling in private jet, luxurious cars and hotels and now diamonds. None of the things on display had a price tag but Lina knew that she would probably have to save for the rest of her life just to buy one earring from that set and she wasn't comfortable with this idea.Everything seemed to much, she couldn't explain it but she felt that sooner or later Liam would think that she is being with him for all that and not for himself.

I never asked for any of it but I know how does it look. I wish he would stop doing this. It just highlights the fact that we belong to different worlds. Maybe I should be honest about it?

Rest of the day they spent in the hotel learning more about each other's lives. Liam told Lina about death of his mother and lack of real family in his life, about very busy father who rarely had time for him and his brother. Lina told him about death of her parents in car accident when she was only three years old and about growing up with her aunt and uncle. They didn't have kids of their own and pour all love they had on Lina. She had a happy childhood any kid could dream about, her aunt and uncle made sure to give her all attention they could and did everything possible to replace her parents. Despite being very close with them, Lina refused to live with them after college or to accept any financial help. They did enough for her including paying for her education and making sure that she has everything she needs during college years. Accepting their help after college would make her a failure.

Next day they spent exploring rest of the city center. They spent a few hours in Rubens House. Only there Lina understood a difference between looking at reproductions and originals.

-Look at this. - Lina pointed at the painting that was hanging over an old fireplace that was used for kitchen needs back in the days. - It looks like 3d. How were they doing back then? And the lights!- only now she understood how touching and amazing a painting can be. No reproductions could ever show the true genius of a master, and certainly not images she could see on Internet.

On the second floor Lina spent twenty minutes by another painting that was picturing Queen Isabella and Ferdinand during their daily walk. Everything on it was very small but every small thing was drawn very detailed.

-How did they do it?-Lina asked again. - Did they use microscopes? Did they even exist back then? Really, I would go blind just after drawing half of it.

Liam tried to explain her the technics of old masters but her attention already was on antique locker, every small door of which was beautifully painted with scenes from nature.

In the next room there was a very small bed, draped with canopy.

-See this? - Liam pointed at bed. - That's how they slept back then.

Confused Lina looked at very short bed.

-But how did they manage to lay in it?

-They didn't lay, they were half sitting in it. See bunch of pillows? They literally slept sitting in bed and resting on those.-he explained.

-Carving is so pretty. - Lina almost whispered.

-Rubens was a businessman as much as he was an artist. - Liam explained. - He was a rich man as you can see. Most of the things we see here, in his house, are an art by itself and there was a very small circle of people who could afford them.

After seeing all expositions, hand in hand they walked in the small garden, Lina snapped a few pictures of Liam and they continued their tour of the city.

Very narrow sidewalks were filled with tables that were standing very close to each other. Despite lack of space, lots of people were sitting in those cafes, all facing the street and looking at passing by people. They were sitting so close to each other that Lina wondered how they can have any privacy at all. That reminded her of theaters. They all were sitting there like in the theater, almost touching each other, a street was their stage and people who were passing by were their actors.

Liam and Lina walked through this street and came to the square with a huge, gothic looking church.

-Onze Lieve Vrouwekathedraal. - Liam pointed at it. - Cathedral of Our Lady of Antwerp. - He explained.- We should definitely go inside. Rubens and a few other famous artists created their masterpieces especially for it.

They waited for guid of Chinese tourist group to show their tickets and Liam bought two for himself and Lina.

Inside the building seemed even bigger than from outside. Ceiling seemed to be over ten meters in height and the stained glass windows were filling a hall with a lots of light.

-I wonder how long did it take them to build it? - Lina quietly asked looking up at the ceiling and columns that were holding it.

-It's still unfinished. - Liam replied. - But normally it took forty years or more to build something like this if we look at Rome for example.

They walked to a wooden stairs standing apart and leading nowhere. Lina looked closer. It was beautifully carved but a center of composition were four female figures.

-Those are representing four races.-Liam commented.

They walked to a huge three pieces paintings hanging on a distance from each other. Even now, centuries after it was created, it didn't lose its beauty.

Cathedral was filled with tourists but a small area behind columns was fenced and a Priest led service for a small group of parishioners.

Lina was amazed by the beauty of altar and everything else she saw around.

They spent a hour exploring cathedral, statues and paintings until it was a closing time.

They walked through crowded street to the small square surrounded by buildings and sculpture fountain in the corner.

-This square has a secret. - Liam slyly grinned. - Let's see if you can find it.

Lina looked around but saw nothing special. A building Infront of her was impressive but still nothing caught her attention.

Liam stood on the fence of statue and reached his hand out. Lina grabbed it and stood next to him.

-You might see it better from here. - He grinned again watching her confusion.

-Would you give me a hint for what I am looking for or are we going to spend rest of the day here? Because I see nothing.-Lina said a bit irritated. She was tired already after whole day of walking and wouldn't mind a dinner right now. She wasn't a best person to be around when she was hungry.

- Card suits. - Liam decided to show some mercy remembering how confused he was when he was looking for it for a first time.

Lina looked around in all dirrctions, at all buildings but saw nothing that would look like card suits. After three minutes of ineffective search she gave up.

-I see nothing. Can we just get a dinner already? I can survive without finding it.-she almost barked. Her stomach was demanding food and not card suits.

Liam laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist pointing at tiles on the ground. She saw nothing at first but then one by one groups of tiles formed a heart, diamond, club and spade.

-Wow, amazing. Now my life is complete. Can we go now? - she got off the fence.

-Wow you are really hungry, no kidding. OK, let me think where should we have a dinner. I have a restaurant in mind but we need to change in the hotel first.

-Yeah, right. - Lina growled, grabbed Liam's hand and drag him to the cafe on the empty narrow street around the corner she noticed on their way to the square. She stopped by one of two cute looking tables under a tent and sat down. - I don't need a fancy restaurant, I just need to urgently fill my stomach.

Liam shook his head in amusement trying to suppress a smile and not to provoke her. Hungry and angry Lina still was charming.

A smiling waiter brought them two menus but Liam declined it.

-Hello-he said-do you have stoverij met frietjes? - he asked with polite smile.

Waiter nodded.

-Certainly, meneer.

-Very well, two stoverijes, Westmalle for me and Delirium for mijn vrouw.-

Waiter nodded and walked back inside.

-What did you order? Maybe I won't like it. I could honestly go for a burger right now.-Lina snapped.

-Don't worry, it won't take long. It's one of Belgian national dishes and a cherry beer. You should try it at least once. - He replied

-What did you call me?-she asked. Lina couldn't repeat it even if her life would depend on that.

Liam wrinkled his forehead trying to recall his order.

-Mijn vrouw? - Lina nodded.- It means my woman if to translate it literally, but also has a different meanings.

Lina pulled a phone out of her bag and opened Facebook.

-What are you doing, baby?- Liam asked.

-Checking the news. - Lina replied not averting her gaze from the phone.

-That's not very polite. I am right here and we could spend this time in conversation. - Liam pointed out.

-Nope, I need to kill some time and to keep my mind occupied until i have my food. - she said and began to read posts chucking to herself sometimes.

It was a new experience for Liam. Normally his dates would try to intrigue him and to spend every second charming him. But it was obvious for him that Lina got used to spending her days with him, it became natural for her and to his surprise, it felt natural for him as well.

Ten minutes later waiter brought them their order and Lina rushed to eat it.

-Ouch-she swallowed hard a first bite not feeling the taste.-Hoooot.-she moaned waving her hands to cool burned mouth.

Liam laughed.

-Slow down, nobody will steal it. - He said dipping a frie into stoverij sauce and sending it to his mouth.

Lina frowned but slowed down and found herself enjoying taste of the food. After finishing she sipped her beer.

-That's a good one. - she said relaxing into her chair and making a few more sips of fruity beer.-Can I have another one?

-Careful, baby. It's called Delirium for a reason. - Liam said with a teasing smile.

-Nothing will happen from two beers, Liam.

He ordered another round but even before waiter brought it, Lina felt lightheaded, her head was spinning a bit. She let out a silly chuckle.

- So good. I was really hungry.

-Ha, no kidding. I thought that you are going to murder me if I don't feed you In time.

Lina finished second beer, her cheeks were burning, eyes shining. She moved her chair to the other side of the table next to Liam and laid back. Liam rested his arm on the back of her sea and captured her lips with his.

A kiss was becoming more and more passionate.

-I want you, now. - she said into his mouth feeling his erection through pants with her hand.

Liam growled and abruptly stood up. He took a fifty euro bill out of the wallet, threw it on the table and pulled Lina out of the chair.

-Hotel, now. - Liam said in low voice dragging her down the street.

Next chapter

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Anaticula Pt 27

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 -

Down the block from the Dursleys in the middle of a tunnel near the empty snow coated park you exited to trot across a patch of slush into the deep unshoveled path through the park thankful for still wearing your jacket, tall boots and socks your jeans were tucked into. Without even sending a note first you made your way down the block to the end of the front walk where you paused realizing what you had done in seeing Petunia through the window facing into the living room revealing her readjusting the cushions and Santa figurine behind the couch. Nipping at your lip your heart skipped when her eyes flinched upwards at the curious person on the formerly empty street, her lips parted in a soft gasp seeing it was you luring her towards the door at your awkward flinch of a wave in a single motion of pointing to the door.

A stammered step was followed by the quickened steps to the opening door, a pausing final two found you on the front mat with a weak chuckle cast out a cloud of warm air between you in her own curious grin. “Sorry, I, um, I got to the walk then I realized I hadn’t asked to drop by.”

Blinking a few times she shook her head and stepped back, “Not a problem at all, come in out of the cold.” Nodding you glanced down to tap the snow off your boots and hurried inside for her to close the door rubbing her hands together from the cold, leading you into the kitchen she said, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Thank you.”

Quietly you watched as she filled it and set it on the burner she turned on then faced you again with a quick smile in your saying, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She shook her head, “No, not at all. Vernon is at work and Dudley won’t be home until tomorrow for his break. How, how is your schooling coming? All, E’s, was it?”

Weakly you chuckled saying, “O’s are perfect marks actually, E is the second best. I’ve managed to keep straight O’s.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes, we actually just had our practice exams for out OWLS, our um, our big exams that help us see what careers we could be eligible for. They aren’t till the end of June, but I should know my grades, at least for the practice exams by Christmas.”

She nodded and set out a pair of teacups adding to the full set up and tray of cheese and biscuits she seemed to have on hold for guests. “Are you nervous about that?”

“Well, I’m sitting for 12 of the 12 courses available, not many students in the history of the school have.” Stirring an impressed grin on her face.

“Impressive. How many did your parents sit for?”

“Oh, Mum, 7, I believe? I’d have to check her journals again, Dad took 8, the final two to win a bet over uncle James.”

A weak chuckle left her, “That sounds like them from what I remember hearing about on summers.”

Her eyes looked you over curiously as she grabbed the kettle to pour into the teapot filled with her chosen tea she set on the tray she carried over to the dining table you both filled the two seats on the end where you blurted out, “That’s sort of why came.” Her brow inched up and her lips parted in adding, “I, got this letter a few weeks ago, this couple in France, the saw my picture, I’ve um made a few headlines with magical creatures we’ve found in the school grounds. And they have a missing daughter,” Petunia nodded folding her hands on her lap letting the tea brew some more, “Who disappeared after meeting a Wizard she claimed to fall for instantly on a tour through England, around the time Mum would have been conceived.”

“Wow. And you, look like her?”

Reaching into your pocket you pulled out the portrait of Suzsieanne stirring a gasp from her at the uncanny resemblance, “Her name is Suzsieanne. Like my middle name.” Drawing Petunia’s eyes up to yours, “Did Mum, do you know where she said she found that name?”

Petunia, “That is, hard to say. She shot up one night, we all shared a room, and she was muttering in what sounded like French, she used to have these dreams, odd dreams, and the name just stuck in her mind hoping that, somehow, she could help the woman in her dreams.”

“Did she write about her dreams anywhere?”

Petunia shook her head, “Well, some, but then she would get upset and we’d find her tearing them up, or burning them.” Concern flooded into her eyes, “Do you have dreams like that?”

“Ya. A lot. But, I’ve just been used to it. Maybe it hit Mum harder because she didn’t know what they were maybe if she hadn’t told Severus about them.”

Petunia, “You know Severus well?”

“Ya, he’s one of my Professors. Keeps a close eye on me through school.”

“She never talked about her parents with you? Her mother at least?”

Petunia shook her head, “Just kept dreaming about that woman. It seemed to stop when she went to school, maybe she got lessons for controlling it.” In her pause she served out the tea and asked in adding the sugar for you, “Are you believing you could be related, past the appearance I mean?”

“It all seems to fit. And Mum found out who her Father was, outside their home there was a headstone marked as his wife, no name, just ‘Wife of Morfin’. No documents for any marriage license, so maybe it’s possible it was out of wedlock or just done in a Wizard ceremony, which are rarely recorded outside of family trees in that time, even sometimes today.”

“Who are they? Do you know? Or have they not shared that yet?”

“They’re actually popular performers in the Wizarding world. They sing and dance and act. They’ve won dozens of awards, both from great long lines of performing families. It makes sense Mum followed that path too.”

Easing a grin onto her face, “Yes, it does. Even in Primary school she had an amazing voice and loved to act.”

“What do you think?”

“How do they plan on proving you’re related, a blood test?”

“We haven’t talked about that. They wanted to see the grave for themselves. I’m not certain if, well, there are charms they could lay on jewelry for one that could burn or affect the wearer if not related to the castor.”

“Ah, much more effective then. Are they wishing to be in your life then?”

You sighed, “I really don’t know. I should have asked, but we’ve only written one another twice so far. Sorry, I just, it’s all so-,”

“Terrifying.” You nodded and sipped on your tea, “I know Jewels had a hard time with not knowing. Part of why she tried to look so much like Lily I think. I never liked her mimicking me.” Lowly she added raising her cup to her lips, “Perhaps if I hadn’t she wouldn’t have hated me so much.”

You shook your head, “She didn’t hate you.” Waving your hands after setting down your teacup you set a wooden box on the table in a deep mahogany with a pressed glass display on the front filled with purple petunias. Opening the lid you drew out a bound stack of letters making her gasp seeing the letters she had sent back to her sisters after their acceptance followed by a trio of stacks parting her lips, “You might have sent them back, but they kept writing.” Steadily through the next half hour you shared all you had learned from their journals surrounding their views and wishes for a future with their sister when they were all older.

On the verge of tears you both stood at the door and she wrapped you in a tight hug thanking you for the letters then asked for your report on how things went with the meeting for your possible relatives.

A stroll through the street down to the tunnel again brought you back home, the warm bedroom in which you removed your jacket and boots, leaving them at the foot of your bed to head down to see what the others were up to. Freshly home Regulus and Arthur returned from the Ministry holding the thirty foot tall tree they had picked out for your home. Through the door wafts of pine announced what time it was and with the tree set up the decoration trunks were summoned and everyone filled the grand sitting room to help decorate the tree and room. Glitter and tinsel were everywhere, as always, when you were finally through. In the completion of the tree a stampede of you all went up to your bedrooms and came back down again to add the presents you had all gathered through the years for everyone.

The few days till Christmas brought with them more and more relatives. The Malfoys arrived after the Professors all arrived from school grinning at you all and sharing that the results to the practice exams were all in the mail. Right away Lucius and Draco came over to you asking for all the details on your letters and the couple Narcissa was going to monitor your meeting with. Looping her arm under yours she showed you to the sitting room where Lucius added their gifts under the tree and they settled you in the spot beside Draco, who shared his own end of term exams and how he imagined he did.

Through to dinner everyone settled into the evening enjoying the company of one another while a blizzard blew outside lasting until breakfast when it lulled just long enough to allow your test scores to arrive spiking up a wave of nerves. An early arrival of the Grangers added their nerves to the mix.

Tearing open the letters they were topped with the usual grading scale:

O = Outstanding (Pass, always continue to N.E.W.T.)

E = Exceeds Expectations (Pass, almost always continues to N.E.W.T)

A = Acceptable (Pass, rarely continue to N.E.W.T)

P = Poor (Fail, may repeat subject)

D = Dreadful (Fail, may not receive O.W.L. credit)

T = Troll (Fail, with distinction. More than one T may mean refusal into other N.E.W.T.s)

Percy was first with his Practice NEWTS results :

Study of Ancient Runes A, Arithmancy O, Astronomy O, Care of Magical Creatures E, Charms E, Defence Against the Dark Arts E, Divination O, Herbology E, History of Magic O, Muggle Studies O, Potions E, Transfiguration E

Fred

Study of Ancient Runes O, Arithmancy O, Astronomy O, Care of Magical Creatures O, Charms O, Defence Against the Dark Arts O, Divination O, Herbology E, History of Magic O, Muggle Studies O, Potions O, Transfiguration O

George

Study of Ancient Runes O, Arithmancy O, Astronomy O, Care of Magical Creatures O, Charms O, Defence Against the Dark Arts O, Divination O, Herbology O, History of Magic O, Muggle Studies O, Potions O, Transfiguration E

Jaqi

Draco was next leading the others in naming their results of the end of term exams.

Study of Ancient Runes O, Arithmancy A, Astronomy O, Care of Magical Creatures A, Charms O, Defence Against the Dark Arts O, Herbology E, History of Magic O, Potions O, Transfiguration E

Ron

Astronomy O, Care of Magical Creatures O, Charms O, Defence Against the Dark Arts O, Divination E, Herbology O, History of Magic A, Potions E, Transfiguration O

Ginny

Astronomy A, Care of Magical Creatures E, Charms O, Defence Against the Dark Arts O, Herbology A, History of Magic O, Potions E, Transfiguration O

Hermione

Study of Ancient Runes O, Arithmancy O, Astronomy O, Care of Magical Creatures O, Charms O, Defence Against the Dark Arts E, Herbology O, History of Magic O, Muggle Studies O, Potions O, Transfiguration O

Neville

Study of Ancient Runes O, Astronomy A, Care of Magical Creatures O, Charms O, Defence Against the Dark Arts O, Divination A, Herbology O, History of Magic E, Potions O, Transfiguration O

All in all everyone seemed pleased with their results, even Percy without a perfect set of marks was content that in his most troublesome courses he had officially been counted as passing. Through this the rest of the teens wondered at why you were straining yourselves to take up all the exams and courses given.

Christmas Eve was filled with the crunch of wrapping paper being removed and set aside after into the designated trunk for it leaving the scattered ribbons and bows by the piles of presents. The most lavish being from your father for Harry, a Firebolt to replace his ruined broom leading to him and Ron racing outside to give it a try while you inspected the collection of books Barty had picked for you complimenting those from Snape and the bookends of golden Hippogriffs from Hagrid.

Minerva again gifted you another lovely grey heeled pair of booties that went splendidly with the silver plaid sleeveless dress you had chosen for your meeting to layer over a tight black long sleeved shirt and tights. All that would go perfectly under the mid thigh length dress coat that was a sky blue secured by a sash around your middle. The women chuckled through your thankful hugs they returned to you. Smores broke up the hugs, a late treat before you were off to bed.

…

New Years brought on an explosion of tassles and confetti through the house stirring pleased giggles and cheers from the lot of you. Between the champagne and butterbeers passed out you found your ways up to bed. A warm wave flooded from your fireplace that lit up and in your flannels and a t shirt you slid into your bed under the plushy covers you ached for each night after your long months of studying and trouble with Andrew. Easily you fell asleep only to be woken up all too soon at the sounding of your alarm.

It was like you were struggling against water in getting out of bed and onto your feet. Teeth brushed, after your shower, hair tied up in a tall ponytail with curls eased into a sleek joined spiral and bangs left across your face. Simple makeup came next and you walked still in your towel into your closet. A deep sigh left you as your matching set of underwear could no longer be worn as a set, tossing the bra in your box for clothes that no longer fit you another had to be found.

Wetting your lips you grabbed your tights and eased them up over your legs you smoothed straight up over your thighs and hips before adding the black long sleeve shirt that fit you tightly. Over that the simple sleeveless silver plaid dress was pulled up over your thighs and arms to secure the four buttons over the left side of your chest to your shoulder. Twisting in the mirror you gave the look and approving nod and let out another shaky breath smoothing the skirt down your thighs for it to pop out into a gentle flare. Lastly you added your heeled grey booties and grabbed the satchel you had loaded up with random items you might need along with your jacket it was too hot to add your jacket just yet.

Folding your hands around the strap to your satchel you made your way down to the kitchen where you joined the others at the table, all commenting approvingly on your outfit, especially your dad, who said, “Simply marvelous Pumpkin.” His hand folding over yours on the table, “If you need me just call me, you know that.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

He smirked glancing at Narcissa in a long sleeved silver dress reaching her knees in a sleek pencil style over tights with black heels carrying a white jacket with a gentle flair and a sheer black layer hanging out underneath. In her hand a mug of coffee she carried over to the seat across from you to sit beside Lucius in a charcoal suit to sit beside her with a mug of her own beside Draco sighing in his try to eat and keep his own suit clean.

With your hand locked under Narcissa’s arm you exhaled slowly after securing your jacket for her to aparate you both to a safe spot in the middle of London outside an upscale Wizarding hotel in a tall building seeming like it was dancing. Tall pillars of twisting glass meeting up around a stone tower topped by a glass dome on a corner spot muggles seemed to pass by missing the illusion completely. Through the front glass doors adorned with shimmering stars in deep blue glass surrounding multicolored glowing butterflies and fireflies. The doormen inside opened the doors for you both and into the black and grey marble floors and walls up to the multicolored dome surrounded by overlapping arches and beams in a spiral above the main entrance. Countless shimmering birds and butterflies soared around the room going on unnoticed by the sleekly dressed workers and guests passing you by.

Lost in that you took in the details of the building until a tall blonde in a golden black lined uniform stopped in front of you, “Good morning. Miss Black we have a table reserved for you.”

“Thank you.” Following the man who you had just thanked the back of the echo of your heels mingled with the steps of those around you until a deep golden carpet stretched out underneath the mahogany tables topped with golden table settings cast in flickers of light through the clouds seen through the wall of twisting glass reflecting light from the candle lit chandeliers and candelabras along the walls.

Across the room you spotted the couple, who instantly flinched in the coat attendants arriving to claim your coats drawing the eyes of all the guests inside when whispers of your name echoed around the room. An easy grin slid onto your face and you continued on feeling a gentle pat on your back from Narcissa reassuring you wordlessly that she was still here for you. Straight to the rounded table in the corner where the couple seemed to shoot up to their feet still interlocking arms in nerves while waiting. Their eyes scanning over you as you did the same seeing the silver haired pair, both with hair pulled back and hopeful expressions mingled between flashes of pain.

Beside them your head turned to the dark haired man with a streak of silver in his short beard in a dark suit with a grin easing onto his face in a flinch before saying with a thick French accent, “Good morning. Thank you for coming.”

“I just hope I’ve been able to help.” Your eyes turning to the still silent pair, “um, this is my aunt Narcissa.”

He grinned again nodding his head in return to hers, “I am Jean, my clients were not aware if you were able to speak French so I am here as translator.”

“Oh, we speak French,” his brows inched up as you continued in French, “French, Latin, and a third are demanded for the Black family, though I’ve been trying to learn as many as possible, up to nearly twelve, though with Asian languages I am still rough on reading them. Not counting those in Ancient Runes of course.”

Your eyes turned to Jean in his quiet clap, “Marvelous,” his hand motioned to the table, “Please, sit.”

Shifting your hands you brushed your dress along your thighs to sit down on the chair easing in under you on its own in the group lowering to settle. Crossing your ankles you settled your bag on your lap as Vivien asked, “You are taking Ancient Runes, impressive, how are you faring? That course is rarely taken in Beauxbatons. There is even a debate to remove it.”

“Oh, that’s a pity. It actually is one of my favorites. I’m sort of in love with exploring, new worlds, languages and even creatures. We actually just sat for our practice OWLS, got an Outstanding in it.”

Ollivier asked in a slightly pained tone, “I take it you are an intellectual then?”

“I suppose so. Straight O’s all through my schooling. Trouble may seem to follow me but I won’t be wasting the chance to learn as much as I possibly can.”

Vivien seemingly near tears eyed the tea set that wheeled itself over and began to dispense itself, following each of your nonverbal motions for how much you accepted, though their eyes shifted to the color changing teapot at your soft thanks to it when it had served you.

Ollivier asked after a sip of his tea, “Do you sing?”

“I, am in the choir at school. Nothing big like you. Though my Professor says I have my Mother’s voice, and she did.”

Vivien, “Do you plan on performing professionally?”

“Not, really. I’ve actually made plans to join two of my friends in opening our own shop.”

Her head inched back as Ollivier asked, “A shop? What sort of shop?”

You nodded and then glanced at Jean who said, “I believe we might actually, circle back now, to the matter at hand.” You flashed him a quick thankful grin noting the easing back of the couple and you raised your cup to your lips for a hopefully calming sip of the surprisingly overpowering raspberry tea sending a ripple of mint green through the ends of your hair that shifted back to silvery blue. The color ripple triggered a far from expected flash of pale green in the eyes of Ollivier mirroring your unexpected change stirring a curiously awed expression he cast your way. “Now, you mentioned the Gaunts.”

You nodded and sat through the confirmation of all you had sent to them while they asked for a great detail of all you knew on how they lived up to the inevitable request for you to show them to the town of Little Hangleton. With jackets added you all made your way to the front hall in Jean saying, “Now, my geography is a bit shaky,” he motioned his hand to another man who approached in a fine suit you recognized from passing in your few trips in the Ministry from a small cramped office. Again in English he spoke, “This is Raul, he is here to act as the officiate to ensure that all is done properly.”

You looked to Raul, who nodded his head to you and Narcissa, “Miss Black, Mrs Malfoy.” Wetting his lips he brought out a mug from his coat pocket that levitated between you all, “Little Hangleton just outside the Gaunt property,” eyeing the clock along the wall you all circled the cup, “In three, two.” Your hands reached out and in touching the cup you swirled all the way across England in a confusing whirl finding your feet landing in nearly two feet of snow in the growing snow flurry out there.

In a ditch Raul cast, you guided the official towards the cottage earning disapproving murmurs from the couple before they eyed the tiny head stone barely visible beside the shared Gaunt headstone. Jean looked to you as you said, “This is it. All I could find.”

Jean nodded and motioned his hand signaling Narcissa to loop her arm around yours to grab your hand guessing at what there intention was. Turning sideways your hand folded into hers watching Jean clear the snow back freeing the dead grass and dirt to split making your lips part, a reaction you covered with your fingers on your free hand to your lips in the closing of your mouth. A full body coffin was inched out of the earth and into an expanding silver case to fold around the coffin, it all shrunk and was put away in his own bag and the grave covered back over again as if nothing had been taken.

Ollivier, “If you will excuse us, we have a flight to catch, though we do hope to see you again soon. Thank you, for your assistance in the search for our little girl.”

You nodded and before you could speak you watched their free hands settle on Jean’s shoulders to aparate away back to their hotel leaving you to look to Raul, who explained, “If they hadn’t explained, they have requested a transfer of remains for testing of identification. The request has a strict timeline, they have to be back in Paris by sundown tomorrow for their testing to remain legal.”

Softly Narcissa said, “That makes sense.” She flashed him a flinch of a grin, “Thank you Raul. I know you must have a schedule too, I can get us back home from here.”

He nodded and grinned at you, “Thank you. Have a nice day.” Apparating away quickly.

In a mocking tone you repeated, “A shop?!” Narcissa giggled gently guiding you back to the gate where she aparated you back to London in a safe corner, “is it that bad that I want a shop?”

Narcissa, “Oh family expectations. We all have them. For all their hopes they dreamed you would be just like them. They will come around.” She grinned walking with you down the wandering path back to Grimmauld street simply enjoying your conversation in doing so.

“So, what got you and Gran Malfoy on the wrong foot?”

She scoffed and you giggled at her reply, “We’ll need circle all of Europe to work that one out.”

…

Two days was all it took and in the middle of breakfast you once again were nearly dive bombed in your chest by a frost coated owl you settled in your lap letting it calm down and warm up from the blizzard growing outside while you split open the powder blue envelope. Chewing the last piece of bacon between your lips you pulled out the letter, and unfolded it, shifting the plane ticket inside to the back of the pages. Feeling all eyes on you as you summarized aloud, “The remains were their daughter’s. The jewelry and dental records confirmed it. They thank me, and,” you flipped to the second page, “I am being formally invited along with the chaperone of my choosing to the funeral on Saturday.”

Your eyes rose to your father, the only of the adults besides Molly who would be free on Saturday, who said, “I’m free. If you don’t mind going to Paris with your old man.”

You grinned and shook your head, “Not at all.” Looking at the pages again you eyed the full invitation that stated her name and the location, date and time, “This says they want us to wear green. Her favorite color. Instead of black.”

He chuckled, “I have a green shirt. I could pair that with my charcoal suit.” Eyeing the tickets you passed him he said, “Ooh, private tarmac. Thursday night, lovely. Spare night in Paris.”

Giggling to yourself you said, “Maybe they’ll let us explore.”

“Hopefully. I could show you a few secret spots.” Firing a plotting wink your way making you giggle again.

Pt 28

#Petunia #Long Lost Family #Christmas #Test Results #Great Grandparents #First Meetings #Invitations

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