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jiangchengrights · 3 years

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i’d always been rigid before you

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The world around Wei Ying is a delightful shade of, of, fuck, what was it all the pretentious photography majors have told her? The one that’s all hazy orange and blurred edges. That makes everything feel old and fragile and romantic. The one Wei Ying likes best. It’s not black and white or the one on, on, dague-daguerreotype, but a-

“A calotype,” Wei Ying mumbles to herself, rubbing at her eyes as she stares at the ceiling from her spot on the ground. The world is only spinning a little bit, “Sepia!”

“Shut up, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng throws at her, lacking all the heat it normally carries. Probably because he’s also fairly drunk. Makes him softer, like a cat. Wei Ying giggles to herself and reaches a hand out, wrapping warm fingers around Jiang Cheng’s ankle, pleased when he lets it rest there, “Did you order your food or not?”

“Oh!” she gasps, using his leg as support to claw her way up and into a sitting position, squinting one eye shut so she can focus on the tiny little words that light up her screen. Why were her letters so small? Why didn’t she set them to be big, like when she reset Jiang Fengimen’s for him? Absolute fool, she thinks to herself as she navigates the doordash app, hoping beyond hope that the app doesn’t crash while she’s ordering because she does not have the mental capacity to deal with that right now, “Yes!”

“Good, because if my order gets here before yours, I’m not sharing my fries with you,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, sounding absolutely put upon and yet, Wei Ying thinks smugly to herself, he doesn’t shake her off his leg. She counts that as a win.

“But didi,” she languishes, flopping across his feet dramatically, laughing when he nudges her just on the side of a kick, “I fully plan to share my pancakes with you!”

“I don’t want your pancakes, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, “And you still can’t have my fries.”

She pouts and pouts and whines at the ceiling but gets no further response from Jiang Cheng besides a few grumbles and a grunted out question of horror or comedy? Her cheer of horror! is accepted and her glass is absolutely not refilled because obviously Jiang Cheng hates her. And of course his food does in fact get there first (probably because he’d ordered it a solid twenty minutes before she had even started looking at the iHop online menu but that is neither here nor there) but she does manage to steal an entire handful of fries from him and a sip of his coke because he loves her even if he pretends he doesn’t. Another victory.

She turns her pout towards her phone now, opening the doordash app to message her driver. She wants an ETA on her phone but she’s not willing to risk her food being spit on and she is very grateful that someone out there is willing to brave the cold to bring pancakes directly to her door so instead she opts for a completely casual and friendly, i love you ❤️

She doesn’t really expect a response, figures the doordash driver is busy or unwilling to talk or (hopefully) driving but her phone dings with the standard Hi, this is DoorDash connecting you to your Dasher for updates about your order. And then, I love you too.

She reads the message four times, mouthing the words to her screen with a heavy tongue before she throws her head back to laugh, feeling light and fuzzy because this stranger is playing along with her. She clicks back to her app to check the name of her driver and spends ten minutes tracing the letters on her screen that spell out Hanguang Jun.

Her food arrives with a perfunctory knock and she half stumbles her way to the door, fairly certain the floor is moving erratically beneath her just to slow her down. Even though she yells, “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on!” (words nearly unintelligible with the way they stumble and slur out of her mouth) and she throws the door open with all her might, she doesn’t make it in time to see her dasher. She thinks she catches a glimpse of long shiny black hair, but really that could be a shadow.

She leaves a five star review on the dasher anyways, for being lovely.

The next day she slides into her seat in her criminology class, right at the front, 8AM sharp (8:08). The front row of class is, generally, not her favorite spot, especially in big auditoriums like this. She’d rather be somewhere in the upper middle, where she could sink low if she needed to but still be heard if she has questions or comments. Especially, especially, when she is hungover enough that her ice coffee does nothing to curb the throbbing in her head.

But.

But Lan Zhan likes to sit in the front row and Wei Ying likes to sit next to Lan Zhan. So. So she will suffer through her Professor’s half glare as she stumbles in late and slides into the (thankfully) empty seat next to her. Lan Zhan doesn’t bother looking at her, too busy jotting down little notes in her journal, watching the screen as the professor discusses a future class assignment. Wei Ying sets her drink down carefully and then continues to messily rifle through her bag in search of a scrap of paper and anything to write with and comes up remarkably short.

A carefully sharpened pencil and a neat, small, stack of notebook paper are pushed her way, even as Lan Zhan continues to look forward. It’s so small and stupid but it has Wei Ying grinning like a fool, leaning close enough into Lan Zhan’s shoulder to whisper, thank you, lan zhan, my hero. She’s fairly certain Lan Zhan mostly just tolerates her, but god, tolerates her in the nicest way possible.

She turns back around and listens for the rest of class. By “listen” she means she is secretly recording the lecture on her phone, which she will absolutely listen to later, and maintains half attention while also drawing a bunny on one of the sheets Lan Zhan gave her. She’s pretty certain bunnies are Lan Zhan’s favorite and so she is ever perfecting the art of drawing them; realistically, cartoon-esque, blocky orbs that mostly just look funny to Wei Ying herself, but in all ways she practices. This one looks pretty good, she decides halfway through class, and so she will give it to Lan Zhan when their professor finally stops talking.

(It crosses her mind that Lan Zhan might not appreciate the waste of her own paper but she hopes the cuteness of the bunny will make up for that)

She’s just adding the finishing touches to the piece when the professor wraps up class, the music of end of class clatter lighting up the room; laptops and notebooks being shut, zipped away safely in backpacks. Wei Ying has no such noise, being that none of the supplies on her desk are her own besides her mostly empty coffee cup. She turns to Lan Zhan without a second thought, tapping lightly on her shoulder, and smiling what her sister calls her “winning smile” (Jiang Cheng refers to it as her “shit eating grin” and that is why he is not her favorite sister. Although, he still holds the title for her favorite brother. Don’t tell him that) as Lan Zhan tilts her head gracefully in her direction.

“For you!” she half shouts, giddy like a small child, pressing the drawing into Lan Zhan’s notebook.

“Me?” Lan Zhan questions, brows furrowing just the slightest amount, enough for Wei Ying to have to fight the urge to reach out and smooth the lines that crinkle there. Her eyes widen, though, when she looks down and sees the bunny and god, oh my god, her lips pull up on one side in what is definitely a Lan-Zhan-smile. She is smiling and all because of Wei Ying.

“Bunny,” is all she says, sounding reverent as her fingers reach out to stroke the page, as if it might carry any of the real softness of rabbit fur.

This is the best day of Wei Ying’s life.

“I thought you liked them!” Wei Ying shouts, oblivious of the students who are trying to filter out of their seats around them. She leans to the side, so that her forehead touches Lan Zhan’s shoulder, just enough pressure to really feel each other and says, “Thank you for always taking care of me, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan is stiff beneath her, but she nods anyways and then reaches out to carefully fold around the rabbit and place it safely in her notebook, humming as she does. She’s keeping it. When Wei Ying lifts her head off the girl’s shoulder, Lan Zhan fully turns to look at her, eyes scrutinizing everything from Wei Ying’s twisted ponytail to the bags under her eyes, “I am surprised Wei Ying is here today.”

“What!” Wei Ying squawks, “This is my favorite class!” this is my lan-zhan-class!

“Mn,” Lan Zhan nods, and then purses her lips when she catches sight of the coffee sweating on the corner of Wei Ying’s desk, “Wei Ying should drink more water.”

“Ahh, there you go again!” Wei Ying laughs, finally hefting her bag onto her shoulder and moving to stand up, “Always trying to take care of me!”

The tips of Lan Zhan’s ears turn tomato red and she doesn’t respond to that comment, so Wei Ying figures Lan Zhan’s tolerance for her up for the day. Ah, well, she had a good run today! Enough to hold her off until Wednesday (that is, unless she sees Lan Zhan walking around on campus between now and then. She’s never had very good self-control around Lan Zhan).

“I’ll see you on Wednesday, Lan Zhan!” she calls over her shoulder as she bounces her way out of the class. She’ll draw a better bunny on Wednesday, she’s sure, one good enough to make Lan Zhan look at her twice. She will.

She’s halfway through her jog on Tuesday when Wen Qing calls her. She answers the phone without bothering to stop running, much to the distaste of Wen Qing, who has to listen to her pant.

“We’re drinking tonight,” is how Wen Qing starts this conversation.

“Wow, hello to you too,” Wei Ying says through heavy breathes, just to be an asshole, “I’m good today, how are you?”

“I’m fucking shitty, why else would I be calling you up?” Wen Qing snaps, as though she doesn’t call Wei Ying minimum three times a week on top of lunch dates every Thursday.

“What happened?” Wei Ying asks, rounding the corner of the park and heading in a straight line towards her apartment complex.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wen Qing says, sounding remarkably impatient for someone who started this phone call. And with Wei Wuxian of all people.

“Ah,” Wei Ying nods to herself, “So Mianmian then.”

“I didn’t say that!” Wen Qing snaps.

“Didn’t have to,” Wei Ying reminds her, coming to the flight of stairs that lead to her apartment, “I know of all your woes, Qing-jie.”

“You don’t know shit,” she hears from multiple angles.

“Are you already-” she begins asking, but cuts herself off when she reaches the top of the stairs and sees Wen Qing standing angrily outside her door, two bottles of Vodka in hand, “Alright then.”

“Just open the door, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing demands, stepping aside as Wei Ying comes closer, “I’m tired of holding these fucking bottles.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Wei Ying laughs, unlocking the door, “Make yourself comfortable.”

“You know I will.”

The world is once again hazy, less nice this time because her stomach still feels a little squirmy from the last hangover. She misses her recovery time from high school (read: no hangovers ever), now she’s just an old lady who can only drink, like, once a week. A tragedy.

Yet, here she is, on the floor once again because she seems to always end up on the floor when she’s drunk. It’s a nice spot; safe and big, big enough to spread her long limbs out wide.

“I want pancakes,” she says to the ceiling fan, expecting no response.

Instead she gets, “You already ordered your fucking pancakes, it’s not my fault you always take forever to actually order.”

“But Qing-jie!” she whines, rolling on her side to give Wen Qing her puppy dog eyes, “You got your food so quick and I’m still waiting.”

“Again, not my fault,” Wen Qing snaps before shoving an ungodly amount of burrito into her mouth, “Just message your driver to see where they’re at.”

“Oh yeah!!” she whips out her phone so fast it goes flying across the room and she has to crawl on her belly like a snake to get it. Her driver’s name is weird, Hanguang Jun, familiar even though it’s strange and... “It’s my driver from last Sunday!”

“Okay?” Wen Qing says around her burrito, rolling her eyes when Wei Ying waves her off.

u r my soulmate, she sends with zero hesitation, grinning when her phone buzzes almost immediately.

Hi, this is DoorDash connecting you to your Dasher for updates about your order. It says, yet again, and then, Really.

So dry, so cute! Wei Ying doesn’t know this person but she likes them already. The ability to play into her antics is not one possessed by everyone, so she will value it when she finds it, yes 😳

I am glad to know that, Hanguang Jun replies in an instant.

Wei Ying wants to play it really cool and really fun but she’s also absolutely starving and so she sends, what’s going on over there

A long line.

Then, because she decides she wants to go back to being fun she types out, its okay just hold on i cant wait to see u

I cannot wait to see you either.

And then Wei Ying just about dies and stays that way, arm thrown over her eyes and groaning like a fool on the vaguely dirty carpet of her apartment until she notices Wen Qing trying to fill her cup once again.

“Wen Qing, don’t drink all the Vodka!” she shouts right as there is a knock on the door and she jumps up, hoping if she hustles to the door she can see the illustrious Hanguang Jun this time. It’s a no-go, but she does find her food placed neatly on her doorstep with a small handwritten note that says For my soulmate.

So five stars once again.

She slides into her seat somehow even more haggard than on Monday and barely has time to look at Lan Zhan, sitting prim in her seat, hair straight and long, with a powder blue sweater over a white dress shirt and a short black skirt to match, long legs covered by black tights, before the other girl thrusts a huge water bottle her way.

“Drink,” Lan Zhan says by way of greeting, staring Wei Ying down until she hesitantly opens the bottle and takes a sip, smiling unsure when she pulls away.

“Lan Zhan?” she asks, screwing the cap back on slowly.

“Water is good for Wei Ying,” she states, turning away. Wei Ying stares at her for a second more and then nods, pulling out her now-found notebook with a smile.

“It’s almost like you care about me, Lan Zhan,” She whispers, smirking when she sees Lan Zhan’s fingers tighten around her pencil.

Lan Zhan doesn’t dignify that with a response, so she leaves it alone for now, tuning back to her own page to maybe take notes this class. Maybe.

Lan Zhan follows her out of class that day, lets Wei Ying latch onto her arm like a fool and chatter away as they mill about the crowds of other undergrad students. She hmms and mms at all the right moments and sometimes, very rarely but sometimes, she seems to cling back to Wei Ying as much as Wei Ying clings to her.

Wei Ying is a little in love.

Before she can do something stupid, like say that, Lan Zhan turns, and meets the eyes of Nie Mingjue, who looks smug and stern as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Lan Zhan’s eyes widen and she hastens to disentangle herself from Wei Ying’s grasp, taking a side step away.

“Hey isn’t that your brother’s best friend?” Wei Ying asks, but by the time she looks up Lan Zhan is gone, lost in the throng of people.

Wei Ying stands alone in the quad center as people mill around her, feeling lost and a little hurt by the sudden vanish of her friend, meeting Nie Mingjue’s pitying gaze only once before she hustles along to the buses.

Lan Zhan had done this in high school, too. Had run away from Wei Ying anytime someone significant came into view of them. Had shoved Wei Ying off and called her shameless and walked away from her without ever turning around. Wei Ying remembers a lot of Lan Zhan’s back, always walking away, always a little out of reach.

That was okay though, they were kids, still working through everything. Wei Ying always assumed it was just hormones or Lan Zhan working through her own inner gay crisis combined with Wei Ying’s own puberty induced irritatingness. She assumed that would stop now; they were adults and Lan Zhan had really come into her own and Wei Ying had calmed down ever so slightly. What did it matter if her brother saw her with Wei Ying? What could it hurt?

Just Wei Ying, it turns out. It could hurt Wei Ying.

Wei Ying spends maybe, slightly, too much money on food delivery. It’s just, she always wants food when she’s drunk and she’s very against drinking and driving and she never has the forethought to get food before she starts drinking so here she is.

Your driver is on their way! The app notifies her and only then does she remember to check who is picking the food up for her, squealing when she sees the name.

Hanguang jun!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hi, this is DoorDash connecting you to your Dasher for updates about your order. She gets and then, Yes.

its u again!!!

Hanguang Jun: It is me.

Wei Ying: u r the love of my life

Hanguang Jun: I thought I was your soulmate?

Wei Ying: r u saying u cant be both 🥺

Hanguang Jun: I can be whatever you need.

That has Wei Ying blushing from head to toe in her thankfully empty apartment. She has to take a moment to breathe before she can reply with, ah so smooth hanguang jun

There is a brief pause, one that has Wei Ying waiting, staring at her phone with a too cheesy smile on her face, Mn. For you.

She squeals in excitement so loud she almost misses the knock on the door. It's distracting enough to slow her down, so still no sight of Hanguang Jun tonight. Their chat disconnects but it’s okay, there will be a next time.

(Wei Ying hopes there will be a next time).

Rate your dasher: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Wei Ying’s criminology class is not a small class. Small classes have order and structure; you get to know your fellow classmates and an informal seating chart begins to appear usually after the second week of class. This one, however, is set in a wide auditorium that fills with too many students to even know any of them, who always seem to be moving around, always in new spots. Which is why it continually surprises Wei Ying that her spot is always empty and waiting for her when she stumbles in ten minutes late. She voices this out loud only to receive an eye roll from Lan Zhan.

“It is Wei Ying’s spot,” is all she says, turning forward once again. And it is her spot but that’s not the point of Wei Ying’s argument, now is it?

“Hmph,” she sighs to herself, digging around in her bag until she finds the two bunny pens she had purchased this weekend on a whim at some novelty store. They’re both silicone smooth, with rounded bunny heads on the end and ears that extend maybe a bit too far. She pushes the black one onto Lan Zhan’s desk and whispers, “That one is for you.”

“For...me?” Lan Zhan asks, lips parting as she looks down at the pen in her hand and then back up at Wei Ying, the hint of a smile in her cheeks.

“Of course! You’re my favorite Lan Zhan, who else would I buy a pen for?” she says back, feeling utterly pleased with herself to have gained such a positive reaction, wiggling closer in her seat to press her arm against Lan Zhan, “You’re my favorite.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, not quite a whisper, but soft and intense, one of her hands reaching out to grab at Wei Ying’s own. Wei Ying is delighted to find the other girl has rough calluses on the tips of her fingers that scrape gently against her knuckles, “Thank you.”

“Lan Zhan, ah, it’s no big deal, really,” she whispers, suddenly shy, using her free hand to rub at the back of her neck, “I was just thinking about you, you know?”

Lan Zhan stares at her for just a beat too long, before she pulls away entirely. Before Wei Ying can panic, though, she neatly puts her original pen away and picks up the bunny pen, smiling down at her notebook as she writes her notes, trying to hide the biggest smile Wei Ying has ever seen from the other girl.

She’s so warm next to Wei Ying and she never looks like she even considers switching away from the bunny pen even though it's surely not as nice as the gel one she’d been using before. When the professor dismisses them a mere minute and a half before their class is scheduled to end, Wei Ying finds herself in a panic, desperate not to let Lan Zhan slip away just yet.

“Hey,” she says, one hand reaching out lightning fast to grasp Lan Zhan’s elbow, “Do you want to get coffee?”

Lan Zhan frowns, goes to open her mouth but doesn’t manage to get a single sound out before Wei Ying half shouts, “Tea! Tea! I know you like tea instead of coffee, let’s get tea, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan stares at her long enough that Wei Ying begins to squirm in her seat, words on the tip of her tongue to take it all back, rescind her existence entirely when Lan Zhan asks, “Wei Ying...knows I like tea?”

“Well, yes,” Wei Ying nods, hoping this doesn’t make her seem like she’s been paying too much attention to Lan Zhan, “It’s just, you never bring coffee to class, always tea. So, I just, like, assumed. But, tea?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, “Let’s get tea.”

So they get tea in what is the best and most excruciating forty five minutes of Wei Ying’s entire life. Lan Zhan sits across from her with the poise and beauty of a marble statue, sharp lines carved from stone only to be softened when she laughs at Wei Ying’s silliness. She steeps jasmine tea in a teacup and bats it around with a spoon, slow, careful, sure enough in her practiced movements that Wei Ying finds herself enraptured, watching those fingers with a single minded focus. She’s never been enraptured by tea before. She doesn’t even really like tea.

They sit close enough that their knees brush every once in a while, whenever Lan Zhan recrossses her legs and it's enough to send sparks up Wei Ying’s leg, through her sweatpant clad knee. It is the best feeling in the world, she’s sure. And yet, also a special kind of hell to sit here, next to a Goddess and not be able to reach out and touch, to ask for more.

She wishes Lan Zhan wanted more.

But, she’ll take friendship and tea over nothing, so she keeps her complaints to herself and regails Lan Zhan with every funny story she can think of, preening when Lan Zhan smiles at her.

“I had to explain to my professor the entire concept of Star Trek, Lan Zhan. Like I had to sit there in this highly academic room and be all well you see, sir, the entire doctrine of the Prime Directive contradicts everything he just said so that’s really not a suitable analogy to make. And I’m not even the one who brought it up!” she half yells, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “Now I’m the one who looks like some kind of scifi nerd to our professor!”

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan hums, blowing into the steam of her tea, “Wei Ying has seen Star Trek though?”

“Well, yes.”

“A lot of it?”

“I mean, what do you consider a lot? That’s very subjective, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying smiles, working around the statement just to be coy, just to see the faint amusement that lights up Lan Zhan’s eyes.

“Wei Ying.”

“I may or may not have seen all of it, but that is so not the point!” Wei Ying counters, pointing her finger at Lan Zhan just to make her point.

“It seems then,” Lan Zhan starts, taking a sip of her tea, thoroughly uncowed, “that Wei Ying is some kind of ‘scifi nerd.’”

“Lan Zhan!” she squawks, throwing a hand over her heart in faux hurt, “I have never felt more betrayed than in this moment, more hurt, more wounded, more heartbroken.”

“Mn, Wei Ying has had it easy then,” Lan Zhan nods, tracing the rim of her teacup with the tip of her finger, “Someone has to make it more difficult for her. What did you say earlier? It ‘builds character’?”

“Lan Zhan!” she squeezes the hand over her heart more intensely, sighing long and winded, “How could you do this to me, Lan Zhan, your dearest Wei Ying?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes move from roaming over Wei Ying’s face, to glance over her shoulder, widening slightly at whatever she sees. She stands without another word, fumbles with her wallet to drop a note on the table and says, “I must leave now, Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan leaves without a second glance, turning away from the front entrance which is a much straighter shot out of the cafe and onto the main street, to quite literally sneak out of the side door, that leads only to an alley and a trash can. Wei Ying stares after her, shocked mostly, until she hears the front bell chime. She turns to see a man walk in with dark silky hair, wide shoulders, and well tailored clothes set in a deep blue that compliments his skin perfectly. He wears a warm smile and allows the smaller man next to him to walk ahead, a hand rested firmly but respectfully on the small of his back.

Lan Xichen.

Ah, Wei Ying thinks to herself as it dawns on her, spinning around the spoon in her tea idly, feeling brittle and cracked all at once, she just didn’t want to be seen with me in front of her brother.

That’s fine, it really is. So maybe nothing has really changed since high school. They weren’t friends then and they aren’t now, not really. Wei Ying was foolish to ever get her hopes up for anything more. She 100% understands. She is loud, and talks with her mouth full, and once almost got kicked out of university just a little bit. She should have expected this, if she was being honest with herself.

She still can’t manage to bring the smile back to her face though.

She manages an entire three days of being sad and not drunk before Wen Ning waltzes into her apartment unannounced (when he got a key she will never know) and plies her with long island iced teas.

“She’s just so nice, A-Ning,” Wei Ying moans, face down on the floor, “She’s so nice and pretty, god she’s so pretty A-Ning, and she’s always wearing these skirts, her legs are to die for.”

“But she did not want to be seen with you?” Wen Ning clarifies from where he sits, perched on her couch, leaning over to place another drink next to her head.

“No,” Wei Ying whimpers again, sounding absolutely miserable. She knows she might be acting a bit over dramatic, it's just, she’s known Lan Zhan since she was fourteen, had followed her around then, berating her until she got a reaction. And maybe that had been nothing more than a nuisance to Lan Zhan but it had meant a lot to Wei Ying. Too much probably. She had cried actual tears of joy when she discovered they had both enrolled at the same university, that first semester on campus. And sure maybe they weren’t best friends of anything but Lan Zhan was one hundred percent Wei Ying’s sexual awakening.

And Wei Ying just might be a little, tiny bit in love with her. Or like, on the road to being in love. Very close. In need of only a few kind words and maybe for Lan Zhan to kiss her.

“Hey,” Jiang Cheng snaps from the other side of the room, like actually snaps his fingers at her until she lifts her head to look at him, “Listen, you stupid little peabrain. Stop thinking with your dick and start thinking with your head.”

“I don’t have a dick,” she complains, rubbing her cheek into the carpet, “Maybe if I did, Lan Zhan would be less embarrassed of me.”

That earns her a pillow thrown straight at her head, “Peabrain! If she doesn’t want to be seen with you, that’s not nice.”

“But-”

“Being pretty doesn’t make her nice!”

“She-”

“Having nice legs doesn’t make her nice!”

“But she is nice!” Wei Ying shouts, pushing herself up enough to sit as she stares angrily down at Jiang Cheng, “She lets me sit next to her in class, and smiles when I give her bunnies, and puts up with me whispering to myself while the teacher talks and-”

“All I hear is puts up with and lets me, Wei Wuxian, that’s not what nice is!” Jiang Cheng shouts right back, glaring at her the whole time, “You should waste your time on someone who is actually nice to you.”

“I am.”

“Would you ever let me date someone who was ashamed of me, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng asks, face serious as he leans in closer to her, “I’m your didi, would you let someone treat me like that? Would you let me treat me like that?”

She doesn’t have a response for that so she lays in silence, staring at the blades of the ceiling fan that spin around and around and around.

“Maybe she is very nice, Wei Ying,” Wen Ning interjects, breaking the silence, reaching one hand out to pet Wei Ying’s hair, “But maybe Wei Ying should be nice to herself too. Do you feel good right now? Have you been nice to yourself?”

“You don’t understand and I don’t want to talk to either of you anymore,” Wei Ying pouts and lets herself drop back to the floor, curling on her side around her phone, “And I just want my fucking pancakes.”

She checks her order status and lo and behold, there they are again. Hanguang Jun.

hanguang jun will u be my wife, she asks and then doubles back, im a lesbian.

Hi, this is DoorDash connecting you to your Dasher for updates about your order. She gets and then, Yes.

yes ull b my wife or yes im a lesbian

Hanguang Jun: Yes, I will be your wife.

thats great!!!!!!! Wei Ying sends back, with exactly the right amount of exclamation points, smiling into her phone screen, hey now that we r married will u stay at my door long enough for me to c u

Hanguang Jun: Hm. Are you intoxicated?

hanguang jun what kind of ? is that!!!!! of course i am!!!! why else do people get food delivered!!!!

Hanguang Jun: For many reasons. If you make it to the door fast enough, you will see me.

hanguang jun!!!!!!!

This time, the knock is a barely there tap that Wei Ying is absolutely sure is on purpose and despite picking herself up and essentially running to the door, she still only manages to catch a glimpse of long hair and a blue shirt.

She opens her food in miserable silence, only breaking out of her gloom when she sees the little note: For my wife. written on the lid of the box. She lets herself focus on that instead of the crushing reality of Lan Zhan’s embarrassment of her, smiling every time she shoves a too big bite of pancake into her mouth.

Rate your dasher: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Monday roles around too soon and the next thing Wei Ying knows, she’s skulking into her criminology class exactly twelve minutes late, staring at the empty seat next to Lan Zhan. The thing is, the fresh sting of it all has soothed into a deep ache, more bearable to wear in public. Now she just finds it all awkward. Like, it’s awkward to just all the sudden ditch out on Lan Zhan and try to find some other non-shitty seat somewhere else, right? But it's also awkward to sit next to Lan Zhan when it seems Lan Zhan doesn’t want that, not really, not publicly.

The walk into the classroom is too short to solve any of these problems, so she just slides into her usual seat, carefully keeping her face forward, keeping to her own space instead of spilling out into the seat over to brush against Lan Zhan. Which is. Fine.

She takes studious notes and never once lets her eyes waver to the seat next to her. It takes a lot of mental energy. When the class is over, she doesn’t bother digging her stuff back into her bag, her only thoughts on how to get out of there as fast as she can, gathering them all into a messy pile in her arms and standing before the professor has even said goodbye.

“Wei Ying,” a quiet voice says next to her, a gentle reaching out to cup the ball of her elbow. Wei Ying takes a single deep breath and turns back around with a hopefully believable smile on her face. The black bunny pen is laid haphazardly across Lan Zhan’s notes. She was still using the pen. Ah, Lan Zhan is so nice, Wei Ying thinks to herself even as she feels her bottom lip wobble dangerously.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m kind of in a rush today, okay? Gotta get going!” she chirps, looking anywhere but the steady hand that still hold her arm. Lan Zhan stares up at her, trying to meet her eyes, sighing when she seems to realize Wei Ying has no intention of looking away from the floor.

“Okay, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan sighs again, letting go of her arm to fold her hands properly across her lap, “I will see you on Wednesday.”

“Yeah, totally, for sure,” Wei Ying chants and skids out of the aisle as fast as she possibly can, never once looking back. She doesn’t see Lan Zhan watch her leave, a tiny confused frown painting her lips.

This time, Wei Ying isn’t even the one to make the first move. She doordashes chocolate and gatorade and mini donuts from the nearest gas station and decides to sulk on her couch until it arrives (and ignore the paper she should be writing. She has time though, it’s not due for another 43 hours).

Her phone chimes from where it rests on the couch next to her, revealing a doordash message.

Hi, this is DoorDash connecting you to your Dasher for updates about your order.

Hanguang Jun: Are you drinking at 10:30 in the morning?

is that judgement i hear, Wei Ying responds, snorting a laugh as she does. Hanguang Jun might just be a fuddy duddy.

Hanguang Jun: We are speaking through an instant messaging service. You do not hear anything.

potato tomato, Wei Ying responds, just to be difficult and then a quick, also no im not drinking im just sad

The pause after this is long, stretching out enough that Wei Ying sets her phone down entirely and turns her attention back to the shitty soap opera she was watching, when the phone dings again.

Hanguang Jun: Why are you sad?

hanguang jun so invasive! She responds with a laugh, adding, i guess u r my wife now it is ur right to know

Hanguang Jun: Mn. Have to keep track of you.

hanguang jun! Wei Ying would yell if they were talking in person. Hell, she yells now into the fabric of her pillow, ur making me blush

Hanguang Jun: Good.

anyways, Wei Ying directs, because it seems otherwise they’ll just keep going in a circle of Wei Ying blushing and Hangunag Jun being, well, whatever it is they are being, there is a girl.

Hanguang Jun: A girl?

a perfect girl. the best, most beautiful girl, way out of my league, Wei Ying explains, hoping that with this fresh new person she can convey just how wonderful Lan Zhan is, seeing as how that didn’t go over well with Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning (although, Wei Ying is pretty sure Jiang Cheng has hated Lan Zhan since high school, she’s just not ready to unpack that yet), but she doesnt like me back. or like at all really i dont think she even wants to be friends with me

Hanguang Jun: You are sure of this?

yes!!!! Wei Ying sends back, rapid fire, she presents all of the wei-ying-is-annoying vibes

Hanguang Jun: And what, exactly, are the ‘Wei Ying is annoying vibes’?

well thats just too much to answer theres so many, Wei Ying, sinking deeper and deeper into the crest of her couch; this conversation is definitely not making her feel better the way she hoped it would.

Hanguang Jun: Hm. This seems unlikely.

unlikely????

Hanguang Jun: Mn. Wei Ying is a delight to be around, impossible to dislike her.

hanGUANG JUN

Hanguang Jun: Then how do you expect someone to show they like you? Romantically speaking.

oh thats easy, she types, thinking about the things she wants Lan Zhan to say to her, just ask me to get food really. im always down for food i think its a good first date, so if i say no to that i definitely dont like u lol

Hm, is all Hanguang Jun has left to say so Wei Ying goes back to being sad on her couch and dutifully waits for her cool blue gatorade and kitkat bar, not even bothering to run to the door when she hears the knock. She’s fairly positive Hanguang Jun isn’t planning on waiting around for her anyways. She still rates her five stars though; doesn’t want to fuck up her rating or whatever.

She repeats her routine, slinking into class late and trying her very hardest not to be a nuisance to Lan Zhan, leaning in the opposite direction and keeping her elbows to herself. Better to not annoy the other girl anymore than she already has. She thinks back to the beginning of the semester, when she’d draped herself all over Lan Zhan, happy and sure of herself, only now all she hears over the memory is Lan Zhan’s voice, angry and disappointed as she calls Wei Ying shameless.

Wei Ying does, in fact, have shame. A lot of it. Too much of it. Enough to keep her quiet and complacent for the hour and twenty minutes she must sit beside Lan Zhan knowing well enough the other girl doesn’t even respect her enough to be seen with her in public.

She tries to slip out of class as quickly as possible but there is Lan Zhan’s hand again, shooting out to grab her and pull her back.

“Wei Ying,” she says, eyebrows furrowing in that way they always do when she’s stressed about something. It takes all of Wei Wuxian’s restraint to not reach out and soothe the taught skin there back into place. Would Lan Zhan like that? Be okay with Wei Ying touching her like that in front of everyone? “I would like to ask you a question.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying nods to herself, fingers digging into the notebook she holds tight against her chest, “Is it about the homework? Ah, Lan Zhan you know you’re better at this than I am anyways.”

“It is not about the homework, no,” Lan Zhan shakes her head, looking solemn, shoulders drawn up as she rises from her seat, her bag resting over her shoulder, neatly packed up like she’s geared up to make a quick getaway too, “Would you like to get pancakes with me?”

Even the word makes her sweat. All the nights she’s spent eating pancakes (they’re her go to drunken craving) only to throw up the surgery sweetness later, to feel it twisting around in her alcohol burned stomach, acid and sugar making her raw and dizzy and nauseated; so good when she’s eating them under an alcohol induced haze and utterly ruined for her when she’s sober.

“Oh,” she says, shaking her head, “No, I don’t like pancakes.”

Wei Ying’s mouth is still open, about to suggest a different option, when Lan Zhan’s whole face shutters in a range of emotions Wei Ying can’t dare to name, and ends in smooth porcelain, eyes no longer meeting Wei Ying’s own, but staring past her likes she burns to look at.

“I see,” Lan Zhan says in a tone so flat, Wei Ying feels a little hysterical, what does she see what does she see, “Goodbye, Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan is out of the classroom before Wei Ying can grab her, though she calls to her long after she loses sight of Lan Zhan’s baby blue scrunchy, lost in the crowd of undergrads milling about, always in Wei Ying’s way.

Lan Zhan had looked at her like Wei Ying had said exactly what she’d feared only that didn’t make sense. How could Wei Ying have let her down when Lan Zhan had no hopes for her to begin with?

She drinks with Nie Huaisang that night and orders food and some random named Athony delivers it to her. She doesn’t opt to message him.

She only eats half of her pancakes, feeling incredibly abandoned and incredibly lonely.

On Monday she gets to class early. Like actually early, as in fifteen minutes before the class is even scheduled to begin, not just on time. It’s a first for her and she’s very proud. She’d hoped that Lan Zhan wouldn’t be there yet, that she could set up her stuff in peace and then when Lan Zhan came into the classroom she could see where Wei Ying was and decide if she wanted to sit next to her or not. She’d looked so upset on Wednesday, afterall.

But, of course, Lan Zhan is already there.

She looks gorgeous from where she sits, posture straight, perfect, shoulders drawn back making her look confident. Untouchable. Her makeup is lightly done and perfectly applied, lips shiny with tinted chapstick, notebook ready on her desk, bunny pen laid gently on top of that. And in the spot next to her, Wei Ying’s seat, rests her bag, taking up the entirety of the table, a warning to all intruders.

Wei Ying walks up extra slowly, trying to determine whether or not she is welcome, tiptoeing her way down the aisle, hoping Lan Zhan won’t look at her, hoping she will.

“Is this seat taken?” she asks, her voice nothing more than a whisper, not loud enough for others to hear, ready to be hurt.

“It is Wei Ying’s seat,” Lan Zhan replies instead, keeping her eyes on the ground even as her hand reaches out to pull it out of Wei Ying’s way. This is the first time Wei Ying has seen it up close, has gotten to see the little cloud patterns, the letters embroidered into the fabric, spelling out, h a n g u -

Hanguang Jun.

Hanguang Jun!!!

“Hanguang Jun?” she blurts out before she can stop herself, “You, you’re...”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, only now looking up at her, that same confused furrow to her brow, “It is my nickname, from high school, from the-”

“From the volleyball team,” Wei Ying nods with dawning horror, “You are you, do you, Lan Zhan, was that you the whole time?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, nods to herself really, as if the simple act of saying her name provided comfort, “I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I thought, I didn’t know,” she finishes lamely, feeling her cheeks burn as she thinks back to all the things she had sent to Hanguang Jun. She looks down at the bag to keep her eyes focused elsewhere and remembers, “Hey it’s on my desk.”

“Yes?” Lan Zhan replies, though it feels like more of a question.

“Have you been saving me a seat this whole time? Is that how I managed to get a good seat this whole semester, even though I was late everyday?”

Lan Zhan’s ears go red, stark against the black hair tucked behind them, but she nods firmly, unashamed, “It is Wei Ying’s seat.”

“You, you actually, you wanted me to sit next to you?” Wei Ying asks, feeling only halfway hysterical, “I didn’t force myself on you? You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me?”

Lan Zhan’s frown deepens at this, angry, “Could never be embarrassed of Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan-” Wei Ying begins, only to be cut off by their professor.

“Everyone, please take a seat,” Professor Whoever The Hell says, making eye contact with Wei Ying and she sits down, utterly stunned.

“Lan Zhan,” she whispers when he turns around, “Can we talk after class?”

Lan Zhan looks at her for a long time then, calculating, assessing, before nodding her head with a firm, “Mn.”

Before either of them can escape, Wei Ying tangles her fingers with Lan Zhan’s and drags her out of the class behind her, pulling her into a little alcove surrounded by trees with little dangly purple flowers. It would be pretty on any other day when Wei Ying doesn’t feel like she’s about to burst out of her rib cage.

“Lan Zhan, it was you the whole time?” she asks again, still a little dazed from that realization.

“Yes, Wei Ying,” she nods, still hiding her eyes from Wei Ying, “Was certain you knew, thought you were...”

“You thought I was??” Wei Ying urges, a hand reaching out for Lan Zhan before she can stop herself.

“Thought you were flirting with me,” Lan Zhan admits, in nothing louder than a whisper, shaking her head as she does, “It is stupid.”

“It wasn’t!” Wei Ying half shouts, throwing her hands in the air, “It wasn’t, it wasn’t, Lan Zhan, I promise.”

“You did not know it was me, and...” Lan Zhan trails off again, wringing her hands together in front of her. It is the most unsure of herself Wei Ying has ever seen her; it breaks her heart just to watch.

“And what? Lan Zhan, you have to tell me,” Wei Ying all out begs, gasping when Lan Zhan’s eyes finally raise to meet her own; they’re red rimmed and miserable.

“Wei Ying said no,” she says after a long while, lips twisting in a grimace, “Wei Ying said no to food, so she definitely doesn’t like me.”

“I didn’t say no to you!” Wei Ying shouts, loud enough to attract the attention of passersby, “I said no to pancakes, not you!”

“Wei Ying, please, do not patronize me,” Lan Zhan resists, eyes hardening even though she is still clearly sad. God, how could Wei Ying have missed how sad she was? “I have been delivering pancakes to Wei Ying for weeks.”

“That’s exactly it!” Wei Ying rushes out, one hand shooting out to wrap around Lan Zhan’s wrist like she’s afraid the other girl might run away, “That’s what drunk me eats! And I always, always get sick, Lan Zhan! I can’t eat them when I’m sober, I’ll puke!”

“You...don’t like pancakes,” Lan Zhan repeats, working the words around her mouth like she’s trying to make sense of them, “But you do like...me.”

“Yes! Lan Zhan I like you so much! And I would’ve asked you out sooner!” she shouts again, and then realizes where she’s led this conversation. The shame burns in her cheeks so she focuses on digging the tip of her shoe into the ground, “I would’ve asked you out, but I thought you were embarrassed to be seen with me.”

The words still taste bitter in her mouth, ache in her throat and burn her cheeks but she’s said them, they’re out in the open and now they can deal with them. She expects a scoff, maybe an eye roll. She does not expect two soft hands to cup her cheeks, forcing her to look up, rubbing soothing circles into the skin there.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan scolds, “Could never be embarrassed of you. Wei Ying is...Wei Ying is everything.”

“But you, you hid. From your brother and Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue, because you were,” her mouth twists uncomfortably at this, the memory of being abandoned in the cafe fresh enough to hurt her feelings, “because you were with me.”

“Ah,” Lan Zhan says, the tips of her ears turning red again. Good, Wei Ying thinks, We can be embarrassed together, “That was not...because of you, more like...about you.”

“Huh?”

“Brother is...he likes...” Lan Zhan trails off, letting one of her hands drop from Wei Ying’s cheek to her neck and Wei Ying is not about to let her get away just like that so she reaches out her own hand, grabbing onto Lan Zhan’s hip and dragging her closer. This seems to make Lan Zhan release all of her tension at once; a full body shudder goes through her as she dives into the crevice of Wei Ying’s neck, hiding there, safe, and mumbles something completely unintelligible.

“What was that, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, petting a single hand down Lan Zhan’s back through her hair and up again.

“Brother likes to tease,” Lan Zhan breathes into Wei Ying’s skin, one hand digging tight into Wei Ying’s ribcage, “He knows of my...feelings for you, if he had seen us at the cafe he would have, and Wei Ying I was sure you didn’t, there was no...reciprocation.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you hid because you didn’t want to get teased?” Wei Ying laughs, delighted, as she pulls back from Lan Zhan to get a good look at her, eyes sparkling, “Lan Zhan, that’s so cute.”

Lan Zhan dives back into her shoulder and bites in retaliation, muttering, “Wei Ying is cuter.”

Wei Ying lets her stay there for awhile, petting her hair and wiggling as close as she can get before finally asking, “Hey, you wanna get some food with me?”

Lan Zhan draws back to look over Wei Ying’s face and must like what she sees there because she smiles and presses a half kiss to the corner of Wei Ying’s mouth and nods her head, “Only if Wei Ying will be my girlfriend.”

“Aiyah, Lan Zhan, didn’t I already propose to you?” Wei Ying laughs, laughs even louder when Lan Zhan blushes again. She wags her finger in Lan Zhan’s face, trying her best to look stern, “Don’t think you can back out of our marriage so soon, wife.”

Lan Zhan bites her finger and keeps it there, warm between her teeth, only digging in harder at Wei Ying’s cry of indignation.

“Lan Zhan, you monster, you monster,” Wei Ying laughs, wiggling her finger still on the inside of Lan Zhan’s lips, “Hey, Lan Zhan, you should let go of my finger.”

“Hm.”

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I can’t kiss you with my finger in the way,” she whines, even as Lan Zhan lets go and moves forward, “Would you deprive your poor wife like this? I waited so long for you-”

Lan Zhan, it turns out, tastes like strawberry chapstick.

Four Months Later

Wei Ying wakes up warm and sated, a leg thrown over her waist, a hand slipped inside her shirt, resting casually against the skin of her back, a heavy body breathing softly, rhythmically against her chest.

The moon is still high in the night sky, washing the room in pale silver-white light, turning the skin on Lan Zhan’s neck into cream sheets, soft beneath Wei Ying’s touch. She’s breathing out little huffs of air, dampening the collar of Wei Ying’s sleep shirt but Wei Ying could never find it within herself to complain. Not when she gets this; Lan Wangji safe and content in her bed, never hesitant, never ashamed to pull Wei Ying into her chest and hold her there for hours. To hold Wei Ying as close as she can, like she’s something special. Something important.

Wei Ying still can eat sober pancakes, she muses as she rubs slow circles into Lan Zhan’s shoulder, thinking about what they’ll eat in the morning when Lan Zhan inevitably drags her out of bed way too early to be considered normal, seat her at their table still wrapped in a blanket, and feeds her warm foods and coffee.

There are other foods to be eaten though, a never ending list of things to be enjoyed with Lan Zhan right there beside her.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, I’m really glad you brought me pancakes,” Wei Ying whispers, dragging one of her legs up to slot nicely between Lan Zhan’s, “And I’m glad you make me eggs and congee and potatoes when I’m not drunk.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply to this, obviously, still huffing peacefully against Wei Ying’s chest. She starts again, rubbing circles into Lan Zhan’s back, “Hey, Lan Zhan, I’m glad you’re not embarrassed of me. I’m glad you let me kiss you even if your brother is around.”

She presses a kiss to the top of Lan Zhan’s head then rubs her nose against the hair there, still smelling fresh with shampoo.

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers to the ceiling, knowing it is well past Lan Zhan’s bedtime and she’s not usually one to sleep in fits and starts, “Lan Zhan, I love you.”

Lan Zhan’s face rubs against Wei Ying’s chest like a cat, lips catching on the fabric of Wei Ying’s shirt when she whispers back, “I love you too.”

(Wei Ying still gets drunk pancakes. She saves a minor fortune on never using the app again though; instead she lets Lan Zhan wrangle her into the passenger seat of her car, buckled in and safe, while Lan Zhan drives them to the local iHop. She lets Lan Zhan manhandle her into a booth and feed her bits of pancake and fruit, never too much, never enough to make her sick the way she would have had she been on her own. Lan Zhan always takes such good care of her; these pancakes taste better than any Wei Ying has ever had in her life.)

Coda:

“Hey, Lan Zhan, isn’t your family, like, rich?” Wei Ying asks, swinging their threaded hands in between them as they march to the nearest cafe, both of them glowing in the sunlight, happy, “Why were you running for DoorDash in the first place?”

“My family is well off,” Lan Zhan confirms politely, all while Wei Ying thinks to herself Yes, exactly what a rich person would say, “But there are things my Uncle does not approve of, and for that I prefer to use my own money so that he does not have a place to stand in telling me no.”

“Lan Zhan, how devious!” Wei Ying delights, leaning in to press an excited kiss to Lan Zhan’s cheek, “So what’d you get? Something cool? Dirty? Lavish? Tell me, Lan Zhan!”

“Bunnies,” Lan Zhan replies, cheeks speckled soft pink.

“Bunnies?” Wei Ying asks, head cocked to the side.

“Bunnies,” Lan Zhan confirms, nodding her head, “Uncle does not approve of pets but I approve of having bunnies and wanted two of my own.”

“Lan Zhan, stop, I’m going to die of cuteness,” Wei Ying whines, burying her face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder to moan more properly.

“Your repeat business helped to adopt them and purchase their housing,” Lan Zhan continues on because she is mean and has no sympathy for Wei Ying’s plight.

“Them? As in multiple?”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan nods, fishing her phone out of her pocket, “Their names are Fluffball and Pancake, would you like to see?”

“Would I like to, oh my god,” Wei Ying shouts, looking at a picture of Lan Zhan cuddled up with two rabbits, looking soft and content. One of them is snowy white, tail big and bushy, like a little snowball in and of itself. She guesses that one is Fluffball. The other is light brown, slightly bigger than the last and very, how does she nicely put this, round. That one must be Pancake. Wei Ying is absolutely not ready to guess the implication of the bunny being named Pancake. She is going to die, “Lan Zhan, I am going to die. You’re going to kill me. How are you so cute?”

“Wei Ying will be fine,” Lan Zhan reassures, placing a hand on the small of her back to lead Wei Ying along, “Promise to keep Wei Ying safe.”

“Lan Zhan!”

#wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan zhan #lan wangji #fem wangxian #rule 63 #modern setting #wen qing #wen ning #jiang cheng #my writing #my fics #jiangchengrights

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justanotherdeadgirlwalking · 4 years

Text

That is Just the Saddest F**king Thing I Have Ever Heard.

TW obviously DEH is about a kid’s suicide, so it has those themes

other parts :)

Part Five.

Art doesn’t just happen. It’s a process. You need a muse, an inspiration, something that lights a spark in your brain. Inspiration is everywhere. I’m surrounded constantly by beautiful bodies, beautiful faces. Sometimes you walk down the street and see how perfectly someone’s shoulders meet their slender neck, and the image burns into your mind. You want to see it in front of you again, but you can’t because that would require stalking the person to find them, and that’s super fucking creepy. So, you settle for the next best thing, you draw it. You sketch it over and over again until you get it right, and suddenly that woman is in front of you again. I prefer to draw people, because then you never run out of ideas. Faces are so unique; each body is different. There’s billions of people in the world, each one just waiting to be captured; I never run out of ideas. Eyes are like two little galaxies right in the center of the asteroid that is your face.

Putting together a portfolio has been a lot harder than I’d expected. I thought I’d just through my favorite drawings in a folder and call it a day. The only problem is, I hate literally everything I have ever drawn. Mom has always told me that my drawing look like photographs. That’s complete bullshit because you can see fingerprint smudges, and you can tell that one eye is significantly better than the other, and the noses look like shit. I literally want to redo every piece.

I’m not being one of those people that says their work is shit because they’re fishing for compliments, I know they’re good. I’ve been featured in district art shows, and I’ve won awards. And I’m not trying to sound like a cocky asshole either. Art is just the one thing in my life I have complete and total control over, and trust me, I took control. I can choose how it looks, I can make it as perfect, or imperfect as I want it. I had to beg my parents for the best pencils and canvas to use. I figured, I didn’t take music lessons or dance lessons like Zoe did, you guys can buy me some quality supplies. They didn’t want to waste money on the stuff if I wasn’t going to use it. As a child I tried a lot of sports and hated them. When I was ten, I joined the swim team. I practiced every day, for hours. I even talked Zoe into training with me, I made her time me, and yell at me in an angry German accent when I wasn’t making time. Then, after probably hundreds of hours of training, I decided that I didn’t like swimming before I even had the chance to compete. I guess they didn’t want me to do the same thing with art. Mom finally took me to an art store, like a real art store, when I proved to her I was serious about it. It was like going to Disney world. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of was right there in front of me. There was a wall of colored pencils. There were pencils in every color I could think of, and then some, colors I never even seen before. I stood there in awe. It was a game changer to use real colored pencils, not Crayola’s. Larry was so mad, he didn’t understand how art supplies could be so expensive. Well, I don’t understand why someone would spend $100 on a dozen golf balls either, so I guess we’re even.

Since I couldn’t realistically redo every piece of art I’ve ever made, I decided I would just use every piece that my art teacher loved and draw one new piece. It seemed like a good compromise. Miss Schmitt was the only person I really trust with anything. She’s always pushed me to keep going, not to give up on a piece and see it through. She didn’t teach me how to draw, you can’t teach talent, but she always motivated me.

I really needed her motivation now. There was one person I really wanted to draw, but I seemed to have a mental block on what they looked like. Miss Schmitt told me to use a reference picture, but I didn’t want anyone to know who I was drawing. It would make me look psycho, and people finally stopped thinking I was a freak. I couldn’t bring myself to draw his face, so I drew his body. I drew his New Balance sneakers and his mal fitting khakis. I spent hours trying to replicate the crease down the front of his pants just right. I even made a special trip to the art store to make sure I found the right shades of blue for his stupid stripped shirt. I got an off-white colored pencil so I could shade his cast just right. Evan’s arm may not be broken anymore, but when I think of him, I think of him in his cast, just after I signed it. When everything was still really real and made sense.

I’ve become obsessed with him. How could I not be, he was my one and only friend. Except, that wasn’t true, and he used me for a better life. I really wanted nothing to do with him, but at the same time I wanted to know everything about him. It didn’t help that he was always around.

There was a knock on my door. “Come in” I called, snapping my sketchbook shut. I looked up to see Evan in my room, behind him, Zoe was peering in, almost hiding. “What’s up” I asked them, annoyed. Evan stands there for a second, looking down and playing with his fingers. I cleared my throat to get his attention.

“Um, me and Zoe want to talk to you” he spits out in a nervous stutter. I motion for them to come in. Zoe comes in and sits on my bed, not looking at me. Evan stands still for another moment before pulling the door shut and sitting on the ground where he stood. Everyone is silent for a moment, avoiding eye contact. I cough loudly to end the awkwardness.

“What did you guys want to talk about?” I ask.

Its Zoe that answers, softly, her voice breaking, “I want answers,” she says. Well kid, that makes two of us. “Why did you try to kill yourself.”

I feel like I was kicked in the chest. I don’t really have an explanation as to why. I just did. It was impulsive, seemed like the right thing to do in the moment. I wasn’t suicidal, and I wasn’t depressed beyond my normal gloom and doom. I just did it because I felt like it. I wasn’t feeling helpless or worthless, just bored. Except, I can’t tell her that. “Connor?” she asks. I just stare at her, hoping she will drop it. She meets my gaze and raises an eyebrow. She looks so sad, so broken. I must have really hurt her.

“I don’t want to talk about it” I say.

She sighs and balls her fists and taps them against her legs. She didn’t like that answer. I get it. I’d want to know too, I guess. Except, there’s nothing to know. Except, I wasn’t as important to her as she is to me.

“In the emails you wrote to Evan,” she starts. Oh, great the fake emails, “you were doing so well. Please you don’t need to tell me everything, but I just want to know what happened”

“I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it.” I snap.

Evan coughs, bringing attention to himself. I forgot he was here for a second. He looks nervous, really nervous. I don’t blame him, I could blow up his whole life right now with the truth. “Maybe he needs more time Zoe” he says. I give him a dirty look.

Zoe slams her hand against the bed, “You’ve had months,” she yells, “How much more time do you need. How do you go from climbing trees with Evan to killing yourself in a park?”

“Zoe,” Evan says, “you remember what you read, you don’t want to trigger him.” Trigger me? Okay Evan, you just don’t want me to tell the truth. Evan stands and opens the door, motioning for Zoe to leave. She looks at me again, pleading me with her eyes, then gets up and leaves. Evan lingers for a moment, watching her walk down the hall to her room. He steps back in and slams the door.

“We need to talk f-for real,” He says.

“Oh, for sure” I say, standing up and covering the distance between us until I’m towering over him, “Let’s talk about how you’re taking advantage of my entire fucking family.”

He’s beet red. “I’m not” he says, looking at the floor.

“Hey buddy, we’re not friends, we never were friends, and we’re probably never going to be friends.” I say

“Wh-why not?” he whispers.

“News flash,” I yell, “the first and only time I ever talked to you was when I signed your cast remember? You lied to everyone, and you’re a shitty liar.”

Evan is silent, he’s staring at the ground and pulling at his fingers. I watch him as he scratches his neck, pulls his ear, shifts his weight. I’ve thought Evan and I were the same; neither of us had friends because we were outcasts so to speak. He was just socially awkward, whereas I was the school freak. But I could tell he felt the same stuff I felt. The same wish that someone would notice us, that we were both on the outside, always looking in. Maybe if things were different we would be friends. I tried reaching out to him, but he was too self-absorbed with his own issues to notice me. And now, I am somehow engulfed in his issues. He took my suicide and made it about him. He lied to my parents and Zoe and the whole world. Evan Hansen was a nobody, a barely in the background kind of guy, and now his basically an internet celebrity. And me? People still don’t care about me, but at least they’re nice to me now.

I think that’s why I’m so angry about the whole situation. He got what he always wanted, he got his dreams come true. He got a taste of a perfect life, so he did what he had to do. But it ends now. I hope it was fun and he had a blast while he dragged me along.

“Did you read the emails?” Evan finally asks. I read them. He wrote a story of a perfect friendship. Friends that quote their favorite bands and tells jokes nobody understands except us two, and there’s nothing that we can’t discus, like girls we wish would notice us but never do. He even included me encouraging him to go after my sister. The fucking creep.

“Dear Evan Hansen,” I say, “You either tell Zoe and my parents the truth, or I will.” I open my door and shove him out of my room, “Sincerely, me.

#deh #dear evan hansen #DEH fanfic #deh fandom #Dear evan hansen fanfic #dear connor murphy #connor murphy #evan hansen #zoe murphy #mike fiast #ben platt #fanfict #tree bros #musicals

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missweber · 5 years

Text

For Day 4 of @lardo-week - “Memories”

(Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3)

Chapter 4 - preserves

Her senior thesis and senior project were both done and submitted, and all Lardo had left to do was help prepare for the year-end banquet and suffer through finals.

No, that wasn't entirely true, she thought. There were a lot of other things to do, but she was choosing to ignore them.

And speaking of choosing to ignore things...

Lardo switched out her graphite pencil for a handful of pastel pencils in a limited palette of warm jewel tones (plus a pop of almost-white blue) and begin laying down swaths of color.

She had already decided to title this particular piece Still Life With a Fuckton of Jam. The way the light gleamed off Bitty's stacks of mason jars and made the deep reds-purples-oranges glow like a sunset was just too damned good an opportunity to pass up.

It was gorgeous, but it was also so very Bitty. She hoped that one day, maybe years and years from now, she would look at this and remember what it was like to sit in this kitchen, what it was like to hear Bitty's voice and the creak of the decrepit old Haus.

Or, would she wonder why she had thought it was a good idea to do a study of an overabundance of preserves?

No, she decided. She would not only remember this moment, she would show the damned drawing to Bitty and ask him if he remembered this moment. Even if she had to hunt him down in the middle of Siberia or something.

Would she still be doing her art then? A year ago, the thought would have seemed heretical. Now, though, with no job on the horizon and no money left in her education fund if she did decide to go for her MFA, she couldn't help but wonder about the grim—though faint—possibility.

She was fairly sure she wouldn't let it go completely. White space and margins weren't safe around her when she had a pen or pencil—and she always had a pen or pencil.

The margins of her job-hunting notebook were filled with little dinosaurs. Why dinosaurs, she couldn't say, but there was an array of the little guys marching around the edges of the page. Some were stylized, others realistic, and others in a cartoony style she sometimes like to play with.

God, she hoped she figured out the job thing soon.

And the housing thing.

And the life-after-school thing.

Bitty made hundreds of jars of jam to avoid the inevitable. Lardo drew them.

Like peas in a pod, they were.

She got so lost in the drawing that she almost forgot that she had to meet with Coach Hall about the year-end banquet.

The meeting wouldn't go long. The logistics of the banquet were a nothing, really. It was the sort of thing she could do in her sleep (or while working on an art project), but everyone always acted like she had pulled a miracle out of her ass.

She just hoped that Hall didn't mind the flustered duckling she had sketched in the bottom corner of the sample menu.

He didn't, if the flicker of a smile was anything to go by.

"That reminds me—there's something I've been meaning to show you."

He got up and walked over to the bookshelf that was on the wall behind her. "I hope you don't mind that I, um, appropriated this. I finally got around to getting it framed a month or so ago."

He handed her the frame. It wasn't a photo. It was the roster from last year's trip to the Frozen Four.

She remembered, now, how he had asked for it before she had a chance to pitch it. She figured he had wanted it as a memento of getting as far as they had, but now that she saw it, she understood why he wanted to keep it.

Like nearly every other piece of paper that had ever crossed her path, the margins were crammed with doodles and sketches.

There was Bitty, or rather, a quick motion study that she recognized as Bitty even without facial features. She recognized it the way she could recognize him on the dance floor even in dim light and when she was thoroughly baked.

Jack was more obvious, even though it was all shading with little detail, calling out his features in the line of his jaw, the shadows around his eyes and under his cheekbones.

Ransom and Holster and Ollie and Wicky were a little cartoon procession along the bottom of the page. Lardo couldn't read her own handwriting in the captions, but she remembered the fart jokes. Oh, how she remembered the fart jokes...

Nursey and Dex were an incomplete study she had started of them standing next to each other. Only a few details were called out here and there, with no particular logic other than what had caught her eye at the moment. Looking at it now, she remembered how she had liked the feel of the pencil on paper as shaded in a bit of Nursey's hairline.

And then there was Shitty. It was a quick, lively sketch, with a few sure lines capturing the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and the way one corner of his mouth lifted a little more than the other, and...

She remembered looking at Jack's senior photography project after she had learned about him and Bitty being together, and wondering how the hell she could have missed it.

Looking at this picture, she wondered how the hell she could have missed what was going on with her and Shitty. Looking at the sketch now, she remembered the fondness and frustration and sheer pig-headed denial she felt at the time.

She remembered a time much earlier than that, when he announced he got into Harvard and she had to leave the room in tears. She remembered him coming up with a 'proper hockey nickname' for her, a name that she slipped into as if it had been sitting there waiting for her since the day she was born.

"It's cool. I don't mind." She handed the picture back to Hall. If she had minded, she knew he would have been decent about it. But why should she mind? "It's flattering, y'know?"

"And one day, I'll be able to say that I have an original Duan in my office," he said lightly. She got what he meant by it, but the comment sat just a little off-kilter. "Not that I'd ever sell it, even for a million dollars."

That helped. In the end, the compliment settled well enough.

They got through the last of the banquet details quickly enough, and Lardo headed back to the Haus, the framed picture still on her mind.

In a way, it should have bothered her, that he would keep a stupid bunch of doodles on a team roster. And some of the doodles were, well, not great. Dex's head was too narrow, Jack had a coffee stain, and Bitty's legs were different lengths. There was even a phone number scrawled in the top corner that she thought might have been for a pizza place.

But she remembered.

She remembered a drawing she did when she was... five? Six? It was a childish drawing, but she remembered being so proud of it at the time. She also remembered how when she was in her early teens (and wow, there wasn't enough money in the world to convince her to re-live those years) she had been mortified that her bà ngoại had not only framed it but still had it hanging in her living room.

Bà ngoại probably didn't even know the difference between a triceratops and an ankylosaurus, but she loved her granddaughter, and she loved how much her granddaughter loved dinosaurs.

So, yeah. Hall keeping those stupid doodles was pretty damned 'swawesome, actually.

When she got back to the Haus, she checked the angle of the light against the kitchen window and nodded in satisfaction. Even if Bitty had rearranged things, she could still get a good enough read on the colors to finish up Still Life With a Fuckton of Jam.

Maybe, she thought, she should give the drawing to Bitty when she was done.

She had a feeling he would appreciate it.

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #lardo duan #my fic

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letmewritefreely · 6 years

Text

By Your Side: Part 3

Demetri Stevens had spent the last few years of her life in the skybox for a crime she didn’t commit. One morning she woke up to a huge commotion in her cell block and before she knew it, she was on a dropship. She was sent from the Ark, a space station that had spent the last 97 years in space, down to Earth to see if it is inhabitable with 99 other prisoners. Once on Earth she reconnects with her old best friend, makes new friends, steps on some toes, and helps the 100 survive as they have returned to what was their home once before. With each test and trial; things change, people change, and feelings change. This is a new start for the 100, will Demetri allow it to be a new start for her as well? Or will ghosts of her past keep her stuck, well, in the past?

A The 100 fanfic written by letmewritefreely Bellamy Blake x OC: Demetri Stevens warnings: based off the tv series; gore, mentions or implications of sexual content, angst, fluff, violence, death, gets darker as the series continues. A/N: Here’s part 2! feedback, any feedback, is good feedback! Let me know your thoughts!

Parts: Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

By the next evening not much has changed, work on the wall around camp continued and those not working on the wall gathered supplies or worked to re-enforce the tents. Monty had refused to leave Jasper’s side, opting to work on re-establishing communications right next to his best friend. Leaving Demetri to meander around camp. When she wasn’t helping Clarke with Jasper or organizing the dropship she was helping outside building the tents and shelters for 100. Jasper had been moaning and panting since they found him at the tree, he would have barely caught his breath every time the girls took turns giving him sips of water trying to keep him hydrated. While it wasn’t a pleasant sound, it at least meant he was alive and while Demetri would rather be somewhere quiet she stayed close to him.

“I’m going to get some fresh water. Demi, you good to stay here?” Clarke asked, knowing Demetri had been in the dropship with Jasper since late that afternoon.

“Yea, go ahead. I’ll stay with him.” Demetri kept sketching in her notebook, working to recreate the wonders she had seen the day before. Clarke quietly took their canteens and the larger container they kept near Jasper to keep his wound clean and she left the dropship.

“Your sketches are really good.” Monty pulled her attention to him.

“Thanks Monty, I like to record what I see.” Demetri’s pencil stopped, “Plus it’s something I do to clear my head.”

“Do you have more?” Demetri nodded, “Do you mind if I see them?” Monty got shy at his request.

“Sure, just a sec.” Demetri dug around in her backpack for an older notebook, which was full of sketches of things from the Ark and people. Monty started flipping through the pages, eyes wide with wonder.

“Demetri, these are amazing. They’re so detailed and realistic.” She blushed at the compliment. “What have you drawn since we’ve been down here?”

“Mostly the scenery. This is a waterfall we passed by getting Jasper.” She turned a few pages back and showed Monty that picture. “And this is the leopard that Blake shot. Oh! And the mutant deer we saw!” She got a little excited to show him. “And the one before that is a sketch I drew our first night out in the woods.”

“I’m at a loss for words.” Monty handed the notebook back with a wide smile and Demetri stashed it amongst her other ones.

“Thanks Monty,” Demetri gave him a shy smile, “but it’s a useless talent. Being about to draw is nothing compared to being able to hunt or understand engineering.” She motioned towards what Monty was working on.

“A talent is still a talent, the world would be a little more shitty if you didn’t have such an amazing one. My night would be shittier if you hadn’t shared those with me.” Monty assured her. “Thank you for enriching my night.” Demetri tried to hide her grin.

A loud moan from Jasper pulled both of their gazes to the boy before them, a worried look exchanged between the two.

“And Clarke has a talent for helping people, she’ll help Jasper.” Demetri nodded as she picked up a rag and dabbed at his forehead. “He’s strong, he’ll make it.” Monty nodded the worry clear in his forehead wrinkles, Demetri really hoped her words would ring true. When Clarke returned she wiped the sweat from Jasper’s upper body and cleaned the wound again.

“Demi, get some sleep. Monty you too. I’ll stay up with Jasper.”

Demetri nodded, knowing in a situation like this letting Clarke have her way would save everyone a lot of trouble. She stood and patted Monty’s head, before she gave Clarke’s shoulder a squeeze and left the dropship to sleep in the tent she had finished putting up earlier that day.

---

A few days passed, everyone was given a job to complete daily and they soon fell into a routine. Most of the focus was on getting a nice collection of food and working on completing the wall, which was almost done by now. There were still some people working on putting up tents, it took a while to get enough up for everyone. Most people paired up, allowing Clarke and Demetri to become roommates again, just like when they were kids. Most of Demetri’s time was split between helping with the wall and helping Clarke take care of Jasper and any other small injuries. She had to admit that helping Clarke care for the rest of the 100 as they got hurt allowed her medical knowledge to grow. She watched longingly as every afternoon the hunting group would go out in search of food for the next day or two. Bellamy and Clarke agreed that they needed to try to start up a steady food supply. On top of the nuts and berries gathered in the surrounding woods.

Demetri started to notice just how often pairs would disappear and reappear looking less put together than when they had left. She never said anything because it was never her business but when she was trying to find Octavia one afternoon and watched a half dressed girl about Clarke’s age dash out of Bellamy’s tent she almost lost her lunch. Bellamy left his tent, shirt in his hands, moments later to see the Demetri frozen outside and he felt sick to his stomach too. Demetri mumbled some lame excuse and bolted when Bellamy tried to explain himself. She couldn’t look him in the face for the rest of the day. The images of the two together plagued Demetri’s mind and it shouldn’t have bothered her but it did, it bothered her immensely. She kept herself busy in hopes of forgetting the implications of what she saw. The next few nights she laid awake on the cot opposite of Clarke wishing she had remained ignorant to girls who passed through Bellamy’s tent.

The third morning after getting back came and the day began, Jasper was still moaning in pain. Even with her eyes barely open, Demetri could feel how it was affecting the camp. A nervous energy was buzzing through camp. People were getting antsy, they’d glance at the dropship every time Jasper made a noise. She woke herself up before ascending to where Clarke was still taking care of him.

“Clarke, we’ve got to do something. Anything to help him or quiet him down. If we don’t the camp might take the matter into their own hands.” Demetri moved to Jasper’s side, the back of her hand pressing against his clammy forehead.

Clarke pulled the cloth away and poked around the wound as Demetri moved to hold one of Jasper’s hands. She bit her lip nervously as Jasper panted from the contact and tried to weakly twist away from Clarke.

“I can do something but I’ll need all of your help.” She looked in turn to Demetri, Finn, and Wells who had just crawled up the ladder. “Hold him down and keep him still.”

They watched Clarke take a small knife and place it in some still burning coals left over from a small fire. Wells moved first to hold down Jaspers’ legs, Finn held down his upper body, and Demetri and Monty each took an arm.

“I’m not gonna like this am I?” Monty gulped.

“No, you’re not.” Demetri confirmed, and patted his arm before moving back to hold Jasper down.

Clark removed the knife from the coals, the tip just slightly glowing. She looked at everyone in turn before nodding and steeling her own nerves.

“I need to cut away the infected flesh.” Clarke took a deep breath before leaning over Jasper. “This won’t be fun.”

The moment the knife touched Jasper’s chest his moaning increased tenfold. He started thrashing around and he was so loud that Octavia flew into the dropship and up the ladder moments after Clarke started. She looked panicked and scared as she saw them all around Jasper as Clarke cut into his chest.

“You’re gonna kill him! Stop!” Octavia was on the verge of tears.

“She’s trying to save his life!” Finn retorted, glancing up at Octavia as Clarke sucked in a sharp breath.

Clarke froze when tears ran down Jasper’s eyes and he passed out from the pain. She quickly cut away the rest of the infected skin around the wound before she pressed a damp rag over it and tried to clean up the wound again.

“It’s not worth it.” Bellamy’s voice broke the sudden silence, everyone turned to watch him finish ascending the ladder.

“We didn’t bring him back just to let him die.” Finn piped up from his place watching Bellamy walk further into the room

“He’s not gonna make it. If you think he is, you’re deluded.” Bellamy found Demetri bent over Jasper across from him with a stern look of disapproval meeting him.

Clarke turned on Bellamy and glared at him. She handed the rag over to Monty who held it against Jasper’s chest as she moved. She faced him and took a few steps forward, stopping just before him.

“Sorry Jasper is an inconvenience to you, but this isn’t the Ark. Every life matters Bellamy.”

“He’s been like this for three days Clarke, he hasn’t gotten better yet.” Bellamy didn’t like having to be the one to point this out, he didn’t want the kid to die.

“She knows what she’s doing Blake.” Demetri spat.

“Even so, he’s driving the camp crazy.” Bellamy turned to Demetri and watched the way she glared at him. “If he’s not better by tomorrow evening, I’ll kill him myself.”

“You’ll have to go through me then.” Demetri stood and moved in front of Jasper and the others. “We don’t have the numbers nor the resources to be letting our people die when we can help them.”

Bellamy didn’t say anything, the glare he turned back onto Demetri was seen by everyone in the room. He didn’t want to fight with her which was tough because she was stubborn as hell. After one last hard look at the girl before him he moved back to the ladder.

“I’m staying here Bell, I’m helping Clarke.” Octavia spoke before Bellamy even had a chance to speak.

He spared his sister a look, but left without a word. The only sound was his feet hitting each rung of the ladder.

“Power-hungry, self-serving jackass.” Monty spat after a moment, “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” Monty glanced at Octavia, “No offense.”

“That’s right Monty, but he happens to be right.” Finn sighed, earning himself a few glares.

---

A few hours later Jasper was still knocked out and he’s sleeping a little bit peacefully. Clarke ran into the dropship saying they knew how to help Jasper and to not leave his side till they get back. Then she took off with Finn and Wells. Octavia and Demetri took turns getting clean water and cleaning around the wound on Jasper’s chest. Monty worked diligently while occasionally taking breaks to check on Jasper. With Jasper having quieted down the camp was more at ease. Octavia and Demetri were at ease too, until Bellamy joined them.

“Sweetheart, come with me.” He stopped when his head poked through the hatch.

“That is not my name Blake.” Demetri’s eye twitched at the tone he used.

“Go, whatever it is, it’ll keep him occupied. Please.” Octavia grabbed Demetri’s hand. “I’ll take care of Jasper, we won’t leave him alone.” Monty nodded along.

“I’m waiting Sweetheart.” Bellamy called from the lower level.

“Octavia, I’ll need strength, so I don’t kill your brother.” Octavia sent Demetri a small smile before shoving her towards the ladder.

“What do you want Blake?”

“We’re going hunting for tonight’s dinner and I want you to come along, you can be useful.” Demetri eyed Bellamy warily. “Take this as payback for dragging me along on that rescue mission.”

“You won the support of the majority of the camp, I don’t owe you anything.” Demetri’s breath hitched when Bellamy was suddenly right in front of her, his entire being bearing down on her.

“We could use your brain, let’s go.” Bellamy left no room for argument.

Bellamy tugged Demetri behind him by the sleeve of her jacket. As he gathered the hunting group he asked Murphy to stay back and watch the camp. Bellamy pulled a knife made from the dropship from his jacket and handed it Demetri, she noticed it was different than the one he used the night he removed her bracelet. Again before she could open her mouth she was hauled behind him as they went off as a group into the woods to the east to look for dinner.

It didn’t take long before one of the scouts spotted a wild boar. The group quickly fell into a formation to drive the boar towards two people waiting ahead to kill it, an idea Demetri helped come up with. They were close, the boar was within their grasp just a few meters from the waiting hunters, when a loud horn-like sound echoed through the forest. Then the boar disappeared, as if it were never there. The two guys waiting further up started screaming in agony.

“Atom? James?” Bellamy took a few steps forward, ready to run up to help.

“RUN!” That one word, so scared and animalistic, lit a fire in everyone else and they scrambled to get away from an unknown assailant.

Moments later a light greenish-yellow fog started twisting and swirling towards them, swallowing the forest as it went. Bellamy grabbed Demetri’s hand and pulled her along behind him, bee-lining for the caves they passed on the way.

“The caves! Go for the caves!” He yelled to the rest of the hunting party as they took off.

Demetri was struggling to keep up with Bellamy’s long strides and would have gone down if he hadn’t been so forcefully pulling her along behind him. They made it to one of the caves just as the fog starts to wrap itself around Demetri’s ankle. Her whimpers make Bellamy practically throw her into the cave deeper. She collapsed onto the cold cave ground that was covered in moss and she quickly removed her boot and sock and pulled up her pant leg. There was a slight burn around the bit of exposed skin, it was red and itchy but Demetri knew she shouldn’t touch it.

“My bag.” She panted, the pain from the burn more than she could comprehend in the moment.

“Here!” Bellamy unzipped her bag and sat it in front of her, millions of thoughts ran through his mind.

Demetri pulled out the little canteen she had fashioned out of some tarp and some hardware and slowly poured its contents over her ankle. The liquid immediately soothed the pain making Demetri extremely thankful she could think clearly in such a panicked state of mind.

“How’d you know to do that?” Bellamy watched her empty her entire canteen onto her ankle before she grabbed a handful of moss and pressed the cold plant on top of the burn.

“Did you pay attention to any of your classes?” Demetri laughed at the situation, the burn lessened as time passed.

“I went to enough to not fail.” Bellamy rolled his eyes, his attendance record a real disgrace.

“Me too, but I actually studied.” Demetri resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“I had Octavia to take care of.”

“Fair enough Blake.” She took a few deep breaths as most of pain had subsided and she could move her ankle around. “Thanks Blake, for having my back out there.”

“I asked you to come along.” He looked guiltily down at her ankle.

“Forced, you forced me to come along.” She looked down at Bellamy kneeling before her and flicked him on the forehead. “If you drag me anywhere like that again I’ll kick your ass.”

“Fair enough, how does your ankle feel?” His small smile making her feel better.

“I can move it.” Demetri slowly stood up or rather attempted to.

“It can’t handle much weight.” Bellamy commented as Demetri almost went down onto her knees when her ankle gave out, his hands quickly stabilizing her.

“What’s an acid fog doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” Demetri changed topics as Bellamy lowered her back onto the ground, “Because this,” she pointed to her red and splotchy ankle, “is an acid burn.”

“You don’t think the grounders are capable of this are you?” He paused, “Do you have bandages?”

“Here.” Demetri dug a roll of gauze from her bag and handed it to Bellamy, “I don’t want to write it off as a possibility that they aren’t.”

Demetri’s train of thought derailed as she watched Bellamy slowly start wrapping her ankle, both to cover the burned area and to allow a bit of support for her. His hands were slow and steady, his full attention on the job before him. Bellamy thought nothing of it as he also carefully slid her sock on over the bandages and then followed with her boot. He was busy lacing up her boot so it wasn’t too tight when Demetri sighed. Bellamy looked up to find a sweet look on Demetri’s face as she rested her head on the palm of her hand.

“When you act like this I get really confused.” Demetri muttered.

Bellamy didn’t say anything as he finished lacing her boot. He walked over towards the mouth of the cave to see the fog still shrouding the outside world in a green cloud. He slowly trotted back into the main area of the cave to see Demetri digging around in her bag. She pulled out a flashlight and turned it on before setting it in the floor before her.

“We’ll probably be here for awhile so we might as well rest.” Bellamy settled beside Demetri with his back against the wall.

“I hope the others are okay.” Demetri nodded, but she didn’t lay down like Bellamy thought she would.

Instead she pulled out the sketchbook she’d been drawing in the night before and went back to work on perfecting the waterfall. It was harder than normal for her to get an image from her mind to paper because she only had a few moments to really look at the waterfall and it was driving her crazy, she’d already redrawn it three times. Bellamy had made himself comfortable and was just listening to the sounds around him when Demetri’s annoyed sigh made him open his eyes. He sat forward and peeked over her shoulder to see what she was doing. He couldn’t see what she had in her hands too well so he scooted himself forward enough to see.

Demetri didn’t even notice him because she was so focused on the drawing. Bellamy stopped when he was right beside her, his arms resting on his knees, and his chin resting on his upper arm as he stared between her and the notebook in her hand. If Demetri had looked up she’d see a look on Bellamy’s face she hadn’t seen since her dad was around, a look of pure adoration.

“Did you draw a lot on the Ark?” Bellamy asked quietly, fearing he’d break the tranquil atmosphere if he spoke too loud.

“As often as I could.” Demetri’s reply was just as quiet.

“What do you mainly draw?”

“Everything.” Demetri’s paused to look up at Bellamy, noticing for the first time just how close he was, his freckles visible even in the dim light. “This notebook is full of drawings from the last few years in the skybox.” She handed him a worn, simple brown notebook. She quickly looked away from him and back to the notebook in her hands.

Bellamy flipped through the pages slowly. Images of what he assumed her cell looked like, the view she had, the various cell mates she had had, the design of the cell block were all so realistic. There were incredibly detailed drawings of things she had owned, books and trinkets, people around her, even a sketch of a sketch. It was amazing but Bellamy really wanted to see what she was working on now.

“Can I see what’s in that notebook?”

Without a second thought Demetri handed it over, taking the old one and putting it away. She wiggled around to get into a more comfortable position when a thought passed through her mind. Bellamy was still idly looking at each page, at each drawing. Demetri quickly went to reach for it to take it back but Bellamy pulled it out of her reach.

“I’m not done looking.” He tutted at her.

“Blake, c’mon give it back.”

“Oh, was this what you didn’t want me to see?” Bellamy flipped the notebook around for Demetri to see a pair of sketches of Monty and Jasper. “They’d be honored to know you drew them so well.” He deflated, but kept flipping.

Demetri giggled at Bellamy’s reaction to the portraits. She didn’t say anything even though she started to feel anxious as he got closer and closer to a specific sketch, she let him keep looking. A few pages later Bellamy’s uninterested gaze froze, his entire body jerked forward.

“You drew me too?” His voice was quieter than before. He took in the lines and curves of his face reflected in the drawing, the soft smile lines and the freckles she drew.

“I draw what I see.” Demetri became instantly thankful the flashlight casted a yellow hue onto everything because she hoped it masked her insane blush. “I see you everyday, of course I’d draw you eventually.” She tried to act nonchalant as she tore the notebook from his hands and shoved it back into her backpack. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

Demetri rolled till she was facing away from Bellamy and used her backpack as a pillow. She zipped up her jacket and crossed her arms over her chest and she curled in on herself. It was quiet for a while, she wasn’t sure if Bellamy had moved. Demetri just started to untense her body when Bellamy once again broke the silence.

“What’s with you and Wells?” Bellamy questioned as he turned to look over at her.

“You really do ask a lot of questions.” Demetri rolled over to face him.

“How will I ever learn if I don’t ask?” He inquired, amused by the glare he received. “But I’m serious, he’s in love with Clarke and Clarke is your best friend, surely the two of you would be at least nice to each other.”

“Wells has only ever cared about Clarke, ever since I first noticed he had liked her. I’m older than Clarke and we’ve always been super close. He told me once that I was too close to her and as long as I was in the picture she’d never see him. He’s always tried to drive us apart so I don’t care for him.” Demetri found if she answered Bellamy’s questions he’d leave her alone quicker. “He’s disliked me on this whole new level ever since my last birthday before I got arrested, I’m sure he threw a party the day I got locked up.” Demetri grumbled, rolling on her back and staring up at the ceiling of the cave.

“What happened?” Bellamy turned to lay on his side as he listened to her.

“You know I draw.” Bellamy nodded. “I’d used up most of the pencils I had and had been telling Clarke about it. I only had a few color pencils left before I was completely out. She had told Wells she was trying to get her hands on at least one and because Clarke wanted it, Wells made it happen. He lost his mind when he came over a few days after my birthday to see me using the two color pencils he’d gotten for Clarke. He snatched them away and yelled at me for using the gift he got for Clarke before she told him the whole reason she had wanted them was for me. From that day on, Wells didn’t see me anymore. He acted as if I had forced it all to happen, as if I had made Clarke use him to get two measly color pencils.” Demetri shrugged from her position. “Frankly, I didn’t care much. I only got angry when I came back one day to see them both broken in half on my desk. Wells pretended to be shocked and confused but I saw the smirk he had when he was behind Clarke, who apologized profusely. He’s a total dick.” Demetri rolled her eyes.

“Breaking them was pretty petty.” Bellamy agreed, watching Demetri glance at him.

“But it’s in the past, if he ever apologized for being a massive asshole we could move forward, but he hasn’t so I couldn’t care less for him.” Demetri let out a deep breath before she closed her eyes, hoping Bellamy’s questions had ended. The silence only lasted a few minutes.

“Are you cold?” His voice was quiet and smooth, it was soothing.

“A little.” She replied honestly. “There’s nothing separating us from the cold ground.”

“Can I help?”

Demetri slowly rolled over to face him.

“How would you do that?”

Demetri blinked and Bellamy was right in front of her. He pulled her head forward to rest on his arm and then he scooted their bodies closer. He pulled a piece of tarp from his bag over them and held her flush against his body. Their body heat warming the air under the tarp quickly.

“Is that better?” Bellamy looked down at Demetri to see how she reacted to him, to see how she reacted to being this close to him.

“Y-yea, it is.” Her quiet voice was loud in his ears, she looked everywhere but at him as the blush from earlier returned.

Bellamy was sure Demetri could feel his heart beating out of his chest and if she did, she didn’t say anything. Bellamy slowly tucked the edges of the tarp around them. As Bellamy settled, he finally relaxed when he heard the steady breathing beside him, which caused him to melt a little bit. He looked down at Demetri curled into his chest and he felt like his heart had stopped. He wished he could stay there, relishing in the moment forever. However, no matter how much he wanted to stay up and bask in the moment, the exhaustion from the day’s work and running for their lives earlier won and he drifted to sleep as well.

---

The distant yelling of her name woke Demetri from her cozy and warm slumber. She twisted around to see she was still in Bellamy’s arms and pressed tightly against his chest. Her face felt like the fire pit back at camp as she wiggled free and moved to the mouth of the cave after being careful to not wake Bellamy yet. When she noticed the clear air and the sunlight peeking through the canopy above she rushed to wake Bellamy.

“Blake, come on. The fog’s gone and we need to check on everyone.” Demetri pulled the tarp from him and started folding it up.

“How long were we asleep?” His voice deeper and scratchier than normal.

“It’s bright outside, so either a few hours or through the night.” Demetri handed him the folded tarp and he stashed it in his backpack, then he stretched before nodding towards the cave entrance.

“Let’s go then.” Demetri followed behind him, hoping the blush was gone by the time they left the cave.

Neither of them would admit it, but that was the best either of them had slept since they landed on earth. Demetri had lied awake the last few nights until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore only to wake up a few hours later when the sun rose. Bellamy just didn’t sleep well down here, there was too much unknown for him to relax enough to sleep.

They worked to retrace their steps and met up with a few of the others from the hunting group. When Bellamy heard that neither James or Atom had found them, the group set off to find their missing members. Demetri and Bellamy went back towards where the group was together last as the others searched the caves close by.

“I hope they’re okay.” Demetri mumbled, stepping lightly as she looked everywhere for a sign the guys had been there.

“They are.” Bellamy sounded too confident.

Demetri looked over at him, the lines in his forehead a dead giveaway. She stopped and faced him, stopping Bellamy in his tracks. Wordlessly she reached out and grabbed his hand, hoping it was comforting. Bellamy looked down at her smaller hand gripping his larger hand and couldn’t stop the grin she elicited with the small gesture.

However the moment is short lived because a quite gasp draws their attention away from each other and towards the burned and immobile Atom laying beside a tree a few feet away. The pair rushed to him, falling to their knees on either side of him. Demetri’s hands hovered above Atom afraid to touch him as her sight blurred.

“Bell,” Atom gasped, his burned eyes looking around slowly, tears leaking from his eyes. “Kill me.” He begged.

“Atom.” Bellamy whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Bellamy didn’t move. He sat back on his legs and just stared at the state Atom was in. His body was covered in blisters and rashes, he wasn’t sure Atom could even see with how destroyed his retinas were, and his lungs were probably burnt to crisps. Atom laid there, staring up at the sky, repeatedly asking Bellamy to kill him with tears in his eyes but Bellamy just stared at him.

“Atom,” Demetri’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “I’ll help.” She wiped his tears and started to hum a quiet lullaby as she comforted Atom for a few moments, letting the melody surround him. “Rest now, may we meet again.” Demetri continued to hum as she shoved the knife Bellamy had given to her the day before into the side of Atom’s neck. He took one last breath before his body stilled.

“How did you do that?” Bellamy asked. “How did you manage to do it?”

“It was better than him suffering, Clarke couldn’t have helped him.” Demetri rose to stand and wiped the few tears that fell from her eyes.

Branches snapped to the right of the pair and Demetri’s attention snapped there to see a young girl staring openly shocked at them. Demetri took a step forward the girl when she stepped on a twig herself, the snap shocked the girl back to the present. She bolted before Demetri could say anything. Whatever that was worried her, but she moved to help Bellamy lift Atom onto the tarp they’d used as a blanket earlier and they dragged him back to camp. The pair met back up with the rest of the party, James included, a few hundred feet from camp. Demetri quickly filled them in on what happened with Atom and suggested to always go out in pairs from now on. Two guys took over dragging Atom’s body back to camp allowing Demetri and Bellamy to follow the group the rest of the way back.

“O’s gonna lose her mind.” Bellamy muttered, a hand running over his face.

“There was nothing we could do.” Demetri tried to ease his worry.

“I know but they--”

“They liked each other and you tried to keep them apart.” Demetri stated, turning slightly towards Bellamy as they walked. “I’ll be honest, Octavia has told me a lot. She’s very upset with you for being so overprotective.” Bellamy gawked at her.

“I--”

“Far as I’m concerned, I have a small piece of advice. The tighter you hold onto her, the more she’s going to fight you.” Demetri placed her hand on his shoulder as she looked up at him. “She’s going to be pissed and hurt, let her deal with this in her own way.”

They made it to the outskirts of camp at the same time Clarke, Finn, and Wells returned. The tension around the trio was thicker than the fog from the night before. Clare saw Demetri before Demetri saw her and ran straight to her, pulling her away from Bellamy and towards the dropship telling her about everything that had transpired. Demetri saw Octavia as she was being drug away and pulled away from Clarke to stop Octavia from running towards Bellamy and ultimately, Atom.

“Octavia, just know it was the only choice.” Demetri hugged Octavia tightly before giving her a sad look.

Octavia flew to Bellamy and looked him over before seeing the body behind him. She fell to her knees when she realized everyone was accounted for except Atom. After checking to confirm her suspicions she fought back the tears as she stood and moved towards the dropship.

“Get Clarke whatever she needs.” Bellamy’s voice was loud and clear. “And get him taken care of, please.”

In less than ten minutes, a cup of tea made from the seaweed the other group had collected was finished and Clarke slowly poured the tea into Jasper’s mouth. He managed to get half the cup down when Monty and Octavia confessed that Murphy had tried to storm the top level and kill Jasper while everyone else was out. Clarke had nothing to say as she continued to care for Murphy but Demetri did. Demetri climbed down the ladder and found Murphy being shoved away from Bellamy. She took a deep breath to prevent herself from killing the guy and stormed up to him.

“Listen to me Murphy, if you ever touch any of my friends or try to hurt them in any way from this point on, the next time I punch you in the face I will break your fucking jaw. Do you understand?”

Murphy just stared down at Demetri, a blank stare was all Demetri received. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and jerked him down to be eye level with her. Which would have been an amusing sight had there not been a darker reason behind the situation.

“Do you understand me John?” Her eyes flitted between his, trying to read him. “Every life matters down here, including Jaspers; including yours. Make it fucking count.” Demetri shoved him away from her, watching Murphy stumble before he righted himself.

He watched silently as Demetri marched back towards the dropship. He turned towards Bellamy and thought about what just transpired. Murphy didn’t hate anyone around him except for Wells and that was because of what Jaha had done. Yet Murphy felt this heat start to simmer in his chest every time he talked to Demetri now, even though she practically saved his life once before, this weirdly intense feeling started to get stronger after each interaction. Murphy turned his attention to Bellamy who watched after Demetri with a strange look on his face. Murphy had seen the same look on Bellamy’s face a few times now, so he knew at the very least that Bellamy felt something for Demetri. Information he was planning to use later on.

As it got dark outside those by Jasper’s side were getting nervous, he hadn’t moved or made much noise since the seaweed tea. Monty was sitting beside Demetri filling her in on what she had missed, Clarke was working on another batch of tea, and Octavia sat beside Jasper reminding him that he had to pull through and that she’d be angry with him if he died. Jasper sputtered a few moments later and made a joke to announce that he was back with the living. A sigh of relief escaped the room as they all rushed to his side, the questions about him flying before Jasper coughed and silenced them all.

“So did I get speared in the chest or was that a dream?”

“It happened and you’re a total badass for surviving it.” Demetri patted his knee in an attempt to hold back her tears.

“Thank you for not dying.” Octavia pressed a light kiss to Jasper’s forehead, “I don’t think I could have taken it if you did.”

“I second that.” Clarke grabbed the cup from the table on the side and held it to Jasper’s lips, “Drink a bit more so the medicine is in your system for the night.”

With Jasper out of harm’s way the camp was in better spirits that night, especially since there was a plant that offered medicinal help now. Demetri walked around camp, relishing in the calm after the long and eventful day when she found herself walking by Bellamy’s tent again. This time coming face-to-face with a different girl as she leaves his tent pulling her shirt back on, she missed the annoyed look on the girl’s face. Demetri didn’t hang around as she scurried off to her tent, so distracted she didn’t notice the figure in the tree watching the camp. The camp is much calmer and quieter as Demetri climbed onto her pallet and hid under her blankets in an attempt to run away from the mixed emotions and thoughts overtaking her at the moment. Eventually she falls victim to a restless sleep, missing the deep sleep she had gotten in the cave.

#the 100 #the 100 fanfic #the 100 fanfic adaptation #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x oc #OC: Demetri Stevens #letmewritefreely #clarke griffin x OC #best friend clarke #bellamy blake fanfic #bellamy blake story

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dailythranduilproject · 6 years

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DTP Interview #6 Elbenherzart

Hello to all our friends and followers of Daily Thranduil Project!

Today it’s @elbenherzart‘s turn for our fandom interviews. She is a really talented professional illustrator, who has produced many beautiful artworks inspired by the world of Tolkien. She works with traditional media as well as with digital ones and has a lot of other creative talents, like sewing awesome cosplays. I hope you are curious to find out more about her, so without any further delay, I present you here with her answers to the questions we had asked her:

General Questions:  

Username(s) we can find you under:   

Either ElbenherzArt or my real name, Christina Kraus. :)   

What Media do you create?

  For digital paintings I use Photoshop and for my traditional stuff mostly inks or ballpoint pens. I almost never use pencils, because I find myself erasing all the time.   Are you self-taught or did you go to art school?   

I am mostly self-taught. Tho I have a bachelor degree in Intermedia Design. This gave me a few design and composition fundamentals I can apply to my images, but didn't teach me to draw or to paint. Also I have a lot of other professionals as friends who help me with critiques and reflection of my art. I always wanted to go to Art School but the programs in Germany are pretty shitty for it. All you learn is like drawing with a pencil bound to a stick, drawing with your not-drawing hand or drawing with a blind fold. It's complete garbage and I envy people who can afford programs such as the Swedish Academy of realistic Art where you actually learn useful drawing and painting fundamentals instead of fooling around.

   Which artists have influenced your style?  

That is a tough question. I admire a lot of artists but I guess my digital work is mostly influenced by Magic-the Gathering or Dungeons & Dragons artists, since this is the direction my work is heading too.   

Which are your favourite artists?   

I'd say Peter Mohrbacher, Jana Schirmer, Cynthia Sheppard, Jason Rainville...but hell, there are a lot. I can't pick a favourite.  

Where can we find your work?

  On my website, Tumblr, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Deviantart, Artstation and on Behance.   

What would you say you are best known for in the fandom?

  I'm not even sure I'm known for anything in this fandom. XD But the work I did based on the Silmarillion so far sells the best on Conventions and I get the most comments on it.    

Do you have a favourite pairing?   

Yes of course, but it's kind of controversial I'd say. ;)  

Do you have a favourite creation of yours you are especially proud of?

  I'm kind of proud of my latest piece, Celebrimbor's Smithy. It was a tough one, since interior scenes are very hard in general for me. The work on this piece took a whole month with a few breaks of course.   

Do you have a favourite fictional character, besides Thranduil of course?  

That would be Kylo Ren/Ben Solo from the Star Wars Universe.   

What other fandoms are you part of?  

The Star Wars Fandom, tho I'm barely active there. I have a Tumblr blog dedicated to it, but I mostly just reblog stuff and did only one Star Wars related painting so far. The fandom is kind of toxic with its stupid ship wars and anti culture going on.  

Do you do commissions?   Yes. :)

Any advice/words for others in the fandom?   

That is such a general answer, but stay true to yourself, do what you love and don't give others shit over characters/pairings you don't like. Treat people the way you want to be treated. Be kind and respectful, you don't know what people are going through. If you are an artist, or want to be one; only self reflection, critiques and hard work will get you moving forward. You need to be able to see your own flaws. For that you need to seek out people who can give you an honest opinion about your art. (Not your friends or family.) Vanity is the downfall of every professional artist. You can be proud of your work, but never vain.  (You can always ask me for porfolio reviews or advice if you want by way. :))  

Personal Questions:  

Favourite Book?   The Silmarillion.   

Favourite movie?   Currently Star Wars-The last Jedi.   

Do you have a pet peeve?   

Littering. When I see people throwing their trash onto the walkways or streets I get furious. Take it to the next trash bin or home! It's not difficult.  

What country are you from?   Germany!   

Who do you think you might have been in a past life?   

Probably a cat. Sleeping and eating is all I want to do. :)  

What do you like to do in your spare time other than create the media you work on?

  When I'm not drawing or painting I'm either binge watching series on Netflix (currently Outlander <3) or I'm with my friends/boyfriend. Sometimes I write Fanfiction, but mostly I'm reading it. I also try to travel as often as possible and sew my own costumes when time allows it.  

When did you join the fandom?

  I think back in 2007. Not really sure actually. Definitely more than 10 years ago.

Follower Questions:

@floranocturna asked:

You are a very versatile artist and I have been admiring your very cool cosplays already for a while, especially your Celebrian and Celeborn are amazing! Do you sew all the cosplays yourself?  

Thank you and yes, I sew them usually by myself :).

What inspires you to cosplay a specific character?   

Honestly it's mostly the robes. If I like the aesthetic of a character, I want to cosplay him/her. XD Of course I also have an eye on the character and need to like him/her.  

You are very ardent about being vegan. Will you tell us a little bit about your reasons and why is it important to you and should we maybe all think about how can we help to preserve nature instead of destroying it?   

This is a loaded question and I'm unable to answer it with just a few words. Feel free to ignore this text if you are not interested.  As I learned that raising livestock for meat, eggs and milk generates 14,5% of global greenhouse gas emissions, the second highest source of emissions and greater than all transportation combined and that it's the leading cause of deforestation, biodiversity loss and water pollution, I knew that I had to act and change my diet, because I simply couldn't live with that knowledge and not doing something about it. And of course the killing of millions of sentinent animals every single day. The meat industry is the most powerful industry in the world and they try literally everything to make us continue to buy meat, to make it cheaper and to leave people in the dark about the consequences for our planet and our health. Here the Pharmaindustry comes in. The meat industry is their biggest customer (80% of their money is made from antibiotics they sell to farmers and animal factories) and sponsor, feeding billions of pills to animals each to day to alter their flesh. It's all about money, control and very fucked up. Like always.  If the grain that is used to feed our first world country livestock would be given to people in Africa or other third world countries where children starve to death, no one on this planet would need to suffer from hunger anymore. It's all pretty messed up and a paradox.  The only way of preserving nature in the long run is going vegan actually. I know that a lot of people don't like this thought, but that's mostly because they are misinformed (I was too, everyone is in the beginning) and fear either deficiencies or they think they can only eat vegetables and fruits. But that's not true. There are so many vegan dishes and sweets out there people are not even aware of. Oreos for example are completely vegan. A lot of junk food is. Cake, Ice cream and chocolat can be vegan too. It's all just a matter of replacing the eggs and there are plenty of alternatives. When people think about going vegan, they think about all the things they can't have anymore. Instead, think of the things you gain from it. You support the environment, save lifes and it's beneficial for your health. You are less likely to get cancer or diabetes. You don't have to give up your beloved sweets or junk food. I mostly eat the same things I ate before, just with egg replacement and almond or oat milk instead of cows milk. The only thing you have to keep in mind is B12. I take a pill everyday for it and you should too if your are vegan. If you do that you are completely safe and won't suffer any deficiencies if you live on a wholesome diet.  This wall of text may imply that I try to preach or what ever, but I simply state facts. It's up to everyone if they choose to act or not. I don't judge people for not going vegan. It takes a bit of effort, research and people will judge you for it. If you want to have more information I recommend the Netflix documentaries „What the health.“ and „Cowspiracy“. They are all based on researchable facts and explain a few statements I've given here. Also you might want to take a look at „Why we love dogs, eat pigs and wear cows“.   

@beelovesbutterfly asked: First of all, thank you for sharing your lovely artwork. What is your favourite art medium?

@themirkyking asked: Which method of creating do you prefer? Digital or traditional, and why?

For my personal taste and fun I prefer traditional mediums. It's much more relaxing than digital art where I have to stare at a screen all day. Also I love the smell of paint and texture of paper. But for client work I definitely prefer digital since it's easier to change mistakes and I'm able to finish something faster. What makes the pay a lot better.

Thank you so much Christina for taking the time to participate in our series of fandom interviews for @dailythranduilproject. It was a pleasure having you!

Please check out Christina’s blog and her page at DeviantArt for all her awesome artwork! And if you happen to be in Cologne on May 12/13th 2018 you can go and visit her booth at the RPC Germany!

@floranocturna ^^

#daily thranduil project #interviews #fandom interviews #thranduil #elbenherzart

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prairiesongserial · 6 years

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3.16

Quadrille was working the loan counter again. She looked as briefly surprised to see Cody as Piquet had been, and didn’t bother trying to cover it up. The expression was gone soon enough, though, replaced by a mixture of bored and sleepy. Maybe La Salle was having a slow night.

“You work here all the time?” Cody asked.

“Just nights,” she said. “I sleep during the day.”

Cody considered this. “Sounds like a shitty schedule.”

“It is what it is.” Quadrille shrugged. “Did you come here to take out a loan, or just to say hi? If you’re looking for your buddy, I haven’t seen him since the two of you were here last night.”

“I came for a loan, actually,” Cody said. He didn’t take much pleasure in the look on Quadrille’s face when he said it.

“Really,” she said, drawing the word out. “Weren’t you all up in arms about your buddy borrowing money last night?”

“Well, he didn’t leave me a lot to work with, and I gotta have something to bet with if I’m gonna win him back,” Cody said, a little defensively. He didn’t like feeling like he was under scrutiny for a decision he was still questioning himself. He hated Pem a little, just then, for refusing to split his winnings between the two of them.

“You really think you can win him back?” Quadrille asked, lifting one neatly penciled eyebrow at him.

Cody noticed for the first time how sharp Quadrille’s features were, how alert her eyes seemed to be despite her near-perpetual boredom. Her hair was dark and shaved on the sides, the long part in the middle slicked back with pomade - not a style he’d ever seen anyone but gangsters wear. He wondered if Quadrille had gotten caught cheating here like Piquet had. Maybe she’d done worse than Piquet, if she was stuck working late shifts at the loan counter instead of measuring and dressing the folks who came through the front door. Were Quadrille and Piquet even their real names? Likely not.

“I don’t know that it’s any of your business,” he replied, as politely as he could.

Quadrille laughed. “Fair enough. How much are you borrowing?”

“How much do people usually borrow?” Cody asked. He really had no way to gauge what was a fair amount to ask for, what he could reasonably expect to make back or even double during his time at La Salle. He’d never exactly gambled with anything more than a couple pieces of silver before. Even the local gangs in Oregon kept the stakes relatively low - most of them played for resources and things they could trade, instead of money.

“Depends what you’re playing, and how much you think you can win back,” Quadrille said. She seemed decently well versed in it. “High-rollers go for big loans, obviously. But most people can’t afford to be high-rollers. Or aren’t good enough at the games.”

“I’m good enough,” Cody said, suddenly annoyed with this whole endeavor. He was ready to get back to the Mia table, to feel like he was doing something instead of standing around and figuring out how much of his soul La Salle was entitled to. “Give me ten thousand.”

“Ten -” Quadrille said, eyes wide. “You don’t need that much to play downstairs!”

“Yeah, but I want it.” Cody glanced over his shoulder, wary that Ombre might decide to pop up at any moment, then leaned in towards Quadrille. “Listen, I’m not stupid enough to bet it all at once. I -”

“Whatever you think your plan is, I really don’t want to know,” Quadrille said, with a sigh. She was already stacking chips on the counter between them, mostly the ones that denoted a hundred pieces of silver, and motioned for Cody’s hand so she could stamp it. “It’s going to go badly for you, either way. You know that, right?”

“Hey, I already owe ten thousand to somebody else,” Cody said, gamely presenting his hand for Quadrille to stamp. “What’s another ten thousand in the hole?”

Pem, Nash, and Cole were all sitting around the Mia table again by the time Cody got there, in the same seats they’d taken during the first round. Pem and Nash were chatting animatedly about something or other, and Cole was nursing a glass of what looked like whiskey. She glanced up as Cody took his seat, and half-smiled to see the red number stamped on his hand.

“You too, huh?” she asked, holding up her own hand. The number there only read 1,000 - still, it was a lot more than Cody had seen on her hand in the last round. She must have gone back to the loan counter between rounds, too.

“Yeah,” he said, with a sort of sheepishness he didn’t exactly have to fake. He tugged his sleeve down a bit, to try and cover up the number. He’d have to find a way to avoid drawing attention to exactly how much he’d borrowed - it was nice to have some of it as a sort of safety net, but Cody didn’t really want to bet more than five hundred pieces at a time if he didn’t have to. Hell, even five hundred pieces seemed like a lot.

“Well, good luck making it back,” Cole said.

“Thanks,” Cody replied, a little surprised by how sincerely she’d wished him well.

He opened his mouth to say something else, maybe make real conversation with Cole, but Jacquet returned to the table just then, and Cody noticed something curious. Jacquet was tall and pale, with sharp features, and an alert sort of gaze that made you feel as though you were always just about to be scolded. They had inky black hair, shaved on the sides, the long part slicked up and away from their forehead in a neat pompadour. All together, they looked remarkably like…

“Hey, Jacquet,” Cody said. “That lady at the loan counter looks a lot like you. You two related?”

Jacquet looked taken off guard by the question, but smoothed their expression over quickly.

“Yes, actually,” they replied. “Quadrille is my sister.”

“How’d the two of you come to be workin’ here together?” Cody asked. He doubted this would get him anywhere, but he figured it didn’t hurt to be curious.

“Ah,” Jacquet said, with a thin sort of smile. “I’m not certain I’m at liberty to answer that question, Mr. Allison.”

Cody smiled back at Jacquet, trying to seem understanding. That answer was about what he’d expected, so it was alright. Still, he had to wonder. Had Jacquet and Quadrille really been gangsters? Or con artists? Would Jacquet know who the Dead-Eyes were, if Cody happened to drop the name? Of course, La Salle was in New Mexico, not Oregon, but there was no telling where Jacquet and Quadrille had come from originally.

“Jacquet,” Nash said loudly, breaking into Cody’s thoughts. “Start us off, will you? I want to get rolling before Cole gets properly tipsy.”

“I’m not a lightweight, Nash,” Cole admonished him. “But yes, let’s get to it. I was hoping to play a little blackjack afterwards.”

“A lady after my own heart,” Pem said, with a laugh.

“I suppose we’d better get to it,” Jacquet said, looking all at once relieved that they’d been rescued from a difficult conversation with Cody and immeasurably exhausted that they had to preside over another round of Mia. Cody’s heart went out to them.

“I don’t suppose we’ll have to do another practice round,” they added. They reached into a drawer that seemed to extend from underneath the table, pulling out four white dice, and sliding each one over to one of the people seated around the table. “In that case, let’s have each one of you roll your life die to see -”

“Is this seat taken?” a woman asked, suddenly appearing out of the crowd to stand behind the empty seat between Cole and Pem.

“Nope,” Nash said, cheerfully. “We’re just about to start, though, so take it if you’re gonna take it.”

“Oh, good,” the woman said, heaving an exaggeratedly relieved sort of sigh as she dropped down into the chair.

Cody looked her over - then did a double take. She was short, with a black bob sort of like Cole’s, and a red dress that clung tightly to her body. And she was covered in tattoos. Realistic eyes, ones of every color, that looked like they were coming right out of her arms and chest. There was even one on the side of her neck. As Cody stared at them all, one of the eyes on the woman’s shoulder rolled in its socket, and blinked.

Okay, so maybe they weren’t tattoos. Or some of them were, and some of them weren’t. It was hard to tell.

“Nice camouflage you’ve got there,” Nash said, nodding his head at the woman.

She gave him a secretive sort of smile. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Do you know how to play Mia, Miss…?” Jacquet trailed off, looking sidelong at the woman. Some of her eyes looked sidelong back at Jacquet, in return.

“Erma,” she replied. “And yes. I like to think I’m quite good at Mia, actually. Though I suppose that’s obvious, or I wouldn’t have come over here to play with you lot.”

“Yes,” Jacquet said flatly, setting a life die down in front of her. “I suppose it is.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Erma asked loudly, glancing around the table. She was already beginning to rub Cody the wrong way, though he kept it to himself. “We’re all here to play Mia, so let’s play the damn game already.”

Pem laughed. “You heard the lady, Jacquet. Let’s play the damn game.”

Sighing, Jacquet set the red dice down onto the table, and the cup on top of them.

“Yes,” they said, “I suppose we’d better.”

3.15 || 3.17

#story

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cananybodysea · 7 years

Text

Beautiful

Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader

Summary: You’re using Connor as the main focus of your art project. And you also happen to be in love with him.

Words: Around 4.5K (wtf)

Warnings: ehh… not much. fluff, awkward kissing scenes (terribly written by me), connor is insecure- stuff like that. probably swearing.

A/N: LISTEN B4 U READ. There’s really no plot here at all - it’s messy and shitty and badly written but i’m kinda proud of it. Sorry i’ve been so MIA! I hope you enjoy this and don’t hate me!

“Connor stay still.“

“I am still.”

“Connor.” You warn, glaring at him, pencil in your hand and your sketchbook draped across your lap, your drawing of him coming along quite nicely.

He rolls his eyes, scratching his nose and falling back into his previous position; sitting on the chair in front of you, his elbow resting on his thigh, mouth pursed in a straight line - with his chin resting in the palm of his hand.

“How much longer will this take?” He murmurs, trying to open his mouth as little as possible.

You take a quick glance at your work - most of its finished - his head is drawn, and his hair and his eyes and nose and lips - the only thing you need to do is work on the shading of it all. You need him to stay still so that the shadow doesn’t change - ultimately making it easier for you to get this finished but he continues to fidget and it’s just about driving you nuts.

You move a loose strand of hair away from your eyes and sigh. “Uh….Ten minutes- Tops. Just give me ten minutes of you sitting still and it will be done, okay?”

“Fine.”

From then on, the only sounds to be heard were the scratchings of the pencil against the rough paper of your sketchbook, and you humming lowly under your breath.

Art projects used to be the death of you - until now. Now, instead of the teacher telling you what you have to draw - you get to choose. Each student in the class was given a big enough, hard back sketchbook to fill by the end of the month with whatever you wanted which will go towards part of your final grade for the class.

“Use them however you like!” Mr McCarthy’s booming voice silencing everyone in the art room as a pile of sketchbooks landed on his desk with a slam.

“Try and use as many art mediums as possible. Pencils, paint, charcoal - I don’t care. Make sure to include a few photographs as well. Try to keep it neat and as creative as you possibly can.“

You decided that you didn’t want to sit in front of a lifeless fruit bowl for hours trying to capture it from different angels in attempt to make it look somewhat exciting, and you weren’t too fussed about going out to the park in the soaking wet rain to pick up a flower and try to draw it. So, you made the choice of focusing on different parts of the human body.

Originally, you’d planned on making one of your parents the main focus of your project - but then you remembered you had Connor. He’s a beautiful person - and he’d be beautiful to draw and you knew it would make things a lot simpler and less awkward if you had him.

So, after days of convincing, here he is, sitting dead still in a chair in your bedroom watching while your eyes dart between your sketchbook to his face and back.

With all the strength he can muster, he holds back a smile at the image of you sitting there with your tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

“Almost done!” You say, dragging out your words.

“Fucking finally.” he smiles, relaxing slightly in the chair and regaining his normal slightly slouched over posture, his legs naturally spreading as he leans back in the chair.

You look up at him and grin, adjusting your position on your bed. “You can actually come sit down now,” you say, patting the empty space of your bed next to you. “All I have to do is finish shading your face and then i’ll be done.”

Connor nods, pushing himself off the chair and taking a seat onto the bed next to you, stealing a glance at the book in your hand. He notices that the skin on the back of your hand, your fingertips and the ends of your wrists are covered in grey smudges from the pencil. His eyes widen when he looks down and sees the drawing, finished - barr you still using the pencil to shade his face; making his cheekbones more prominent.

“Wow.” He huffs, leaning over your shoulder to take a closer look. It’s a drawing of his face, cutting off at his neck.

Everything is so perfectly accurate and shaded and it looks so realistic and you made him look…nice. He thinks so anyway.

The portrait of Connor is the main focus of the page, but it’s surrounded by two small photographs of him and some tiny patterns that you’ve doodled in the background out of boredom but actually fit in well with the drawing.

“That’s…..amazing.” he whispers. “Can I…” he trails off, his fingers coming in contact with the paper, silently asking if he can touch it.

“Yeah, sure. Be careful though - it might smudge.”

His fingers trace the paper, finding every line and following it with his digit like a game of connect the dots. You set down the pencil and watch as he stares intently at the drawing, then looks at the photos stuck down next to it, and then his head snaps in the direction of your mirror, and then back to the paper.

He pulls back, a smile lodged on his face. “Holy shit, that really looks like me.”

“Thank you,” You shrug, your stomach fluttering at his compliments. “I worked pretty hard on it.“

He nudges your shoulder and rolls the sleeves of his hoodie up. “I can tell.”

After a comfortable silence falls over the two of you, you stand up from your bed to collect your camera from your shelf. You pull it out of its bag and flip the switch on, the little ding and red light flickering from your device signalling that it’s working.

Connor watches, carefully closing your sketchbook and placing it back into your bag.

“Okay, next I want to get-”

”-There’s more?” Connor groans, throwing himself backwards in your bed and spreading his arms and legs out like a starfish.

Snorting, you put the camera strap around your neck and grab his hand, pulling him up.

“I already sat there for like, ever, so you could draw me - what else could you need me to do?” He comments, pouting.

“You sat there for fourty minutes, Murphy, which is not that long considering I could’ve taken at least three hours completing that sketch,” You quip, poking his shoulder and turning on your heel, motioning him to follow you whilst skimming through the photos on your camera.

He follows you down the stairs, through the living room and out the front door, listening as you talk.

“You’re like the centre of my project. You’re the main focus so I need to take photographs of you - of your hair, your face, your hands, your eyes - especially your eyes because they do that cool thing where the colours mix so I want to get some good shots of that-”

“-I think it’s called Heterochromia or something”

“Cool. I’ll walk you home but on the way we’re going to take some nice pictures, alright?”

He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets, kicking a stone. “Why do you need so many pictures again?”

“Because I’m going to focus on parts of the human body, Connor. I told you this before I even made you part of the project.” you laugh.

“Right.”

You both walked next to eachother for a while, talking about what happened at school that day, about your parents, about his sister. You chatted about which teacher was the in the worst mood and what classes you skipped out on - you talked until you spotted a familiar field out of the corner of your eye; deciding that was the perfect place to take a few quick photos of Connor.

You said nothing, only laced your fingers with his and dragged him quickly towards the empty field, giggling as you did so.

Dark was approaching, the sky coated a dusty pink, the sun setting through the clouds, orange rays mixing with the pink sky and you could almost make out the tiniest of stars in the distance getting ready to take over the night sky. Your eyes were steady to the horizon as you dropped Connor’s hand, smiling as the evening breeze was flowing through your hair. You grasped your camera, pointing it towards the sunset, looking trough the lens and pressing on the button - making sure to capture this moment; even it it wasn’t for your sketchbook.

Connor stood next to you, twiddling with his thumbs.

“Oookay,” you said, lowering your camera and turning back to face him. “Now it’s your turn!”

He grins, a little uncertain and you pick up on his sudden insecurities.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“Nothing!” He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s just…are other people gonna, like, see these pictures and drawings of me?”

You pause, thinking for a moment while watching him shift a little awkwardly on his feet. “Well, nobody apart from me and you, obviously, and my teacher. ‘Cause he has to give me a grade. But no students will see them, if that’s what you’re wondering.“

“Okay, thank God.”

You smile reassuringly at him before taking a look around the field. It’s empty for the most part, a few daisies and dandelions scattered around the grass, standing on their last legs. There’s some trees, tall with thick branches, some of the leaves starting to fall off and turn from green to yellow. It’s not much - but you can make it work.

“Okay,” you begin, walking to find a spot of grass that isn’t so mucky. “I’m going to lie on the ground - And I want you to like, stand over me with your legs on either side of my hips okay?”

“Jesus fuck.” Connor mumbles, turning his nose up at you.

You only scoff, leaning down to pat the grass - testing if it’s damp or not before carefully sitting down, laughing as you look up at him. “Come on, just do it!”

“Why? Can’t you just take a photo of me next to that tree or something?”

You roll your eyes and tut, adjusting your lens to get it ready. “No, I wanna use the angle to make you look all….dramatic? And cool and… I don’t know, just let me do it?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, flicking his hair out of his eyes. You lie back, giggling as he places his legs on both sides of your waist, towering over you.

“Why are you laughing?” he says, looking down at you, holding back a giggle. “Do I look that stupid?”

You only shrug and then point your camera at him, closing one eye as you look through the lens, your finger hovering over the button at the top.

“Just look down at me, and smile, okay? But not too much - just a little…..That’s perfect! Stay like that!”

Click.

“Okay, this time I want you to keep your head down but look to the left okay? And just keep looking over there till I say stop.”

Click.

“Great! Now help me up.“

He grabs your hand and pulls you upright, smiling. “Are we done yet?” he asks.

“No - not yet,” you smirk when you see him rolling his eyes at you. “I want you to hold my hand.”

“What?”

You quickly grab his hand, intwining your fingers with his own and setting your thumb on his knuckles. You hold the camera with one hand and point it towards your joined hands - trying to get it into focus.

Click.

“Okay, let me take one of just your hands so that I can draw them next week or something” you mumble, pulling your hand out of his.

“Alright.”

Click.

“Thanks Connor.” You say, smiling at him before looking back down at your camera and flicking through the photos.

You smile as you look at the pictures, noticing a few freckles that you didn’t know existed on his cheeks. They’re only visible if you look close enough.

You pull him by the arm to bring him closer so he can see the photos too, but he’s only looking at you. The way you’re smiling down at the screen, and how the pink sky is reflecting off your face and how your eyes and nose are crinkling as your grin gets wider and wider. You’ve been staring at him with this sort of- twinkle - he wants to call it - in your eyes all night and it makes his heart pound much faster than it should and he has such an attraction to you and he can’t hold it back anymore.

Before you can register what’s going on, his hands are cupping your cheeks and then his lips are on yours. The camera slips out of your hands (thank god you had the strap around your neck) and your hands settle around his neck and you’re both kissing. And it’s wonderful. His lips are soft and gentle despite what anyone would expect - his hands are warm against your skin and his mouth is moving so well with yours and there’s fireworks exploding in your stomach and then it’s all over. As quickly as it started, it finished.

Connor pulls away quickly, his cheeks pink, his eyes wide. He shakes his head and shut his eyes tight, mumbling to himself.

“I have to go home.“ He says.

“What?- But Connor I-”

“-No…I’ll see you later.”

And then he ran. Straight out of your line of vision, all the way home.

The kiss was never mentioned again.

Charcoal.

It’s not your favourite. It’s messy, and it smudges too easily and it gets everywhere and sometimes the lines that you draw come out far too thick and it leaves black clumps all over your page.

You were supposed to draw his hands in charcoal today; because you’ve already focused on his face. You came over with all your materials, your pictures, your sketchbook - everything. But he’s sad. Which is okay.

“I don’t want to be drawn.“ He’d said, sitting on his bed, frowning.

You turned to him, paused your actions of digging through your bag and smiled softly at him.

“Can I ask why?”

“I just don’t. It takes too long and it’s boring just sitting here and I feel like shit today.” He mutters, fiddling with the material of his jeans, pulling at a loose thread.

“Okay,” you say, your stomach churning slightly at his change in behaviour. “It really won’t take that long because it’s pretty similar to pencils - And I’ll only be drawing your hands. Not your face or anything.”

He huffs out a long breath, subsequently blowing a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. He crosses his arms, narrow eyes staring down at the camera bag situated in your lap.

“Fine,” He mumbles. “But… First let me take some pictures of you- Then you can draw me or whatever.”

You quirk a brow at him, fiddling with your camera bag before shrugging and lifting the camera out of it, switching it on and handing it to him. He hums in contentment when he has the device, smiling down at it resting in his hands.

“Does that somewhat cheer you up, Murphy?”

“A little.”

He lifts the camera to his eye and points it at you - so you smile at him, shutting your eyes.

Click.

He takes a few more pictures; maybe three or four, and then shuts the camera off, handing it back over to you. He still looks upset about something - but you of all people know that it’s best not to push him when he’s like this.

“Connor?” You murmur, putting the camera back in its bag and setting it on the floor.

“What?”

“Can I braid your hair?”

“Excuse me?”

“Let me braid it! It’ll be pretty!”

His eyebrows furrow deeply as he looks at you, his mouth in a straight line. He shrugs before removing his hair tie and letting the long, wavy locks fall from his bun.

He situates himself to sit in between your legs, and you separate his hair into three strands, folding them over one another.

It’s silent while you do it. Connor’s once stiff body relaxes slightly, and he sighs deeply, shutting his eyes at the feeling of calmness.

“While I was drawing you the other week,” you mumble, your focus still on the strands of hair in your hands. “I noticed something.”

“Hmph?” He hums.

You chuckle quietly, tugging on his hair to make the braid tighter. “You have really nice cheekbones.”

“Oh,” he starts, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks”

“You’re welcome.”

Once you’re finished, you lean forward and take a hold of his hand, pulling the hair tie off of his wrist.

“Okay!” You say after securing his braid in the hair tie. “All done!”

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he turns to face you again. His hair is pulled back out of his face - with the exception of a few wispy curls that have fallen loose from the braid - and he’s staring at you and he has a little, tiny smile on his face and he looks so, so beautiful right now.

You’re quick to reach and grab your camera again, turn it on and look at him through the lens. He’s smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his dimples showing more than usual.

Your finger hovers over the button, but you don’t push it.

Lowering the camera, you keep your eyes on him, watching as his expression grows confused.

“What’s h-”

“-Connor you’re beautiful.” You blurt out.

“What?”

You grab his hand, playing with his fingers. “You are so beautiful, Connor.”

He’s at a loss for words, his eyes wide, his cheeks turning pinker by the second as he looks at you, mouth agape.

And then it happens. Again.

You can’t control yourself as you lean forward, your hand cupping his cheek. When your lips meet his, it’s like heaven. Your heart is pounding faster and faster as he kisses back immediately - not a second thought in his mind.

He pulls himself closer to you, his lips still connected with yours. It’s messy. Your noses are bumping against each other and your hands are everywhere and your breathing is uneven and your tongues are trying to find each other and it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced.

He pulls you forward, and your thighs end up on either side of his legs; but you keep hovering in the air above him because you’re far too distracted to sit down comfortably. He hums against your lips as your hands rest on his neck, your fingers softly rubbing the skin there.

"What- What are we- What are we doing?” He murmurs softly against your lips. You pull back, only slightly, your lips brushing lightly against his.

“I don’t know.” You whisper, giving him another quick peck.

And then, he grunts, his head falling to rest in the crook of your shoulder, his hot breath fanning your skin.

You were going to say it. There and then. You were going to kiss his cheek or whatever skin you could reach and you were going to whisper the three words as quietly as you could. But then you remember that this is Connor. And you know he’s your best friend but you’ve now kissed him twice and you’re not sure what you can even call this relationship you have with him anymore. And you’re much too young for all this and he doesn’t deal with emotions well and it might mess everything up; so, you keep your mouth shut and stand up, grabbing your backpack from his bedroom floor and hiking it over your shoulder, leaving his house without another word.

You didn’t get much drawing done.

And the kiss was never mentioned again.

To: Connor (3:00PM)

Can you come over?

From: Connor (3:02PM)

Why? We haven’t spoken in like a week

To: Connor (3:07PM)

I need to paint you. And take some pics and stuff for the sketchbook Also.. srry about not talking much. I kinda felt awkward after what happened?? i guess

From: Connor (3:10PM)

yeah same. it’s ok. i’ll let u paint me if u buy me a slushie :)

To: Connor (3:14PM)

ok, murphy. also - when you come over can you wear something nice?

From: Connor (3:15PM)

To: Connor (3:16PM)

Not that u don’t already wear nice clothes. but like something colourful. and bright :) before u ask i need u to wear bright colours cause i’m painting u in water colours and it needs to be eye catching n stuff

From: Connor (3:20PM)

can’t i just wear my navy sweater? it’s brighter than black

To: Connor (3:23PM)

connor >:(

From: Connor (3:25PM)

….fine i’ll see what i can find

Sure enough, half an hour later - he showed up in a light blue dress shirt, the top buttons undone with his hair shoved up in a messy bun.

"I want to die.” He mumbled as he entered your bedroom, dropping his water bottle to the floor.

“Hey! You look great.” You giggle.

“Where’d you even get that shirt?” You ask, patting the empty space next to you on your bed.

“Uh, I’ve had it since I was like fourteen. My dad bought me it….I think. Anyway - It was sitting wrinkled in my closet; I hope you’re happy I wore this for you.”

“I am!”

You love him.

You’re sure of it.

Through the process of painting him you’ve come to find that what you thought was just a desperate crush - is full blown, undeniable, unavoidable love.

He’s beautiful. So beautiful that it nearly hurts to look at him because when he smiles his eyes and nose crinkle, and he has the cutest ears and there seems to be a permanent pink dusting his cheeks and he’s got these big, gorgeous lips and on top of it all he has this big, ginormous heart and he is so beautiful without even realising it and you are definitely in love with him.

He’s sitting in front of you now, watching, waiting as the paintbrush rests in between your thumb and forefinger, ready to finish adding splashes of colour to your piece, stroke by stroke.

You shake your head and push the thoughts down as far as you can, trying to get them to leave your mind for just a moment while you finish this painting.

"So… How come you picked me to draw? Or use for your art… thingy…” Connor asks, careful not to move from his current position.

Your eyes remain on the page, following your paintbrush as it moves around the page, colouring in his eyes.

“Um, I don’t know. You’re my best friend and I didn’t wanna draw fruit bowls or flower pots like everyone else, ya know?”

He hums, his eyes glancing down to your book.

“Plus - You have super nice eyes cause they do that weird colour thing - and really beautiful cheekbones and your jawline could cut - So… Yeah.” You murmur, swirling the brush around in the pot of water next to you before dipping it back into the colour palette.

Connor smiles, a warm, fuzzy feeling takes over his body for a moment because you’re completing him and you said he has nice eyes and a nice face and if you said it then it must be true.

"You really think all that?” He asks. And his voice is so quiet you’re sure that if you weren’t sitting directly in front of him you would’ve missed that.

And you answer truthfully, like you always do.

“Of course I do, Connor.”

There’s silence. A beat passes where there’s nothing - no noise, no talking - only the sound of your paintbrush swirling around in the water cup and your breathing can be heard.

With one final stroke of the brush, you’re done.

You drop the small paintbrush into the pile of the other brushes that you used, and it lands with a plop.

You stare down at the book, smiling, because you’re so proud of this. You’ve painted him so well and the colours all blend perfectly and it looks a lot like him and you’ve never felt prouder of a painting than you do in this moment.

You turn to Connor, and hand him the sketchbook, carefully. He grins as he pulls it towards himself, staring down at the painting.

“Shit.” He whispers.

"Do you like i-”

“-Is this really how you see me?” He asks, his eyes meeting yours, with an expression on his face that you can’t read quite yet.

“Oh God, Is it that bad?” You ask, scrambling to grab the book out of his hand and chuck it aside, forgetting this whole art project and starting all over again because it’s awful- But you’re interrupted by Connor’s hand grabbing your wrist and stopping your actions.

“No- It’s just… Is that how you see me?” He repeats, gently setting your open sketchbook someplace else on the bed that you don’t see because you’re too busy looking into his eyes and…. are those… tears? Is he crying?

“Well…Yeah - I mean- Yes! Why? Is it bad?”

“No - It’s…..nice.”

“Nice?” You ask, watching as a small smile takes over his features.

“Yeah… You made me look nice. And happy and good and…Uh, -”

“-Beautiful?” You add, grabbing his hand and running your thumb across his knuckles.

“Yeah, beautiful.”

You smile gently at him, your other hand reaching up and cupping his face, your thumb running over the bags underneath his eyes.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, quietly, but just loud enough.

You lean forward and act before you think. You press a sweet kiss to his nose, and he bites down hard on his lip to control himself form bursting out of happiness.

“You’re welcome, beautiful.”

"Oh God,” He whines, pulling away from you and burying his face in his hands.

“What is it?”

He separates two of his fingers to peek at you, and you can see that he’s gone bright red and he’s giddy and he’s smiling and trying to hold back his giggles and it’s the best thing you think you’ve ever seen.

“I love when you call me that.” He mutters, his voice muffled behind his hands.

You don’t say much, only watch as his cheeks get redder and redder, basking in this side of Connor you’ve never, ever seen before. You gently pull him flush against you by the collar of his shirt, and place your lips on his.

And then he’s kissing you. Again. He’s kissed you once, then twice and now, the third time round you’ve realised you can’t get enough. The taste of his lips on yours, the softness of his skin, his hands all over you, the feeling of his hair between your fingers. It’s amazing.

Connor Murphy is beautiful.

And you’ll make sure he knows it - every, single day.

#connor murphy x reader #connor murphy imagine #deh x reader #dear evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen imagine #deh fic #deh headcanons #deh #connor murphy #artist!reader #artist au

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